Chapter Twenty Three

Chasing Shadows

The end of this chapter describes the disaster which befell the airship, Hindenburg at Lakehurst, New Jersey, in May 1937.

The Irish Chauffeur

Edith's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, late April 1937.

With the noisomeness of the dream still fresh in her mind, Edith awoke with a sudden start and to find her body and nightgown soaked in sweat.

It had been the same sequence of events as before. Those on board the ill-fated aeroplane.

Once again, the faces of all the others, including those of the family, the man, the woman and the two boys, that of the older woman too, had been indistinct, as if viewed through a veil. Glancing out of the window beside her, Edith could see nothing, save that was for the grey, all pervading, swirling mass of dense fog. Then, somehow, such is the way of dreams, Edith found herself in the front cabin of the aeroplane. At which point, suddenly, directly ahead, something loomed tall and black: the brick chimney of a factory. The pilot wrenched the joystick over in order to try and avert a collision but it was too late. There was a terrific jolt, the sound of metal rending, an enormous explosion, flames, screams, and shouts.

In an instant, the scene changed and once more Edith found herself standing on the threshold of the bedroom at the far end of the passage beyond her Writing Room. The door stood ajar; the darkness beyond it was both cloying and opaque. Silently, Edith moved forward into the room and drew back the diaphanous drapery to reveal the row of coffins. At which point, she woke up.


It seemed that the several sessions held with M. Alphonse in Isabel's apartment on the Michaelerplatz in Vienna had proven worthless.


Dower House, Downton, Yorkshire, England, Monday 3rd May 1937.

These days, Cora did very little entertaining. Indeed, save for her weekly dinner engagement with Matthew and Mary up at the abbey each Friday evening, and occasionally on Sundays too, she normally dined alone at the Dower House. Of course, she could have dined at the abbey every night had she chosen to do so, as dear Robert's mother had done. However, dearest Mary now ruled as chatelaine there and, not wishing to be thought an encumbrance, and moreover because she valued her independence, not that she lacked for visitors, Cora spent much of her time alone with her memories down at the Dower House.

However, she did not think only of the past. For Cora was astute enough to realise that, just as Robert and she had once been, Matthew and Mary were but stewards of Downton. That in the 1960s, long after she and they had all gone down to dust, it would be young Robert and his wife who would by then have assumed the custodianship of the great house and the estate and thereafter their children and their children's children, and so on, and on, into a future which Cora could not possibly begin to imagine. She was not a great reader but it was now that Cora recalled a passage from Shakespeare that Robert had quoted to her on more than one occasion, and which, for a reason she could not fathom, other than growing old, had been much in her mind of late:

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:

The scepter, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

But setting aside the musings of Shakespeare, it was with her mind fixed very much on the future, that, in the years after Robert's death, Cora was often to be found up at the great house during the week, taking afternoon tea with her four Crawley grandchildren in whose young lives it must be said she was much more of a constant figure than either of their parents: Mary, by and large, aloof and remote, with her own social commitments, and Matthew engaged on the daily, demanding business of running the estate.

Nonetheless, Robert and Simon were fast becoming young men; Cora knew Robert wanted to begin playing his part in helping his father but in this it seemed that, unintentionally on Matthew's part, Cora felt sure, the boy found himself brushed aside. As for Simon, he spent most of the time in his own private dream world, one inhabited only by himself and his teddy bear, Oscar. Of the two girls, Rebecca went riding a great deal, a passion which she shared with her own mother, while Cora had never had much interest in either riding or horses. This left the baby of the family, little Emily who while a delightful child was, at only four years old, hardly company for her grandmother. So, the arrival here in a few days' time, of Cora's godson, Jack Power, all the way from the United States, someone who she had not seen for many years, had the hallmarks of being a Red Letter Day.

Related, albeit only distantly, to the actor Tyrone Power now making something of a name for himself in Hollywood, Jack like his more famous cousin hailed from Cora's own home town of Cincinnati in Ohio. On reflection, the more Cora thought about it, she more she was convinced that Tyrone was actually Jack's second cousin once removed but no matter. A cousin is a cousin is a cousin. Just as good looking, Jack, who had a degree in civil engineering, worked for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and had recently married a local girl, Audrey Traherne. They were coming to Europe on their honeymoon and Jack had written to Cora asking to pay a visit here to Downton to see his godmother. Like young Max, Jack Tyrone was something of an aviation enthusiast. So, instead of sailing across the Atlantic on board the Queen Mary, he had booked tickets for his wife and himself on the German airship Hindenburg; now outward bound to the United States. On their arrival at Frankfurt in Germany, Jack and Audrey would then travel by train to Le Havre, across the English Channel by steamer, and so on by train all the way up here to Downton.


