CURLY:- It's so strange here, So strange. I see you in a half-light, Moving slowly, under water. I hear you faint and high: Voices from a crystal set, 'Cat's whisker' out of kilter. You are the ghosts And I am the living man, Instead of the other way round. It's my voice, More or less, But coming from the larynx Of a smartly dressed old woman Who seems to be asleep. And I'm flying her mouth By remote control. Damn tricky work, Easy to make a balls Until you get the knack. It's so strange here, So strange. No point in trying to tell you what it's like; I can't explain it. The words come out all wrong. And anyway, you'll all find out in time; Quite soon enough for comfort I dare say... I should rattle some chains at this point, Or perhaps do the horrid laugh... But I'll tell you a story instead.

CURLY:- 1919, on the flat fens of Norfolk, A gigantic iron shed Obscures the dark grey sky, And there's something extraordinary We keep inside; Something I'd like you to see. Leave your matches outside please And your cigarette lighters. You could say we're a trifle vulnerable To fire; And rubber-soled shoes only please, Can't risk sparks. Just through this door, Now what do you think of that?... She's six hundred and fifty feet long; That's twice the length of a soccer pitch, And she stands as tall As a nine storey building; Meet His Majesty's Airship R.33... 6am, five hundred sleepy men On ropes beneath her. So big in here, The shed seems half deserted. There she floats, six feet above the floor, Weightless... Here she comes now, with the sun; The first red fires of dawn Turn her silver into gold...

CURLY:- We're away, climbing into the sunrise For trials or training Or traffic control for the police, Or an Air Show at Hendon, or anything; Who cares; As long as it's not on the ground. Come on, I'll give you the tour. These are the Coxswains, two of them, Each at their ship's wheels. One steers the ship But the other's the star, The Height-Cox Who handles the elevators, Riding the waves of the sky. You can tell who's on duty By feeling the way that she flies. Coxswain Hunt is on today: 'Sky' Hunt, a real virtuoso... Up that ladder now... Up the canvas shaft and into the hull. Mind your head... Those chaps in white jerseys And sea-boots Are Riggers. Theirs are the billowing gas-bags, Heaving and sighing like living things, Clammy and stinking and quick to tear, And theirs are the acres of netting Restraining the bags And the hundreds of miles Of hawsers and wires And the tight, silver linen Surrounding our world. More fabric and rope Than on several clipper ships, All in the care of five or so wiry gymnasts Who are constantly Roving the lattice of girders With their patches and glue pots, Needles and thread. Smell that smell? That's the airship smell: The sweet heavy scent of aircraft dope, The sour, animal odour of the gas-bags. There's a whiff of petrol And everywhere the indefinable Bouquet of hydrogen. The text-books tell you That it's got no smell But that's rot. It's all around us, leaking from the bags Or venting from the valves. Get too much down you And your voice goes daft, Too much more and you pass out cold. And losing your footing here's a poor idea; You could fall straight through The envelope to Glory. We lost a few like that... So, if you think there may be gas about, You keep singing just to check your voice. There's a Rigger sixty feet above us now On Starboard longitudinal 'D'. Out of sight behind Bag 16, Corporal Parker's tracking down a leak... PARKER:- My baby flashes those blue eyes, And sends me flying in blue skies. She's got me sky-high in love... She's got me sky-high in love... Bloody hell!...Up here, Fred. Found the bugger! CURLY:- There's more to see; So down the keel For a hundred yards or so. Then off to the right along this cat-walk, And down that ladder. Hold on now. Don't let go, And don't look down whatever you do. We're outside the hull In the fifty knot slip-stream. Keep going down; you're almost there... Here we are: an engine gondola, Too loud for speaking, An oily fug, the only warm spot up here. Cramped inside, a pair of Engineers; The rest is engine: The moody bellowing god they serve...

CURLY: Most of us were Navy men, But our Boss was a topping old Army General, And we'd all been made one tiny part Of this brand-new Royal Air Force. But they were all Heavier-Than-Air: 'Birdmen', And didn't exactly make us welcome. Said airships drifted about Like a bad smell... We were the future for all long-range flight 'Cause planes would never be The size to compete. Oh yes, I know That sounds comic in hindsight, But we were just bursting To prove it was true. But it was clear a Zeppelin Makes a pretty lousy warship; One burst of tracer And the thing explodes. Our General was nuts on airships Like the rest of us, And game for any stunt To show them in a peaceful role. He sent us on some comical missions, Like dropping leaflets Advertising Victory Bonds Over Sheffield and Bradford, Manchester and Liverpool, Towing a socking great banner behind us, And, just to add to the general festivity... A cold and terrified RAF band Crammed onto the machine-gun platform Perched right up on top of the hull, Banging away for dear life As we droned up and down...

