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

by David Dennington

  “And who are you, sir?” the short, officious one said.

  “Commander Remington, U.S.N., Special Assistant to Wing Commander. Colmore, Third Officer, Royal Airship Works, Cardington.”

  “Hmm, I see. Got any documents in your drawers or at home—any records pertaining to airships R100 and R101, including any memos, instructions, letters, logbooks, photographs, reports, progress records, drawings, calculations …?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure. What’s happening to all the files?”

  “Going up to Central Filing. They’ll be available on an ‘as needed’ basis by request after special approval.”

  “Right.”

  “There is one other thing. There was a lady. I presume she’d be your wife, who brought back the Royal Air Force flag. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yes, it was on the altar in St. Paul’s. Now it’s on the altar of St. Mary’s,” Lou said.

  “I see,” the man said. He seemed resigned and turned briskly away.

  Lou went home.

  PART THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  101

  ANOTHER COURT OF INQUIRY

  November 1930.

  The Court of Inquiry began a month after the crash. It was held in the auditorium of the Institution of Civil Engineers on George Street, close to Westminster Hall. Lou sat with Charlotte and Olivia Irwin. The hushed room was full of Air Ministry officials, government bureaucrats, world press reporters, French witnesses and survivors, Binks, Bell, Disley, Leech, Savoury and Cook.

  Some aspects of the proceedings bothered Lou. He often saw small groups gathered around the entrance lobby or about the corridors engaged in deep conversation. The feeling of conspiracy was heightened when he saw the two bowler-hatted Air Ministry men jawing with Thomson’s secretary, Knoxwood, on various occasions. One time, he saw the same men in a deep conversation with Leech. They appeared to be bullying him, laying down the law, pointing fingers in his face. It all seemed irregular. These people seemed intent on keeping control of the evidence, lines of questioning and testimony.

  Furthermore, Lou heard the president of the court complaining on more than one occasion that the Air Ministry hadn’t provided requested documents. They were usually ‘about’ to send them, or ‘trying’ to locate them, or declared the said documents had been ‘mislaid’ or simply ‘gone missing’. It was unfortunate, they said. The court would just have to glean information through witnesses. But, of course, most of the people who knew the answers were dead.

  No meaningful discussion was had about the ‘grand competition’ set up by Thomson, pitting the teams against each another. The two most qualified and experienced airship designers in the country, Wallis and Norway, weren’t consulted, invited to testify or offer an opinion. They may have shown government as incompetent, or Thomson in a bad light. Instead, they preferred to interrogate people like their German airship competitor, Hugo Eckener or Monsieur Rabouille from Allonne, button maker by day, rabbit poacher by night. Wallis and Norway and the Vickers team were excluded, just as they’d been from the great funeral.

  Lou and Charlotte listened patiently while forty-two witnesses were cross-examined, charts explained, and models displayed. It was all terribly well-managed, but devoid of any real research. The ground rules were set early in the proceedings by the president of the court, who praised the design team and all those in government having anything to do with the structural integrity and vetting of the airship—clearly the structure wasn’t in question and therefore, not worthy of any discussion at all. The notion that the airship could have broken or deformed in the air, besides being painfully embarrassing, would have been intolerable to the public, especially after all the hoopla. The court and the public were skillfully directed by the President away from the subject and any notion that the crash may have been caused by or contributed to a massive structural failure. The press eagerly took this and disseminated it as truth. At least, they said, we can rest assured the ship didn’t break apart like R38/ZR-2 or Shenandoah.

  Lou believed, however, as did Capt. Irwin and McWade, that with the additional bay, her resilience had to have been diminished to some degree. Under ‘full elevators’ she’d broken her back—just as ZR-2/R38 had done under ‘full rudders’. The one thing Richmond had striven to avoid at all costs had occurred. But still, none of that would be examined—it’d all been under the government’s care and control and, therefore, off limits. Lou knew that if her back hadn’t broken, she might have made it out of Therain Wood, but only just; all that was moot. With the cover damaged beyond repair and the catastrophic loss of gas, both gradual and sudden, there was no hope for this ship’s survival and the officers knew it. The crash was inevitable. McWade had sounded the warning, but no one would listen.

  No questions were asked regarding the airworthiness of the ship or its fitness to make this journey. No mention was made of the fact that the ship had never flown in adverse weather conditions, nor been properly tested at full speed. No one questioned the qualifications of the main players, including the Minister of State for Air himself. No one asked what all these civilians (including Thomson) were doing on board this untested, unproven, experimental aircraft, making a ten thousand mile return trip to India. Neither was there any discussion concerning the fitness of Scott, Colmore, Richmond, or Rope to oversee this project or supervise or schedule such a voyage.

  Of course, despite the move afoot to create a whitewash, someone would have to take the fall. Lou sat fascinated when he realized just who’d been selected for that honor. It was a logical choice—one that the public would buy into. He remembered Commodore Maitland and he smiled to himself.

  Not on my watch, good buddies!

