Thousands of people waited anxiously for the British airship R.34 to arrive on the morning of July 6, 1919, at Hazelhurst Field, at Mineola, New York. Looking like a huge aerial whale, it glided into view. What happened next is described by Grover Loening in his book Take Off Into Greatness. As the airship ‘floated stationary over the field at an altitude of 1,000 feet, a sudden burst of white fell from its control cabin… in a moment the object opened into a parachute, and with a chic that only the English can put over, the R.34 executive officer landed lightly and unconcerned in full be-ribboned uniform, carrying a swagger-stick.’

Major J.E.M Pritchard’s unique arrival had a serious purpose. No one on the field was qualified to handle the landing of a large airship. Pritchard volunteered, took command and efficiently organized the landing party while R.34 made a circuit of the field. With engines stopped and propellers in the horizontal position, she was carefully eased into the hands of the landing party at 9:50 a.m.

R.34 had flown the Atlantic ocean in 108 hours and 12 minutes from its base at East Fortune, near Edinburgh, Scotland. The flight was a landmark in aviation history, though in 1919 it seemed a natural progression in the onward march of aviation.

Although the rigid airship-constructed with gasbags inside a frame strengthened with a keel-was considered a failure in war, it was now seen as a potential passenger carrier. A meeting at the Air Ministry in London on March 4, 1919, discussed a flight to test its suitability for that role. On March 13, Alan R. Hawley, president of the Aero Club of America, invited the Air Ministry to send an airship to Atlantic City, N.J., to attend a muster of aviation groups to be held in May.

The Admiralty, which owned the airship, ceded to the Air Ministry the responsibility for the flight, and the new airship R.34 was chosen. The purpose of the flight was to obtain information about flying conditions over the Atlantic and to demonstrate the airship’s capability on long voyages. Strict conditions of acceptance imposed by the Air Ministry were beyond the scope of the Aero Club. The U.S. Navy agreed to provide R.34 with hydrogen gas, supplies and other facilities.

The chosen route, some 3,000 nautical miles, began at East Fortune, continuing via Newfoundland to New York. The Admiralty sent the battlecruisers HMS Renown and Tiger to provide weather forecasts along the route. In London a control room was established. The Americans did not have experience with rigid airships, so two Royal Air Force (RAF) officers, Lt. Col. F.W. Lucas and Major H.C. Fuller, with eight experienced airmen, were sent to form the nucleus of a handling party.

Fostered by the press, public interest in Britain and the United States grew. The London Times commented, ‘there would be only ginger beer to drink in America but the crew of the R.34 would get a hearty reception.’ The Times correspondent in New York reported: ‘the… flight has put the city in a flutter of excitement. Discussion has entirely superseded [the prospect of] Prohibition as the… preoccupation of the bulk of the citizens.’ He added, ‘there will be enormous crowds… which has led the authorities to issue elaborate regulations for the handling of the thousands of spectators and motor-cars.’

Success depended on the 30 experienced RAF men, with their army-style ranks, flying in a naval airship. They were led by Major George Herbert Scott, an Air Force Cross recipient who was also an experienced and skilled airship officer. His wife, Jenie, the daughter of the senior yard manager of William Beardmore and Company, (builders of R.34) at their site at Inchinan, Scotland, when asked if the flight concerned her, replied: ‘My father built her, my husband commands her. Why should I worry?’ This trust showed in the crew, who never doubted that they would succeed, asking only, ‘How long will it take?’

The crew included three officers with special duties. The most senior, Brig. Gen. E.M. Maitland, a professional soldier and experienced balloonist, had in 1908 made a record-breaking balloon flight of 1,117 miles from London to Mataki Derevni, in Russia. Considered by many the father of military ballooning in England, Maitland was strong and adventurous. His attitude about the Atlantic voyage was, ‘What more wonderful or more delightful adventure could anyone be called upon to undertake?’

Lieutenant Commander Zachary Lansdowne represented the U.S. Navy. In his definitive work, Giants in the Sky, Douglas H. Robinson said Lansdowne was ‘an officer of the highest professional qualification and an unforgettable figure in the history of the rigid airship.’ (Sadly, while serving as commander of the airship USN Shenandoah, he would be killed when the craft broke up over Ava, Ohio, early on September 3, 1925.)

Major J.E.M Pritchard, an experienced airship officer, had an unusual background. English by birth, American by descent, his father had left America after the defeat of the Confederacy. Pritchard was R.34’s photographer.

The crew were experienced and dedicated servicemen, mainly riggers and engineers. The riggers’ hazardous tasks included the continuous maintenance of the airship’s gasbags with patches of rubber solution. Singing and whistling were encouraged, because a change in tone indicated escaping gas. A dangerous aspect of their work required a walk along the spine of the airship to inspect the skin and gas valves. A rope was attached to them for safety, but most riggers were skilled in walking without the rope, leaning into the wind.The engineers had a difficult, dirty and noisy time of it. The temperamental engines, constantly troublesome, required ‘mothering’ to keep them operational-pumping fuel, cleaning and repairing.

