The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue.

by David Dennington

  “I’d need to s-stand down the whole third watch crew to s-save that kind of weight, sir,” Colmore stammered.

  “Right. Then do it!”

  Colmore slumped back in his chair, dazed.

  “One more thing. I want you to arrange for my luggage to be picked up Saturday afternoon. I’m bringing a Persian rug to lay down for the banquet. Send a couple of crewman with a van.”

  “I’ll make arrangements, sir,” Colmore answered weakly.

  “Everything’s settled then!” Thomson said, jumping up and rubbing his palms together. He shook hands and dismissed them.

  As Colmore trudged out, he looked as though he had the weight of Cardington R101, including the fuel—now increased by 100%, the crew—reduced by 33%, plus Thomson’s valet, on his shoulders.

  80

  THE ALMIGHTY BLOODY ROW

  Thursday October 2, 1930.

  At 8:30 p.m., Thomson was still at his desk. The light had faded and the table lamps had been switched on. He was writing comments on the draft minutes of his meeting with Colmore and Dowding, which Knoxwood had left before going home. There was a gentle tap at the door.

  Must be Brancker. Damn! I’d forgotten about him.

  “Come!”

  Thomson continued scribbling. Brancker approached his desk.

  “Something on your mind, Sefton?” Thomson said, without raising his head.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, CB, there is.”

  Thomson continued writing. “And what is that?” His tone disinterested, patronizing.

  “It concerns the airship.”

  “Which one?”

  “Cardington R101, of course.”

  Thomson finally raised his head. Brancker appeared fidgety and nervous. Thomson, being calm, had the edge.

  “Ah, Cardington R101—what about Cardington R101?”

  “I’m very concerned. I’ve been trying to speak to you all day,” Brancker said.

  “I heard you’ve been chasing around after me. So, here I am. What’s the problem?”

  “The airworthiness of that airship.”

  “Whatever do you mean? They’ve issued an Airworthiness Certificate and a Permit to Fly. What more do you want?”

  “Bits of paper issued by a department under your control—that’s meaningless!”

  “I don’t make these people do things. I’m guided by them.”

  “Look CB, the R.A.W. and the officers don’t have confidence in that ship.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I hear things.”

  Thomson got to his feet and drew himself up to his full height.

  “From whom?”

  “The ship’s overweight.”

  “I was informed the lift and trim tests were satisfactory.”

  “She’s still heavy,” Brancker said.

  “It’s got forty-nine tons of lift now.”

  “Your own requirements were sixty tons. Remember?”

  “Howden R100 had only fifty-four,” Thomson said.

  “But that ship was still much lighter!”

  “Well, their engines were lighter.”

  “It doesn’t matter why. It’s still a lighter ship. Cardington R101 is too heavy.”

  “I’m guided by the R.A.W.,” Thomson said, his voice trailing off.

  “The gas bags were full of holes.”

  “They’ve all been fixed.”

  “And they’ll be full of holes again before we reach the English Channel. They’re still rubbing against the ship’s frame.”

  “They’re all padded now,” Thomson said.

  “They’re still rubbing!”

  “The inspector’s satisfied.”

  “I don’t think so. He only confirmed the padding installation is complete. He’s dissatisfied with the method of addressing the problem. Then there’s the cover—”

  “They’ve assured me that’s been taken care of.”

  “Not a hundred percent.”

  Thomson grunted in annoyance.

  But Brancker kept on. “Their biggest concern is that the ship’s untested—and is therefore unfit for this journey.”

  “I’ve just had a long discussion about the tests with Dowding and Colmore.”

  “Dowding knows absolutely nothing about airships. He’ll be the first to tell you that—and as for Colmore, bless his heart, he’ll do whatever you ask of him.”

  “They put the testing business to Scott and he’s perfectly satisfied—that’s his domain.”

  “Scott! You can’t rely on Scott! He’s not the man he was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you read the report on the flight to Canada?”

