Mr Feldt nodded. “Yes it is, but we aren’t expecting the model to encounter fighter planes or anti aircraft fire,” he replied. “Besides, we can make hydrogen here and it is cheap. We can’t get helium easily.”
“Helium? That is the gas that doesn’t burn,” Graham said.
Mr Feldt nodded. “Yes. It is inert, and lighter than air. I’m glad to see you pay some attention in class,” he replied with a dry smile.
Stephen blinked through his glasses. “It was hydrogen that caused the Hindenburg to explode wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes it was,” Mr Feldt agreed. “Apparently the Americans, who were the only country in the world with helium at the time, would not sell it to the Nazis.”
Stephen bent closer to study the model. It was so big he doubted if he could get his arms around it. He saw that it was constructed of a balsa wood frame covered with tissue paper, in the manner of the rubber-powered model aircraft he had made. Much of the bottom was open. This gave access for a dozen balloons which had been inserted empty into the framework. The balloons were not the cheap rubber variety but more expensive ones made of a silvered plastic which he had often seen at gift shops and at the show.
“Can’t you buy these balloons already filled with gas?” he asked.
Willy nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t want to try to build the model around them. Or at least that is how I did begin but several were melted by the glue and others were chafed by the frame and leaked,” he replied.
Stephen laughed. “Yes. It would be a nuisance. You would let go of the model for a moment and it would drift up to the ceiling!” He play-acted grabbing at an imaginary model in the air. “Hey! Come back!”
The others laughed. Willy shook his head. “That did happen, but it was the glue that was the real problem. Also I thought that if I tried to put the balloons in fully inflated when the model was finished that the holes would have to be so big they would seriously weaken the structure.”
“At least you haven’t got petrol motors,” Stephen observed. He gently fingered the propeller attached to a small electric motor. Two of these were mounted on frames either side amidships. Two more were mounted in the rear of the two ‘gondolas’ slung underneath.
Movement caught Willy’s eye. “She’s lifting!” he cried.
They all stared with mounting excitement. Yes! The model had begun to move. Slowly the tail rose up off the table. Then the whole airship lifted. Willy was ready for it, remembering the speed at which Airship No1 had risen up at the farm. He took a firm hold on the model and trembled with excitement, his face aglow. With his other hand he picked up a reel of nylon fishing line and placed the hook through a tiny ring on the nose of the zeppelin. He passed the reel to Stephen. “Hold this. And don’t let go.”
“A bit more gas,” Mr Feldt ordered.
Stick bent to the pressure gauge on the gas cylinder and made delicate movements of the tap. The model rose so that it was tugging at the plastic hose. Willy reached into a small container and extracted a lead fishing ‘sinker’ threaded onto a piece of bent fuse wire. Very carefully he hung this on a wire rail under the rear gondola.
This caused the tail of the zeppelin to subside so that the tail fin rested on the bench top. Willy quickly added a second weight to the forward gondola. The model settled to an even keel but sank down almost onto the bench.
Mr Feldt gestured to Stick. “That should be enough. Stop filling and unhook the hose.”
Stick turned off the tap. Willy seized the valve of the last balloon. Stephen held the model by its nose and the forward gondola while Willy disconnected the hose and shut the valve. Unavoidably some gas hissed out while he did this.
“Keep hold of the mooring line and let her go,” he instructed.
Stephen took his hands away. The model sank lower and rested on the bench top. Willy made a face and removed the stern ballast. The stern rose so high that the zeppelin almost stood on its nose. It began to rise slowly up.
“Hold her down Steve!” Willy called. His heart palpitated with concern as the tail of the model bumped the ceiling.
Noddy laughed. “Just as well the fans aren’t going,” he said.
Willy winced at the mental image conjured up. So much painstaking work, wrecked so easily! What an awful thought!
Stephen gently pulled the model down by the line. Willy gripped the starboard motor and carefully brought the airship to horizontal.
“Unhook the front ballast Stick,” he ordered. He took the fishing line from Stephen while Stick complied. Then Willy released the model. It shot upwards so abruptly it looked for a moment that it would crash into the ceiling. It stopped with a jerk as Willy held tight to the nose line. The tail rose once more, to about 45 degrees.
