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

by David Dennington

  He held up the frame for a closer look. Tom was smiling, Anna shading her eyes, Dad forcing a smile with his arm around Mom—more like holding on to Mom, he realized now. And then there was Gran, sweet and kind—but don’t mess with me! Julia was smiling demurely, classy as always. And last, at the edge of the photo, Jeb with Alice and their two kids, a sad weariness in Jeb’s eyes. Lou wondered if Jeb would forgive and forget. He replaced the frame on the table and returned to the tower where Scott was in conversation with a reporter.

  “Ah, Lou, this is Major Robertson with Flight Magazine. He’s an old friend of mine. Major, this is Commander Lou Remington. I brought Lou on board in 1924. He survived the R38 crash,” Scott said, slurring.

  Robertson stuck out his hand. “Indeed. Yes, of course. Honored to meet you, Commander.”

  “We lost so many of our finest airship people on that ship. We were lucky to get him. He’ll represent the United States on this trip. We also have others representing India and Australia.”

  “You don’t say,” Robertson said.

  “I’m going to show the major over the ship. He’s writing an article about us. Why don’t you come, Lou?” Scott said.

  “Sure thing, sir.”

  Scott led them around from bow to stern, through the passengers’ quarters, the chartroom and then down into the control car. They stood at the windows studying the overcast sky. The ship rolled and shifted with the wind.

  “I must say she’s most impressive. Are you satisfied with her since the modifications?” Robertson asked.

  “She’s a very fine ship now and I’m sure it’s going to be a marvelous flight,” Scott answered.

  “And what will your role be on this flight, exactly, Scottie?” Robertson asked.

  “I’m officer-in-charge of the flight. That’s why I’m in uniform, of course.”

  Lou glanced at Scott’s hat, which sported ‘R101’ stitched in gold, set crookedly on his head. Lou couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I decide such matters as time of departure, course, as well as speed and altitude. The captain will command the crew and maintain discipline—carrying out my orders, you understand.”

  Robertson shook hands with them. “Well, gentlemen, I wish you a safe flight and look forward to a full report. Thanks for showing me around.”

  “We’ll meet again when we get back. We’ll celebrate,” Scott said, beaming confidently. Robertson glanced dubiously at Scott as he left.

  Lou left the ship and went over to the locker rooms, where crewmen were awaiting orders. When they saw Lou they stampeded to the bulletin board and gathered around. He posted the notice. Someone at the back shouted. Lou wasn’t sure who, but suspected it was Binks.

  “Well, somebody read it out then!”

  Lou took the bulletin down and faced them. “Okay, guys: ‘A demonstration flight will commence today, the 4th of October 1930, at 1900 hours GMT with a return flight to Karachi, India via Ismailia, Egypt. Dress uniforms shall be worn at all times when embarking and disembarking and for all official functions on board. Riggers and engineers of first and second watches shall report for duty at 1300 hours today. Note: The third-watch crew has been stood down. Luggage is restricted to ten pounds per man.’”

  Pandemonium broke out among third-watch crewmen, led by Jessup, with much shouting and slamming of locker doors. The disgruntled men were about to leave as Hunt entered. He leapt up onto a bench. Everyone stopped to listen. “Don’t you go anywhere, Jessup. I’ll be needing you tonight, my lad,” he growled.

  Jessup, his confidence shattered, sat down sullenly at the back of the locker room. Lou glanced at him. He’d need to watch his back tonight, after all. Hunt pointed at the third watch crewmen. “All right you lot, on your way. The rest of you, listen up! You heard the commander. Go home and get packed, if you haven’t already done so. Ten pounds is all you’re allowed to carry. That amounts to a change of underwear and a toothbrush. Catch an hour’s shut-eye—you’re gonna need all the rest you can get.”

  Lou went over to Binks. “We’re going to London. Where’s Church? Ah, there he is. Church!” Church came over. “You’re both coming with me. We’re taking the Air Ministry van to London to pick up the Air Minister—”

  “I’d ’ave thought he would’ve come in ’is limo—” Binks said.

  “Let me finish, Joe, —to pick up the Air Minister’s luggage. I’ll come and find you on the ship. Gas up the van and bring it to the tower. We’ll leave at 2 o’clock.”