  Thomson looked vague.

  “No, I thought not. Read it and you’ll see why you can’t rely on his judgment. The man’s totally reckless!”

  “They tested the ship yesterday,” Thomson said.

  “For sixteen hours? Sixteen hours!—before going off on a ten thousand mile voyage. That’s totally insane!”

  They stopped speaking and stared at each other. Thomson’s jaw was set, his face grim, his eyes like lead bullets.

  Brancker spoke softly now, coaxing. “CB, people confide in me—tell me things they’re afraid to tell you.”

  “This is Irwin!”

  “As a matter of fact, I did speak to Irwin, amongst others. Irwin is an excellent skipper and a very fine man with an impeccable record.”

  “He’s a whiner and a complainer. He’s spread dissatisfaction and discord throughout the ranks. He’s the one responsible for the breakdown in morale.”

  “I know you’re angry. All this doesn’t change the fact that the ship is untested. You must think about postponing this voyage.”

  “I will not even consider it. We’d become the laughing stock. I’ve announced this ship will leave on her maiden voyage to India on October 4th—and leave we shall!”

  “That doesn’t make it a reason to leave. Just because you’ve announced it—you can un-announce it! You also announced to the world the ship would be adequately tested. Face the fact—the ship is unfit until it is given a clean bill of health by its captain.”

  Thomson leaned over his desk on the palms of his hands.

  “Listen to me, Brancker. I know what’s been going on. If you don’t want to go, or you lack the courage, then don’t. Show the white feather! There’re many others who will jump at the chance to go in your place.”

  “I will go, CB—and I’ll tell you why,” Brancker said evenly. “I encouraged people to fly on this airship—people like O’Neill and Palstra—believing it’d be built and tested properly. I believed all your rhetoric about ‘safety first.’ I didn’t think you’d use this airship for your own personal aggrandizement, for your own personal agenda, set to meet your own personal schedule. People like O’Neill put their faith in me and my word. I will not abandon them now.”

  Thomson sat down and resumed his scribbling. Brancker turned and left, silently closing the door behind him. But Brancker had shaken him.

  81

  A DAMNED GOOD BOLLOCKING

  Friday October 3, 1930.

  The next day, at 7:50 a.m., Irwin found himself waiting in the reception area of Thomson’s outer office. He sat with a fixed stare, his dark uniform accentuating his pale, drawn face. Thomson marched in at 7:59 a.m. and swept past Irwin, into his office.

  “You and I need to have words,” he growled as he went by.

  Irwin got up and followed. He stood before Thomson.

  “You’ve become something of a liability, Irwin.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “You’re insubordinate—getting way above your station.”

  Thomson sank into his chair, glowering.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You’ve been speaking to Sir Sefton Brancker—the Director of Civil Aviation!”

  “Sir, I only—”

  “You’re a man with no confidence in what he’s doing,” Thoms
on sneered.

  “Sir, I’m responsible for my crew and my—”

  “I don’t need a lecture from you about your responsibilities, Irwin. Keep your mouth shut and listen. Everyone who comes in contact with you leaves with a bad case of melancholia!”

  “Sir, that’s not—”

  “You’ve spread malicious rumors about Cardington R101. You’ve attempted to sabotage the inspection procedure, delay the Howden ship’s voyage to Montreal, and thus put off your own flight to India. Well, you haven’t succeeded. All you’ve done is cause a breakdown in discipline and morale. You think I don’t understand what’s been going on? If you lack the courage to fly this airship—resign! I don’t believe you’ve got the guts—that’s the crux of the problem.”

  “Sir—”

  “An inquiry is underway regarding the brawling and drunkenness caused by the general breakdown in discipline—which may result in a court-martial. And you might be next for insubordination, insurrection, mutiny and cowardice!”

  Irwin’s eyes opened wide in horror and his jaw dropped.

