Dinner was well underway when they arrived. The diners were finishing their first course, oblivious to the near catastrophe just beneath their soft-soled shoes, which they all had to wear. The mood was upbeat and Brancker was relating tales of his world travels and wild affairs, his face flushed with the four glasses of wine added to the whisky, brandy and champagne. Everyone laughed and enjoyed his stories, or appeared to—Lou put it down to nerves. He’d seen all that before.
“...so there we were, stranded on the bloody lake in Jinja with the lady standing on the plane’s floats in the most delightful pair of the shortest shorts with the damned crocs and me eyeing those beautiful legs. I think they were thinking about lunch—”
“And you were a tad hungry yourself, I suspect, Sefton, what!” someone said.
“Yes, I was getting hungry all right. Damned hungry!”
The room erupted. Thomson smiled at the four officers who’d just arrived.
“There you are, gentlemen. Is everything under control?” Thomson peered at Irwin, who was trying to suppress a yawn. Atherstone appeared just as tired.
“Yes, sir,” Irwin answered.
“Will we be showing ourselves over the West End?” Thomson asked.
“Over the city, actually.”
“What a pity.”
“If you like, I’ll ask Johnston if we can divert course slightly,” Irwin replied.
“Would you? That would be such a wonderful gesture. It’s Saturday night and the revelers will be out. It would give them such a thrill,” Thomson said.
“I’ll see what we can do, sir,” Irwin said.
Irwin explained they didn’t have much time and the stewards rushed off and brought the three late arrivals soup and bread rolls. The officers refused wine for water and tea.
“I wonder, will we be passing over Beauvais?” Brancker asked, looking at Irwin. “Treacherous place!”
“Ah, Beauvais. I made an unscheduled stop near there last year,” Thomson said.
“An emergency, sir?” Richmond asked.
“Yes, the weather was rough and we couldn’t get into Paris due to fog.”
Thomson related his adventure of landing near Allonne in the dark and being taken to shelter by a funny little rabbit poacher named Rabouille, while they waited for transport to take them to the station.
“So, will we be passing that way, Captain?” Thomson asked.
“The navigator has us maintaining a safe distance from the ridge.”
“We must be careful,” Thomson said.
“They will be, sir, I’m sure,” Scott said.
The officers finished their soup.
“We must go. It’s time to change the watch,” Irwin said, getting up.
“Yes. I’m on duty,” Atherstone said, following Irwin back to the control car. Lou remained behind to finish his coffee. Pierre switched off the gramophone and put the wireless on. The BBC News came on after the sound of Big Ben striking the hour and the familiar signal.
Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beeeep.
‘This is the BBC Home Service. Here is the nine o’clock news. This evening, at seven thirty-six, precisely, His Majesty’s Airship Cardington R101 left the tower in Bedfordshire to begin the first leg of her maiden voyage to India. The airship will travel across France toward Paris and then down to the Mediterranean and on to Ismailia, where a banquet will be held aboard in honor of King Fuad—the King of Egypt. From Egypt, the airship will fly across the Arabian Desert to Karachi in Northern India. A number of dignitaries are on board for this historic flight, including the Secretary of State for Air, the Honorable Lord Thomson of Cardington, Sir Sefton Brancker, Director of Civil Aviation and Major Herbert Scott, the first man to command an aircraft making its return flight to America. Also on board, are other high-level staff members of the Royal Airship Works along with representatives from Australia, India and the United States. The weather forecast for the first leg of the journey promises a stormy passage, but it will be plain sailing once the airship reaches the Mediterranean tomorrow ...’
92
FIRST NIGHT WATCH: 20:00—23:00 HOURS
Saturday October 4, 1930.
Atherstone had taken over the watch and was busy writing up the hourly report when Lou returned to the chartroom. Pierre followed him, bearing a plate of roast beef sandwiches. He placed them in front of Johnston at the chart table with a mug of tea. Johnston thanked him and ate ravenously. Leech came and reported that the pressure gauge had been replaced and No. 5 was running smoothly once again.