CURLY: We called her 'Tiny', And we loved her like anything. We waltzed her about For a couple of years, Showing her paces And bending the ears of the bigwigs. "Not much future on the military side, But we could run a hell of an airline..." I was Third Officer now, A qualified pilot with a larger size in hats, Twenty-five, twenty-six odd, And finding the world an excellent place... There now, I've not introduced myself... McLeod, George McLeod... Flight Lieutenant, Royal Air Force, Late of the Imperial Airship Service... But everyone calls me 'Curly'... And Curly likes to fly. I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... Up towards the clouds Of a cold, grey autumn, 'Til we're bumping our heads On their dull blue bellies. Then we're suddenly lost In a featureless, white fog, No sense of motion. Upwards 'till the light turns gold And the veils of mist rip back, And she leaps like a breaching whale Into a perfect dome of brilliant blue Full of dazzling light... Up, 'till the clouds below us Are a level plain of radiant white With a hundred mile horizon... And I'm flying a cloud; No cakewalk, I can tell you. Damn tricky work, But I'm lighter than air, And I'm part of the sky... And we're slow enough To watch the birth of a cloud, Budding and swelling From a tiny shred of vapour 'Til it billows and boils up, Towering high above us: A glowing mountain in our path... As hard-edged, clean and solid As a slice of the Alps, Its blinding white snow-peaks Picked out in rose-pink, Chasms and precipices Shaded in luminous pearl. The ship now dwarfed By a vast and pure perfection, And only as we ram the cliff Does the dream dissolve In a grubby, white fog... How shall I put this? Clouds are rather good... You can't compare this With the thrusting rush Of the hard little 'plane. Only stays up there by sheer brute force, Aggressive little beast. No time to look around; No way to stretch your legs; Can't call that flying. You just point it and go... Not like us. We fly by the favour of every cold front And each ridge of high pressure. We need the indulgence Of each anti-cyclone; Our ships are too fragile To bully the weather. Each voyage is an intimate dialogue With the wind and the sun, A delicate negotiation. Can't quite say why this should be A better arrangement, But, twisting my arm, I would say it's a matter of grace. A dirigible is a graceful idea And a graceful thing, And it flies by the grace of the sky... And, when we put her back in her box, I'd feel heavy, As if I was chained down to the grass: Two dimensional, Like a photo, flat on a table. And everything looked square And angular. After Tiny, everything seemed antique; Cars and buildings All looked like period stuff. Yes, in that Year of Grace 1921, She looked like something From another planet...

CURLY:- About that time, Two new ships, Which had been ordered for the war Five years too late, Were finally ready for their trials; Though now of course they didn't have The cash to fly either of them... One was built by Vickers, A smallish ship they called R.80. I got to fly her but just for a month or so. The government took one look And made us fly her to the scrap yard. They had good reason: She showed up the other ship, And this one was Their very own masterpiece; Built by the Royal Airship Factory And designed by A War Office committee... CHAIRMAN:- His Majesty's Government Have asked us for an airship That is better than Anything the Germans have. Now what, Gentlemen, Should our requirements be? JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Well, I suppose it would be best If it were faster. SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Yes jolly good, and why not tell them That we want it to fly higher as well?... CHAIRMAN:- A capital idea! And while they're at it they can also Make it fly further And make it carry more Guns and bombs and so forth. The Admiralty Naval Architects Can build it. Well, they design our submarines, Don't they; Mean to say, Must be much the same idea. They're both dangerous And expensive And shaped like a sausage... CURLY:- The Corps of Naval Constructors Did what they were told; Of course they did. But to do it they had to build The biggest airship in the world. To try and save weight, They made the whole framework Insanely light and flimsy, Then festooned this freakish nightmare With more and more engines Until it was dangerously overpowered. The Air Ministry Were strapped for cash and arranged To sell the new ship To the American Navy. We didn't know what a horror they'd built; We were sore that the Yankees Were going to get our new toy.

CURLY: The US Navy Sent over a crew for us to train, And we taught them all their stuff On the R.80, A topping little airship with beautiful lines Designed by a young man called Wallis. He hadn't copied Some old Zeppelin design; She was as modern as a flapper With an Eton Crop. A pretty piece of goods, And did as handsome as she was. The Yankees were a jolly crowd Who pulled more than their weight. And it was the first time I'd ever met a black chap; Well, pretty soon We were all changing hats. If I had known, I could have warned them That their new ship Was a first-rate deathtrap. The officer in charge of the tests, Name of Pritchard, Guessed she was a bad'un. Ordered a sensible dozen test flights, Cautious and easy. The Royal Airship Works refused; They said four would be enough; The Americans were waiting. They worked her up too fast, Trying to get a record, And she flexed and bent And gave everyone the willies. Our General Maitland Didn't like what he saw And backed Pritchard up, But the Air Ministry overruled them; They wanted those dollars so badly. You could almost hear them... CHAIRMAN:- If you ask me, Some of our flying chaps Are getting to be real old women. SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Over cautious... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Safety mad... CHAIRMAN:- Dare one say it: windy! CURLY:- The last acceptance flight was packed: A double crew of British and Americans, A rich cargo of notables, And Pritchard and Maitland. But why the hell did they agree to fly? You may well ask... OFFICER:- We were Service, d'you see? Follow orders; don't make waves; Keep your eyes on your duty. We survived the War And now we're hopelessly, helplessly, Hideously brave. Anything else Would be letting the side down; Anything else was never discussed; Anything else was the unspeakable thing, The final taboo. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. Don't break the silence. Don't break... CURLY:- Flying over Hull, thousands watching, Some idiot decides to try Emergency turns. Hard Starboard rudder!.. Hard Port rudder!... A shrieking of aluminium... Her feeble ribs snap like twigs; She cracks in two like a blown egg, And tiny men spill out like a dust... And two gigantic, glowing, Chinese paper lanterns Settle in the Humber mud. All dead but five; The Captain survived, just, But he was kept well away From the Enquiry. It was understood... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Let sleeping dogs... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Least said soonest... CHAIRMAN:- Laundry in public... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Not in the National Interest... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- De Mortuis... CHAIRMAN- Spilt milk... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- No-one to blame... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- One of those things... ALL:- Kismet! CHAIRMAN:- Just send the bill for the whole damn thing To the USA!