  “What—”

  “If this flight to India isn’t a success, there’ll be no more funding for airship development—none will be asked for! That’ll be the end of it. Do you get that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve never understood, Irwin. There are careers to be made. Honors to be won.”

  “I do understand, sir. But for me, my crew and my ship always come first.”

  “Wrong! Your country comes first. This whole country’s honor is at stake. …If that means anything to you! …”

  Thomson let that barb sink in.

  “Yes, it does sir.”

  “Get a grip on yourself. Do your duty. You’re dismissed.”

  Irwin marched stiffly from Thomson’s office to drive back to Cardington. He appeared to be in a state of shock.

  82

  FIXING SCOTT

  Friday October 3, 1930.

  That morning, Lou got word that Colmore would like to meet with him. Lou was at the tower checking on the ship’s preparations with Atherstone and Steff. He went straight to Cardington House on his motorbike. He was a little surprised to see an RAF man on guard at the door. The pretty, blonde receptionist smiled at him and told him Wing Cmdr. Colmore was expecting him. Lou proceeded to his office, where Colmore was in conference with Scott. The partition between Colmore’s room and the secretary’s didn’t reach the ceiling. He could hear voices. Doris, put her finger to her lips and gestured for Lou to sit. They listened.

  “I want to make this perfectly clear. Your role will be limited,” Colmore said.

  “To nothing in particular, I suppose,” Scott answered.

  “Irwin will be in control as the commander. You’ll be a passenger.”

  “I seem to be the one who always gets blamed.”

  “You’ll have no significant role—symbolic only—that of Executive Admiral, pertaining to route and the time of departure. I hope you understand that, Scottie?”

  “Executive Admiral! Is that supposed to make me feel good? A meaningless title!”

  Lou and Doris exchanged glances.

  “I was the first man in the world to fly the Atlantic and land on American soil—and return—as pilot in command! I was awarded the Air Force Cross.”

  “Yes, yes, Scottie—and it was well-deserved.”

  “Alcock and Brown did it the easy way, a month earlier, from Canada and landed nose first in an Irish bog. One way! And they got knighted for that!”

  “Yes, there was no justice.”

  “No justice! You got that right.”

  “Scottie, my dear fellow, we’ll give Thomson what he wants. He can impress his girlfriend. He’ll be set for life. And so will we!”

  “Yes, yes—”

  “He’s promising the world, so you never know …keep the faith. Oh, and yes, one other thing—no uniform.”

  “What do you mean, no uniform?”

  “You’re not to wear your uniform under any circumstances. You’ll be a civilian on this flight, just like me.”

  “Look, the mishap on the Canada flight was just bad luck—”

  “Yes, yes, Scottie, leave everything to Irwin. He’s the commander, not you.”

  They heard Scott’s chair scrape the floor as he got up.

  “I want to tell you—I don’t like what you’re doing. You told The Secretary of State the fitness of the ship was up to me—whether the flight testing could be shortened, or waived. You put those decisions on me. Now you’re telling me I don’t have a role. So, I’ll be the scapegoat when things go wrong. No, sir. If Irwin’s in command, you should have made those decisions his. But you didn’t. You made them mine!”

  There was a long silence until Scott came rushing through the outer office and went storming off down the corridor. Doris glanced at Lou and raised her eyebrows.

  “Not a happy camper,” she said.

  “Commander Remington’s here,” Doris called.

  Colmore came and stood in the doorway. He appeared bashful, realizing Lou had heard everything. Colmore glanced at Doris. “Do you mind organizing some tea for us, Doris?” he said. She got up and went out, closing the outer door, realizing he wanted privacy.

  “Lou, thanks for popping over. I have a favor to ask you in a minute, but first, I wanted to say, you don’t have to make this voyage, you know.”

  “Yes, I know—but I’m committed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “How do you feel about the ship now?”

  “From what I can tell, they’ve done a good job, but I would’ve preferred it if they’d completed the tests as laid down by Captain Irwin,” Lou answered. “It would make more sense.”