  “Have we got to be in uniform, sir?” Church asked.

  “Wear your work clothes.”

  Lou returned to the administration building, where he met Colmore in his office.

  “I see Major Scott’s in uniform, then sir,” Lou said.

  Colmore shook his head wearily. “Yes, I know. Silly damned fool!”

  But, of course, Lou knew Colmore had seen him earlier. “He’s just been telling Major Robertson he’s in overall command of the ship.”

  Colmore shook his head again. “He’s just sounding off, I expect. I’ll keep an eye on him. If I send him home to change, he won’t come back.”

  “That might be a good thing, under the circumstances, sir, don’t you think?” Lou said. Colmore didn’t respond.

  Lou realized just how reliant Colmore was on Scott, for all his faults; like a broken crutch. They headed to the meteorological office, where they met Atherstone. Giblett reported conditions had deteriorated somewhat. A low pressure trough was moving from western Ireland, bringing winds of ten to fifteen mph, and expected to increase up to thirty mph across northern France, accompanied by heavy rain.

  After lunch, Lou and Colmore returned to Colmore’s office. Remembering Colmore the night he boarded Howden R100, he seemed a different man.

  “I must say, you look very well, sir.”

  “You mean compared to the Canada trip? Yes, Lou, I must tell you, I feel much better this time. I think if we could survive the St. Lawrence, we can survive anything—especially in this ship with all her improvements! And thank God Thomson relented on the refueling. I’m fairly confident everything’s going to be all right.”

  “You seem to have convinced yourself. But look, there’s still time to postpone this voyage, if you’re not one hundred percent sure. Finish all the testing—do things right—stand up to him. You’ll have Brancker and Irwin standing behind you, and the other officers, and me, of course.”

  Colmore considered for a moment and then shook his head sadly.

  “It’s just not possible, dear boy—besides standing up to Thomson and the Air Ministry, we’d be up against Scott and Richmond—both have their eyes set on knighthoods—and then there’s the Treasury. I just have to have faith in the ship. We’ve addressed all the problems, after all—at least, I think we have.”

  Lou looked at him skeptically, knowing they sure as hell hadn’t.

  Colmore took out a piece of paper from his drawer and gave it to Lou.

  “Here’s Lord Thomson’s address.”

  “Thank you. I have a map. It’ll be no problem.”

  86

  THE MAGIC CARPET

  Saturday October 4, 1930.

  Lou headed back to the tower to locate Binks and Church. Binks had gone to his engine car—No. 5. Lou made his way there and descended the ladder as Binks was pouring a drum of oil into the engine. All parts of the engine, its pipes and valves, gleamed.

  “You’re a thirsty girl, ain’t you,” Binks was saying.

  Lou raised his eyebrows. “Talking to the engine now, are we, Joe?”

  Binks turned, embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you comin.’ I already put one drum of oil in and she still needs more.” He was about to stop.

  “Take it easy, Joe. Finish what you’re doing. We’ve got plenty of time. Meet me by the van when you’re done. Seen Church?”

  “He’s in the crew’s quarters, having a fry up.”

  The crew’s quarters was a mess hut at the foot of th
e tower, where crewmen could cook something to eat. Church was finishing a ‘bacon sammy.’ Seeing Lou enter, he got up and wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Can I get you one, sir?” he said.

  “I’ve just eaten, thanks. Ready?”

  “Ready when you are, sir.”

  With Lou giving directions, they motored from Cardington through the country lanes to Shefford and then on through Henlow, Hitchen, Welwyn Garden and onto Potter’s Bar.

  “Have you decided on a wedding date, Sam?” Lou asked.

  “Irene wants to get married at Christmas at St. Mary’s,” Church answered.

  “That’ll be a wonderful time.”

  “And you’re invited, of course, sir.”

  “D’you remember what that old gypsy told yer, Sam?” Binks said.

  Church choked. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “You didn’t tell Irene, did you?” Binks asked.

  “Nah, ’course not. I told her after this flight, I’m only gonna work in the shed. But this one voyage will 'elp pay for the weddin'—then that's it.”

