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

by David Dennington

  Scott tried again. “I don’t think—”

  “You do realize we’d become the object of ridicule. Thousands are camped out around this field—people who’ve come from all over England, Scotland and Wales to witness history in the making—not to mention the distinguished passengers we have on board. The eyes of the world are upon us and on British engineering. If this flight is postponed due to the weather, we’ll be announcing that airships are fair-weather aircraft. I should also remind everyone here that the Treasury is looking for a glimmer of hope—some small success.”

  “Sir, I think—” Scott began again.

  “So, I ask you: Is it to be that the government’s revered airship Cardington R101, which has cost millions of pounds, cannot match the splendid performance of the men at Vickers, who did what they said they would, when they said they would—for a fixed sum of a mere three hundred and fifty thousand pounds—despite efforts to coerce them into a postponement.”

  “Sir—” Richmond began. Thomson cut him off, too.

  The tirade was over. His voice became soft and cajoling. “I will say just this, gentlemen: Reward for success will be great and honors bestowed. Careers and reputations will be made with financial rewards beyond your wildest dreams …” Here Thomson paused. Everyone in the room waited while the wind howled and rocked the ship. Then came the knife, silent and smooth. “…But there will be no reward for failure. No more government funding—none will be asked for.”

  Richmond leapt to his feet followed by Scott.

  “I’m completely confident this airship can handle it, sir,” Richmond said.

  “I agree,” Scott said.

  “What about the gas bags and valves and the cover the captain is referring to?” Thomson asked.

  “All airships lose a certain amount of gas. It’s to be expected,” Scott said.

  “The cover was thoroughly inspected and approved. We’ve been over this time and time again, sir,” Richmond said.

  Another long pause.

  “So, from what you’re saying, we have nothing to be concerned about?”

  Brancker stirred himself, stepping forward from the back of the room. He’d composed himself somewhat, his toupée now on straight. All eyes turned toward him. He carefully finished wiping his monocle with a handkerchief and stuck it back in his eye. “Lord Thomson, I’m going to make a suggestion, if you’ll allow me, sir. We depart on schedule and flight test the ship around this area of Bedford. And then, if, and only if, Captain Irwin and Major Scott are satisfied—we then strike a course for London and France.”

  “Oh, yes, I heartily agree,” Richmond said.

  “And if not?” Thomson said.

  “Then we’ll return here to the tower,” Brancker said.

  “That certainly sounds like a pwudent plan, sir,” Knoxwood said brightly.

  Suddenly, people were smiling and nodding—but not Irwin, Atherstone, Johnston and Lou. Colmore’s mood had deteriorated over the last thirty minutes, but now he was perking up again. Lou had paid attention to Irwin while Brancker was putting his suggestion forward.

  “Easier said than done.” He’d muttered to Atherstone beside him.

  “Why can’t this test be done en route to London? It all sounds like a waste of fuel,” Thomson asked.

  “It’ll give us a chance to test her on all headings under full power, sir,” Scott said.

  “I do remember Dowding suggesting this at our meeting,” Thomson said, glancing at Colmore. “But won’t people be wondering why the dickens we’re flying around in circles?”

  “Everyone’ll think we’re making a grand tour—in honor of the city,” Scott said.

  Thomson peered at the wall clock.

  “What time do you propose getting started, Major Scott?”

  “Immediately, sir. Immediately!”

  “Splendid. I’m going to sit in the lounge with Wing Commander Colmore. Carry out your testing and keep us informed.”

  Knoxwood stood up and shook hands with everyone. “I wish I was coming with you,” he said. “Bon voyage!”

  While the meeting was breaking up, Hunt entered and whispered into Irwin’s ear. Irwin became concerned and left. Lou followed. Irwin raced down the corridor and down the gangplank. Lou heard the captain’s rapidly descending feet on the steel stairs. Lou stayed on the upper gallery and looked down. He could see Olivia Irwin some distance away, standing beside their small black car. She was dressed in a long, hooded, black cloak, which swirled around her in the wind, her face stark and white in the floodlights.

  Lou watched Irwin rush out of the tower and into her arms. She hugged him to her, crying and speaking into his ear—pleading. He laid his head on her shoulder, doing his best to hold back his own tears. He drew back, obviously trying to reassure her, perhaps telling her of Brancker’s plan, which Lou knew he had no faith in at all.