  Colmore ignored this. He leaned forward earnestly and lowered his

  voice.

  “How are things with you, Lou? At home, I mean?”

  “Not particularly good, sir.”

  “Not giving up?” Colmore asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  “You don’t have a death wish or anything like that?”

  Lou laughed. “No, no.”

  Who knows, perhaps I do.

  Lou realized the implication of Colmore’s question.

  “Sir, will you please think about what I just said about testing?”

  It was as if Colmore hadn’t heard. “Was the guard at the door when you came in?”

  “Yes. Never seen that before, sir.”

  “We’ve had the pilot’s wife here again. Wants to meet with me.”

  “Mrs. Hinchliffe?”

  “She’s trying to get the flight stopped.”

  “So, you’re not going to meet her?”

  “Lord no, I’ve got enough problems.”

  Lou nodded, understanding; she’d probably push him over the edge again.

  “Lou, you’ll probably be in command of your own ship soon. I think you should stick around here with me tomorrow—it’ll be good experience. Come in early and we’ll check the weather and make the final decisions.” Colmore paused and looked at Lou, his eyes skittish. “I was told by Thomson to stand down the third watch so we can carry a full load of fuel.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t want us refueling in Egypt. I’ve asked the new AMSR to appeal the decision. If Thomson won’t budge, we’ll stand them down tomorrow.”

  Lou didn’t comment, but thought the situation totally ridiculous.

  “You mentioned a favor?”

  “Oh, yes. Would you mind taking a van over to Lord Thomson’s flat in Westminster tomorrow afternoon with a couple of your best men?”

  “Sure. What does he need?”

  “He’s got a carpet he wants picking up, and his luggage.”

  “Sounds heavy.”

  Colmore winced, putting his hand to his temple, as though this hadn’t occurred to him. “Dear God,” he said.

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we,” Lou
answered. Things were becoming more absurd by the hour.

  “Sorry, but I don’t want to send them unsupervised in case they muck it up—you know how he is,” Colmore said.

  “Fine. I’ll take Binks and Church.”

  “Thanks, Lou. That’s another load off my mind.”

  The phone on Colmore’s desk rang and he picked it up. Lou heard Knoxwood at the other end. “Weggie, it’s Wupert ...”

  Colmore listened and turned deadly serious.

  “Yes, I’ll let them know …forty minutes …Right. I’ll make sure they’re standing by and ready to go …Goodbye.” Colmore put the phone down.

  “That was Rupert Knoxwood. Thomson is sending his chauffeur. He wants to see you, Richmond and Scott. He’ll pick you up then bring you back. He said it’s going to be a very short meeting.”

  “What the heck about, sir?” Lou asked.

  “Blowed if I know. It’s weird. Sounds to me like he’s got the wind up—but that wouldn’t make sense—all I know is, Irwin looked dreadful when he came back from seeing him earlier.”

  Lou already knew that to be true. Perhaps they were going to get an ass-kicking, too.

  The driver appeared on time and the three men were whisked off to Gwydyr House where Thomson was waiting for them. Knoxwood hustled them straight into Thomson’s office without delay. Each of them glanced at the painting of the Taj Mahal as they filed in. They understood its significance, and that of its airship, at this moment.

  “Ah, gentlemen, I apologize, but I felt it important to lay a few things to rest.”

  “Will you need me to take minutes, sir?”

  “No, no, Rupert, no need. This is just an informal chat, thanks anyway.”

  Knoxwood went out and closed the door. Lou, Scott and Richmond made furtive glances at Thomson wondering what was coming. Thomson graciously ushered them to the easy chairs arranged around the fireplace where an electric fire glowed in the grate. He went to the sideboard. He was at his most benign.

  “Scottie, my dear chap, what’ll it be? Gin, whisky …? I thought we ought to have a little drink and a talk.”

  “Er, make it a whisky, straight, sir, thank you,” Scott said, unable to hide his relief.