CURLY:- They closed us down. Airships definitely Now weren't quite the thing, And, with our lovely General gone, The Birdmen closed in for the kill. The whole bally Airship Service scrapped; Turfed out, neck and crop, Onto Civvy Street. Managed to scare up a job At the Meteorological Office, And damned glad to get it With lots of ex-officers waiting at table. Learnt to 'Charleston' And got in as much trouble As I could afford On a Civil Service pay. That is 'til I married a girl from home: Art student at the Slade, A brainy sort, and still the best I've seen... So I'm flying a desk, Both feet on the ground. Damn boring work, But there's Suzie and me, And we're young and in love. No children, thank God, And she married again I'm glad to say: Decent fellow, another flying man... Well, we bought a wireless set; We bought a Bull-nose Morris; She grew roses round the door; I grew a moustache, And the 1920's rattled past outside... And as I drew the spiky lines On my weather maps, Theoretical winds in a paper sky, I remembered with longing the living air; Flying home inside a sky you could eat: Sunset smoked salmon and oysters, Clouds like meringues And whipped cream In a raspberry sauce And the scent of the rough-mown Landing field And the sound of the liberty watch Who are singing their airship shanties In the sun. TENOR (& CHORUS):- Go tighten your shearwires And tighten them well. (Blow, boys, blow...) But don't strike a spark Or you'll blow us to hell. (Blow, boys, blow...) At your back, the wind's a boon; In your teeth, it's a curse. (Blow, boys, blow...) Engines all full-speed ahead; You're still flying in reverse. (Blow, boys, blow...) CHORUS:- But we'd do it again 'Cos we're all airship men And that's flying in the face of nature. TENOR:- We're raising the wind On just five bob a day. (Blow, boys, blow...) We don't make much breeze When we're blowing our pay. (Blow, boys, blow...) But I'll sew you a dress From a piece of blue sky (Blow, boys, blow...) If you'll blow me a kiss, my love, As you wave goodbye. (Blow, boys, blow...) CHORUS:- But you'd have us again Even though we're the men Who go flying in the face of nature. Yes, we'll say it again, We are all airship men And we're flying in the face of nature!

CURLY:- Of course, the way things go, It wasn't long before the Powers That Be Began to have second thoughts. The lighter-than-air lobby, The 'Airship Push', Were getting more powerful, And the case was good For airships for the Empire. The map was daubed with red In those days, "The sun never sets..." and all that stuff. An Imperial airline was the plan: Intercontinental, India in three days Instead of seventeen days by sea. What Ho! For the 1924 Imperial Airship Scheme... Two ships to start with But who was going to build 'em: The Government or private enterprise? Rows in Whitehall, Dithering in Downing Street, Powerful groups on either side, Questions in the House, Cabinet Committees arguing the toss Who've never even seen a bloody airship! The Minister for Air Threw his hat in the ring; Lord Thompson had just got the job And he wanted to shine. This airship project Was of national importance; So he, and he alone, Should be running the show... Well, what d'you know, There's The Great British Compromise: The Government would build one, A private company the other. A sort of jolly competition: The builders of the best ship would win And build all the rest. Three cheers For that Imperial Airship Scheme, Hip Hip!... Hip Hip!... Hip Hip!...

CURLY: You couldn't accuse them Of thinking too small. The new ships would each take Five million cubic feet of gas, More than two-and-a-half times As big as 'Tiny', And carry one hundred passengers And eight tons of mail To Canada or Karachi. I followed events for five years From the sidelines, But I had remained a Member of the Royal Aero Club And I'd stand in the bar With my ear to the ground... Well you know what I mean... Hungry for any inside dope, Making sure the Big Fellows Didn't forget me, 'Cause I had to be a part of it. This is what I thought airships were for And I'd be damned if I'd let them Fly off without me... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... It wasn't hard to get news Of the Government Ship, The one that they called the R.101, In fact you could hardly avoid it. The Air Ministry turned A whole pack of Press Agents loose. Hunting down stories or cooking them up Then they'd feed them to Fleet Street Who swallowed them all And came back for more. Typewriters always seem hungry... AIR MINISTRY PR:- National Enterprise... The full resources of the State... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- No expense spared Says Government spokesman... No half measures for dirigible flagship... AIR MINISTRY PR:- Teams of experts... Government scientists.... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- Hats off to the airship master-brains... Boffins in the clouds From our Special Correspondent.... AIR MINISTRY PR:- Fundamental research... Fearless innovation... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- A triumph of science and technology... Airship will fly With a hundred new inventions.. AIR MINISTRY PR:- Power steering with feather-light controls!... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- Triumph of British engineering... Elegant staterooms, full central heating... Free supplement With special illustrations... A triumph of British engineering... A triumph!..

CURLY: You couldn't accuse them Of thinking too small. The new ships would each take Five million cubic feet of gas, More than two-and-a-half times As big as 'Tiny', And carry one hundred passengers And eight tons of mail To Canada or Karachi. I followed events for five years From the sidelines, But I had remained a Member of the Royal Aero Club And I'd stand in the bar With my ear to the ground... Well you know what I mean... Hungry for any inside dope, Making sure the Big Fellows Didn't forget me, 'Cause I had to be a part of it. This is what I thought airships were for And I'd be damned if I'd let them Fly off without me... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... I wanna fly... It wasn't hard to get news Of the Government Ship, The one that they called the R.101, In fact you could hardly avoid it. The Air Ministry turned A whole pack of Press Agents loose. Hunting down stories or cooking them up Then they'd feed them to Fleet Street Who swallowed them all And came back for more. Typewriters always seem hungry... AIR MINISTRY PR:- National Enterprise... The full resources of the State... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- No expense spared Says Government spokesman... No half measures for dirigible flagship... AIR MINISTRY PR:- Teams of experts... Government scientists.... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- Hats off to the airship master-brains... Boffins in the clouds From our Special Correspondent.... AIR MINISTRY PR:- Fundamental research... Fearless innovation... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- A triumph of science and technology... Airship will fly With a hundred new inventions.. AIR MINISTRY PR:- Power steering with feather-light controls!... THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS:- Triumph of British engineering... Elegant staterooms, full central heating... Free supplement With special illustrations... A triumph of British engineering... A triumph!..

