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

by David Dennington

  After baring her soul, Charlotte felt indescribable relief. She was now, more than ever, desperate for Lou’s survival. A massive load had been lifted. Yes, she’d tell him everything. He’d understand why she’d held it back.

  Please God let him live.

  They were interrupted by a great rumbling. They looked round. Coming toward them on the London Road was a gaggle of motorcycle dispatch riders dressed in Air Force blue, helmets and goggles. When they reached the main square they split off and went their separate ways. Charlotte looked startled.

  Angels of Death!

  After a fifteen minute walk, Charlotte and John reached Church’s parents’ house on Doctor Street. It was on a run-down, working-class row of terraced houses on a narrow, cobblestone street. Charlotte lifted the old black knocker and rapped gently on the door. Church’s father answered, and by the look of his haggard face, he obviously knew. Irene stood behind him.

  “Mr. Church?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Charlotte—”

  “It’s Charlotte, Dad—Sam’s commander’s wife,” Irene said.

  “Come in, love,” Mr. Church said.

  They followed Irene down the narrow, dark passageway into a small back room with brown lino and a small piece of faded carpet in front of the fireplace. On the way, Charlotte caught the smell of a dog, and a roast cooking in the oven. In the tiny living room, a coal fire burned in the black iron grate. On one wall was a small crucifix and on another, a painting of The Holy Virgin with Child. The dining table under the window was set with a white table cloth for Sunday dinner. Church’s mother came out of the kitchen in her apron. All eyes in the Church family were red and swollen.

  “We’ve got to keep our strength up, ’aven’t we?” Church’s mother said, apologizing for cooking dinner in these circumstances. Charlotte put her arms around Irene and Irene’s tears started again. An old, black mongrel in its basket in the corner, trembled uncontrollably, watching them with sad, knowing eyes.

  “That’s Sam’s dog. He won’t come out of ’is basket. He knows,” Mr. Church said.

  “I was down at the newspaper office earlier,” Mr. Church said. “They’ve got Sam’s name up on the board as a survivor—I hope it’s still up.” He almost broke down again.

  “Yes, it is, Mr. Church,” Charlotte said.

  Irene looked down and shook her head. “God, I’m so thankful,” she said, “If anything happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “There’s nothing on the bloody wireless. It’s disgusting,” Mr. Church said.

  “What about your ’usband, Miss?” Mrs. Church said.

  “They’ve got his name up, too. We hope he’s going to be all right,” John said, although he hadn’t been introduced.

  “This is Mr. Bull—he’s a close friend of ours,” Charlotte said. Everyone nodded. “We’re flying over there tomorrow. Another friend has a plane—”

  They were interrupted by the sound of a motorbike outside in the street and then a loud bang on the front door. Mr. Church disappeared. They heard muttering. Irene ran up the passage and Charlotte heard them talking. They came back a few moments later. Mr. Church was holding a letter.

  “It’s from the Air Ministry. It says the airship crashed and Sam’s been severely injured and he’s in Beauvais Hospital…” He broke down and couldn’t speak for a few moments. “…It says his condition is …‘grave’.”

  Irene began sobbing. “We’ve got to get to him,” she cried.

  Mr. Church stopped crying. He was suddenly calm. He had a plan.

  “We’ll go to Henlow in the morning. I’ll borrow the money and charter a plane. We’ve got to be with the boy.”

  Charlotte and John headed back to Kelsey Street. After they’d mounted the front steps, a dispatch rider drew up on the road outside and parked his motorbike. He shuffled through some envelopes in his shoulder bag and pulled one out. He came up the steps to Charlotte.

  “Excuse me m’am, I’m looking for a Mrs. Remington.”

  “I'm Mrs. Remington.”

  “This is for you. Please sign for it.”

  He held out a clip board and Charlotte signed her name.

  “I’m so sorry, m’am,” he said.