Willy had an instant flashback to Airship No 1 shooting up with Marjorie dangling from the mooring rope. He looked up at the model, at the gondolas, valves and balloons showing through the 10cm wide gap along the underside. A picture of looking up at Marjorie as he clung to her leg came unbidden to his mind. He glanced at her. She met his eyes and smiled. Willy couldn’t help it. He was so happy he smiled back. He said: “We have to get the trim right before we try to fly her.”
Mr Feldt agreed: “Your sinkers are too heavy. And they’re all the same size. You need a variety of weights.”
“What if we hang one either side on the balsa framework?” Stick suggested.
“Good idea,” Willy agreed. “It doesn’t matter if a bit of the tissue paper gets torn. We can easily repair it.”
“There are a couple of rips already,” Stephen said, pointing to some small tears.
“Won’t the gas escape?” Noddy asked.
“Noddy!” snorted Stick. “The gas is in the balloons.”
Noddy frowned. “So what is the tissue paper for?”
“In the real zeppelins it was a canvas cover to protect the crew, the gas bags and the equipment from the weather. On this model it is just to make it look like a real airship,” Willy explained.
“Aw! I didn’t know that,” Noddy replied. “I thought zeppelins were just one big balloon. You mean they had balloons in them like this one?”
“Yes, that’s right. So they could deflate them and repair them if they had to, or if they were holed they had some chance of surviving,” Willy answered.
“Unless they were attacked by fighters firing incendiary bullets and caught fire,” Stephen added. Using the fingers of his right hand to represent a fighter plane he swooped it down towards the model. “Brrrrrrr. tat-a-tat-a-tat! Gotcha!”
“Very funny! Watch out you don’t hit it,” Willy snapped. He then took a sinker and very gently pushed the hook through the tissue paper so that it hung from one of the balsa ‘stringers’ just abaft the starboard motor. The zeppelin settled a bit and rolled on its starboard side.
“Here.” Willy passed another sinker to Stick who positioned it in the corresponding place on the port side. The model settled down almost on an even keel but slightly down by the tail. Stick moved his sinker forward a centimetre and stepped back.
“Nearly. Another couple of millimetres forward with the other one.”
Willy made the adjustment. “Yes! That looks good,” he cried. He stepped back a pace. The huge model now floated just above their heads. ‘I’ve done it!’ he thought jubilantly. ‘I’ve built an airship model that really flies. Now dad will help me to build a real one. I will get to fly an airship!’
CHAPTER 7
THE HINDENBURG
“Start the motors Stick. One at a time. I’ll hold her steady,” Willy cried.
“Wait! No!” Mr Feldt called. “Wait till it is out in the open.”
“Yes sir,” Willy replied. “Can we take it into the quadrangle?”
“Certainly, but keep hold of that line in case the wind gets up. But I suggest you first take it along to the office. I’m sure the Principal would like to see it,” Mr Feldt suggested.
Willy did not really want to do that. He wanted to take the
model out where Barbara could see it. But with no way of politely refusing the teacher’s request coming to mind, he agreed. “OK sir. Right you lot, out of the way. Stick, you hold the tail and I’ll lead with the nose.”
The others stepped aside or spilled out onto the veranda. Stephen opened the door and held it back. Willy walked crab-wise to the entrance.
“Be careful as we go out,” he cautioned. “We don’t want a gust of wind to catch her. That could push her against the doorframe and break her back. That happened to quite a few real airships as they were being moved out of their sheds.”
He went cautiously through the door, continually looking around to ensure no part of the model was making contact. The model was so long that he reached the port rack on the other side of the veranda before he could turn. Slowly he and Stick began edging around so they could get all of the model zeppelin out of the room.
Willy took the opportunity to look across the quadrangle to see if Barbara was watching. There were plenty of other students visible, many now looking and pointing, but no sign of Barbara. ‘I hope she is still there,’ he fretted.