  Olivia didn’t appear convinced, but finally seemed resigned. They kissed again and he helped her into the car. Irwin stood and watched her drive slowly away, the wind churning the autumn leaves as she went. He turned and trudged back to the tower and up the staircase. Lou noiselessly retraced his steps, his heart heavy for the captain and his wife.

  90

  SALUTE TO BEDFORD

  Saturday October 4, 1930.

  Lou checked the wall clock: it was 6:32 p.m. On this day, the 4th of October, the clocks were scheduled be set back one hour at 1.00 a.m. Irwin had posted a duty schedule on the wall in the control room:

  CARDINGTON R101 DUTY ROSTER INDIA FLIGHT:

  FIRST LEG TO EGYPT

  WATCH

  Evening 16:00–20:00 F/O Steff

  1st Night 20:00–23:00 Lt. Cmdr. Atherstone

  Middle 23:00–02:00 Capt. Irwin

  Morning 02:00–05:00 F/O Steff

  2nd Morning 05:00–08:00 Lt. Cmdr. Atherstone

  Lt. Cmdr. L Remington Relief Duty Officer and Navigator

  This rotation will continue throughout the voyage.

  Steff had been officer of the watch since 4 o’clock with Potter as height coxswain. Lou leaned on the rail overlooking the control car, alongside Johnston, Brancker and Scott.

  Irwin’s face was grim, his jaw set. “Start engines,” he ordered.

  “Start engines,” Steff repeated.

  Steff relayed the order via the telegraph, first to engine car No.1 and then through the others to No. 5, where Joe Binks was located with Ginger Bell. Atherstone was also in the control car, shining a flashlight on the propeller of engine No.1 to check it was turning. It wasn’t. The two coxswains were ready at their wheels. Suddenly, everyone’s attention was diverted by a woman’s scream carried on the wind across the field from the gate. Irwin beckoned Lou down.

  From the control car, they recognized Rosie, rushing toward the tower, waving something in her hand. Some distance behind Rosie, a policeman was in pursuit, blowing a whistle, his black cape gleaming in the rain.

  “Lou, go down and find out what’s going on,” Irwin said calmly. “Looks like she’s got a letter for her husband. Take it to him.”

  “We don’t have time for this nonsense,” Scott shouted.

  Irwin glared at Lou. “Do as I say!”

  Lou left the control car as the first propeller began to turn on engine No. 2. The crowd cheered. As each engine was started, a cloud of black smoke spurted from its exhaust into the floodlights, sending a greasy, diesel odor across the field. Lou rushed down the corridor to the gangplank three hundred and fifty feet away. Church was about to assist another crewman in pulling up the gangplank.

  “Hold it, Sam. I’ve gotta go down. Something’s going on,” he said, dashing out into the steady rain. He bounded down the stairs to the bottom where he found the now obviously pregnant Rosie Cameron pleading with Bert Mann. She was a sorry sight; her clothes, hair and face, soaking wet. Lou’s heart went out to her.

  “Please, Bert, let me go up and talk to Doug,” she sobbed.

  “No, ’course yer can’t, Rosie. Ship’s
about to leave,” Mann said.

  Seeing Lou, Rosie turned to him, her eyes imploring. “Oh, sir. Can you get Doug for me? Please, I beg you. I must talk to him.”

  The out-of-breath policeman arrived on the scene. Lou held up his hand.

  “It’s all right, officer, we can deal with this.” He turned back to Rosie. “That’s not possible, Rosie. What you got there?”

  Rosie grabbed Lou’s arm, burying her face in his shoulder. “It’s a letter for Doug. Can you give it to him—please, please?”

  “Sure I can, Rosie.”

  She handed over the soggy letter. Lou put it in his inside pocket.

  “I’ll make sure he gets it. Don’t worry.”

  “You must go home now, Rosie. You can’t stay here,” Mann said.

  “Come along, miss,” the policeman said.