  Charlotte’s heart missed a beat. He turned away and went back to the curb. His words worried Charlotte, had something happened to Lou? Was he dead? She opened the front door and they went into the living room. John stood by while Charlotte ripped open the envelope. Her eyes quickly scanned the letter. John waited.

  Air Ministry,

  Gwydyr House, Whitehall, London.

  5th October, 1930.

  REF. HMA CARDINGTON R101 G-FAAW.

  Voyage to India. Departure 4th October 1930.

  Dear Mrs. Remington,

  Regretfully, I must tell you that at nine minutes past two this morning, His Majesty’s Airship Cardington R101 crashed into a hillside in Beauvais, France. Your husband, Lt. Cmdr. Louis Remington U.S.N. survived the crash and is in hospital in Beauvais. Your husband’s injuries are extensive. His chances of recovery are favorable.

  Yours truly,

  Hugh Dowding,

  Air Member for Supply & Research. (AMSR)

  “Thank God. He’s still alive,” Charlotte said.

  They went down to the kitchen, where Charlotte showed Norway the letter. John switched on the wireless.

  Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beeeep.

  This is the BBC Home Service. We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin …’

  “Here it comes. It’s about bloody time an' all!” John growled.

  …it has just been confirmed by the Air Ministry in Whitehall, that His Majesty’s Airship Cardington R One hundred and One crashed on a hillside in Beauvais, France at nine minutes past two last night. The airship had been in the air since leaving Cardington at seven thirty-six on Saturday evening in weather conditions not thought, at the time, to be severe enough to delay the flight. However, weather conditions grew steadily worse over Northern France. There are nine survivors. Among the dead are, Brigadier General, Lord Thomson of Cardington, Secretary of State for Air, Air Vice Marshall, Sir Sefton Brancker, Director of Civil Aviation, Wing Commander Reginald Colmore, Director of Airship Development …’

  The following morning, Charlotte, flew with Norway and John to Beauvais. Weather conditions were extremely unpleasant. Charlotte was badly shaken and wondered how Irene and Mr. Church were faring with their charter flight. When they got to Allonne, Norway took the plane over the crash site before landing.

  The wreck looked like the skeletal remains of a massive, prehistoric sea creature. The front section had ploughed into the woods and crumpled up. The rear portion appeared intact. They could see the ensign fluttering in the breeze on the tail—the only fabric left on the entire craft. Hundreds of people stood around the edge of the site, with police keeping them as far away as possible—a virtually insurmountable task. Charlotte hoped all the bodies had been removed. Norway put the plane down at Beauvais Airport and they took a taxi to the hospital.

  98

  THERAIN WOOD

  Monday October 6, 1930.

  After she’d decided to unburden herself with Lou, Charlotte had been transformed. Her crushing depression was gone. Liberation had made her radiant. Lou had survived, knocked about, but he was going to be okay. In all this devastation, there were positive signs which she couldn’t dwell on due to the terrible price others had paid—people she’d come to love. She left the ward and went into the corridor where she found Norway and John chatting with Booth and McWade.

  “Fred and I walked the wreck site yesterday afternoon and this morning,” Booth said. “We came here to speak to survivors and take statements.”

  “We can’t go back in the ward for a couple of hours,” Charlotte said.

  “I’d like to take a look at the ship,” Norway said.

  “The bodies have been removed,” Booth told them. “When we arrived yest
erday they were pulling them out and laying them under sheets along the edge of the wood. It was bloody gruesome.”

  “Horrible!” McWade said, shuddering.

  Booth glanced at Charlotte. “He had a lucky escape, this one,” he said, pointing at McWade.

  Charlotte remembered first meeting him on Victoria Pier nine years ago. She went to him and put her arms around him. “Fred, Fred, Fred,” she said, burying her head in his shoulder.

  “All those men. I warned them,” McWade said, his eyes welling up.

  “If you’re going, I’m coming with you,” Charlotte said.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” John asked.