Morning Room, Downton Abbey, about the same time.

What with the business of Armitage still ongoing, it was Matthew's considered opinion that Jack Power's visit here to Downton could not have come at a worse time; an assessment with which Mary herself was rather inclined to agree.

"All the same, they'll be staying at the Dower House. They're coming here for afternoon tea, back to the Dower House to change, and then up here again for dinner. Of course, Mama will be in attendance as well. I'll have a word with Mrs. White. I'm sure she can be relied upon to prepare something special".

From behind his newspaper, Mary heard Matthew grunt his assent.

"Hm. And, have you ever met him, your mother's godson?" Matthew laid aside his newspaper; saw Mary first shake, then nod her head.

"What's that supposed to mean? God help us if ever you'd been put in charge of the Signal Service on the Western Front!"

"Well, I wasn't. Mama says I have. Met him, that is. Apparently, all three of us did, shortly before the war, when he was just a little boy. However, try as I might, I can't recall him. Apparently, Jack and his parents came over to England on board the Olympic and then stayed with us at Grantham House. You know, our town house..."
"The one which I sold and is now doing duty in its twilight years as a third rate hotel?"

"Yes, that's the place". Mary sighed. Whatever Matthew might say, she had fond memories of the old house which had belonged to the Crawleys for some three hundred years - before that was Matthew had severed the connection as swiftly as Alexander the Great had cut the Gordian Knot.

Like Tom, Matthew was possessed of an unpredictable sense of humour which at times Mary found hard to fathom. It came to the fore now.

"I've a private notion that when we go up to town for the coronation, we should go and stay there instead of Claridges. It would save us a small fortune. Perhaps, as erstwhile owners of the place, they would give us preferential rates!" Matthew grinned, but his attempt at humour went sadly awry.

Mary pulled a sour face.

"Thank you, but no. To be perfectly frank, I'd have much preferred it if at the time the place had been blown to pieces by the Royal Artillery".

Once more safely hidden behind his newspaper, Matthew smiled. After all these years, he was surprised that his enforced sale of Grantham House, a great barn of a place, one that was scarcely ever used, should still rankle so much. However, back in the '20s, there had been no other possible option. The house cost a fortune to maintain, even with only a skeleton staff in residence, and many other titled families had been forced to do just the same: namely, faced with ever rising costs, sell off their townhouses, and decamp permanently to the country.


Butler's Pantry, Downton Abbey, a short while later.

Like Her Ladyship had done, albeit for decidedly different reasons, on learning of the impending visit here to Downton of Jack and Audrey Power, Thomas Barrow had been his usual obsequious self. However, below stairs in the privacy of the Butler's Pantry, Barrow grimaced. Two bloody Yanks to whom he had to bow and scrape. Not bloody likely. Barrow doubted if either of them even knew how to use a knife and fork, let alone a napkin. It would be the eighth wonder of the world if they did. However, if the chap was half as good looking as Thomas was led to believe... A shame that he was married. Still, there were married men who...

Then, about an hour since, had come the obliquely worded telegram - all the way from Paris. Whilst what it meant would have been unintelligible other than to its recipient, quite how dear old Maundy expected him to do as he had asked... But then if he refused... Thomas sat back in his chair. A sprat to catch a mackerel... in the guise of Prince Louis of Hesse.


On the road to the Pyramids, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

On their way out to the pyramids, at one point in the journey, the taxi came to a sudden and unexpected stand beneath the welcome shade afforded by a small grove of palm trees beside the River Nile. Apparently, the motor was at risk of overheating - or so the driver said - and, while he tinkered with the engine, Friedrich and the boys clambered out and went and stretched their legs.

Not far from where the taxi had come to a stand, nestled in a grove of date palms, beside the river, was a wooden waterwheel, festooned with clay pots dripping water. Worked by a donkey, in the sole charge of a young boy, as the wheel slowly turned, each of the pots scooped up water from the river, before depositing it into a narrow, muddy channel which led away into the nearby fields, providing the means of irrigating them. Just off shore a couple of fishermen were casting nets from a felucca while further out, mid stream, at both bow and stern flying the red and white Egyptian flag, a white hulled paddle steamer was churning the sparkling, sunlit, deceptively placid, surface of the broad river into a dirty brown foam of frothing water. A group of European passengers could be observed lining the ship's rail; some gazing at the unfolding scenery, others taking photographs, and a handful waved cheerfully to Robert and Max as the vessel, named for the Sudan, steamed briskly past the boys, heading up river making, according Friedrich, for Luxor where, years ago he had stayed with Edith at the Winter Palace Hotel.

