Airship Over Atherton

by Christopher Cummings

  Various school groups also had displays: Folk music, Drama Club, Bushwalking Club, Environment Club, Marine Studies, Music and various academic, and the army cadets. The army cadets had a stall where they showed off photos, weapons and army equipment. The science display took a lot of preparation and setting up and Willy did not leave school until nearly 5pm. His mother picked him up and took him home.

  Willy knew he should have been on top of the world with his model zeppelin completed and ready for its maiden flight; if he had not been so dejected over Barbara. He had not seen her all afternoon, but she had been constantly in his thoughts.

  That night Willy went to Air Cadets, rather than to the fete. Making the decision was painful as he wanted to see Barbara; and he fretted over whether she might be there (and who she might be with and what she might be doing). Stick was at cadets but Noddy was not.

  “He went to the Fete,” Stick explained then he unconsciously added to Willy’s pain. “Marjorie went too. She went with Stephen.”

  ‘Blast Marjorie!’ Willy thought savagely. ‘I don’t like her- and I don’t care what she does!’ he tried to tell himself. But he did, and it made him even more miserable. To banish his dejections he tried to concentrate on the lessons on how an altimeter works, how to read it, and how to adjust it.

  That night he had trouble sleeping and next morning was tired and grumpy. He did his household chores then moped around with nothing to do. In spite of himself he found his excitement rising as lunchtime approached.

  After lunch Willy showered and dressed, then carefully placed the clothes he was going to wear to the dance on a suit hangar. His mother drove him and Lloyd to school at 1pm. His father was already there, in charge of a Chocolate Wheel. As soon as he arrived Willy reported to Mr Feldt at the science display, then had a quick look around.

  To Willy’s intense disappointment there was no sign of Barbara. Instead there was an unpleasant moment when he saw Scranton lounging about with a group of loutish looking youths. Willy avoided them and kept walking. The last thing he wanted was trouble.

  After twenty minutes he found Stick at the army cadet display, yarning to Graham and Peter who were in cadet uniform.

  “G’day Willy. How’s tricks?” Stick asked.

  “Fine. Come and help me move the zeppelin down to the model display please,” Willy asked.

  It was still early and but there were plenty of people at the fete. The last thing Willy wanted was a crowd, in case the model got accidentally damaged- although part of him regretted that there was not a bigger audience.

  Stick went with him up to the science lab and they gingerly extracted the model zeppelin from the storeroom and eased it out into the lab. A group of primary school kids who had been watching an experiment in which liquids changed colour, and then swapped layers, gaped in wonder at the model and followed them out, asking inane questions. Willy tried to act blase but found that he was perspiring with anxiety.

  Stick looked at the crowd of students forming on the veranda as the word spread. “Which set of steps will we go down?” he asked.

  “None,” Willy replied firmly. “Too many people. Here, you hold the model and I’ll run downstairs. Then throw me the mooring line.”

  Willy pushed his way through the throng and raced down the stairs. Out on the grass of the quadrangle he looked up. “OK. Toss down the line; but keep a good grip on the model,” he called.

  Stick dropped the reel of fishing line and Willy picked it up. He took a firm grip and wound in the slack.

  “Check that the line is securely attached then give her a gentle shove,” Willy instructed. The nose of the huge model was now far out over the railings and he could hear a gratifying murmur of interested comment amongst the people around him.

  Stick reached over to the port forward motor switch. “Will I start the motors?” he asked.

  “Yes. But only one, the stern motor.”

  Stick clicked the switch and the tiny motor began to buzz. The crowd gave an audible mutter of approval. Willy looked around and saw that what looked like dozens of people were now standing watching, including his father and Mr Croswell the school principal. His father was spinning the chocolate wheel and Willy called out to attract his attention. When his father looked Willy waved.

  A gentle shove by Stick sent the model gliding out over the railings. The breeze took it and made it yaw off course but the motor then began to push it slowly forward. Willy looked up and puffed with pride and a sense of achievement as the model zeppelin purred overhead. A ripple of applause went around the quadrangle. Willy turned and started walking slowly underneath the model, firmly gripping the line.