CURLY:- Talked the whole thing through with Suzie. She went rather pale and quiet, But she's a brick: she said she knew I'd never be completely happy Unless I was floating Between earth and heaven, And they're bound to want Such a hot-stuff pilot, And she'd always wanted To live in Bedford... I got the job; Well, Certified Airship Officers Weren't exactly thick on the ground, And the new Imperial Airship Service Never scared up more than eight of us For the two ships. Assigned to the R.101 As the Third Officer, Based at Cardington, The Royal Airship Factory, Big as a small town And everything on the grandest scale; A thousand or so people Living for airships, Dwarfed by that monstrous Construction Shed No. 1, The biggest building in the British Empire. This was the real thing. This was the big time. We'd show the birdmen That Gas was the king. We've got old Sky Hunt As Senior Coxswain; We're all spit and vinegar, Raring to go. Bigger than the greatest ship on the sea, The largest man-made moving thing The world had ever seen. When Number Two First took me into the shed, The sheer naked size of her, It took my breath away... The gleaming ribs Of the uncovered skeleton Soared above us like the hectic arches Of some vast and unearthly cathedral: Fantastic silver tracery Seen through a shimmering web Of taut wiring, And, a hundred and fifty feet Above our heads, Men crawled in the glare of arc-lights. He turned to me as we stood In the echoing immensity And said... SECOND OFFICER:- "Well, what d'you think of her, Curly?" CURLY:- "Crikey, Jim," I said. "She's quite large..." Her girders were mostly stainless steel Instead of the usual Duralumin, And her framework certainly looked Enormously strong. I climbed around her In growing astonishment, New gadgets and systems at every turn; Her ingenious complexity Made 'Tiny' look like a crude balloon. She was finished like a watch, With no expense spared, Beautiful craftsmanship From stem to stern, With five gigantic Beardmore diesels To comply with that weird 'no petrol' rule, Everything new and everything different From the old Zeppelin ideas. She had forty-three men And four other officers. Our skipper was Lieutenant Irwin, A quiet and rather nervy Irish chap. And he'd been the Captain of my last ship; Not easy to get close to, But a decent fellow for all that, And the finest airship pilot I ever knew. And we called him 'Bird'. I'd have flown with him anywhere, And now I wish I hadn't... Month by month, I helped her grow: The delicate lungs, the silver skin, The five-star hotel sunk in her belly That she'd carry To the other side of the world.

CURLY:- Just at this point, Wall Street Ran out of gas and crashed, And the Roaring Twenties Slumped to the ground For the Depression. Now there's be precious little cash To spare for Aviation, And the cost of one airship Buys a squadron of planes. Our competition turned into A war to the knife, But we managed to get into the air first, In an orchestrated frenzy of publicity. Within a month a million trippers Came to Cardington to see her, As she floated at the head of a mast As tall as Nelson's Column. The charabancs stacked up, three deep, Along the Bedford Road, To watch us joy-riding The Great and the Good. They didn't care about The other ship in Yorkshire; She didn't get her picture in the papers. Yes, the R.100 was a mystery... And our ship was so beautiful, A creature of grace, An iridescent giant fish Gliding, calm and solid, Above us small things in the mud, Unimaginably huge in the sky, Reflecting the winter light And booming gently at us... The choir of engines Resonating, from hot throats, The big chord... Suzie had shown me paintings By some new mad artists Who painted their dreams. This airship looked like that: Something impossible, A Surrealistic vision... What's that, old boy?.. Me, romantic? Every time, with knobs on! Behind the plate-glass windows Of his promenade deck, Lord Thompson, the Air Minister, Looked calmly down. He was riding high; The papers were full of him, Him and his magic airship. An army Brigadier And an old crony of the P.M., Who wanted To have him in the Government, But the voters wouldn't touch him.

CURLY:- Too piss elegant, too aristocratic, Too infernally suave For the post-war world, So they gave him a peerage instead; 'Baron Thompson of Cardington' Was the title he chose. That's right, I said Cardington, The Royal Airship Factory; I call that betting pretty hard On our success... Urbane and charming, a glamorous figure, He got things done And made powerful friends. But safer not to get in his way; He was hard as nails And ambitious as hell. A Byronic sort of blighter, He was having an affair with Some Romanian princess... Or was she Swedish? I forget. Well anyway, we didn't trust him, 'Cause nothing's what it seems Where politicians are concerned; Just what was going on Behind that noble profile? THOMPSON:- This is magnificent; I shall fly this ship to India and back Just before I speak At the Imperial Conference next October, Fresh from a record-breaking flight With a speech On Air Travel and the Empire: For the Government a major coup And for me a modest promotion... Descending from the clouds Above the Indus, My flying palace wafts me to Karachi. A mythological hero From the Maharabhata, They're sure to give me the job, The job that's made for me, The Viceroy of India. The Viceroy of India. Lord of a continent, The Hand of Imperial Power, As near as damn it to royalty itself, And then I'll lay my viceregal crown At the feet, the adorable feet, The haughty and proud and desirable feet, The feet of my princess, Worthy at last of the feet of my princess. Viceroy and Vicereine, Me and my princess! I can pull this off if I crack the whip And take no excuses From these grubby little men With their endless delays And technical problems And their costings going up hand over fist. They've got the time to get it right And two months start On those bastards in Yorkshire; So if they value their jobs, They had better deliver. I don't want bad news. I don't want 'can't do'. I won't take 'no' for an answer...