  “Yes, it’s important we bear witness. We’ll need to tell people what we’ve seen,” Charlotte replied.

  “I should warn you. Four more Air Ministry officials flew in today. They’re probably over there right now,” Booth said.

  They took a taxi to the wreck site and asked the driver to wait. They trooped across the field toward the blackened and twisted structure. It stood higher than the tallest trees of Therain Wood, alien and tragic. The odor of diesel and other burnt substances hung in the air. For Charlotte and Fred McWade, the scent of death brought back awful memories of a sunny evening on the waterfront in Hull.

  Gendarmes stopped them and asked for ID. Booth was in uniform and Norway held up his Cardington pass. They were waved on without argument. Charlotte walked between Booth and Norway to the stern. She stared up at the Air Force ensign attached to the crow’s nest, still fluttering nobly in the breeze. The rudder above them swung from side to side, squeaking. One of the workmen came to them, appearing friendly and wanting to talk.

  “Messieurs et Madame, were any of zeese people your friends or family?” he said in passable English.

  “Friends,” Charlotte said.

  “Ah, vos amis. What a conflagration! They were so burned they were small like children, their ‘eads shrunken like zis,” he held his hands together indicating the size of an orange. “There wasn’t much left of zem, Madame. They were light as a fever when we put zem in zee coffins.”

  “Have all the remains been removed now?” Booth asked.

  “Oui, oui—to zee Town ’all. Possessions we found—we found all sorts of fings er—watches—all stopped at ten minutes past two, er fountain pens, cuff links. We put everyfing in boxes and give zem a number—zee same as on zee coffin.”

  The Frenchman stooped down and picked something up and held it out to Charlotte.

  “Look at zis,” he said.

  She stared at the blackened, rubbery object, puzzled. He was holding the remains of an old-fashioned, black and dark green, steel beaded, kid pump with a Louis heel. The workman threw the shoe down in disgust.

  “Pah!” he muttered.

  My God, was there a woman on board?

  The man drew her attention away from the shoe, pointing up at the ensign.

  “Do you want it? I can get it for you.”

  While they were gazing up at the ensign, Norway hurriedly picked up the shoe and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Yes, please. We’ll take it home,” Charlotte said.

  “I will have it for you before you leave,” the man said, going off to find a big ladder.

  They moved on to look around the wreck. Charlotte stuck close to Norway the boffin, intensely interested from a technical standpoint. McWade stayed with them. John followed on behind, silent and forlorn, hands behind his back. No one from the Air Ministry appeared to be around. They went to the bow, where the remains of a bundle of fabric was still smoldering. McWade poked at it with a steel bar he’d picked up.

  “Look—a carpet,” he said.

  “It’s a Persian,” Charlotte said.

  “What’s left of it,” Norway said.

  “Probably worth a few bob—or was,” McWade said.

  “I wonder what it was doing there,” Charlotte said.

  “Strange place to s-stow it,” Norway said.

  Charlotte glanced at the ground nearby. Something red caught her eye. She picked it up. It was half of a playing card, burned and blackened at the edges; the Jack of Hearts. She slipped it into her handbag.

  They proceeded through the wreck with plumes of smoke rising from the ground around them. They gazed at the remains of the fluted columns, some still bravely standing, their little gold-leaf heads mostly gone. Charlotte felt sad; those false columns represented false hopes and misguided dreams. The group stopped and stared at the starboard engine car—now a melted, tangled piece of wreckage driven up into what used to be the envelope.

  “The poor devil in this thing didn’t have a chance,” Booth said.

  “Must’ve been blown to kingdom come,” McWade said.

  They went next to the location of the control car, its structure crushed, the silver coxswain’s wheels bent and twisted, along with the instrument panels and telegraph board. The water ballast main piping above the car and leading down to the valves in the car was mangled and broken. The floor was covered in a layer of black ash and soil washed in from the field by rain and ballast.

  Something caught Charlotte’s eye. “Nevil, what’s that?”