  They continued south through Barnet, Whetstone, Swiss Cottage and past Lord’s Cricket Ground.

  “What about you, sir? Are you staying in England?” Binks asked.

  Lou knew they must be wondering. They’d been upset when Charlotte cleared off.

  “Not sure. My life’s a bit up in the air.”

  “Nicely put,” Church said.

  “We all loved Charlotte, sir,” Binks said, shaking his head sadly.

  Lou didn’t respond. He stared out the window wondering what she was doing. Was she thinking about him? Probably not. He reached for his map of London. They passed Regent’s Park and drove down Portland Place toward Regent Street. At the end of Regent Street, they moved through Piccadilly down the Haymarket, passing His Majesty’s Theater, and around Trafalgar Square.

  “Take a good gander, guys. We might pass over this way tonight,” Lou told them.

  “I love London,” Binks said.

  They drove slowly down Whitehall, the mounted guardsmen in their red tunics at the Horse Guards Parade on their right. Church studied them in awe. “There’s somethin’ about this place ...” he said.

  They passed Gwydyr House. “That’s Lord Thomson’s office in the Air Ministry Building,” Lou said. They stared at the brick and stone mansion.

  “Hey, there’s Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament,” Binks said, gleefully pointing at Westminster Palace.

  “And here, in front, is Westminster Hall with Westminster Abbey across the street,” Lou told them. “Okay, we’re here. Turn here. This is Ashley Gardens.”

  At 3 o’clock precisely, they drew up outside Block No. 9 and parked the van just as Knoxwood arrived in Thomson’s chauffeur-driven Daimler. The three men got out and went through the lobby, where Knoxwood joined them. Knoxwood motioned them to the birdcage elevator, with its black iron concertina gate and brass pull, just big enough to carry four.

  They crammed themselves in. Lou felt uncomfortable and began to sweat. He closed his eyes. They traveled up the open steel-framed elevator shaft to the third floor and found flat 122. The Great Caruso’s voice was belting through the door from Thomson’s gramophone. Knoxwood rang the bell. Thomson opened the door himself immediately, dressed ready for off: dark, pinstripe trousers, grey waistcoat, white dress shirt, wing collar, black and white-spotted tie. Gwen the housekeeper, Daisy the parlor maid and Buck the valet, hovered behind him. Lou sensed an atmosphere of excitement as they stepped inside. He felt sorry for the staff—Thomson must have run them ragged all day.

  “Ah, here you are, gentlemen. Good day to you all,” Thomson said grandly.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Thomson. How are you, sir?” Knoxwood asked.

  “I’m in superb shape! We’ll need all hands. It’s in the living room. Follow me.”

  Lou had never seen Thomson so exuberant. Knoxwood went first, followed by Lou and the two crewmen. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make room for Thomson’s pile of belongings—cases, trunks, leather bags, bulky canvas bags, packing cases and cardboard boxes. Alongside the luggage, was a roll wrapped in brown paper, tied up with string. The ends were visible, showing part of its vivid red and black pattern and fringe. A dress sword sat atop the mountain.

  Lou, Binks and Church stood motionless, unable to believe their eyes.

  “My good Gawd!” Binks mumbled.

  “This must be the magic carpet, sir?” Lou said.

  Thomson’s magic carpet had become a legend around Cardington. Lou wasn’t sure why.

  “That’s my famous Persian rug—all the way from Sulaymaniyah. We’ll lay it down for the banquets in Egypt and India.”

  Sammie, the big black cat, padded into the room and rubbed itself against Lou’s uniform trousers, mewing mournfully. It was the biggest cat he’d ever seen. Like a damned panther.

  “Could be good luck, I reckon,” Binks said, eyeing the cat.

  “Yeah, looks like you’ve got a new friend there, sir,” Church said.

  “Sammie can’t resist a man in uniform,” Thomson joked.

  “That cat might be a bit queer. I’d watch out, if I were you, sir,” Binks muttered.

  “Actually, you’re perfectly safe. We used to think it was a ‘he’, but we recently discovered ‘he’ was a ‘she’. Hence, we changed her name from Samuel to Samantha,” Thomson explained.

  “Well, I’m glad we got that one sorted out, sir,” Binks whispered.