CURLY:- The trouble was that she flew like a pig, Sluggish and unsure, Always trying to drop her nose. She never had enough lift And didn't seem at home in the air. The boffins started scratching their heads, But all us flying men knew She'd been built much too heavy: Too much steel And far too many clever gizmos; No one would admit at first That we were right. And, in the hull, a half-a-million cubic feet Of sweet F.A., Wasted space that should Have held more hydrogen, And all of the bags Had a newfangled valve That leaked gas like hell Each time she moved. And if that wasn't problems enough, Our engines were proving To be a dead loss. They were built for hauling railway trains And not for whizzing Light propellers around. We couldn't run 'em At more than half-speed; Any faster And they'd shake themselves to bits. Our new baby then was badly overweight And sadly underpowered. But we weren't too worried yet, Taking our cue From Group Captain Breeze, Big Chief of all of us flying men, Head of Flight Operations For both the new ships. He seemed to be sure That the Cardington boffins Could get her right; And 'Lucky' Breeze was an airship legend, The hero of a thousand dangerous flights. Commanded the first ship To fly the Atlantic in 1919. Nothing scares Lucky, dare-devil Lucky, Neck or nothing, easy-going, Hard drinking Lucky; He'll see us through... I have to say though That the chap didn't look very well to me: Pasty face and not quite on the ball And, after lunch, A pronounced smell of gin. He liked to take the controls On the days when he flew with us. Quite surprised he was so ham-fisted; Managed to cock-up the mooring A couple of times. He was only forty-two, But his best days as a pilot Were behind him. The top brass at the Airship Works Tried to keep our problems dark. They talked about minor bugs And fine tuning; Had to keep their Masters sweet. They racked their brains in private; We kept her flying as best we could, Tests and trials and demonstrations, And everyone so enthusiastic: Flights round the gasworks for VIPs, Sleek officials trying not to look excited, Half-cut MPs out on a jolly, All in love with the Queen of the Skies. December '29, She went in for a major refit; Out come half of the passenger cabins, The potted palms and the central heating. Then they loosen the gas cell wiring To let the bags expand and swell. "More gas, boys!", cry the Coxswains, "Get this old girl on her toes..."

CURLY:- And now our rivals took the field, And we could only kick our heels And watch the R.100 fly her trials: Bit of a brute to look at And built as plain and simple As ours was built too fancy and complex. Barnes Wallis Was a copper-bottomed genius; Worked out every nut and bolt himself, A proper one-man band, Not a committee in sight. The R.100 cost more or less Half as much as ours, But she still had Twenty tons more lifting power, And they could put her along Fifteen knots faster than us: That's eighty miles an hour To our sixty-three. It was egg-on-face time. No one had expected them To be this good. Mind you, they'd been allowed to use Good old petrol engines, 'Cause they would just be flying The Canadian run, While us spoilt darlings Had the prestige India route. Our bosses ground their teeth And seethed in secret conferences, While all us flying men were busy Wangling a ride. And she swam as sure and steady As a healthy whale; She sailed through all her tests And made ready for the crossing. Then off the lucky beggars went, No crowds, no fanfares, Pulling like a train Across the black Atlantic... Those Canadians went daft When she arrived... Within two weeks a million trippers Came to Montreal to see her, And then she calmly trundled home To a deafening official silence And the news the crew would now Go on half-pay. That's when we heard the story: How Lucky had run her at full speed Through the middle of a thunderstorm Over Quebec. That damn foolhardy stunt Could easily have brought her down; I began to worry just a bit About our cheerful chief...

CURLY:- And then a weird thing happened: Got a letter from some woman, Claimed to be a Spiritualist medium. Said she had a message for me From a man named 'Airey' Saying I shouldn't fly to India. Well I knew Airey all right; Been my oppo in the War 'Till he went down in an SS Zero Over the North Sea. But I've no time for that stuff; All balls, if you ask me. Still, I didn't tell Suzie, No sense in giving her the creeps. Then, two weeks later, Lucky Breeze gets a mystic message Of his own From a dead flying chum of his, Singing the same song, "Don't fly to India." Brought in person this time By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, no less. We told each other loudly What a laugh we thought it was. Now it was our turn To show what we could do. Out she came, a fair bit lighter, But it was 'out of the frying-pan', 'Cause now her bloated bags Fouled the framework, Rubbing raw on every rivet; Soon she was a mass of holes. Riggers working night and day To keep pace with their patching; Soon they were pasting Patches on patches; She was leaking like a sieve. And worse, the cells were loose now, Surging to and fro in flight. This made the ship unstable, Always pitching up and down, Up and down.

CURLY:- They said they could fix it. They said they could fix anything. But meanwhile We were due back on stage, Providing the climax Of the 1930 Hendon Air Show. The Tax-payers wanted To see what they'd got For their money, And it was a chance to show off To the King and Queen. Our masters couldn't pass this up. We're away, Heading due south for Hendon, And we're stopping the traffic And making them stare. She's heavy and pitching, And we have to fly with her nose up To get extra lift, But who cares, As long as we're not on the ground. Right on cue, We make our pass over the airfield. Over the grandstand at eight hundred feet, We can hear the cheering. Irwin dips her bow in salute To the Royal Box; That did it... The dip became a vicious little dive. Full power! Full up-elevator! Cox'n and Captain fighting her level, Forcing her up. Turn her and get her away PDQ. It was a close shave, But nobody down there Saw anything wrong. We set course for Bedford With one engine on the blink as usual. My spell as Officer of the Watch, And the way she was flying Made my hair rise. After an hour or two, Suddenly had the feeling She was about to drop out of the sky. Looked at the Cox'n, he was sweating; I made a jump for the ballast controls; Let go a couple of tons. I'm sure I was only just in time. I hadn't been so scared since 1917 When a U-boat Had used my little blimp For target practice. Now we had to drop another ten tons Of ballast and fuel Before she was light enough to moor. I was flying a pig! But she looked so good, Like a beautiful fruit That's all rotten inside. Oh yes, this airship had a bad heart. Well we all had the wind up now; So Colmore asked Thompson To postpone the big flight. Came away with a flea in his ear: If we couldn't get the man there and back By mid-October, There'd be no more money Requested for the programme, And we all wanted to fly... THREE AIRSHIPMEN:- We wanna fly... We wanna fly... We wanna fly... We wanna fly... We wanna fly... We wanna fly...