  His father called and gave him a ‘thumbs up’ and a big grin. Willy grinned back and felt happier than he had for months. He saw his father listen to the principal, who was pointing at the model and nodding his head with approval.

  A sudden gust of wind caused the model to corkscrew and slew sharply around. Willy’s heart leapt into his throat and he quickly reeled the model down till it was just above his head and within reach. The gust passed and the motor was able to make headway again. Willy was thrilled. The model really worked!

  He walked slowly along with the model buzzing above him. Stick joined him, his face alive with excitement.

  “She’s a beauty Willy! Will I start the forward motor?”

  “Yes please,” Willy said. He pulled the model lower so that Stick could reach. The second motor was started and with the extra power the model began pushing along at walking pace. Willy gave it a little slack and walked along underneath. People made a lane for him and he glowed with pride at the compliments. But it was Barbara he wanted to see it. He looked around hopefully.

  There she was! And she was looking. She even smiled. Willy smiled back but he had to force it as she was holding Cressly’s hand. How beautiful she looked! And how it hurt!

  Willy skirted around the end of ‘C’ Block and headed for the Art Rooms where the model and craft displays were- and found his path blocked by Scranton and his cronies.

  Scranton hooked his thumbs in his belt and sneered. “What’s this then? Little boy got a balloon on a string?”

  Willy had to stop walking or run into him. The last thing he wanted was trouble. Above his head the model kept flying until the mooring line went taut. This caused it to slew around, its nose down and tail almost hitting the corner of the building.

  ‘Should I pull it down and turn it off?’ Willy wondered. ‘No. Then Scranton will be able to grab it,’ he decided. Instead he eased off some more line.

  Scranton still stood in his way. The crowd formed in a circle around them. Scranton scowled and said: “Talk to me little boy. I asked you a question.”

  “Just leave me alone please,” Willy replied, his lips dry and heart beating faster.

  “You owe me, you little turd!” Scranton snarled. “Give that thing to me.” He reached out. Willy stepped backwards but was blocked by Stick and the people behind him.

  Scranton’s hand came out of his pocket and Willy’s heart skipped a beat. A cigarette lighter!

  “Don’t please!” Willy asked, trying to sound calm. “Please let me through.”

  “Not till you grovel, you little smart-arse. Now beg, or this one burns too!”

  Before Willy could open his mouth Scranton flicked the lighter. It was a gas one and he had turned it up so that a jet of blazing butane flared thirty centimetres into the air.

  “Don’t!” Willy cried. He looked up fearfully. The zeppelin was four metres above their heads. To his intense relief it did not catch fire. However its motors kept pushing it around in a large circle, tethered as it was by the fishing line. It began bumping against the building. Willy began to reel it down and tried to step back.

  Scranton ran and jumped up, his lighter held at arms length, the flame roaring like a small blow torch. The flame almost reached the model, which kept buzzing around in its nose down attitude.

  “Stop it please!” Wil
ly yelled.

  Peter Bronsky pushed his way through the crowd. “That’s enough Scranton!” he called. Willy glanced at him gratefully and noted Graham following, then more army cadets, including Stephen and Roger, all in their uniforms.

  “What’s it to you? Mind your own business,” Scranton answered. But he clicked off the lighter. Then he turned and walked away from them- towards Willy. Willy tried to step out of the way. Scranton pushed at him. Stick stepped up beside Willy and the army cadets called out warnings and pushed forward.

  Scranton pushed again and swore. Willy stumbled but kept his grip on the fishing reel. ‘If only an adult will intervene!’ he thought anxiously.

  Scranton’s lighter flared again, just near him. Willy stepped hastily aside as the flame seared past his face. He bumped into Stick again. As he did he felt the line go slack.

  Willy glanced up. The zeppelin was free! For a moment he was too dumbfounded to react. Then he saw that he was still holding the fishing reel but the line was broken. Scranton had burnt the nylon cord through with the flame!

