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

by David Dennington

  “He came and got me in Yorkshire and informed me about the crash—unlike you people at the Air Ministry, who failed to tell anybody what was going on for more than twelve hours!” Charlotte snapped.

  The short one glared at Norway. “You have no business being on this crash site. Are you here to gloat?”

  “H-how d-dare you, sir! M-many of the men on this ship were good f-f-friends of mine.”

  “Well, you need to leave. Immediately.”

  “You d-don’t have any j-jurisdiction. This is F-France, not W-Whitehall. And I should have thought you’d have been p-pleased I am here. I’m one of the last remaining airship engineers in England. Anyhow, we’ve seen enough,” Norway said.

  “Remember what I said—do not talk to the press,” the tall one said.

  The French workman came to Charlotte holding out the folded ensign. “Madame, pour vous,” he said.

  “I’ll take that,” the short one said, putting out his hand. “Give it to me at once.”

  The Frenchman sneered in disgust. “Non, non, non. First, I give it to zee lady. I got it for ’er. She can give it to you, if she pleases.” He handed the ensign graciously to Charlotte, as though it were a ceremonial relic, bowing his head. Charlotte received it solemnly, hugging it to her breast.

  “Merci, monsieur. C’est très gentil de votre part. Vous êtes un gentilhomme.” Then, turning to the Englishman, she said, “You shan’t have it! My husband will take the flag home.”

  Norway took out the red keyring and placed it in the man’s upturned palm. “Here, you c-c-can have this s-souvenir instead,” he said. “And by the way, w-were there any w-women on board?”

  “Of course not,” the tall one grunted.

  Norway fished out the woman’s shoe and thrust it at him.

  “I s-suggest you do m-more investigation,” he said.

  99

  CHURCH

  Monday & Tuesday October 5 & 6, 1930.

  After Charlotte’s party had arranged for somewhere to stay, Charlotte spent the afternoon visiting hours with Lou. He told her about his trip to Canada—not so much about the trip as the plans he’d been making. He’d had a lot of time to think, he said. He mentioned his encounter with Bobby’s parents at Union Station. He was surprised when Charlotte told him she’d tracked Elsie down and given her Bobby’s message, still in its cardboard tube attached to its parachute, just as the girl on the waterfront had found it. Charlotte said Elsie had never married and had ‘matured into a fine-looking woman’ and her daughter ‘was a sweet lass’. When Charlotte showed up at her door, Elsie had been touched and thankful. Charlotte was happy to find out that Bobby’s parents had already made contact and were making plans to visit England to see their granddaughter. Elsie was looking forward to seeing them. Bobby’s note in the tube, she said, had seemed like a miracle from heaven, coming when it did.

  While Lou and Charlotte caught up on events, the others sat and talked with Leech, Binks, Bell and Disley. They were all able to sit up in bed, despite dressings on their burns, mostly to their hands, arms and faces. They were delighted to see Charlotte. Church lay in an adjacent room at death’s door, swathed in bandages. Charlotte was granted permission to go in and see him.

  “He’s very ill, madame,” the nun whispered.

  “Can I speak to him?” Charlotte asked.

  “He may hear you. You can try.”

  Charlotte leaned over Church. Only his eyes and blistered lips were visible. His eyelids fluttered.

  “Sam, this is Charlotte. Irene and your Dad are on their way. Please wait.”

  Church made a little noise in acknowledgment and blinked his eyes. He moved his head slightly from side to side.

  “Dear Sam, try to get better,” Charlotte whispered.

  The nun shook her head. “He may last until tomorrow,” she whispered.

  Charlotte wondered what had happened to Irene and Church’s father.

  They should’ve been here by now.

  She returned to the main ward where Norway and John were chatting with Lou, who seemed much brighter. Lou’s face dropped when he saw in her eyes that Church was not long for this world.

  Church hung on bravely through the night. Irene still hadn’t arrived by morning and Charlotte was worried. Later in the day, after spending a couple of hours with Lou and visiting with survivors, Charlotte, Norway and John went to the town hall, where the dead lay in state in pine wood coffins, draped with a small Union Jacks.