“What’s our position, Johnnie?” Irwin asked. Lou leaned over the map with Irwin. Johnston continued eating. Pierre hung around. He liked to be aware of their position so he could inform Thomson, if asked.
“We’ve covered thirty-nine miles over the past hour. We’re up against a virtual head wind varying between twenty and thirty miles per hour. We’re over Hadley Common, approaching Alexandra Palace—after that, we’ll be looking for the Cattle Market.”
“His Lordship wants to fly over Soho. What do you think?” Irwin asked.
“What’s he wanna wave to his old girlfriends?”
“Be nice, Johnny,” Irwin chided.
“Okay, since it’s his show, we’ll continue down to the West End and make a left turn at Big Ben and Westminster Hall, then along the river toward Greenwich,” Johnston said.
“Johnny, you really are the best,” Lou said.
“Yes, he’s lovely,” Pierre said, before returning to the dining room with Johnston’s plate.
“I’m gonna lie down,” Irwin said. “Come and get me if you need to.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Lou said.
Five minutes later Atherstone called up from the control car. “We’re coming up to the Cattle Market, Johnnie.”
“All right. Time to change course. Steer 210 degrees. That’ll take us over Piccadilly and down to Westminster.”
Johnston marked the time down on the chart—9:15 p.m.—as he’d been doing throughout the flight. The rudder coxswain brought the nose round onto the new heading. The ship ‘crabbed’ against the weather to stay on course. As they closed in on London, Hunt arrived in the chartroom to make a strange announcement.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. We seem to have lost a crewmember. He’s supposed to have come on watch, but no one can find him. I had to put someone else in his place.”
“Who’s gone missing?” Atherstone asked.
“Jessup. No one’s seen him, I suppose?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Wait ‘til I find that bugger, I’ll kill ’im. He’s ruining my kip,” Hunt muttered, as he left to resume his search.
Lou was suspicious. Maybe Jessup was lying in wait somewhere.
The whistle on the speaking tube sounded. Atherstone listened, exasperated. “Damn! The bloody oil pressure on No. 5’s dropped again.”
Lou left the control car to inspect the engine himself. He climbed down the ladder in the atrocious weather and entered the engine car. It was warm and quiet—too quiet. Binks had taken over from Bell and stood glaring at the engine with Leech and another charge hand.
“What’s up now?” Lou asked.
“There was nothing wrong with the gauges. We’re gonna have to inspect the big end bearing and main bearings. After that, we’ll check the relief valve,” Leech said.
In cramped conditions, Binks began removing the eight inspection covers. Lou wished them luck and climbed back up the ladder into the ship to give Atherstone an update. After that, he walked the ship from stern to bow, moving around carefully on the catwalks in case Jessup was lurking somewhere. There was no sign of him.
In the dining room, Thomson and his party were finishing their coffees and enjoying brandy and port chasers. Their stimulating conversation covered aviation, war, women and horses. Pierre came and stood beside Thomson.
“Sir, I’ve been informed we’re coming up to the West End, if you and your guests would like to remove to the promenade deck.”
With “Blue Skies” belting out by Al Jolson from the gramophone, everyone followed Thomson’s lead. Colmore, Scott, Brancker and Richmond stood with Thomson.
“We’ll have blue skies when we get to the Med, sir,” Scott said. “That, I can promise you.’’
“Champion, Scottie!”
They stared from the windows into the bright lights of London, startled to see the roof tops so close. On the glistening streets of Piccadilly, cars were stopping to get a better look. People peeped at them from under umbrellas in swirling rain. Hundreds sheltered in doorways gazing upward while the airship pushed on relentlessly. Thomson caught sight of His Majesty’s Theater. He knew Bitter Sweet was still playing. He couldn’t read the billboards, but he knew what they said. Marthe had so enjoyed that musical. He’d been by the theater many times and read them since—treading the precious ground she’d walked on. Sadness seized him. He smiled wistfully—such fond memories, and yes, they were indeed bitter sweet! What was she doing at this moment?