While Robert and Max continued to watch the passage of the paddle steamer, unobserved, Friedrich walked some distance back along the road. The highway was, he saw, thankfully empty, devoid of all traffic. Seemingly entirely satisfied, Friedrich turned on his heel and walked back to the taxi.


"Please, effendi, we go now. Please effendi to get in". With the driver continuing to apologise profusely for the delay, satisfied that all was once more in order, the journey to the pyramids duly resumed with, on the back seat, Friedrich now seated between the two boys.

"Well, no. Not really". Shamefaced, Robert grinned.

Uncle Friedrich smiled and patted his nephew's knee. He had asked Robert if he was looking forward to going home a few days from now.

"That's perfectly understandable. To be truthful, I'd have felt much the same at your age. Going back to school and so forth".

"You would?" Like most boys, Robert found it difficult to believe either his own parents or his uncles and aunts had ever been the age he himself was now.

"Of course".

"Uncle Friedrich, may I tell you something? In confidence".

Friedrich nodded.
"It's not the going back to school... I'll have so much to tell the other chaps, about the ambush, all that I've seen, who we met... But it's not that either. It's..." Robert sighed. "Well, for a start, nothing at Downton will be the same as it's been here..."
"You mean there won't be any palm trees?"

By the expression on his nephew's face, Friedrich realised he had miscalculated.

"Uncle Friedrich, please, I'm being serious".

"Very well. Tell me what it is that's troubling you".

"Well, Papa and Mama are... always so busy. Papa with the estate and Mama with her social engagements... I don't think either of them have realised that I'm not a little boy any more. I'm sixteen and I wish, oh I do so wish, that they'd treat me the way you do. The same way you treat Max. As though what I think, what I feel, what I have to say, actually matters. Oh, I know there's school to finish and then 'varsity but I want to help father, be involved in the running of the estate... After all, one day, it will all be mine".

"And you think your father doesn't value your opinions?"
Silently, Robert shook his head.

"Have you spoken to him about how you feel?"
"I've tried to but... he never seems to be around long enough to listen".

Friedrich was astute enough to realise that in this he had to tread warily. While he had the most enormous respect for Matthew, he was also very fond indeed of Robert, not only because he was very much his father's son but because of how much Robert meant to Max.

"Might it help matters if I had a quiet word with your father?"
"Well I..."

"Don't worry, I won't say we've had this little chat". Friedrich grinned conspiratorially at his English nephew.

"Would you, Uncle Friedrich?"
"Certainly, I will. Leave it with me. I need to write to your father anyway about certain matters".

"Oh!" Robert sounded alarmed, whereupon his uncle laughed.

"Financial matters. Nothing that concerns you, my boy! I'll do so directly once we've returned to Rosenberg".

"Then, thank you, Uncle Friedrich. It's all been such great fun. I wouldn't have missed any of it, not for the world! Thank you for asking me along".

Friedrich smiled.

"My pleasure. I know you're Max's cousin, but thank you, too, Robert, for being such a good friend to him. I know just how much he loves both you... and Danny".


Given the respective ages the three boys were now, had Friedrich not known just how close they were, he would not have used the word love. However, he did so now deliberately, knowing very well that there was nothing at all mawkish about the boys' feelings for one other, stemming as they did from that singular, shared experience back in the summer of 1932 when, shortly after they had met for the first time, the three boys, along with Max's beloved dachshund, Fritz, had found themselves stranded on the platform of a remote railway station high in the French Alps.

What then happened, how resourceful the boys had been in extricating themselves from their predicament, helped in their youthful endeavours by a French fighter pilot named Duval who owned a motorcycle and a sidecar, leading to a madcap, whirlwind ride through the Alps to catch up with the Rome express before it crossed the border into Italy, had passed into the family annals of the Bransons, the Crawleys, and the Schönborns. This apart, it was when the escapade had been brought to a successful conclusion, what Danny and Robert, then aged twelve and eleven, had told their Aunt Edith which, after he had been informed about it, had resonated profoundly with Friedrich and still did so.


Edith's compartment on board the Rome Express, Kingdom of Italy, summer 1932.

Hearing a gentle knock on the corridor door to her compartment, Edith looked up.

"Who is it, please?"

"It's Rob and me, Aunt Edith. May we come in?"

Recognising the voice of her much loved Irish nephew, Edith readily assented.

"Yes, of course you may".

Opening the door to their aunt's compartment, Danny and Robert found her sitting talking quietly with Max who looked up and seeing who it was, smiled happily at his two cousins, who now came to stand in front of their aunt.

Danny cleared his throat. How, he wondered, should he make a start?

"Aunt Edith?"
"Yes?"