  Charlotte counted five as having been identified, their names on the coffins. Walter Potter was the only name she knew. It made her cry. The rest had a number written on the end in large numerals. A small, wooden box rested on each coffin with its number. The back wall had been draped with black fabric.

  Four solemn French guards stood to attention with two Red Cross nurses. A line of people carrying flowers filed past, their heads bowed. A huge crowd had gathered around the square. It was time to load the coffins onto carriages, drawn up at the bottom of the steps. Charlotte and her companions left the town hall and stood at the curb in the crowd. Soldiers brought the coffins down and laid them in pairs in the backs of the twenty-three open carriages, each drawn by four magnificent horses. By 11 o’clock, forty-six coffins had been loaded.

  John tapped Charlotte’s shoulder. “Look—the survivors, who are well enough.”

  Binks, Bell and Leech were led to a place of honor in the procession and Charlotte pitied them.

  Those poor devils didn’t ask for this.

  As a band played God Save the King and the Marseillaise, a hundred and one gun salute was fired.

  “Lord Thomson is getting the full treatment today,” Charlotte muttered.

  “While the w-world watches,” Norway replied.

  The procession of firemen, policemen and all branches of the military moved off around Beauvais Square toward the railway station. A formation of aeroplanes flew overhead.

  They returned to the hospital in the middle of the afternoon. Lou was making progress, but Church was slowly slipping away. Charlotte couldn’t believe Irene still hadn’t arrived. The funeral procession to the station ended and Binks, Bell and Leech returned to the ward to rest.

  Later, a priest carrying a small case was led into Church’s room by the Mother Superior. Charlotte, Norway and John went in, too. Binks, Bell, and Leech stood along the wall beside Church’s bed. The priest put on a sash and took out bottles of holy water and oil and put them on the side table and administered last rites.

  Church opened his eyes, appearing fearful at first, then at peace. Charlotte took Church’s bandaged hand. She felt him squeeze hers weakly. Ten minutes later Church breathed his last. The priest put his bottles away, took off his sash and put it in his case. He nodded his head and left. A nun pulled the sheet over Church’s head. Binks sobbed.

  Not an hour later, Charlotte heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. She jumped up and went to the door, stopping Irene and Mr. Church in their tracks.

  “We couldn’t get a plane. They said the weather was too bad.”

  “Irene.”

  “We took the boat train to Calais …”

  “Irene!”

  “…and we’ve been travelin’ by car …”

  Irene’s voice trailed off as she stared into Charlotte’s face—the truth dawning on her.

  “Oh, no, no! Please, no!”

  Irene and Mr. Church wept as they were gently led away by the Mother Superior.

  MacDonald called Marthe on Wednesday, as promised.

  “Dearest Marthe.”

  “Ramsay.”

  “He came home last night. I was at Victoria at midnight to meet their train.”

  “So many times, he met me there.”

  “They crossed the Channel aboard Tempest yesterday afternoon,” he said. “The strange thing is—there’s one man they cannot account for.”

  “How odd. Perhaps the fire ...”

  “They’re in the Westminster morgue trying to identif
y them.”

  “What about him?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She heard him choke up. “I shall miss his friendship and his counsel ...” he said.

  “Yes, he always said he protected you.”

  “Aye, he did that.”

  “You know you can count on me, Ramsay.”

  “Thank you, lassie.”

  “He’d want that.”

  100

  ANOTHER FUNERAL

  Friday & Saturday October 10 & 11, 1930.

  The airshipmen lay in state in Westminster Hall the following Friday, their coffins draped in Union Jacks smothered with flowers. Thousands filed past in silence, paying their respects, including Lou, Charlotte and John. Lou had barely recovered, his head and arm in bandages, his other arm in a sling, but he insisted on being there. Lou was in awe of the place. The room was so massive. He stood at center looking up at the enormous roof beams. The scale reminded him of one of the sheds. He read a plaque on the wall. It said this was where King Charles I had been tried before being executed. Lou was enthralled. Now, he supposed they'd install another plaque dedicated to the victims of the Cardington R101 disaster.

