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

by David Dennington

What if all these people were right? Did they have justification for being nervous? Were there indeed things he didn’t know? Was he pushing them too hard?

  He tightened the knot in his tie.

  Come, come man—it’s your destiny! No, I mustn’t fall victim to negativity. Stay positive … But … no reason not to be cautious.

  He went back to his desk and sat down again, opened the drawer and took out his address book. He picked up the phone and dialed the number. Knoxwood answered.

  “Ah, Rupert, I’m so glad you’re home. I want you to do something for me. Call Colmore immediately and tell him I’ve reconsidered. He may refuel in Egypt, but only after the banquet. If it delays taking off the next day, so be it. Tell him to stand the third watch down anyway—that’ll be a double saving in weight.”

  Thomson replaced the phone and sat back for a moment. He pulled the drawer open, revealing Marthe’s photograph. He stared at it wistfully. What was she doing? Was she with anyone? Were any of those damned American professors still hanging around? Had she got shot of them? He hoped so. He pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it on his blotter. He stared at it for a few moments then wrote forcefully in the shadows from the picture light behind him.

  Air Ministry,

  Gwydyr House,Whitehall, London.

  Last Will and Testament

  On this Friday, Third Day of October, Nineteen Hundred and Thirty, I declare that in the event of my death during my return voyage to India aboard HMA Cardington R101, I leave all my worldly goods and possessions to my brother Colonel R. Thomson, currently residing in Widdington, Essex.

  Christopher Birdwood Thomson,

  Brigadier General Lord Thomson of Cardington,

  Secretary of State for Air.

  After signing his will, Thomson thrust it into an envelope and put it in the top drawer. Knoxwood would find it and know exactly what to do, if required.

  84

  GO BREAK A LEG

  Saturday October 4, 1930.

  Lou woke with Fluffy beside him. He missed Charlotte most just before he closed his eyes and again when he first opened them at dawn. The bed was empty and, at times like this, he wondered what the hell he was doing in this place. The thought of flying to India no longer excited him and feelings of futility haunted him. He grieved for her. Soon, he’d be grieving for his father. He’d get this voyage over with and return to the States, immediately.

  He’d enjoyed having Norway around, but he’d gone back up north. He rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. His kitbag, already packed, lay on the floor. Mrs. Jones had helped him and Billy get their clothes ready.

  While he boiled the kettle, he heard the letter box snap and the newspaper hit the mat upstairs. After pouring himself a cup of tea, he sat down and opened the Daily Mirror. Under a photograph of Cardington R101 at the mast, the headline read:

  GIANT AIRSHIP’S MAIDEN VOYAGE

  The newspaper was full of praise for Cardington R101—previous negative stories forgotten. This was a great moment in British aviation history and the press was not about to spoil things. A knock came at the front door. Mrs. Jones appeared with her shopping bag.

  “I’ve come to cook breakfast for you lads,” she said, pushing her way down to the kitchen. “Can’t have you boys going off to India on an empty stomach.”

  Lou poured a mug of tea and took it up to Billy, who had a thick head. The smell of eggs and bacon permeated the house. When they’d finished, Mr. Jones arrived to wish them well. Time was getting short. They hurriedly put on their uniforms and said their goodbyes, leaving Mrs. Jones to clean up. Before leaving, Lou picked Fluffy up and kissed her nose. Mrs. Jones would take good care of her.

  They grabbed their kitbags and, after wiping off the wet saddle, set off on the motorbike in the rain at speed. As they approached the junction at the parade of shops, a painter’s van, laden with ladders, turned out in front of them. There was nothing Lou could do. The bike skidded and they rammed the side of the van. The riders sailed over the hood and landed in the middle of the road. The van driver, realizing his error, swerved to the right, causing the vehicle to flip over and its doors to burst open. Paint and ladders were scattered everywhere. Lou came down on his left side, not badly hurt, except for a few bruises and a grazed hand. Billy lay groaning, his right leg bent at a sickening angle. Hearing the crash, corner store owner, Alan Rowe, rushed out. He recognized them and knelt down beside Billy.

  “Well, you won’t be going anywhere, sunshine. It’s Bedford Hospital for you.”

