On the 5th of October, 1930, a passenger airship crashed to the ground
and burst into flame, killing almost everyone on board.
It wasn't the Hindenburg. Instead, this was the R101, an experimental British airship on
its first overseas voyage. The conception, creation and testing of the R101 had been
a fraught process, and its tragic end would be the death knell of the British airship industry.
Zeppelins, blimps and other airships are a rare sight nowadays - so rare in fact
that it's difficult to imagine just how popular they once were.
At one point in time these powered balloons were seen as the future of air travel. In fact,
the Empire State Building was constructed with a mooring mast on its roof
in the full expectation that visitors in the future would arrive by airship. Of course this
vision of the future wasn't to be... but for a brief period between World War 1 and World War
II it did seem that airships were the future of long-haul travel. Motivated by a desire to lead
the world into this future the British government launched the Imperial Airship Scheme in 1924.
Their intention was to create fast, comfortable airships that Britain could use to manage its many
far-flung colonies. At the time heavier-than-air planes simply couldn't cover some of the distances
involved, so lighter-than-air travel was the way to go. Airship travel was considered so
important for the future that its development couldn't be left to private companies alone.
Therefore the Imperial Airship Scheme funded not one but two teams of designers and engineers, who
would work on two separate airships to be known as the R100 and the R101. Both airships would
ultimately have to meet the same specifications, but the two teams would take radically different
approaches to getting there. The R100 team was drawn from an existing private airship company.
Conservative in their outlook they would use existing tried and tested technology.
Informally the R100 would come to be known as the "capitalist" ship. The R101 on the other hand was
often called the "socialist" ship. It would be designed and constructed by the government-backed
Royal Airship Works, and would make use of bold experimental techniques and ideas.
The R101 team were based at the Royal Air Force base in Cardington.
There, inside a vast hangar, the R101 was assembled from massive steel beams and wires.
These formed a framework that was then covered with specially treated linen. Housed within were
hand-made gas bags that were filled with hydrogen - a lighter-than-air gas - in
order to make the whole craft take flight. Passengers were to be accommodated in a gondola
suspended beneath the gas bags... and they would be accommodated in style.
Though the walls might be made of canvas, the furnishings were luxurious. Guests would
enjoy silver service in the dining room and plenty of space for socializing in the lounge.
Incredibly there was even a smoking room. This was an odd decision, as luxuries go, given that
hydrogen is incredibly flammable. A single spark would be enough to destroy the entire airship.
Because of this, within the smoking room, lighters were chained to the tables to prevent
people absent-mindedly taking them out of the room. You would have to go through an airlock
to enjoy your cigar and would then do so while surrounded by flameproof asbestos shielding.
Smoking, it seems, was simply too essential a luxury for passengers to go without.
By 1929 this elegant skyliner was ready for some test flights. These seemed to go off without a
hitch. Spectators in London were awed by the size of the ship when it passed over the city,
and during another test flight were impressed when the massive craft
dipped its nose in a salute to the King who was watching from the ground below.
What these spectators perhaps didn't realize is that this salute was unintended. It was actually
just a result of the crew on board struggling to control the craft, which would sometimes list or
dip unexpectedly. There were a few reasons for this, but the main one was a lack of lift. The
gas bags simply weren't sufficient to carry the weight of the gondola
and all its crew and equipment. The solution to this problem was twofold. First they stripped out
every single bit of unnecessary weight, including removing cabins, reducing the number of toilets,
limiting the luggage crew members could take on board, and replacing the glass windows
with plastic. At the same time they added an extra gas bag, splitting the aircraft in the middle
and sewing it in to give them some extra lift. No sooner had they remedied the lack of lift,
however, then another problem came to light. The envelope of the airship was beginning to develop
holes and tears - possibly as a result of an innovative new process that had been used to
treat the airship's outer skin. This process (new and untested as it was) clearly had some faults.
The R101 team rushed to patch the holes and then to replace the faulty envelope altogether. They
couldn't help but rush. Despite working with many brand new experimental techniques the team was
under a lot of pressure to get things right... and quickly. Promotional efforts surrounding the R101
had built an almost unbearable level of excitement for the craft in the general public. So beloved
was it that almost a million people came to see it when it was displayed at its mast for public view.
Worse still, the politicians who had argued for the state funding of the R101 were pushing for
the project to get results... sometimes with unrealistic expectations. Lord Thomson (the
Air Minister of the UK) was extremely keen for the craft to be ready to fly overseas in time for the
Imperial Conference in London in October 1930. He wanted to fly from London to India and back again
during the conference itself to demonstrate the power and speed of his pet project.
No excuses could dissuade him. After all, the rival R100 had just completed
a test flight to Canada. Why shouldn't the government-backed R101 be able to equal this feat?
Failure wasn't an option. If the R101 team couldn't keep up that would be the end of
state-funded airship development... and the end of Lord Thomson's ambitions, too.
The trip to India had to happen on schedule. Despite misgivings on the part of the crew,
the R101 team rushed their final flight tests and readied themselves for departure.
It was very clear that they knew their margins were thin. To save on weight each crew member was
allowed to take only a single change of clothes wrapped in paper. Lord Thomson, meanwhile, was
oblivious to this attempt to cut down on the load. He would be riding along on the R101 accompanied
by several crates of champagne and a heavy antique carpet to be rolled out on his arrival in India.
The R101 set off on October 4th in driving rain. It was a bad flight from the beginning,
with the airship having to jettison a huge quantity of water ballast almost immediately
in order to complete its takeoff. As it headed off towards the English Channel observers noted
that it was surprisingly low in the sky. The airship did make it across the Channel,
despite foul weather. It radioed back to base, with the crew insisting that all was well.
Observers on the ground in France were positively alarmed when they saw the ship passing overhead.
To some of them it was so close to the ground that it looked as though it was heading straight
for them. At around 2:00am in the morning the R101 went into a steep dive. The crew were able to pull
it out of this dive momentarily, but after just a few seconds the nose dropped again. Unknown to
the crew on board a gas bag had split, unbalancing the craft. There would be no pulling out of this
second dive. The R101 - moving at a stately pace of around 20 kilometers (or 13 miles) per
hour - smashed into the ground. One of the engines slammed into the envelope and moments later
fire rippled through the whole craft. Of the 54 people on board only six survived. Lord Thomson,
along with many of the designers and crew who had worked so hard on the R101, were instantly killed.
An inquiry launched in the aftermath of the disaster revealed the problems which many of
the designers had long been aware of: the lack of lift, the holes in the outer skin, the failed
test flights, the pressure to complete the project on a schedule. It was concluded that the disaster
might never have happened were it not for the pressure under which the R101 team was placed.
The crash of the R101 effectively put an end to Britain's dream of an airship connected future.
Though the rival R100 had been more successful the accident had put paid to any public appetite
for airship travel. The R100 was broken down for scrap, and seven years later the crash of
the Hindenburg in New Jersey would put the final nail in the coffin for airship travel worldwide.
Though airships would see some limited service during the Second World War
they would never again be considered a viable means of passenger travel.
The story of the R101 can be seen as a story of hubris. And, certainly, some of those behind the
project pushed development too far and too fast. The majority of those who died however were smart,
capable, dedicated workers: engineers, pilots, cabin crew and designers.
They were people who were just doing a job that they knew was important. In a world shattered by
World War One great civic projects like an airship network were viewed as vital. It is likely that
many of the crew on board the R101 knew that disaster was possible... and yet they boarded
the craft anyway, and did the very best they could to keep it afloat. Though they may have
feared for their lives - just as they had done during the War - they considered it their duty.