  The president of the court reminded Lou of the president of the court in Hull—another Oxford man, or was it Cambridge? Beautifully spoken, beautifully dressed. Lou watched as he addressed his own questions to one of the faceless senior Air Ministry bureaucrats.

  “What we need to know is: Who made the final decision to fly? Who was the man in charge of this airship?”

  “Captain Irwin, sir.”

  “He was the pilot in command. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Major Scott was on board, also. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, he was, but—”

  “In what capacity was he on board?”

  “As Rear Admiral or Commodore—a ceremonial position.”

  “He was a uniformed officer?”

  “He was wearing his uniform on the night in question, yes.”

  “He outranked the pilot in command, did he not?”

  “Yes, technically, but he was wearing his uniform more as a ceremonial thing.”

  “So, if he was the most senior uniformed officer ...I’m confused.”

  “It sounds confusing, sir, but really, it’s not.

  “All right. Let’s look at the flight to America in 1919. Who was the pilot in command of that ship?”

  “Major Scott.”

  “He was the captain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there a commodore or rear admiral on board that voyage?”

  “Yes, Commodore Maitland, sir.”

  “But Scott, as the captain, had full control?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Then it follows that this logic applies to this voyage to India. Captain Irwin was in full control. If he thought it imprudent to attempt to fly this ship to India then he should have—”

  A terrible shriek erupted in the courtroom. Olivia Irwin jumped up beside Lou. “How dare you! How dare you!” she screamed.

  Lou and Charlotte stood up and helped Olivia, now in a state of total collapse, out of the courtroom. Officials directed them to the library where she fell into a leather armchair, sobbing hysterically. A doctor was sent for and Olivia was given a sedative. Lou and Charlotte sat beside her and she took Lou’s hand. “Please, Lou,
don’t let them destroy my husband. They forced him to do what he knew was suicide. It was insane and he knew it. Now, they intend to destroy his memory.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my poor Blackbird, what are they trying to do to you,” she whispered.

  The following day it was Lou’s turn to take the stand. He was examined by the same solicitor general who’d cross-questioned him in Hull in 1922. They exchanged pleasantries, the solicitor general showing much respect for Lou. He questioned Lou about his role at the Royal Airship Works and his experience aboard R38. Then Lou’s perspective on the voyage to India was discussed in detail. Finally, Capt. Irwin’s role was called into question. It was what Lou had been waiting for. He was quick jump to Irwin’s defense.

  “You are not here, Commander, to give Captain Irwin a character reference!” the solicitor general snapped.

  “That may be the case. Nevertheless, sir, I shall give one to this court, just the same.”

  The court was stunned into silence. The solicitor general fumed.

  “Captain Irwin was one of the most skilled officers it has been my honor and pleasure to serve—and he was one of the finest human beings I’ve ever known. I would not be standing here today, if it were not for him. No blame should be cast on him, none whatsoever! The world must know that.”

  “So are you trying to say the captain was coerced?”

  “Yes, absolutely he was coerced!”

  The court went silent. No one asked by whom. No one needed to. That ploy turned out to be a miserable failure and abandoned immediately. Capt. Irwin’s name would be preserved for all time.

  When the court adjourned the next day, Lou caught up with Binks and took him in the library, having asked Charlotte to wait for him in the reception hall. They went in and stood by the window.

  “Tell me what happened on the ship that night, Joe.”

  “What d’you mean, sir? When?” Binks replied, his eye and cheek twitching furiously. This almost made Lou break into grin, but he managed to remain stern.

  “What did you do to Jessup?”

  “I don’t follow you, sir.”

  “Joe, you had blood on your jacket, Cameron had an envelope in his back pocket smeared with blood and Disley had blood on his right shoe. And if I’d seen Church, he probably had blood on him, too.”

  “Not much gets past you, does it, sir?”

  Lou held both his hands out, curling his fingers to his palms.

  “Come on, Joe, let’s have it!”

  “Well, before we left, we got together and decided we’d put Jessup out of action—just hurt him a bit.”

  “On my account?”

  “Yes, but Doug got a bit carried away and bashed ’is ’ead in and killed ’im.”

  “His head exploded, did it?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Just like the gypsy said it would?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do with his body? It wasn’t found in the wreck.”

  “We cast him into the sea—like Jonah, sir.”

  Lou screwed up his face. This was a conundrum, or was it? Maybe not.

  “I s’pose you’re gonna have to tell ’em, sir, aren’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Joe. I thought Jessup had been incinerated.”

  Binks sighed in relief then smiled fondly at Lou.

  “Oh, Joe, I want you to do something for me. You’re a good artist. Do some sketches for me of the goings on over these past years: the R100 the R101 and all the characters involved.”

  “Sure I can sir, I’ve done loads already. What do you want ’em for?”

  “I thought maybe we’d put them in a book someday,” Lou said.

  Lou and Binks came out of the library as Big Ben was striking four. Lou stood a moment, as he'd done many times in the past, admiring Charlotte from a distance. She was looking out of the window at the traffic, unaware of him. She looked so beautiful. He shook his head in wonder of her. Even though he’d used up all nine lives, he was still the luckiest man in the world! As he was thinking this, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the burnt remnants of Church’s Jack of Hearts. He’d brought it for Binks to put with the rest. But then, he decided to keep it. He put it in his wallet, where it would remain always. Church wouldn’t mind.