CURLY:- There was the devil and all to pay. The alleged 'designers' Only had one card left to save the game: Bring her in and cut the brute in half, Put in another gas bag, Make her even longer. And with only three months to do it in, The fun became fast and furious... Cutting the Lady in Half, Devilish tricky, Took off our coats and worked like hell And a bit over. Took longer than they thought, Same way it always does. It would be a close run thing If she'd be ready. 'Cause her cover had gone all rotten Where the comic boffins had doped it up In a new and different way. Couldn't these birds do anything right? They had to replace this mouldy cloth, All five or six acres of it, But there wasn't time to do it all For our October deadline. Well, that was what they said, But they still seemed to find the time To lay down half a ton of carpet Specially ordered by request Of Baron Thompson. This had to be quite barmy; We were doing all this Just to make her light, And now they're weighing her down again. Somebody's mad here, perhaps it's me... She still hadn't got a Certificate Of Airworthiness, And now the Safety Inspector Dug his heels in. He didn't like the pads, All four thousand of them, That we'd wrapped round the sharp bits That were making the holes, And he wanted proper tests In her new extended form, Otherwise, No Dice. But the Air Ministry overruled him; You could almost hear them... CHAIRMAN:- If you ask me, some of our flying chaps Are getting to be real old women. SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Over cautious. JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Safety mad. CHAIRMAN:- I had it from the Minister himself, She's as safe as a house... CURLY:- The Inspector chap was due to fly with us, But he had the sense to catch the 'flu So he couldn't go. We should all have done the same; We knew it was madness, But no one spoke up; No one was willing to blow the whistle. Truth was we were scared of Thompson, Scared of losing our own, And everyone else's, jobs, Scared of ratting, scared of funking, Too scared to be anything else But jolly brave. Only 'Bird' Irwin had the guts To make a stand...

THOMPSON:- You realise, Irwin, this is most irregular..... Your superiors have assured me..... My advisers are confident..... I must insist on the programme Being adhered to; I have made my plans accordingly. The Great British Public is all keyed up; Our hands are to the plough; No turning back..... All right, if you're afraid, don't go! We can easily replace you. Surprised at you Showing the white feather..... Very well then, that's better..... Gung ho, man; that's the spirit!..... Yes, of course we can disregard This conversation. CURLY: Squadron Leader Ralph Booth, The commander of the R.100, Would have been the only real Substitute for Captain Irwin. And, unlike Irwin, unlike me, Booth was still in the RAF, And, as a serving officer, Could not refuse to fly the mission. What's more, he was Bird's good friend, And you can't drop your chum in it; So poor old Bird ate humble pie; He'd done his best according to his lights. There was only time for one test flight, And she felt OK. Perhaps she could do it after all Or at least get as far as Egypt, And we'd come out of it with honour. But the flight was in a flat calm, And we had to fly slow 'Cause one engine still wasn't right. Not what you'd call any real test, And we were to leave the very next day! I'm off-duty watch on the way back; So I chat to the chaps In the Chart Room And listen to the Helmsman's song... THE HELMSMAN:- Their ship was stout and strong; They said "Let's go a-sailing, Although the light be failing, Although the wind be strong. We'll cut ourselves adrift For we are fit and hearty. We'll be a merry party, With food and wine and song. Perhaps we'll sail to Denmark By way of old Hong Kong." A Ship of Fools A Ship of Fools. They drifted out to sea To where the storm was rising. They found it quite surprising That waves could grow so steep. They feasted and drank free, Despite the gale's roaring, And soon each one was snoring In sound and peaceful sleep. And through the night their ship turned And tossed up on the deep. A Ship of Fools A Ship of Fools. They were blown back, safe to shore, And so their journey ended, And each one said "How splendid, It has all gone just as planned." And not one fool there saw That some Angel, bold and jolly, Who protects fools in their folly, Must have brought them safe to land... And, to that self-same Angel, We commend us... For we too are in his hand. A Ship of Fools A Ship of Fools A Ship of Fools A Ship of Fools.