  Norway pulled out his knife and opened the blade. He poked around to expose the object—a ring with a red metal plate attached. Norway wiped the dirt off. “It’s a key ring with Cardington R101 on it. Look.”

  “I wonder who it belonged to,” Charlotte said.

  Norway slipped the keyring into his pocket. They left the control car and arrived next at a tree standing mysteriously in the middle of the wreck, undamaged, save for burn marks.

  “This tree is clear evidence of how gently this ship settled down,” McWade said.

  “They must’ve b-been head to w-wind, t-traveling at virtually z-zero,” Norway said.

  They stood looking at the tree as if it were sacred. They were joined by two more Englishmen, dressed in raincoats and trilby hats. Charlotte presumed them to be from the Air Ministry. They appeared officious, but not overly so. McWade seemed familiar with them. Charlotte and Norway wandered away into what Norway explained was the passenger cabin area. Charlotte spotted a glint in the dirt. She pointed it out to Norway who took his knife out again. He carefully unearthed a chain with a silver medallion attached. He cleaned it off, squinting closely.

  “Look, it’s a St. Christopher,” Charlotte said.

  Norway got down on his haunches once more and poked around.

  “There’s something else here,” he said. Pretty soon he had another object in his hands—a monocle. “Oh my goodness. Brancker must have died on this very spot. Oh, dear,” he said, painfully closing his eyes. He didn’t know Brancker personally, but the man was legendary and so was his monocle. He gave both objects to Charlotte. “Put them in your handbag.” They moved on and joined the others, where McWade showed them a broken cable on the ground. “Look at that, s-snapped clean in two,” Norway said.

  “We saw this earlier. That’s the elevator cable,” McWade said.

  “I expect the heat of the fire and the explosion caused that,” an Air Ministry man said.

  “Maybe and m-maybe n-not,” Norway said.

  “What do you mean?” the man said.

  “C-could have been caused by t-too much strain on the elevators, if they were t-trying to get out of a steep d-dive,” Norway replied.

  The Air Ministry man said nothing. They moved and stood between frames 8 and 9, where the extra bay had been inserted.

  “And that c-could’ve been what broke her b-back,” Norway went on.

  “Broke her back! I don’t see any evidence of structural damage,” the second Air Ministry man said.

  “She’s hogged. Look here,” Norway said, pointing at the keel structure. “She’s compressed at the keel, but the top members are stressed and broken apart, look. See that!”

  Two more Air Ministry officials joined them, obviously desperate to know what assumptions were being made. Both were dressed in black overcoats and b
owler hats. The tall one had a beaky nose and the short one, a limp. “May I ask if you’re authorized to be in this location? Who are you exactly,” the short one said curtly.

  Booth stepped forward. “I’m an officer with the Royal Airship Works. I was sent here yesterday to carry out an inspection and make a report after interviewing the survivors.”

  “And what about these people?” said the tall one with a smell under his beak. Charlotte stepped forward, ready to let him have it, her eyes blazing.

  “My husband was an officer aboard this airship. He’s severely injured, lying in Beauvais Hospital. I came here to visit him and to see this bloody wreck—and, I might add, he was a representative of the United States government!”

  The tall man's face showed little emotion, but she perceived a trace of caution in his manner. He turned to Norway and McWade. “I just heard you making statements about structural damage. Be very careful what you imply.”

  “We’re n-not implying anything. The f-facts speak for themselves,” Norway said.

  “And who are you?” the short one said, glaring at Norway.

  “My name is N-Nevil N-Norway.”

  “With whom?”

  “V-Vickers Aircraft Company.”

  The man’s eyes bulged in horror. “What the dickens are you doing here? You’re certainly not authorized!”

  “He brought me here. He’s my pilot,” Charlotte said.

  The man turned his gaze on John. “And you, sir? Who are you, may I ask?”

  “I’m taking care of Commander Remington’s wife. They’re my family,” John said.