"May I ask you something?"

"By all means".
"Would you do something for Rob and me?"

"Well, yes, if I possibly can".
"Grand! Well... the thing is..." Danny fell silent.
"What is it?" Edith asked gently, genuinely mystified.

"Would you tell Max something, please, from the both of us?" Robert asked.

"Of course".
"Will you... tell him..." Danny paused, momentarily unsure of how he should continue, to put into words what it was they wanted young Max to be told. A moment later, from somewhere inspiration dawned and Danny had his answer. "Please tell Max... that... that while we're very pleased to have him as our cousin, we're also very proud to call him our friend, for sure".

Edith smiled; translated swiftly into German what the two boys had said who now saw Max blush to the very roots of his sandy hair. Then, with tears starting, he rose to his feet and bowed gravely from the waist to his two cousins.


Kinship is one thing but true friendship is something else entirely. The invisible links forged between the three boys on that summer's night in the Alps back in 1932 would last a lifetime, as the boys grew to manhood, through the last golden years of the '30s, and even as Europe plunged once more over the abyss and into a new world war.


Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, late April 1937.

"So, just what do you intend to do now?" Mary asked drowsily. Here in their bed, in the enjoyable afterglow of their love-making, she was lying in the comforting circle of Matthew's right arm and which rested upon her bare skin just below her breasts. Deep within the core of her being, Mary was aware of a growing, pleasing torpor but because she had to know the answer to something, she continued to fight against it. Beside her, Matthew smiled; played gently with a tendril of her yet dark hair. A while back Mary had been appalled to have found a hint of grey. Not that she had mentioned it to Matthew. Of course, none of them were getting any younger. All the same, she would not resort to tinting her hair. Mama had always said that was something which only actresses did. Not that that was exactly true. At least not any more. However, it was still, in Mary's view, the mark of a woman who was no better than she ought to be.

"I'm not entirely sure. There was something which Prince Louis said to me on the telephone. I know it was important but for the life of me I can't now recall what it was". Matthew yawned.

"About what?"
"That's just it!"


"Well, that's just it".

"It? What is?"

"That's where Papa's gone".


On the road to the Pyramids, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

At the mention of Danny's name, with tears brimming, not trusting that his own voice would not betray him, Robert turned his head away and looked out of the window; saw a blur of palm trees and a string of camels and their riders trotting past along the road leading to the pyramids. Although Robert didn't really understand why it was Danny had felt compelled to go out to Spain to fight in the civil war, he had, nonetheless, first in Haifa and then in Cairo, seen the headlines in the English newspapers about what was happening; how things were going from bad to worse for the Republicans. Clearing his throat, blinking back his tears, Robert turned and looked directly at his uncle.

"Uncle Friedrich.., may... may I ask you something else?"
"Of course, my boy".

"What's happening out there in Spain... the war there, it can't go on forever... Do you think Danny has a chance of making it through?"

"No, of course it won't. As for Danny, I'm sure he'll win through in the end. However, war is war and you know as well as I do that there are always casualties. I'd be lying to you if I said otherwise. So, it's best not to dwell on that. Not long now". Friedrich nodded towards where, in the middle distance, the enormous limestone structures of the three pyramids loomed larger than ever. They were, truly enormous.


Turning to look at Max, his father saw that he was leafing through the pages of one of his many aircraft magazines, to find yet another article about The Hindenburg, this one comparing it with the slightly smaller Graf Zeppelin. Of the several magazines that Max had purchased for him regularly by his doting parents, his favourite was The Aeroplane. Printed in England, this magazine came out weekly; four issues being parcelled up and despatched regularly each month to Rosenburg by none other than Max's Aunt Mary. Reading the magazines also helped to improve Max's command of English.

Friedrich smiled, knowing well enough that it was he himself who had fostered Max's interest in flying through his own military service during the Great War where he had served as a pilot in the Kaiserliche und Königliche Luftfahrtruppen - the air force of the now long-dissolved Austro-Hungarian Empire. Max claimed with pride that his father had been a fighter ace; was something which he had told both Danny and Robert when the three boys had all met for the first time on board the Rome Express back in the summer of 1932. Not that his father saw himself in quite the same light. A fighter pilot, certainly but never an ace and, unlike some who did, Friedrich did not view his time spent serving as a pilot as a twentieth century version of a knight errant. For, just like Matthew, Friedrich saw nothing at all vainglorious in killing his fellow men who for Friedrich, flying repeated sorties over parts of the 900 mile long Eastern Front, had been pilots of the Imperial Russian Air Service.

"My darling boy, here we are in Cairo, one of the greatest cities in the world, presently on our way to see the oldest and last surviving of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and you are spending your time reading an article on airships!"