CURLY:- Flying men are fey; Airmen see more ghosts than most. There are murmurs in the mess About prefigurements and omens, 'Cause, when you're up there In the airy nothing, You draw close to the unseen; And sometimes the unseen Draws close to you, And it reaches out and touches you With a cold finger. And that night, in the dark, with the clock, It was poking us like fun. I couldn't sleep. Could they? Could Colmore?... COLMORE:- It hasn't worked. The experiment's failed; It can't be put right. Damn Thompson! Curse that bullying swine to Hell! If I pull the plug I'll be the scapegoat, Carry the can for everything. Even the nightmare's better than that: Each night the dream of burning gas; Flying then falling, Trapped in a blazing cage!.. Well, tomorrow makes an end of it, One way or the other. I tried so hard. I did my best; And now I'm afraid. Christ, I'm afraid... CURLY:- And how was Lucky Breeze, Surely he was off in Dreamland?... LUCKY:- Sod Conan Doyle!... Leave the dead alone... Giving me the heebie-jeebies... Piss off, Johnny, don't want to know!... Bugger's dead, but he won't lie down!... Thompson's a fool, But he's promised me a 'K' if I pull it off. I'll get this flying abortion home If I have to carry her there myself, And I'll leave England With a clean pair of heels. So buck up, man, You've done worse than this. Remember you're Lucky. So let's have a drink, then Over the Top! One for the road, then Over the Top! CURLY:- Was Irwin sleeping? I'm sure that he knew We were all for the high jump. IRWIN:- Hail Mary, full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners now And at the hour of our death. And at the hour of our death. And at the hour of our death... CURLY:- And how was the Secretary of State? How was the noble lord? Was he getting his beauty sleep? THOMPSON:- Those fools are afraid; They're yellow all through. That ship is quite safe... Damn that gypsy crone, That ignorant peasant in Bucharest; Can't get her off my mind And the things she said When she read my palm: A glorious future, the world at my feet. But nothing after 1930, Nothing after the age of fifty-five; Said she couldn't see any further; I gave her more money, But she shook her head. But I know India is waiting for me, And faint heart never won a princess. So just keep your nerve, And show them the whip. Ride them all hard, And show them the whip... CURLY:- As for me and Suzie, We said special goodbyes, And I cheered us up by showing her My brand new pocket-knife! A bloody great thing With an edge like a razor To cut my way out of the hull if I had to. And I swore her to silence, And I gave her the hush-hush rumour: That Lucky had fixed it With some chums in France At the airship station at Orly Aerodrome, All semi-official and off the record. But if things are desperate, We could put down there, And they'd have a ground-crew To take us in. Might save our skins if nothing else. 05.00, climb into the stiff new uniform. "Promise you'll come back," she said. "Right oh, Suze, cross my heart, Cross my heart and hope to die..."

CURLY:- No time now for misgivings. Too much to do: fuelling and gassing-up, Avoiding each other's eyes. And, by common consent, A few good, stiff ones at lunch time: Men in the pub, officers at the hotel... Study our course: South across France Then East along the Med., First stop Egypt, And the mooring mast in the desert By the Bitter Lakes... A formal banquet on board For the Egyptian High Commissioner, Then East to Baghdad And the Persian Gulf, Say, two more days to Karachi. But, in that raw October, Midlands gloom, It all seemed decidedly unreal... And as I read the spiky lines On the weather maps, Theoretical winds in a paper sky, I saw bad weather, But not bad enough to cancel the match, And an uncertain outlook. Couldn't be worse... Dusk came early, with the crowds, Churning up the field to mud. Sky Hunt supervises final loading; Due to retire last week, He's stayed on To see us through the big one. Up go stores and spares and oil... And twenty varieties of British Cheese! All mashed up together! Some civil servant's idea Of a patriotic, yet democratic treat... Says it all, really... Darkness, And the searchlights come fizzing on. The ship comes alive, Starting to sway in the freshening wind; She's being played by the mast Like a giant trout. The official passengers arrive, And now the Minister himself, Showing a face full of teeth To the press photographers. He comes complete with two cabin trunks, Four suitcases, a real live valet, A ceremonial sword, Two cases of champagne And another roll of bloody carpet! Too bad he had to leave The piano at home... All on board now, Here in the belly of the beast: Lucky, flushed and loud, Impatient to be off, Colmore, silent, Vanished now inside himself, Irwin, looking like he's seen a ghost; And I dare say I wasn't Looking too good either. 18.30 hours. All hands to flying stations. The men have made a banner that says 'India or Bust'.

CURLY:- I felt we were leaving real things And entering some sort of Wind-blown limbo, Behind clouds of myth and history, In the cold dream-space Between the worlds. Here, between earth and heaven, Anything could happen now... 'India or Bust'... Slipping reluctantly From the caress of the searchlights, Butting into a head-wind As the rain began, Due South, driving her hard, She's never been this fast before... What with one thing and another, We were the heaviest air load ever lifted, Even though, to save weight, We'd left all of the parachutes behind. Eight o'clock, sharp... Passengers and off-duty officers In one lonely corner of the vast saloon. This great room is an illusion; The walls and ceiling are painted canvas; The gilded pillars are made of balsa wood, A cold and drafty stage-set Dressed with bamboo furniture And ferns in pots, The scenery For a risqu‚ Noel Coward play Set in some dubious Riviera hotel... Thompson and Lucky Are full of bonhomie, Playing up to the passengers; Everyone else who knows the score Is pretty quiet. That's when I suddenly realise That Thompson's just as windy As the rest of us are; Which makes him less of a fool, And more of a rogue In my book... Blow me, if No. 5 engine isn't down again, But not a word of this in the messages We're sending out to a waiting world. Our call-sign stutters out, 'George-Freddy-Ack-Ack-William, Everything is top-hole, tickety-boo, And very nicely, thank you.' The wind is rising, 30 miles an hour now. We're getting heavy, soaking up the rain. Can't get above 800 feet or so; We're too low and too slow... But London doesn't know or care; The streets, all sparkling and shiny wet, Salute us with their motor-horns. From the black Thames, Tugboats hoot and whistle At the giant raindrop Hanging in the wet sky... The wind still rising, 35 miles an hour now, And the rain is really coming down. Over Kent and Sussex, Low through the gap in the Downs At Reigate. Surely, with one engine out, We'll have to turn back at the coast... Then Lucky rushes into the Lounge Shouting for 'Sparks'. Maybe it's the after-dinner brandies, But it looks like he's gone over the top; He's red and pop-eyed, And laughs like hell... LUCKY:- Just get your arse in gear! And patch in the BBC To the Saloon loudspeakers And give it all the juice you've got! Well show 'em down there That we're going out in style!... CROONER:- They wonder how I can dare To fly through the air, Bravely exploring the blue. I take my flying-machine Where no one else has been, Because I take my sweetheart too! And as they see us go by, Way up in the sky, They say "What a daring thing to do!" But I know you are my Guardian Angel, And I'm flying to heaven with you. And as they see us go by Way up in the sky, They say "What a daring thing to do!" But I know you are my Guardian Angel, And I'm flying to heaven with you.