Several more students came running along the veranda to look. There were gasps of admiration and excited chatter. Willy changed hands and wiped perspiration off his fingers. The comments made him feel good.
But Willy was also worried about the crowd getting bigger. “Excuse me please. Make way!” he called over his shoulder. He began to edge along the far side of the veranda to allow Stick to get the tail through the doorway. His eyes met Marjorie’s. She was almost dancing with delight, her breasts bobbing up and down. “Steady!” Willy called, but he meant it for himself. ‘Keep your mind on the job, you weakling,’ he told himself. ‘And don’t be disloyal to Barbara.’
Stick manoeuvred the tail safely out. Willy looked over his shoulder to ensure he would not bump into anyone; and in the hope of seeing Barbara.
Instead his eyes locked with Scranton’s. Willy’s stomach turned over. The bully was only a metre away, hands on hips. Willy tried to pretend he wasn’t scared. He turned back to Stick and said: “OK Stick, start the rear motor and we will fly her along to the general office. I’ll keep holding the mooring line.”
Stick let go of the tail, reached forward and clicked a tiny switch. The battery powered electric motor started at once, emitting a healthy buzz. The tiny propeller became a whirring disc. Stick beamed with delight. Willy grinned back, aware of the interested faces which crowded the doorway and veranda.
The huge model began to slowly surge forward. ‘Should I start more motors?’ Willy considered. ‘No, wait till it is outside and clear of obstructions.’ He stepped back, gently releasing the nose but keeping a firm grip on the mooring line.
“She flies! She flies!” Willy cried in delight. The model began to buzz slowly towards him at head height. ‘It looks so good, just like a real airship,’ he thought.
He started to walk sideways, still holding the mooring line:- and bumped into someone. Annoyed, he looked around.
It was Scranton, deliberately blocking his path.
“You’re a real little kid Williams,” Scranton sneered. “What’s this then, the Hindenburg?”
Willy flamed at the insult. “No. It is the L59.”
“L59! Listen to him. What an ‘airhead’! If I say it’s the Hindenburg, then it is you jerk! Watch out it doesn’t meet the same fate.”
“It exploded and burned,” Willy answered, his heart beating faster and concern giving a tremor to his voice, much to his annoyance. He was uncomfortably aware that quite a crowd had now gathered on the veranda. He wished Scranton would just go away but was sure he would step aside when Mr Feldt came out of the lab.
Scranton curled his lip. “I know it burned. Think I’m ignorant eh?” He held his fist up threateningly under Willy’s nose. With a start Willy saw that it contained a cigarette lighter.
“Don’t be a fool Scranton. The model is full of hydrogen,” Willy snapped.
“Don’t call me a fool,” Scranton snarled. His thumb sparked the lighter.
“Scranton! Don’t!” shouted Mr Feldt.
There was a flickering in front of Willy’s eyes, and then a ‘whoof'’!
Aghast, Willy saw a tongue of flame engulf the centre of the model. It flared as high as the ceiling. There were screams and shouts.
“Let go Stick!” Willy yelled. He flung the reel of fishing line over the railing and took hold of the model.
Whoompf!
A balloon in the centre section exploded. Willy grasped the port engine and reached past the flames for the tail. The stench of burning hair assailed his nostrils. ‘Must get rid of it before it blows up,’ he thought. His eyes could see almost nothing but flames and he could feel his fingers burning. With all his strength he pushed.
“Look out!” he shouted. The blazing model soared out over the railing.
Kawhooom!
It exploded in a huge fireball which caused cries of fear and singed eyebrows. The burning model spiralled down, leaving a trail of flame and black smoke. Willy rushed to the railing and looked over, just in time to see the model disintegrate into burning remnants on the lawn. Anger flared and he turned back.
“You rotten bastard Scranton! That’s twice in one day,” he screamed. Boiling with anger he stepped forward and swung a punch. Scranton, who had been gaping over the railing, stunned by his own handiwork, stepped back and put up his fists.
“Come on, ya little jerk and I’ll flatten you again!” Scranton shouted.