Max grinned. To all intents and purposes, having found it, he began reading the article for which he had been searching. However, this was, in part, a blind for, unobserved, glancing surreptitiously sideways at his father, Max saw him once more turn and look out of the rear window of the speeding taxi. Clearly something was of concern to Papa but what that was still remained a mystery.

Robert, also, had seen his uncle turn his head and look behind him. Now, as Uncle Friedrich began talking to Max about the Graf Zeppelin, comparing it to the Hindenburg, it was Robert who glanced behind, to see that what appeared to be the same black motor, the one which he had briefly glimpsed standing behind a broken down mud wall in the grove of palms beside the waterwheel, was now following close behind the taxi.


A short while later, in both heat and dust, the taxi duly arrived at the pyramids but, when, yet again, Robert chanced to glance behind him, of the black motor there was now no sign at all.


Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, late April 1937.

For one split second, Mary found herself thinking of Simon. Only a few hours earlier, he had used exactly the same phrase as his father had now done, but this was hardly the time to be thinking of their fifteen year old son.

"It?"
Matthew nodded.

"Yes. I was so intent on concentrating on what the prince had to tell me about the rendezvous off the coast here in Yorkshire that I..." Matthew yawned again and stretched before placing his linked hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.

"Well, you can't leave it there!"
"Can't I? Darling, I'm dog-tired and..."
For Mary inspiration now dawned.

"Why on earth don't you telephone him?" She turned to look at Matthew and nodded her head.
"Just like that, eh?"
"Just like what?" Mary was gently stroking the mat of bright soft hairs upon his chest.
"You mean, I take it, telephone the German embassy in London?"
"Well, yes. Why ever not?" Given her earlier experiences today, Mary could see no problem in using the telephone. Indeed, quite the reverse.
"And, ask, I suppose, to speak to Prince Louis of Hesse and by Rhine?"

"Yes!"

"By name?"

"Well, if you didn't ask for the prince by name, how would the operator there know with whom you wished to speak?"

"Indeed". Matthew nodded but for all of that, he sounded disbelieving.

"Yes, indeed. Why ever not?"

Matthew let out a tremendous guffaw.

"What on earth's so funny?"
"You are!"

"Me?" Mary's eyes narrowed. She did not like to be thought of as a figure of fun.

"Yes, you!"

"How so?"

"Don't be so bloody ridiculous, woman! That's not how it works, you silly goose. You know as well as I that our..." But Mary wasn't listening. She pouted. Some years ago, Sybil had told her that, following some trifling incident, Tom had called her a silly woman, how, at the time it had enraged Sybil beyond measure. Mary felt much the same as her sister must have done then. Nor did she care to be compared to one of the cackling, squawking geese that harassed and pursued passers-by down at Home Farm. Her suggestion, that Matthew telephone the prince had been made in good faith but if that was how it was received, well... Realising that he had offended her, Matthew relented; went onto to explain patiently, just how things stood. Made an end of what he had to say a few moments later. "So, given how dangerous all of this has become, for all our sakes, I have no option but to wait for the prince to contact me. After all, everything else apart, it is likely that his telephone there at the embassy is bugged".

"Bugged?"

"It means a listening device has been placed on the telephone line".

"Oh! And just how does one do that?"

But Matthew wasn't in the mood to explain further. The perfume he had bought Mary in Geneva was possessed of a beguiling sensual fragrance; one that invited him to find its source and which he now proceeded to do...


Tom's study, Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, Irish Free State, late April 1937.

Hearing the front door open, then close again just as swiftly, followed by the piping voices of Bobby and young Eoin Brady, a school friend of Bobby's who had come to tea, Tom looked up from his desk for the umpteenth time and sighed. Like darling Bobby, young Eoin was an avid stamp collector and, earlier this afternoon, Bobby had taken those Spanish stamps which Tom had steamed off the envelopes of Danny's latest letters over to Eoin for his album and to swap them for others which Eoin had and Bobby did not possess. Like most of the Spanish stamps Tom had seen, the majority still bore the portrait of the last king - Alfonso XIII - overprinted vertically with the words Republica Española although others - a minority - were new designs, recently issued by the Republican government.