  After checking on Billy, Lou went to see the driver of the truck, a middle-aged man in painter’s whites. He sat on the curb holding his head, rambling incoherently—perhaps he had a concussion. Lou inspected the motorbike. The front tire was blown out, the headlight broken. He suspected the forks were twisted. He removed the kitbags from the carrier and put Billy’s under his head and sat down beside him.

  “Rotten luck, Billy,” he said, holding the boy’s arm.

  “Damn, Lou, I was looking forward to going,” Billy said. He winced in pain and then threw up.

  So much for Mrs. Jones’ breakfast.

  “I’ll have to go, but I’ll call your mom and tell her what’s happened.”

  “What about the bike?” Billy asked.

  “I’ll put it behind the shop,” Alan said. “I’ll take care of it ‘til you get back, don’t worry.”

  He got up and wheeled the motorbike down the alley. Lou stayed with Billy until the ambulance arrived. He watched them load Billy onto a stretcher and put him inside the ambulance with the painter. Before they closed the doors, Billy held up his hand.

  “Lou, Jessup’s out to get you. Everyone knows it.”

  “I’ll be fine, Billy. I’ll send word to Mrs. Jones and Irene. They’ll come up and make sure you’re okay.”

  “I wanted to be around to guard your back. He’s been bragging all week—he’s gonna kill you.”

  “You don’t need to worry, Billy. His crew’s gonna be stood down—but keep that to yourself—okay!”

  “Good,” Billy said.

  He laid his head down thankfully as the ambulance doors were closed. Lou stood on the curb until Billy had gone before walking to the bus stop. He felt a twinge in his guts. Was this the ‘Wiggy thing’ all over again? He went and stood behind four waiting crewmen. Lou nodded and smiled at them. Pretty soon, a green bus arrived with the same cheery bus conductor Lou had come to know.

  “Hell, you must live on this bus, Luke!” Lou said.

  “I do indeed, sir, and I know where you’re going.”

  The bus rattled and groaned its way along the country lane in the drizzle to the next stop, where more men in uniform were standing in line. Sam Church was among those waiting, with Irene, his mother and father, Joe Binks and Fred McWade. The men carried pith helmets and small bags. The bus conductor rang the bell after they boarded.

  “Next stop, Cardington Gate, then Cardington Tower, then Ismailia,” he said. He went around taking fares, stopping beside Binks. “Hello Joe, where you off to—the Kings Arms is it? Bit early for a pint, isn’t it, mate?”

  “No, I’m off to India with this lot.”

  “I know you are, lad—otherwise I’d need another penny,” he said, and then with a grin, “Just don’t pith in your helmet that’s all!”

  Lou glanced at McWade, who turned away with a scowl. He had the look of a condemned man. Lou had seen a few of them lately. The bus drew up to Cardington Gate and a crowd got off.

  “This is it, ladies and gents—’ave a lovely time,” the conductor shouted.

  As they walked toward the gatehouse, Irene turned to Lou. “We’re seein’ Sam off in case we don’t see him later. We’ll be back this evening.”

  Church grabbed Irene and gave her a passionate kiss and the crewmen walking by clapped and cheered. Lou laughed. Even McWade cracked a smile. Lou glanced over at Binks and Church.

  “We’re going on a mission this afternoon. I’ll tell you about it
later,” he said. He looked at Irene, “Irene, Billy and I just had an accident on the bike.”

  Her face fell. “Are you all right?”

  “I am, but Billy’s broken his leg. Could you tell my neighbor, Mrs. Jones, what’s happened and ask her to go and see him in hospital?”

  Everyone listened, shocked.

  “We’ll go straight up there, won’t we, Mum?” Irene said. “Poor Billy.”

  “Lucky Billy, if you ask me,” McWade mumbled.

  When they arrived at the gate, the gatekeeper called to McWade.

  “Got a message for you, Fred. Wing Commander Colmore wants a word.”

  “Now what?” McWade groused.

  “I’ll walk up with you,” Lou said.