  Later that day, memorial services were held in both St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Catholic Westminster Cathedral. Lou and Charlotte sat with the heartbroken Olivia Irwin. Before the service began, Lou gave Mrs. Richmond the ensign. “I know you’ll remember his last words to you from the elevator,” he said. She received it gratefully and asked the chaplain to lay it on the altar.

  Lou and Charlotte took part in the funeral procession the following day, riding in a car with Binks, Bell and Leech behind the twenty-four gun carriages. Each was drawn by four black geldings, their coats groomed to a sheen that glistened in the autumn sun. The number of coffins had risen to forty-eight, now including Radcliffe and Church. Disley was not up to taking part and Lou couldn’t help marveling that he’d managed to get to a phone in Allonne that night, despite his injuries.

  The two-mile procession wended its way from Westminster Hall, past Gwydyr House, to Whitehall, around Trafalgar Square and on to Euston, passing hundreds of thousands of grieving people. All flags were flying at half-mast. At Euston, the coffins were loaded onto a train, itself covered in wreaths. The mourners made the slow journey to Bedford, passing thousands standing silently beside the tracks, at railway crossings, on railway stations, on their allotments and in their back gardens.

  On reaching Bedford, the coffins were placed on trucks and taken to St. Mary’s Church, where a single grave had been dug in the tiny cemetery within sight of Shed No.1, where the hated Howden R100 remained in her prison, awaiting sentence. As the procession passed by, the bells of Bedford’s churches tolled. Hundreds of thousands of mourners stood in stunned silence.

  While prayers were being said by the RAF chaplain, coffins were walked slowly down a ramp into the grave and laid side by side. Lou thought it ironic that Thomson’s coffin wasn’t marked. He hadn’t been identified. He was just one of the unknown airshipmen.

  Lou and Charlotte stood at the grave’s edge with Olivia, Rosie, Irene and Sam Church’s family. Charlotte made a point of holding her hand out to Rosie and giving her a hug. She invited her to stand with them. Binks, Bell and Leech stood behind them with the legend of the airship world, friend of Brancker, Scott and Richmond—Hugo Eckener, the great German Zeppelin designer.

  Lou spotted Norway standing in the crowd with Barnes Wallis and John Bull. What must they be feeling right now? No one in the crowd recognized Wallis, who was wearing a flat cap. Where was Burney?—probably in America. Lou wondered about his own family in Great Falls. He’d write to them this week. He’d already sent them a wire to let them know he was okay. He and Charlotte needed to arrange a visit as soon as possible.

  Across the mass grave, he saw Prime Minister MacDonald in a black overcoat, hat in hand—with his mane of white hair and magnificent mustache—but, like everyone else, he looked desolate. When the last hymn ended, MacDonald walked slowly down the ramp to the coffins. He seemed lost, not knowing where to place two vivid, red roses he was clutching. Finally, he laid them down on the nearest unmarked coffin, where he stood, head bowed.

  After a few moments, he turned and walked up the ramp, glancing at Charlotte as he passed. Charlotte began to shake, as if he were an apparition. She’d seen MacDonald’s picture in the newspapers over the years, but it wasn’t until this moment that she recognized him. It was the same face she’d seen years ago, eyes full of bewilderment and sorrow as he’d approached her dressed in black, carrying his hat, then as now, in a casualty clearing station in Arras in 1918. She heard the voices of those two officers escorting him as plain as if it were yesterday.

  Our future Prime Minister!

  Preposterous!

  She was jarred back to the present by a covey of crows breaking from a tree. They swarmed across the cemetery above the mourners’ heads, a swirling black cloud, twisting and turning, over the gravesite and away across the vacant fairground. But for the sound of their wings, they were completely silent. Their disturbance had been caused by an approaching squadron of aeroplanes.

  As the service ended and the shadows grew long, the crowd stood in the chilly wind and watched MacDonald climb wearily into the blue Rolls. Everyone had a sense, not only of profound loss, but of uncertainty, which added to their misery. They knew this was the end of ‘Airship City’. They’d been cut adrift.