  “Grab the line! Grab the end of the cord!” Willy yelled, pointing up at it. Three metres of the nylon cord still hung from the nose of the zeppelin, dangling just above people’s heads. Several arms reached up. Fingers grasped. But to no avail. The zeppelin had begun to slowly rise and the hands could not reach it.

  “Oh no!” Willy cried. He heard Scranton laughing beside him but ignored him. All he could think about was how he might get the zeppelin back down.

  The motors were still driving it and it flew in against the end of the building. People milled around, yelling and pressing in to see what was happening. There were cries of fear and alarm and a child screamed in pain and began to cry.

  The zeppelin was now five metres up and beyond reach. It shuddered as it scraped along the side of the building, then swung quickly round as the wind caught it. The hull slammed against the wall. Several stringers buckled and Willy saw a distinct tear in the tissue paper. He cried out in agony and hoped the model would not be damaged even more, although the rational part of his brain told him that his only real hope of retrieving it was if the balloons were punctured.

  ‘Perhaps it will get caught in under the veranda roof,’ Willy thought. He felt helpless and sick with despair. He yelled aloud, although he was not aware of it. The zeppelin scraped along, slowly rising still, until it bumped past the corner of the building. Hundreds of people cried out as the wind took it and lifted it. In an instant it was higher than the roof. Willy clenched his fists and cried in pain. Tears ran down his cheeks quite unnoticed.

  Graham pushed his way past. “Come on. After it!” he cried. Willy jerked into motion, thrusting through the crowd. He barely noticed people, except for a little girl he nearly trampled flat.

  Stephen appeared beside him. “It’s going to catch on ‘M’ Block.”

  M Block was higher and had rows of louvres along the upper wall. The model buzzed into them and jerked to a stop.

  “It’s caught!” Peter cried. “Quick! Upstairs.” He led the rush. They were on the edge of the crowd by this and raced to the door. Willy grabbed at the door handle and wrenched at it. Locked! He looked up in something approaching desperation.

  “Quick somebody. Find a key!” he cried frantically. He jumped up and down in agitated frustration. The model hung momentarily above his head, before the wind caught at it again. It wasn’t much of a wind, just a light breeze, but combined with the still buzzing motors it was enough to tear the flimsy structure free. The zeppelin bumped and scraped along under the eaves.

  Marjorie appeared beside Willy, her face all concern. Willy was too distraught to care. His heart seemed to catch in his throat every time the model snagged. It reached the end of the building, hung momentarily on a downpipe, then slewed around until it was facing upwind. It buzzed out over the school fence.

  Willy clambered over the fence amidst a torrent of yelling kids. He cried out again as he watched it slowly circle, before turning downwind and rising.

  Someone shouted: “It’s going to hit the power lines!” Pain surged in Willy’s breast. Oh no!

  Slowly the big model slid against the overhead wires. Something snagged- the forward gondola it looked like. The wind caught at it and levered the tail upwards. A groan escaped the crowd as it broke clear and drifted off across the street. Something fell. There was a shout and the thing was snatched up by one of the primary school kids. ‘One of my little men,’ Willy thought. By this time he was close to despair.

  The model now drifted slowly across the street. The traffic was quite heavy and they had to wait for a chance to scuttle across. They ran across but most of the crowd stayed on the school footpath. Only a few joined them, including Marjorie.

  “It’s still rising,” Stick observed.

  “Only slowly,” Graham answered.

  “It might catch in those trees behind the houses,” Peter added hopefully.

  “No it won’t,” Stephen said. “It will miss them.”

  “What will happen to it?” Marjorie wailed. She looked very upset.

  “Probably just fly off like that model plane last year, never to be seen again,” Stephen answered, voicing a fear that Willy had been harbouring since the beginning of the incident. He knew, deep in his heart, that Stephen was right. He would never get the model back. But he would try! He started running.