  They spent the next hour taking everything down in the elevator to the van. Knoxwood, Buck, the chauffeur, Gwen, Daisy and even Thomson himself, pitched in. The two trunks took four men to carry. The Persian carpet was manhandled by all six down the stairway, being too long and too heavy to go in the elevator. Finally, it was pushed into the van alongside cases of wine and champagne and Thomson’s dress sword. Binks closed the van doors with a big sigh.

  Lou stood catching his breath with his crewmen, Knoxwood and Buck, waiting for Thomson to reappear. Finally, he emerged from the building in a black overcoat and matching trilby, carrying a brown leather case, his walking stick hooked over his arm. He was followed by Daisy and Gwen, who held the cat in her arms. Thomson said his farewells and rubbed the cat’s nose with a gloved finger.

  “Now, I want you to be a good girl, Miss Samantha, do you hear?” Thomson whispered. The cat wriggled from Gwen’s grasp and ran under a hawthorn bush. She glared at Thomson and mewed wildly, scolding him. Binks was unnerved and glanced at Lou for reassurance.

  Before climbing into the car, Thomson handed the case to Lou.

  “Here, Commander. Guard this with your life. This is part of my personal record collection. We shall have music on the ship to brighten our spirits throughout the voyage.”

  Knoxwood climbed in with Thomson. Buck sat in front with the chauffeur. Thomson gave a royal wave to the two women and the Daimler set off with the van behind. Thomson told them he had two stops to make on the way. On Victoria Street, the convoy drew up at the post office. Thomson marched up to the clerk at the counter.

  “I’d like to send a telegram to Romania, please.”

  “Romania!” the clerk exclaimed, handing him a telegram form.

  Thomson scribbled a few lines.

  Princess Marthe Bibesco, Posada, Par Comarmic Prahova, Romania

  En route to board Cardington R101 for India STOP The Persian accompanies us STOP As always I am thinking of you STOP Yours ever Kit

  Thomson handed the message to the clerk.

  “When will this be received?” Thomson asked.

  “Monday, I should think, sir.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  Thomson next requested the chauffeur to stop at the florist’s shop a few hundred yards up the street. He jumped out and went inside. Thomson was a regular customer and the florist greeted him warmly.

  “I’d like you to arrange to send fifteen roses to Paris, if you plea
se,” Thomson said

  “Fifteen sir? You’d have to pay for two dozen, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s okay. The number has significance.”

  “Certainly sir, I quite understand. Any particular color?” the florist asked.

  “They must be red Général Jacqueminot,” Thomson answered.

  “Ah, yes of course, sir, the usual. They might be a bit hard to come by.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time, my dear fellow.”

  Thomson solemnly wrote a note for the card to accompany the bouquet. When finished, he handed it to the florist with Marthe’s address and delivery instructions. After paying by check, he bad the florist ‘good day’ and strode out. In the car, Knoxwood was waiting with the red box full of ministerial documents.

  “Now, what have we got?” Thomson asked.

  “Here’s a cable from Egypt confirming the High Commissioner is coming to the banquet on Monday night. As are the other ten you invited.”

  “Excellent.”

  “The secretary of the Royal Aeronautical Society, the chairman of the Royal Aero Club and a few others all send their good wishes.”

  “How nice.”

  “You have a message from the Prime Minister wishing you a safe journey.”

  “Good. Please reply. Say: Thank you for your kind wishes. I’m confident this voyage will be a great success and I look forward to seeing you on the twentieth.”

  “And here, sir, is the latest weather report from the Air Ministry.”

  Thomson took it from Knoxwood and read it aloud, nodding as he did so.

  “Anticyclone centered over Balkans. …Depression over Eastern Atlantic moving east. Occluded front running from shallow low centered near Tynemouth to South of France moving east. …Winds tonight over France likely to be west or south-west moderate strength over Northern France light over Southern France. Weather mainly cloudy. …Western Mediterranean: light and variable or south west winds probable tomorrow with fair weather. Central Mediterranean: light easterly or variable winds. Weather fair. …Eastern Mediterranean: winds northerly or north-easterly Athens to Crete lighter toward Egypt. ...Weather mainly fair perhaps local thunderstorms.”