CURLY:- Ploughing over the cliffs And crabbing out to sea, Flying half-sideways into the wind. Two hours to cross the Channel, And the yellow light From the Promenade Deck windows Shows the white tops of the breakers; They're very close. Too low and too slow! Then engine No. 5 gets going again, And the cold fist in my gut Relaxes just a bit, As I chat to the chaps in the Chart Room About football, jazz bands, girls and cars, Almost anything... Except India... The French coast at last And the wind still rising, 40 miles an hour now; Crawling up the Valley of the Somme In the teeth of this mad, black, Force 8 gale, Painfully counting off Each small, dim town... St. Val‚ry, Moyenneville, Oisement, Hornoy... Before my Watch, I take a turn along the keel To see how things are inside... In the echoing darkness above me, The bags are surging to and fro Against the frames, And they look too flabby; I'll bet they're leaking, And they slap unpleasantly as they tug And rattle their bridle chains. They're lined with skin From a bullock's intestines: The guts of a million dead cows Shipped from the stockyards of Chicago. There are ghost cattle up there, Moaning and squealing, Trying to stampede... She won't take this punishment for long. Hope to God we can get as far As Orly Aerodrome... I saw him a long way off, Coming down the cat-walk, A young rigger. When he reached me we stood silently, Looking up at the billowing bladders, As the girders creaked and groaned And the rain beat against The soggy drum-skin Of the envelope. Suddenly he spoke. THE RIGGER:- We're buggered, aren't we Sir. CURLY:- "Good luck, Roberts", I said. THE RIGGER:- Good luck yourself, Curly. CURLY:- He replied, And passed on down the keel. There's fifty miles And maybe two hours flying Before we can try an emergency landing At Orly. We're over Beauvais now, Two o'clock in the morning, Waking up the town. Thundering slowly over the chimney pots, A seventh of a mile Of spark-happy hydrogen Hanging above Beauvais cathedral Like the Angel of Death... The wind still rising, 45 miles an hour now. Keep going, darling! Stay up, sweetheart! You can do it for me! Time to take over in the Control Car, And the O.O.W. says... OFFICER:- Watch her, Old Boy, she's behaving Like a perfect little 'B'. CURLY:- You can say that again; The swine is heaving about, Only just under control. Sky Hunt at the elevators, thank God, Struggling to keep her nose up To get dynamic lift. Clear of the town, now and into the black, And down goes her damn nose Once again... The dip becomes a vicious little dive. Full power! Full up-elevator! I can't hold her! We're still diving! What the hell's going on? The rotten cover's blown in at the bow! The for'ard bags have broken loose! Dump all ballast! Sky, go and warn the rest! I'll try and turn her out of the wind. What's that? Oh God, it's the ground....

CURLY:- Then I was standing in the rain, Watching her burn, And there was dear old Airey In his flying kit, Just as I remembered him. AIREY:- I've been expecting you, you ass... CURLY:- He said. They took them back: Those hard, black, crusty, Anonymous, stinking things, Things that we didn't need now, Back to the Lying in State, The grand cortege, The silent crowd a half-a-million strong, That official, noble grief We British do so bloody well, Back to the Mass Grave And the Muffled Drum... But, as they poked around the wreckage, Slippery underfoot with human fat, They found, beneath the ashes, A woman's shoe... Oh horror! Could there have been... Oh calamity and dishonour, A Woman on board? A secret investigation at the highest level Finally revealed That the shoe had belonged To Lord Thompson, Though I can't imagine What he used it for... All dead but six, No officers or VIPs among them, And they didn't get much to say At the Enquiry; It was understood... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Let sleeping dogs... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Least said, soonest... CHAIRMAN:- Laundry in public... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- Not in the National Interest... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- De Mortuis... CHAIRMAN:- Spilt milk... SENIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- No one to blame... JUNIOR COMMITTEEMAN:- One of those things... ALL:- Kismet! CHAIRMAN:- Just make damn sure that the other ship Won't fly again. If the thing was a success, It would make us look bad. Send it for scrap the first moment That we possibly can.

CURLY:- So we came back again. We didn't like their sob stuff Or the nasty smell of whitewash, Those strangely missing files. Managed to convince some friends, Confirm a few suspicions; But we were just ghosts, They were all living men; So what could we hope to achieve With voices from a crystal set, Cat's whisker out of kilter? Just maybe a tune, A simple enough refrain, The sad song of Reasonable Men... THREE AIRSHIPMEN:- We were service, d'you see? Follow orders; don't make waves; Keep your eyes on your duty. We survived the War And now we're hopelessly, helplessly, Hideously brave. Anything else Would be letting the side down; Anything else was never discussed; Anything else was the unspeakable thing, The final taboo. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. Don't break the silence. Anything else was the unspeakable thing, The final taboo. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. It's the silence that kills you. Don't break the silence. Don't break the silence. Don't break the silence. Don't break the silence. CURLY:- And for us who kept the silence, Held here in some sort of Wind-blown limbo, Behind clouds of myth and history, In the cold dream-space Between the worlds, Here, between earth and heaven, The flight goes on...