“Stop it!” commanded Mr Feldt, stepping between the two. “Scranton! Give me the cigarette lighter and go to the office. Williams, you stay here. Bronsky and Kirk, go and make sure nothing is still burning; retrieve what you can.”
The teacher looked anxiously around and muttered: “Fire alarm,” then shook his head. He held out his hand for the lighter. Scranton scowled but obeyed. Willy stood, half dazed. His gaze followed Stephen’s pointing arm and he saw that the paint on the ceiling was scorched black. Then the sky seemed to revolve.
Mr Feldt seized Willy’s arm. “Are you alright Willy?” he asked.
“Yes sir. Just a bit shocked,” Willy replied. ‘And miserable,’ he thought. ‘What a horrible day! And what a stupid waste!’ Then he became conscious of the pain.
Mr Feldt steered him to a seat. “That was bravely done. If you hadn’t had the presence of mind to push the model off the veranda before it exploded we could have had a nasty accident. Come on, to the sick room. You look a bit singed. Did you get badly burnt?”
“A bit sir. Left hand,” Willy replied. The burns had started to really sting and he allowed himself to be led along the veranda past dozens of gaping kids. The pain told him that the whole of his left arm and his face were scorched. Happily for him he was unaware that his eyebrows and much of his hair had been singed off. All he was really conscious of was Marjorie’s worried face.
CHAPTER 8
ABOUT AIRSHIPS
Willy learned that his eyebrows were gone when he saw himself in the mirror at home. After the accident his loving and long-suffering mother had rushed to school and, being a doctor, had taken over from the paramedics. Willy was then whisked home, sedated, and put to bed.
The next morning, when his mother had told him he was not going to school, Willy was glad. It wasn’t because his hand and arm throbbed with pain and that he felt sick. It was because he didn’t want Barbara to see him until his hair grew back.
“What a stupid waste Mum,” he said as he lay in bed. He was barely able to keep back the tears.
“Yes it was. Never mind. You can always build another model. If this awful Scranton youth did what you said he will be paying compensation; or else,” his mother said. The little lines around the corners of her mouth told Willy she really meant it. He knew her. It could be embarrassing at times. She was involved in all sorts of community organizations and, as president of the school’s Parents and Citizens Association, would certainly be letting the pri
ncipal know what she thought.
“Why did he do it Mum? Why are people like that?” Willy asked, shaking his head sadly.
“Many people are. Some are just made that way. Others turn nasty, usually through jealousy,” his mother replied.
Jealousy! Willy pondered that later. ‘I’m the one who is jealous, not Scranton,’ he thought. The reasons were easy to list: Scranton was bigger, better looking, more athletic- and he was taking Barbara out. After his mother had left a few tears trickled out from under Willy’s dejected hazel eyes.
After school he had visitors: Noddy, Stick, Stephen- and Marjorie. Willy didn’t want to see them but his mother ushered them in and went off to organize afternoon tea. Stephen came forward and held out his hand. “Here Willy. It was all we could salvage,” he said. He placed one slightly melted plastic motor and two propellers on his bedside table.
“Thanks Steve.”
“That was a real shame, Scranton burning your model. She was just starting to fly properly,” Stephen added.
Willy nodded. He found his throat constricted and tears prickled at the back of his eyes. Noddy saved him by saying: “Could’a bin worse. It wasn’t as big a bang as your rocket. We thought you were dead that time.”
Willy gave a wry smile. His eyes met Marjorie’s. She leaned forward and he glimpsed her cleavage. She had the top button of her blouse undone. She asked: “How badly are you hurt Willy?”
Willy winced at the sugary-saccharine tone in her voice. He answered gruffly: “Not much. Just a few burns and blisters.”
Noddy chuckled. “And a lot of hair,” he added.
Willy blushed bright red as they all glanced at the former location of his eyebrows.
Stephen spoke up: “Mr Feldt thinks there must have been some gas trapped in the spaces between the balloons and the tissue; or that a balloon might have been leaking.”
“Could be,” agreed Willy without much enthusiasm. He just wanted to forget the whole thing.
Noddy chuckled again. “Wish we’d had a camera. Boy! What a beaut fireball.”
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