  Rosie nodded and walked off toward the gate, the policeman following. Lou glanced up at the ship. A bright, amber light shone down from the long windows of the promenade deck and her red navigation lights flashed on the port side where he stood. Three engines were up and running now, their blades spinning. Torrents of water ran down the ship’s outer cover and spilled to the ground. A black cloud shot from engine No. 4. He bounded up the stairs. At the top, Mann followed Lou to the gangplank where a concerned Capt. Ralph Booth stood bundled in rain gear.

  “What are you doing here, Ralph?” Lou asked.

  “Just wanted to wave you fellas off. Take care of yourselves,” Booth said, shaking Lou’s hand.

  “You wanna trade places?” Lou shouted above the wind and engines.

  “Can’t tonight—gotta wash my hair.”

  Lou went aboard. Church and Hunt pulled up the gangplank and closed it from inside.

  “You might save a marriage, sir,” Church called after Lou.

  “I think it’s a bit late for that, Sam,” Lou replied.

  Lou went to the crew’s sleeping quarters, passing Jessup in the crew mess having his evening meal of bread, cheese and cocoa. He’d missed the commotion with Rosie, which Lou figured was a good thing. Lou found Cameron on his bunk reading a magazine. He handed him Rosie’s letter. Cameron screwed up his face. “What’s this?”

  Lou spoke kindly. “Rosie’s been here. She asked me to give you this. She wants your forgiveness, Doug”

  Cameron snorted with disgust and threw the letter down on his pillow. “Fuckin’ stupid bitch,” he muttered.

  By the time Lou got to the control car to report what had happened, all engines except No. 1 were running smoothly, their propellers whirring in the sparkling raindrops. Lou went back up to the chartroom.

  In the control car, Irwin glanced across at Atherstone. “Take over the elevators from Potter. Let me know how she feels.”

  Potter went up and stood in the chartroom beside Lou with Johnston, Brancker and Scott. The speaking tube whistle sounded and Steff put it to his ear. “They’re having trouble with No.1, sir. Hunt says they can’t get the starting engine going,” Steff said.

  “Tell them to keep trying,” Irwin said. He raised his eyes and glared at Scott as if it was his fault. Scott stared back with bloodshot eyes as he paced back and forth along the rail. Finally, engine No.1 fired up with a shower of sparks in the blackness and all five engines were humming smoothly. Lou had concerns about weight, especially since the cover was totally saturated. The process of ballasting up began, so the ship could rise when they slipped from the tower.

  “She’s nose heavy. Drop two half ton bags at Frame 1,” Irwin ordered.

  This was done. A fine mist appeared in the floodlights.

  Irwin wasn’t satisfied. “Not enough. Drop two more at Frame 1 and two half tons at Frame 6,” he snapped. That seemed to do the trick. Irwin appeared more comfortable the ship could rise. “Okay, slip now!” he ordered.

  Lou marveled. This had to be the toughest getaway ever undertaken, lifting more men and dead weight into the air than any craft in aviation history—and in the foulest conditions. As the bow lifted and was released from the tower, the crowd roared. Pushed by engines 1 and 2, the airship drew backwards and rose above the tower, falling off to starboard.

  “Cut engines 1 and 2 and convert to running forward. All engines at seven hundred rpm’s.” Steff telegraphed the instructions.

  “She’s still heavy. Drop another ton at Frame 6!” Irwin ordered.

  The mighty Cardington R101, dangerously low over the crowd, slowly pushed forward, spewing water from her ballast tanks, wallowing into the night. From the control car, they saw signals from loved ones on the ground who were using flashlights. Car headlights flashed on and off and horns sounded nonstop.

  “Okay, Captain, get all engines up to eight twenty-five,” Scott ordered from the rail above. Irwin nodded to Steff who relayed the order by telegraph.

  “How’s she handling, Captain?” Brancker called down.

  Irwin turned to Atherstone who muttered something inaudible.

  “Heavy as hell,” Irwin replied.

  “Let’s try her on another tack,” Scott said.

  “Turn ninety degrees to starboard. Steer forty-five degrees toward South End,” Johnston called down.

  “That’s good, Johnnie,” Scott said, pacing to nowhere.

  The ship pitched and rolled. Nobody spoke.

  “How is she now?” Scott asked finally, leaning on the rail again.

  “Like the Titanic,” Irwin replied.

  The ship, traveling downwind, moved along a northeasterly track. Lou turned to the chart table. Johnston pointed to the map. “We’re over the captain’s house on Putroe Lane.”