Those Romanians like to stay up half the night!
He glanced at his watch: it was 9:22 p.m. They were two hours ahead in Bucharest. He knew she’d now be back at Mogosoëa. He doubted she’d be in bed yet—she may be entertaining. So many admirers! The thought depressed him, but he fought it off as he usually did. At times like this he thanked God she wasn’t the over-sexed siren they made her out to be.
Maybe she’s writing—who knows, perhaps to me.
Over Trafalgar Square, Thomson peeked out at the wet lions guarding the fountains. And then at his idol, Lord Nelson, standing high on his column, looking in their windows.
Oh, that I would someday be as revered as thee!
A red double-decker stopped below for the passengers to get a good look. The conductor stared up from its exterior, curved staircase. He was, no doubt, excitedly announcing that Cardington R101 was overhead on her maiden voyage to India!
How rapidly the world is changing! Thank God I can play my part.
The ship traveled down Whitehall toward the luminous, white faces of Big Ben standing mute next to Westminster Hall, his most favorite Gothic room in all of England!
Just before 9:30 p.m., Lou and Giblett composed a message to Cardington using the ship’s call sign.
CROW: 20:21. GMT. Crossing London. All is well. Rain moderate, heavy at times. Low cloud. Base ceiling 1500 feet. Winds 25 mph at 240 degrees. On course for Paris via Tours, Toulouse and Narbonne.
Lou showed the message to Atherstone. After taking it to Disley for transmission, he rejoined Atherstone in the control car where Johnston was giving Atherstone the new course for Greenwich. Lou winked at Cameron, but he didn’t respond.
Poor guy’s still upset about Rosie.
Lou figured Cameron had read Rosie’s letter. The envelope was sticking out of his back pocket, its flap ripped open, its edges stained with blood. Lou was puzzled.
Must have cut himself.
The time had come to gain altitude. The ship turned over Westminster Hall and flew east toward Greenwich, along the river. They passed over Greenwich Observatory and the Royal Naval College, then Greenwich Park, where they turned onto a heading of one hundred and ninety-five degrees, toward Blackheath Park Station. Atherstone ordered Lou to dump a ton of ballast from Frame 6. They’d replenished plenty from the rain now. The ship became lighter as they burned fuel. They dropped another ton and Cameron brought the ship up, keeping an eye on the altimeter. They were soon up to twelve hundred feet. The North Downs, Johnston told them, would rise to eight hundred feet. Their concentration was high and intensifying—there’d be no room for error.
Twenty minutes after leaving Greenwich, they thundered on toward Eltham and Crockenhill. Over Lullingstone Park, Johnston had them turn the ship through forty-eight degrees to starboard and from here they traveled along the Darent Valley through the Downs. Lou marveled at Johnston’s navigational skill as they wove their way between the Kentish hills—especially in such foul weather with little or no visibility.
Lou returned to the chartroom, where Disley came in with a message. Giblett read it and laid it down silently in front of Lou and Johnston. They leaned over reading the contents together with growing alarm.
To: CROW. From: Met Office, Cardington.
A trough a low pressure along coasts of British Isles is moving east. Ridge of high pressure over southern France forecast for next 12 hours. SE England, Channel and Northern France Wind at 2000 feet will be from 240 degrees at 40 to 50 mph. Low cloud with rain.
Johnston scowled. “I wish we’d known this three hours ago.”
“These winds will be double what we were told,” Giblett said.
“What’s going on up there?” Atherstone called up.
“They’re now telling us the winds are going up to fifty miles per hour,” Johnston replied. Fear showed in the coxswains’ faces.
Atherstone winced.“You’d better inform the captain,” he said.
Lou went to the captain’s cabin adjacent to the chartroom and called from behind the black curtain at his door.
“Come in, Lou. What’s up?”
Lou pulled back the curtain. Irwin was lying on his back, wide awake.
“A weather report just came in, sir.”
“I presume it’s bad news.”
“The winds are expected to kick up to fifty miles an hour.”