  The zeppelin buzzed slowly over the roofs of the houses. The group had to run along the footpath and around the corner of the block as they could not go chasing it through people’s yards and over back fences. By the time they reached the next street they were panting and perspiring. By then the model was already over the next row of buildings and still rising. It was well above the tallest trees and beginning to look very small and far away. Willy’s heart sank.

  “We need bikes,” Peter cried. “Come on!” He turned and ran back towards the school, followed by Graham and Stephen. Roger and Noddy stopped, undecided. Marjorie stood beside Willy, who cried in anguish: “I didn’t bring mine!” He felt more tears trickling but was too upset to care.

  A car screeched to a halt. His father.

  “Get in!”

  CHAPTER 16

  THE DANCE

  Willy’s heart leapt. There was still hope! He scrambled into the front seat. Stick, Marjorie and Roger piled into the back. As he did up his seat belt Willy tingled with excitement and agitation.

  “Drive dad, drive!”

  As the car roared into motion he looked out. The model zeppelin was now a couple of blocks away. To Willy’s dismay it looked very small and had risen so high it no longer had Mt Whitfield as a backdrop and was silhouetted against the sky.

  His father drove as fast as safety and the traffic would permit. In a few minutes they were underneath the zeppelin.

  Stick craned his head out of the window. “It’s still going up.”

  “Yes. I know. I’m hoping one of the balloons will burst so it will come down again,” Willy answered. He ground his teeth and chewed at his knuckles. They were now several kilometres from the school and approaching the cemetery. This caused them to make a detour which brought them to Centenary Lakes. There the belt of swampland blocked their direct route.

  Dr Williams pulled the car over and stopped. He squinted upwards. “It is just a dot now. I can hardly see it.”

  That was true. The model became even harder to see when it drifted closer to the jungle clad slopes of Mt Whitfield.

  “It might catch on the mountain,” Willy said, his voice little more than a whisper. Then he gave a sigh and shook his head sadly. He had lost sight of the zeppelin. He did not know whether it had gone so high that it was too small to see, or whether it had crashed into the dark jungle up near the top of the mountain.

  “What will happen if it keeps on rising?” Marjorie asked.

  “The balloons will burst and it will come down. That is, once it reaches beyond its pressure height,” Willy replied. His voice quavered as
he spoke and he struggled to hold back tears. His father gripped his wrist and squeezed firmly.

  “Would it crash?” Stick asked.

  “Depends. If only one or two of the balloons pop it could come down gently. I’m surprised that didn’t happen,” Willy replied, his anxious eyes still searching the sky and the distant tree tops. “If it is up there we might be able to find it,” he added hopefully.

  “Might,” His father replied, “But not today. You could search that jungle for a month of Sundays and not see it. Sorry son, but it is gone.”

  Willy nodded. His throat choked up and he could not reply. He became aware of the others and tried to hold back the tears but couldn’t. His father patted his shoulder. Marjorie reached forward and held his other shoulder and squeezed. Stick and Roger sat in sympathetic silence.

  After a minute or so Willy took out his handkerchief. He blew his nose and sniffled.

  “Can you take me home please dad?”

  “I could, but I won’t. We will go back to school. There is still a fete to run and you will be better off there with your friends than moping about at home on your own,” his father replied firmly. Willy did not want to go back to the fete but he lacked the strength to argue. His father started the car and turned it around. Willy slumped in the seat and tried not to burst into tears again.

  What a waste! All that care and effort!

  He thought of the previous model, then of Airship Number One; then of Uncle Ted; and of Barbara, and Marjorie. Nothing seemed to go right. He wished he could just... just... well, end it. He wanted to. No he didn’t. ‘I couldn’t. It would hurt too many people: Mum, dad, Lloyd, my friends. I will just have to endure it,’ he thought bitterly.

  On the way back they encountered the group of army cadets on their bikes. Dr Williams stopped the car and the cadets clustered around. Peter leaned in the window.

  “Lost it eh?”

  Willy nodded. His lip trembled but he held back the tears.