In the matter of Danny, in the months which had elapsed since he had left for Spain, Sybil and Tome had reached an accommodation of sorts. What would happen, if in due course, he failed to return, Tom didn't care to speculate. As for George Steer, he had done exactly as he had promised Tom he would do. For, despite the manifold difficulties inherent in having letters delivered to someone fighting in a foreign country which was going through the throes of a bloody civil war, it seemed that whatever means Steer had employed, most of Tom and Sybil's letters written to Danny had reached him; this from what Danny's letters to his parents had said. That the majority of these had eventually reached Tom and Sybil here in Ireland. True, the letters had not always turned up in the order in which they had been written and a handful of them had undoubtedly gone astray but, in the circumstances, that was only to be expected. From what Danny had written in reply it was just as evident that somehow his own letters seemed to have evaded passing through the hands of the Republican censors. Not that Danny had ever been anything other than circumspect in what he had written for, despite having no military experience, he was old enough to understand that in such a situation as the one in which he found himself now, certain things were to be left unsaid. Equally, to have spoken of some of what he had both seen and experienced would only have caused Ma pain and worried her even more.

Sitting back in his chair, linking the fingers of his hands behind his head, Tom looked up. On the wall above his desk, instead of the two pictures of the Wicklow Mountains which customarily hung here, there was now a large coloured map of Spain. Dating from 1925, and so therefore somewhat out of date, it served well enough for the purpose for which Tom had need of it; showing, as it did, all the cities and major towns, the mountains and the rivers, and the railways. The map had been obtained from Stanfords in London through the good offices of Walter Freeman, a member of the staff of the School of Natural Science at Trinity College; the College long owing Tom a favour for having helped keep a particularly unsavoury matter out of the newspapers. Along with the the large map there were also a clutch of several smaller, black and white ones - of various parts of Spain - these culled from several newspapers, including the Indy.

Helped by Saiorse and Bobby - Sybil had flatly refused to have anything to do with this - Tom had made a set of small coloured flags to indicate the whereabouts of the opposing forces and then pinned them to the large map, moving them as and when further information came to light as to the changes in fortune of both the Nationalists and the Republicans. Looking at the map, it was perhaps just as well that Sybil had refused to become involved since the flags showed only too clearly what was happening and it was equally obvious to Tom that, if the forces of the Republican government were not yet retreating on all fronts, then they soon would be.


And there was this business of the armed fugitive on the run over there in England and which had been reported in the press here. Even The Indy had run a piece on what was taking place; a man who hailed originally from Downton. Then there had been the appalling business of Daisy Mason. Obviously, Tom remembered her from his own days in service at the abbey. Likewise, Sybil. Yet Matthew had rebuffed Tom's offer to lend a friendly ear. That there was far more to what was being said openly regarding the disappearance of the wanted man, who seemed to have vanished out of sight like the proverbial will o' the wisp, was certain. That, in some way, he was linked to the both missing reporter from The Yorkshire Post and the missing hiker. That the latter in fact hailed from the German embassy in London was not common knowledge - at least not yet.


Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, late April 1937.

Sated, and for the second time that night, once again they lay entwined in each other's arms.

"So just when do we expect Rob... Robert... to return?" Matthew asked drowsily.
"According to the telegram I received from Edith, by the end of next week. I have to say his Headmaster has been awfully good about him having time off". Mary yawned.

"After setting up those three scholarships back in '31, let alone the sizeable donation I gave the school last year towards refurbishing their cricket pavilion, so Strachan bloody well should be!"

Mary said nothing. Given how Matthew was always so concerned to make the estate pay its way, the endowing of three scholarships at Ripon School in 1931 during the Great Depression had been something of a bone of contention between husband and wife, made worse by the fact that at the time Mary suspected Tom had a hand in what had come to pass, as indeed had been the case, although Matthew refused to admit it.


Tom's study, Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, Irish Free State, September 1931.

"Well, why ever not, for sure?" Tom asked.

At the other end of the telephone, Matthew thought he had sounded surprised. He demurred.

"Tom, with Robert just having gone up to the school, might not some look on it as a bribe?"
"If ya'd made the endowment for the scholarships before he went, then perhaps. That I know ya to be far too an honourable man to have any truck with something as base as that goes without saying. But the lad's already there".

Matthew was very touched by Tom's assessment of the situation.

"Thank you for those kind words".

"Feck kind words!" Tom growled. "It's true enough. Now, what about it?"
"Do something for the common man, you mean?"
"If you like, for sure!"

"Very well then, I will!"


Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, late April 1937.

What at the time had been even more galling to Mary in the matter of the school bursaries was the fact that, only a matter of months before he died, Papa had given Matthew his full support.

"Nonetheless, Robert's proven a real credit to the school. Damned good pupil, all-rounder, in the First XI, and also in the running to be head of de Grey's house next year; or so I've been led to believe. If he were only a few years older I'd be looking to him to start learning the business of running the estate. After all, one day, it will all belong to him. If only young Simon was as reliable and studious. But he isn't!"

Mary nodded.

"There's time enough before Robert has to become involved in learning how the estate is run. Papa never included me in any of that".