  The day after the Court of Inquiry ended, Lou received a telegram from Great Falls.

  Dearest Brother STOP Regret to inform you Father died last night at 3 am STOP Letter to follow STOP Love Anna

  A letter arrived three weeks later.

  Dearest Brother,

  I am sorry to tell you that on December 5th, at 3 a.m., our beloved father died at home on Remington’s Farm. During that last day, he asked Mother and me to tell you he loved you. He asked that you forgive him. He said he is thankful you are safe and that Charlotte is with you. A funeral service will take place at St. Peter’s this Saturday. We know you will be there in spirit. I will place a wreath on his coffin from you and Charlotte.

  You’ll be happy to know Jeb’s house is finished and they are pleased with it. Dad saw it when it was nearly complete and he liked it very much. Jeb is a lot better now, but his hair is snow white.

  Julia came and sat with Dad every day and during many nights over the last month. We all long to see you and Charlotte soon.

  Your ever-loving sister, Anna.

  P.S. In all this sadness and grief, there is some good news. Julia is to become our sister-in-law. (Father knew about it and it made him a very happy man.)

  P.P.S. What was it you whispered in Tom’s ear at Union Station?

  Lou smiled. He remembered word for word what he’d whispered:

  ‘Put your arms around Julia and never let her go. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I am very proud of you. I love you, my dear Brother.’

  When he’d got home to find Charlotte gone, he’d had a few moments of regret for uttering those words, but he knew he’d never have gone back on them. Would he answer Anna’s question? He would need to think about that.

  102

  CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS

  December 24, 1930.

  On Christmas Eve, Marthe was joined by Abbé Mugnier, her Catholic priest, spiritual adviser and friend, in her Paris apartment on the Left Bank. It was a frigid day. They sat drinking coffee at the window overlooking the stone terrace, bright in the morning sunshine. They reflected on their trip to the wreck site on Beauvais Ridge earlier that month.

  Marthe had dressed in black from head to toe and worn a veil. What a miserable day it’d been—cold and blustery—not unlike the conditions he must have faced that terrible night. It took them a long time to find the wreck, but in the end, after making enquiries, they discovered it some distance from the Meru road. Half of it was in a field, the rest in the woods—woods infested with rooks, their ghostly calls rasping and mocking. The birds were irritated still by the great incursion of the flaming beast and all the activity ever since.

  Marthe had taken a dozen red roses with her and laid them on the ground. A workman had shown them the exact spot in the mass of tangled steel where Thomson had died. Of course, Marthe knew this was impossible, but gave him a franc anyway. The man was helpful, but much too descriptive about the scene the morning of the crash. Marthe got down on her knees on a blanket while the Abbé conducted a short Requiem Mass for Thomson and all those who’d perished. After that, they visited Beauvais Cathedral where Marthe lit a candle for Thomson and said more prayers.

  “I shall miss him so much. No one could ask for a better friend,” Marthe had said, sadly.

  “Indeed. He was a very fine fellow, and now he is with God,” said the Abbé.

  Their reverie was interrupted by the sight of a boy entering the courtyard and climbing the steps. He carried a basket of flowers. He crossed the terrace with its stone balustrade and knocked on the door. Isadora ushered him in and told him to place the basket on the table in the circular entrance hall. Marthe was disturbed. They were Gén�
�ral Jacqueminot roses—only he sent her those... She jumped up and pulled out the card. Her eyes became wide with astonishment as she read the words.

  If I cannot be at your side on this joyous Christmas Eve, then my love comes to you with fifteen of our special roses, one for each of the splendid years I have known you since the banks of the Cotroceni—years which have given me exquisite pleasure and exquisite pain; pain which I have endured happily. Until we meet again, your eternally devoted love and friend.

  Now and forever, Kit.

  103

  A NEW DAY

  July 1931.

  It was a magnificent new day—a beautiful morning in July. Marthe delighted in the song of the larks drifting through the open windows. Ah, how she loved that sound.

  Yes, yes, so unmistakably English!

  She reflected on how beastly the last year had been.

  Thank God this year is showing signs of improvement.

  Luxuriating in the enormous bed, she stretched her limbs and let out a sigh of pleasure. The fine silk sheets felt good against her naked body.

  This bed is the very center of power. The most powerful place on earth! Kit was right. I am Cinderella! And who knows—perhaps the wife of a British Prime Minister one day…

  MacDonald, dressed in his black and burgundy silk dressing gown, awkwardly pushed the door open with his elbow. He entered slowly, concentrating on the tray of tea and buttered toast he held out before him.

  “What a darling man you are!” Marthe exclaimed.

  “Made it all ma self, in the scullery.”

  “Even the toast?”

  “Aye and I buttered it, too,” he said. “There’s marmalade and honey if you want some.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their breakfast.

  “We owe everything to him, you know,” she said suddenly.