The crew were divided into two watches, port and starboard. All wore heavy-duty flying suits that incorporated life-saving collars and a parachute harness. The parachutes hung in their packs from girders in accessible places.

Meal times were crucial. The watch going on duty ate first, followed half an hour later by the men coming off duty. The schedule was breakfast at 7:30 a.m., with lunch at 11:30 a.m., tea at 3:30 p.m. and dinner at 7:30 p.m. The food was basic but filling. Beef, ham, eggs and potatoes were precooked. Plenty of bread, cheese, jam, fruitcake, chocolate and tinned milk supplemented the diet, while drinks consisted of Oxo, Bovril, tea and cocoa, along with plenty of drinking water.

East Fortune, Scotland, lay under low cloud and mist, and a slight, cold wind blew from the north-east early on the morning of July 2, 1919. R.34, surrounded by the handlers, was ready in her floodlit hanger. The crew, comfortable after a midnight meal, settled at their stations. Scott, assured that all was correct, signaled, and a heavy tractor pulled the massive doors apart. ‘Walk her out!’ Scott ordered, and a bugler emphasized the command. The airship slid out, and once clear she was turned into the wind. The engines fired at 1:42 a.m. Scott ordered the start, the ropes were released and the hull lifted slowly. Engine clutches engaged, the engines roared and, nose-up, R.34 disappeared into the clouds.

The airship was heavily laden, even after a quarter of the main water-ballast was dropped. But with all engines working hard, Scott maintained height on a course set to the west. Keeping south of the Lennox Hills, Stirlingshire, they flew through the night along the Firth of Forth on to Glasgow, arriving at dawn, and then proceeded down the Clyde River, where they encountered rough weather.

Once they were over the ocean, the clear skies changed to rolling mist. Scott tried to avoid it by going low, but he was compelled to climb, flying at an attitude of 12 degrees to maintain height. Moisture permeated everything; the crew would endure cold and dampness throughout much of the flight.

It was particularly hard for William Ballantyne, 22, a former member of the crew. Left behind, he had sneaked on board, hiding on a girder between gasbags 6 and 7 above the crew’s quarters, feeling cold and ill.

Maitland, in his diary The Log of HMA R.34, described what happened when Ballantyne was discovered. ‘Scott came to my hammock… stowaway on board… cannot help sympathizing with his motive… bad from disciplinary point of view… risking the success of the flight… had there been land beneath us instead of ocean we would put him off at once in a parachute.’ Instead, Ballantyne ‘worked’ his passage by acting as a cook and pumping oil.

The misty weather of the first afternoon gave way to thinning clouds, at which point the crew could make navigational sightings. Scott’s task was like that of an old-time sailing master, where a delicate balancing act of all the forces-temperature, wind, lift and weight-was needed. Flair was required, and Scott possessed it.

It was not all work and discomfort, however. Their first tea that day was, as Maitland described it, ‘bread and butter, greengage jam and two cups of scalding tea which has been boiled over an exhaust pipe ‘cooker’ fitted to the forward engine.’ Entertainment was provided by a gramophone, on which they enjoyed listening to the ‘latest Jazz tunes.’

Weather reports from the two naval cruisers enabled Scott and his meteorological officer, Lieutenant G. Harris, to plan ahead. Harris observed unusual cirrus clouds to their southwest and identified them as the first sign of a depression moving north. It was good news, as Scott hoped to take advantage of a good tail wind.

At 3:30 p.m. 2nd Lt. R.F. Durrant, the wireless officer, managed to communicate with St. Johns’s, Newfoundland, although the signal was quite faint. They were still in contact with East Fortune and Clifden, a radio station on the Irish west coast.

That evening the weather grew colder. Flying at 3,000 feet, R.34 was plunging in and out of the clouds, and the airship’s gas was cooling. To maintain altitude, the crew had to keep all engines at full throttle to drive her at an uncomfortable nose-up angle.

They reached the halfway point across the Atlantic Ocean at about 9 a.m. on July 3, but the bad weather persisted. However, there were a few idyllic moments. Maitland described one such time, when ‘the deep blue of the sea being matched by the light blue of the sky.’ The stand-down watch was occasionally able to relax in the fresh air at the stern. Some sat on top of the hull, backs against the tailfin.

According to Maitland’s diary, R.34 was soon creeping through swirling fog ‘in a stranglehold of grey darkness’ that later turned to gale conditions with fierce gusts and heavy rain. The crew had to bellow to be heard above the hammering of the airship, which developed water leaks that soaked everything. Throughout it all, R.34 remained stable, with a slow, pitching motion.

Wireless traffic was brisk throughout the flight. At this point in the journey, greetings arrived from the governor of Newfoundland and the Canadian Pacific Railway. They seemed premature to R.34’s officers, who were still struggling to reach North America’s coast.

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