  Two cars entered the gate. The first contained Capt. Irwin in his Austin Seven, his face deathly white, and behind him, Scott in his Morris Oxford, in full dress uniform. Lou wasn’t surprised, especially after yesterday’s meeting with Thomson. When Lou and McWade got to Cardington House, Scott and Irwin had already gone inside. An RAF man was still posted on the door. Lou and McWade went in and made their way to Colmore’s office.

  “Ah, Fred, do come in,” Colmore said. “Come in, Lou. Bad news I’m afraid, Fred. I’m standing you down. We have to cut down on weight.”

  McWade appeared insulted at first, then visibly relieved.

  “Standing me down? It’s no disappointment to me, I can tell you that. Standing me down, indeed! Saving weight! I think you need to stand the whole bloody lot down!”

  “Yes, Fred. Thank you,” Colmore said, in his gracious manner.

  “And I’ll tell you something. If left to me, they’d never have got that Permit to Fly!” McWade left the room and went down the corridor muttering to himself. “Standing me down! Saving weight! I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life. …”

  “I do love old Fred,” Colmore said. “Hey, what’ve you done to your hand?”

  “Had an accident on the way here. That’s why I was late—sorry.”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “My passenger broke his leg.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Billy Bunyan.”

  “He was in the crew?”

  “Yes,” Lou answered.

  “Better inform Sky Hunt.”

  85

  THE THIRD WATCH

  Saturday October 4, 1930.

  Lou and Colmore headed down the corridor in the north wing to the office of Giblett, the meteorologist on this flight also. Irwin, Johnston and Scott were already there, talking with him. Lou watched Colmore for his reaction to Scott showing up in uniform. Colmore did a second take, but said nothing.

  Maybe he’ll talk to him later.

  Lou peered out of the window into the gardens. The wind was picking up. Giblett had chalked up weather graphics on a blackboard on the wall. Next to that, he’d pinned up a map of Europe and Asia. This showed the route Johnston had marked in black, dotted lines, from Cardington to London, over Kent to the town of Hastings, across the Channel, north of Paris, west of the Rhone Valley, Toulouse, then over the sea at Narbonne, along the Mediterranean to Ismailia, Egypt.

  “How are things looking, Mr. Giblett?” Colmore asked.

  They gathered around the map. “Right here, in the Newcastle area, there’s a shallow depression moving into the North Sea and over here an associated cold front moving east, across France. I’d say, at present, things are looking pretty good,” Giblett said.

  “Okay, I’ll report this to Lord Thomson’s personal secretary. What time are we casting off, gentlemen?” Colmore asked, eyeing Scott and Irwin.

  Scott glanced at the time. “No later than nineteen hundred hours. You can tell him his Lordship should be here an hour prior to that.”

  Back in Colmore’s office, Lou and Colmore sat behind closed doors. Colmore dialed Knoxwood’s telephone number in Gwydyr House and put on the speakerphone.

  “Rupert, Good morning to you—it’s Reginald.”

  “Morning, Weggie—big day!”

  “Yes. I have Commander Remington with me. We’ve just been to the met room and checked the forecast.”

  “How’s it looking?”

  “Pretty good, they think.”

  Colmore repeated what Giblett had told them.

  “So, it’s definitely on?” Knoxwood asked.

  A sudden wind gust shook the windows and Colmore turned in surprise. “Yes. Unless anything unexpected occurs with the weather.”

  “What time shall I tell Lord Thomson to be at the tower?”

  “We’re scheduled to depart at 7 o’clock,” Colmore said. “Tell him to be here an hour earlier.”

  “His lordship won’t like to be kept waiting. I’ll tell him 6:15.”

  “Just as you wish, Rupert.”

  “Have you arranged for a van to deal with the luggage?”

  “Yes. Thank you for dealing with the fuel issue, Rupert. I feel much better about that situation.”

  “Think nothing of it, Weggie,” Knoxwood said and hung up.

  “I need to call Billy Bunyan’s mother in Goole and tell her what’s happened,” Lou said.

  “Perhaps she’ll be relieved,” Colmore said.

  “Then, I’ll get over to the ship, if you don’t mind. I want to set myself up in a cabin and talk to the crewmen I’m taking to London with me,” Lou said.

  “Let’s meet again in the met office at noon. We can have lunch in the officer’s mess after that,” Colmore said. Before Lou left, Colmore had Doris type a bulletin for him to post in the crew’s locker room.