"No, he didn't and more's the pity. But to be fair, old Robert never took much interest in that side of things. You know as well as I do that times have changed and estates like Downton, if they are to survive, cannot simply be a milch cow providing funds for house parties and shooting week-ends. Downton has to be run properly; made to pay its way.

Given that she had a favour to ask, Mary chose to ignore the earlier use of language and now the implied criticism of Papa. However, what Matthew had said was true enough: Papa had never been involved in the day to day administration of the estate; while his financial - what was the word Tom had used - acumen - that was it. Papa's financial acumen had never been of the best.

"After the Coronation, if you don't mind, before we catch the express, return home, I'd like to do a spot of shopping. There's a new couturier opened on Oxford Street, close to Marble Arch and... Matthew, darling what is it? What on earth have I said?"


Naval Air Station, Lakehurst, New Jersey, United States of America, Thursday 6th May 1937.

Save for encountering strong headwinds out over the Atlantic Ocean, which meant that the Hindenburg was now many hours overdue - she had been scheduled to moor here at 6:00am - the landing now postponed to 6:00pm, the voyage of the giant airship all the way from Frankfurt, Prussia, in Germany to Lakehurst, New Jersey in the United States had proven singularly unremarkable. From Frankfurt, she had flown over Cologne, crossed the Netherlands, and followed the English Channel along the southern coast of England, passing the chalky cliffs of Beachy Head and the Seven Sisters, before heading out over the Atlantic, taking a northerly track across the vastness of the ocean, passing the southern tip of Greenland, and crossing over the North American coast at Newfoundland.

However, her arrival at Lakehurst, New Jersey, had been delayed yet still further, this time by bad weather in the form of heavy thunderstorms. While these continued to reverberate and rumble noisily around the leaden skies above Lakehurst, in order to give time for the storms to pass away, Captain Max Pruss had ordered an unexpected change of direction. In due course, this had brought the Hindenburg high over the glass and steel skyscrapers of Manhattan and New York where the unexpected sight of the enormous 800 feet long airship had caused people to rush out into the busy streets below, in order to catch sight of her.

Thereafter, the Hindenburg sailed on, down the coast of New Jersey, which meant that it was fast approaching 7:00 p.m. local time when, cruising at an altitude of 198 metres, the airship began her final approach from the southwest towards the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst. On board, the captain and crew were fully aware that this would be a high landing, known as a "flying moor" with the Hindenburg dropping its landing lines and mooring cable from a high altitude, before being winched down to the mooring mast. While this kind of landing required less crewmen on the ground, it would take far longer to accomplish and, although this type of landing was usual for American airships, the Hindenburg had only performed this operation at Lakehurst a few times the previous year.


The arrival of the Hindenburg was awaited with a growing impatience, not only on the part of those crowded behind the observation windows on board the giant airship looking down, but also by the many friends and relatives on the ground below and now gazing up at the Hindenburg as she slowly came into land.

However, the number of passengers on board the airship was comparatively few in number - just 36 out of a maximum of 70. Nonetheless, the return flight to Germany was fully booked with many of those passengers intending to head on over to England by other, rather more conventional, means of travel, in order to witness the coronation of King George VI, due to take place in six day's time, on 12th May, in Westminster Abbey, London. And among the crowd of spectators down there on the ground was Cora's godson, Jack Power and his wife Audrey.


On Captain Pruss's order, the Hindenburg turned sharply westwards which took her on a course around the air station field, this on account of the fact that the American naval crew on the ground was still not yet ready to receive the airship. As if they had not had sufficient time to prepare already! Pruss sighed and clasped his hands firmly behind his back. Then, just as quickly, a matter of but a few moments later, again on his command, the helmsmen steered the airship back towards the landing field. En route, First Officer Albert Sammt, aided by his fellow Watch Officer, Walter Ziegler, valved some 15 seconds of hydrogen gas along the entire length of the vessel in order to reduce the Hindenburg's buoyancy and so prepare for landing. As a result of this, with the four reversible 1,190 hp, Daimler-Benz diesel engines beginning to idle, the huge airship, with her maximum speed of 135 km per hour, began to slow down, but was still moving too fast. So, while yet at an altitude of some 120m, a couple of minutes later, the captain ordered the two aft engines to be placed full astern, in order to try and slow the giant craft still further.


With the wind having changed direction to the southwest, a further sharp turn to starboard took place, the forward gas cells were valved, and, as the airship was stern heavy, large amounts of the water ballast were released, cascading to the ground. As this did not produce the desired result, six crewmen were sent to the bow to trim the vessel. Thereafter, from a height of some 90 metres the mooring lines were dropped from the bow; first the starboard and then the port. It was now, as the ground crew sought to secure the mooring lines, that a light rain began to fall.