  They’d barely reached six hundred feet. Lou wondered if Olivia had reached home and how she was feeling.

  If she’s watching this, she’ll be horrified.

  Irwin called up to Lou. “Take a look round the ship, Lou.”

  Lou passed through the lounge, where Thomson sat in silence opposite Colmore. Neither of them spoke as he went by. He walked into the dining salon. The tables had been set for dinner. Some had been pushed together, forming a head table at one end. Pierre entered and smiled nervously at Lou, hoping for his approval.

  Lou nodded. “Everything looks great, Pierre.”

  “I’m waiting to hear if they’ll be dining this evening, sir,” he said.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Lou said, on his way out.

  He headed out onto the catwalk where Leech and Rope were making an inspection. The wind had picked up. Rain beat like gravel on the cover in squalls, while the valves expelled gas in great puffs. Lou eyed the surging gas bags and wondered if they’d have any hydrogen left by the time they reached Egypt—if they reached Egypt! He got level with Leech, who no longer seemed so carefree. “She’s pitching a bit, isn’t she?” he said, glancing at Rope.

  “She’s bound to in this weather—but I’m not unduly worried,” Rope replied.

  They heard someone behind them and turned. It was Jessup. He stood on the catwalk holding the rail.

  “What’s up, Jessup?” Leech barked.

  “Just making some inspections, sir,” Jessup responded, glancing at Lou.

  “Good man,” Rope said.

  Lou nodded and went to engine car No. 5 to check on Binks and Bell. The flap was already open. When he peered down the ladder, he noticed the propeller was still. He returned and got Leech, keeping an eye out for Jessup—but he’d disappeared. They made their way down, clinging to the slippery rungs. They could see by lights on the ground, the ship was turning a hundred and eighty degrees to port. They squeezed into the engine car.

  “What’s up?” Leech asked.

  “She was running okay for a while then the pressure dropped—so I shut her down,” Bell replied.

  “All right, I’ll let your foreman know,” Leech said.

  “Could be something wrong with the gauge,” Binks said. “The engine sounded fine.”

  Lou and Leech left Binks and Bell to wait for their supervisors. Lou went back to the chartroom while
the ship now traveled in an easterly direction—still within striking distance of the tower.

  “What’s going on?” Scott demanded.

  “No.5’s down. Oil pressure dropped, sir,” Lou said.

  “They’ll fix it,” Scott said.

  Irwin scowled up at Scott. He raised his voice to Johnston. “Where exactly are we, Johnny?”

  “We’re over Marston Thrift Wood. Let’s turn ninety degrees to port, Captain, while you decide what we’re gonna do,” Johnston said.

  Just then, Colmore arrived from the lounge expecting a report. “The weather appears to be worsening,” he said. “Are we going back to the tower?” He looked down at Irwin and then at all the other faces. Everyone ignored him.

  Finally, he got an answer. “She seems all right to me. I suggest we make tracks for London. Anyone disagree with my decision?” Scott said.

  Colmore looked forlorn. “But Scottie, what about the engine? I hate to start a voyage with one engine down already,” he said.

  “They’ll get it back up, don’t worry,” Scott said.

  “But the weather’s—”

  “You’re right—it’s getting worse. It’s too dangerous to attempt a landing at Cardington now.”

  “Wait, Scottie, I think we should discuss this.”

  “What do you think, Captain Irwin?’’ Scott shouted down to the control car.

  “It’d be much too dangerous. But let’s face it, that was obvious from the start, wasn’t it. Now, we have no choice,” Irwin replied.

  Lou glanced at Colmore. He’d been outwitted. He understood how both Colmore and Irwin had become virtually powerless. Scott had usurped them—enabled and sanctioned by Thomson, since their last-minute meeting with him in London.

  Scott’s mind was ticking over. “Look, Reggie, if anything goes wrong, we’ll make contingency plans to land in France, that’s all.”

  “Do you really think we could?” Brancker said.

  “Oh dear,” Colmore mumbled, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.

  Lou knew this was a false hope for Colmore to cling to—if they couldn’t dock in Cardington, they couldn’t possibly land in France in this weather without facilities or huge teams of trained men.