  Lou went to his office and called the hospital in Goole.

  “Fanny, it’s Lou Remington.”

  Lou heard Fanny gasp. “Is Billy all right?”

  “Billy’s fine. We had a spill this morning on the bike and he broke his leg. He’s in hospital.”

  “So, he’s not going to India today, obviously?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God for that! If you want to know the truth—I’m glad. I’ve been worried sick. What did Charlotte say about it?”

  “She doesn’t know yet,” Lou answered. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, but Fanny had told him what he had wanted to know—Charlotte hadn’t contacted her, either. He needed to get off the phone before Fanny asked any more questions.

  “Look, Fanny, I’m sorry. I have to go. Just wanted to let you know about Billy. Please don’t worry. He’s gonna be fine.”

  “Oh, er, how is Char—”

  “Bye for now, Fanny. I’ll call you when I get back from India.”

  “Yes, er, all right. Good luck, Lou—”

  Lou hung up and sat thinking. He rested his chin in one hand and drummed his fingers on the desk. Charlotte hadn’t contacted John and Mary, or Fanny, her closest friend. And Charlotte’s parents wouldn’t open the door.

  She must have gone off with some other guy.

  Ten minutes later, Lou picked up his kitbag and hopped on a bus from the main gate down to the tower gate and went into the customs shed for kitbag inspection. He put it on the table.

  “Hello, sir. Let’s see what you’ve got here, shall we?” the customs officer said, pulling everything out: a pair of work trousers, a pair of soft-soled shoes, four sets of clean underwear, four pairs of socks, three clean shirts, a bag of toiletries and a small, gold picture frame.

  “It took me all morning to pack that bag,” Lou said.

  “No lighters or matches, sir?”

  “No, and no parachutes, either,” Lou said.

  “Let’s hope you won’t be needing ’em, eh.”

  Lou noticed Potter’s accordion on the table behind the customs officer. “What’s that doing there?” Lou asked.

  The customs man shook his head. “Too heavy. They won’t let him take it on board. All right, sir, this bag’s cleared,” he said, marking the bag with a chalk cross.

  Lou went to the elevator at the foot of the tower, where Bert Mann, the operator, was supervising food and drink being
loaded by a steward and galley boy. First, it had to be weighed, and then logged in by the R.A.W. chief storekeeper. The provisions included barrels of beer, cases of champagne and wine, an assortment of huge cheeses wrapped in cheesecloth and different types of biscuits in big tins.

  “Won’t keep you, sir,” Mann said. “We’re just getting the booze and grub aboard for the banquet. Hurry up, lads, make room for the commander.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll use the stairs,” Lou said.

  Lou eyed all this stuff. It looked heavy. Mann shut the concertina gates with a crash and Lou watched it travel up the tower before he started up the stairs. At the top, he found Scott standing with his hands on his hips, glaring with red eyes into the elevator.

  “Just been doing the lift calculations with Captain Irwin. I need to lose four tons.” He waved to the stewards. “Put this, this, and this on,” he said, pointing at the beer, wine and champagne, “but take the tins and throw them out. It’s all unnecessary weight. Put all these biscuits in paper bags.”

  Lou grinned.

  This man’s got his priorities straight.

  Leaving the biscuit tin dilemma in safe hands, he went on board and found Sky Hunt in the crew’s mess giving instructions to the riggers about stowing materials and luggage. Lou took him aside and told him about Billy. He also mentioned Thomson had ordered the third watch stood down and that he’d be posting the bulletin in the crew’s locker room. Hunt told him he’d meet him there, as some might make trouble.

  Lou went to his assigned cabin. Cardington R101 felt much different from the Howden ship. Odors of recently applied dope to the cover and overpowering diesel fumes combined with a strong smell of Axminster carpet to assault his nose. He’d miss Norway—but not pumping fuel by hand every few hours! This time, he’d brought a photo of his family taken at Remington’s Farm. He stood it on the small table and smiled cynically to himself. It was the frame that used to hold the photo of him and Charlotte at the five bar gate.

  ‘I no longer love you’—welcome home, pal!