  Before leaving, Lou and Charlotte placed flowers on Freddie’s grave. They were driven home by Booth and his wife and, after an early dinner, went to bed. It was the first time they’d been in their own bed together since Lou had left for Canada aboard Howden R100. In spite of the dreadful events of the day, Lou’s injuries and weariness, it was a joyful occasion for both. Never before had Charlotte been so gloriously satisfied as she was that night—with all her mind, with all her heart and with all her soul. The airship was out of her life; so was Jessup; she knew she was going home; the unspoken had been spoken. At last, she was free.

  On Sunday, there was a knock on the door. The person standing on the step was someone Charlotte had never seen before. She introduced herself as ‘Mrs. Beasley’. She said she was William Jessup’s landlady. In her hand, she had a large, white paper bag, which she handed to Charlotte.

  “These belong to you,” she said. “I laundered them myself. I know the whole story. I wanted to make sure you got ’em back.”

  Charlotte was mystified. She opened the bag and peeked inside. She gasped.

  “Now, don’t you worry, Mrs. Remington. You take ’em. No telling when you might be needing ’em.”

  “Let me give you something,” Charlotte said.

  “Don’t you dare think about that, my girl,” the woman said, turning away.

  When she reached the bottom step she stopped and shook her head. “That Jessup was a bad lot. Got what he deserved I reckon—the only one that did.”

  She left with a nod. Charlotte closed the door. Lou was standing behind her. “What you got there, Charlie?” he asked.

  She opened the bag for him to look. He was puzzled.

  “The baby clothes! I thought you’d taken them with you,” he said.

  “It’s a long story, Remy,” Charlotte said.

  Lou smiled, “I’ve got plenty of time, honey.”

  Later that day, Lou wrote to his mother.

  58 Kelsey Street,

  Bedford.

  12th October, 1930.

  My Dearest Mother,

  I hope you and Dad are holding up. Tell Dad I think of him always and that I am praying for him. I want you to know I am doing okay. I will make a full recovery. I am so sorry if I caused you and Dad and everyone a lot of worry. Charlotte is with me! She came to Beauvais in France immediately after the accident.

  Please write to me often and tell me how Dad is doing. Not quite sure what the future will bring, but I guess I will leave the Navy soon. We plan to visit you and Dad as soon as possible via Ne
w York.

  Fondest Love,

  Your loving son, Lou.

  During the following week, his arm in a sling, Lou went to Cardington on the bus and wandered around. He looked inside the customs shed. Potter’s accordion was still on the back table where he’d last seen it. He picked it up. It made a few wheezing sounds. Terrible sadness washed over him.

  With the accordion slung over his good shoulder, Lou went to Shed No. 1 where he met Booth and Meager. They preferred to sit around next to Howden R100 than in Cardington House. They’d had no direction and went through the motions of going in each day and filling out pointless daily reports. He asked Booth if he wouldn’t mind dropping the accordion off at Kelsey Street. He’d take it to over Potter’s wife later.

  Lou went next door to Shed No.2 and looked inside. It was empty but for two men sweeping the floor. Lou stood quietly for a few moments remembering the noise, echoes, shouts, singing and laughing ... The silence was now absolute. He stood at the shed doors staring at the tower, remembering his morphine dreams. He turned away. It was all over. This was a milestone in his life, one also marking the end of an era in British aviation.

  He walked to Cardington House between the autumnal trees. Everything had a depressing air about it. His first visit, when Thomson had made his grand announcement had been enveloped in optimism. When he got to the great house, he saw two grey Air Ministry vans parked outside. A gang in grey boiler suits were busy loading them with file cabinets and office furniture. He went to Colmore’s office. It was bare: furniture gone; lockable filing cabinet gone; wall pictures gone. There were only clear patches where things had been and impressions in the green carpet where his desk had stood.

  Lou went to his own office. His files and logs were being removed, the operation supervised by two men in bowler hats—a tall one with a beaky nose and a short one with a limp.