Irwin swung his feet down off the bed and sat up. He rested his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and sighed. “This is turning into a full-fledged gale,” he said. Lou knew he must be thinking about Olivia. “There’s not much we can do—we’re stuck.”
“’Fraid so, sir.”
Lou returned to the chartroom where they were still engaged in negotiating their way across the Weald through the Downs. He went back down to assist Atherstone in the control car. As soon as they reached Sevenoaks, they made a right-angled turn to fly due east, passing Kemsing on port. The ship was turned again to pass through another gap between Borough Green and Ightham and then onto a southerly track for Tonbridge.
Atherstone turned to Lou. “D’you mind checking No. 5 again, Lou?”
“Not at all. I love it out there.”
Lou put on his topcoat and disappeared along the gangplank toward the problem engine. He climbed down the cat ladder. It felt like the winds had increased a lot. Inside the car, Binks had removed the inspection covers. Leech was examining the big end bearings and main bearings. Lou waited for Leech to speak.
“Can’t tell you anything yet, sir,” Leech said. “Might know something in another hour.”
“I’ll come back later,” Lou said.
Back in the control car, Lou attempted to see through the rain.
“Where are we now, sir?” he asked Atherstone.
“We’re passing Tonbridge on starboard.”
Lou looked across at the lights, but ascertained little in the blinding rain. He checked the altimeter. They’d dropped to eleven hundred feet. Atherstone spotted it, too.
“Cameron, bring her back up to twelve hundred. Concentrate!” he ordered.
Lou stayed in the control car on watch, while Atherstone took a break. When Atherstone returned, Lou checked with everyone and then went to rest in his own cabin. He’d be back and forth as relief watch and navigator for most of the night. Irwin remained in his cabin and as Lou passed by, he noticed light under the door curtain. He worried about the captain. He thought he heard a sob.
Lou lay down with a light on over the night table. He’d dreaded this. It reminded him of the Canadian voyage. He’d been so euphoric then. All those times while he’d lain in his bunk thinking of her and making plans, she’d been cleaning up and getting the hell out—but God, how he still loved her. The agony of being separated was too much to bear—especially tonight. He wondered what she was doing—if she’d listened to the 9 o’clock news. Maybe she’s out with someone else—perhaps this Robert guy. The thought
was intolerable. He felt like a failure—he’d not measured up.
Maybe she’s got someone who can give her what she craves. A kid.
He glanced at the time: it was 10:20 p.m. They’d soon be coming up to Bodiam Castle. He could faintly hear the sound of the gramophone above. “Sittin’ on Top of the World” was playing.
That’s a laugh! She could be right, though. Perhaps this is the end. No—the thunderstorm over Montreal was worse. We survived that. I’ll take John’s advice and try to see her again when we get back—if we get back!
He glanced at the picture frame on the bedside table—the family, Julia, Jeb and Alice. Somehow, at this moment, the frame had more significance than the photo. Even the sight of it caused him pain. Why the hell had he used the same frame? He studied his father, trying his best to smile. He wondered how he was doing. What was it, six weeks since he’d seen him? Did he look worse? Many of Lou’s boyhood days with his father had been rancorous, but they’d gotten closer that last day than during his entire life. Lou switched off the light and lay back.
The darkness accentuated the movement and sounds of the swishing, buffeting wind and rain. It sounded like the ship was being peppered with shards of glass. The engines were noisy, too—more intrusive than Howden R100’s.
Ol’ Nev and Wallis would love to hear that!
He missed Nevil and Billy being around. But at least Potter, Binks, Church, and Dizzy were on board. His mind wandered to Mrs. Hinchliffe. Perhaps he should have taken her up on her offer!
She’s a beautiful woman.
He thought about Julia. He wondered if it was time to start taking an interest in other women. He didn’t feel ready for that. His mind changed the subject. He thought about the American airships and the interest expressed in him in Washington. Perhaps he should retire from this crazy life and help his family make moonshine and grow carrots and corn—and keep the Klan at bay!
The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue. Page 70