At 7.25pm, with her transatlantic crossing finally at an end, through lowering clouds of rain, the enormous airship nosed slowly towards the mooring mast.


It's starting to rain again; it's... the rain had (oh) slacked up a little bit. The back motors of the ship are just holding it (uh) just enough to keep it from... It's burst into flames! It's burst into flame, and it's falling! It's crashing! Oh, my! Get out of the way, please! It's burning, bursting into flames and the... and it's falling on the mooring mast and all the folks between - oh, this is terrible; this is one of the worst catastrophes in the world. Oh it's... [unintelligible] its flames... Crashing, oh! Four- or five-hundred feet into the sky and it... it's a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. It's smoke, and it's flames now; and the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring mast. Oh, the humanity, all the passengers.

Author's Note:

The passage Cora recalls is from Act IV Scene ii of Cymbeline by William Shakespeare.

Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, Tyrone Edward Power (1914-1958) became a matinee idol in the 1930s and 1940s. Known for his striking good looks, he appeared in dozens of films, often in a swashbuckling role or as a romantic lead.

Built in 1921 for Thomas Cook's Nile cruises (which became especially popular after the discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922), the paddle steamer seen by the boys is still in service. Agatha Christie travelled on board her in 1933 and proved the inspiration for her novel Death On The Nile. The 2004 television adaptation of the novel was filmed on board the steamer, for which it was renamed the Karnak.

The Winter Palace Hotel at Luxor opened in 1907 and is still in business today. A regular guest at the hotel was George Herbert, 5th earl of Carnarvon (1866-1923), owner of Highclere Castle where Downton Abbey was filmed.

For what happened in the Alps in the summer of 1932, see my story The Rome Express.

Founded in 1853 by Edward Stanford (1827-1904), Stanfords on Long Acre, Covent Garden, London - is the world's largest map retailer. In The Hound of the Baskervilles, Dr. Watson is sent down to Stanfords to procure a map of Dartmoor. In 1922 the company produced the world's smallest maps ever made - for atlases for Queen Mary's doll's house. In 1941, during WWII, the two upper floors of the premises were set alight during an incendiary raid. Fortunately, the tightly packed stacks of Ordnance Survey maps slowed the path of the fire and the rest of the building was saved. The then owner, Fraser Stanford, being very enterprising, continued to sell those maps which had been only partially charred at the edges for years to come!

Thomas Walter Freeman (1908-1988) had arrived in Ireland in 1936 from Edinburgh University to take up the post of Lecturer in Geography at Trinity College, Dublin, intending to introduce the subject as a full honours subject in the School of Natural Sciences.

At 776 feet, so slightly shorter in length than the Hindenburg, the LZ127 Graf Zeppelin had been completed in September 1928. With her commissioning began, for those who could afford it, the all too the brief period of transatlantic flight made by airship. Following the Hindenburg disaster, the Graf Zeppelin was retired from service and eventually was broken up for scrap during WWII.

Strachan - W. J. Strachan was Headmaster of Ripon School 1935-1957. De Grey House was established in 1906 and named after an aristocratic family who were benefactors to the school. While Ripon School - re-founded in 1555 during the reign of Queen Mary - is one of England's finest grammar schools, for the avoidance of doubt, Robert and Simon's attendance there is, of course, fictitious.

The Russian Imperial Air Service had been founded in 1912, was renamed following the Russian Revolution in 1917, and was the forerunner of the Soviet Air Force.

The final words of this chapter are taken from the radio broadcast made by the journalist, Herbert Morrison (1905-1989) whose eye witness report of the Hindenburg disaster has become known throughout the world. However, the most famous part of this, including the words oh the humanity, was nearly never made - the stylus bouncing several times on the lacquered disc as shock waves from the enormous explosion hit the recording equipment. It was only thanks to the presence of mind of the sound engineer, Charlie Nehlsen, who carefully replaced the stylus back on the disc, that enabled the recording to continue being made.

Of the 97 people on board the airship - 36 passengers and 61 crew - 13 of the former and 22 of the latter (together with a crewman on the ground) died in the disaster, most of them at Lakehurst, the others in hospital. While many of the survivors were very badly burned, some came out of the wreckage completely unscathed. The last survivor, a little boy - who at the time was 8 years old - died in November 2019.

Nearly a century later, what actually caused the disaster is still a matter for speculation: sabotage by those opposed to the Nazi regime, static electricity, lightning, flammable dope (the paint used to cover the skin of the airship), a tear in one of the hydrogen bags ignited by sparks from a broken bracing wire... the list is almost endless.