Dennis Hanna website

An Anthology of Stories From The Collection Of Private Memoirs Of An English Gentlemen

On a crisp, chilly winters' night several years ago I climbed the winding, metal spiral staircase that leads to the observatory at Hanna Towers. The addition to the neo-gothic structure was made in 1856 by the twelfth Laird and blended in perfectly atop the ramparts of the old castle.

As the ancient oak door creaked noisily open I spied my trusty old eight inch reflector standing as always pointing towards the heavens. I had for many years polished the old brass instrument with the same loving care generations of my ancestors had in their time. Presently I retired, with a generous glass of brandy, to the library in the west wing. Browsing through the astronomy section I found a dusty copy of a long forgotten book entitled "Rocketry Explained". As I perused the well-thumbed pages I chanced to observe familiar handwriting in the margin of page twenty-three. With growing curiosity I peered at the faded script. The writing was unmistakably in the hand of my great, great, great, grandfather Cornelius Hanna erstwhile explorer and inventor. Sadly old Cornelius had met an unpleasant fate falling victim to a bizarre hunting accident when a defective elephant gun exploded inexplicably in his face during an ill-fated trip to Africa. Cornelius Hanna was much maligned by his Victorian contemporaries and regarded as something of an eccentric crackpot. Not unlike me he was years ahead of his time. The cryptic message read as follows. "Go to the stables where you will find my life's greatest challenge three paces from the west wall beneath your feet". Puzzled I called my faithful manservant Coverdale and together we strode purposefully across the cobbled courtyard to the old stable block.

With the aid of Coverdale's compass, a device he is never without, we ascertained the position of the west wall and walked three paces as instructed. Peeling back the ragged old Hessian matting we found to our mutual astonishment a long forgotten trapdoor. Not realising the adventure we were about to embark upon we opened the stiff creaky door. Coverdale handed me a hurricane lamp, which by good fortune he happened to have with him, and carefully we descended the rickety staircase into the gloomy cobweb filled room below. Cautiously we inched into the darkness guided by the dancing flame of the lamp. As our eyes became accustomed to the half-light we observed a dark shape in the far corner of the room. Arriving next to the mysterious object we realised the mass was covered by a tarpaulin. Almost as one Coverdale and I removed the cover and peered incredulously at our find. I raised the lamp above my shoulder and as I did the gloomy darkness revealed a long lost secret. For there in that dusty old room was Cornelius' life's work.

Coverdale and I carefully examined every inch of the machine we had just discovered. It was clearly a rocket of some kind undoubtedly intended to carry a human occupant in the cockpit located at the front of the device. The workmanship was of an exceptionally high standard. The craft entirely constructed of copper and iron panels lovingly riveted together, the domed glass bubble cockpit canopy being the only exception. Gently we prised open the cockpit canopy and stared open mouthed at the array of dials and levers inside. Placed on the seat was a large, leather bound book.

Reaching inside the machine, with Coverdale holding my legs for support, I gently removed the book for closer examination. Impatiently I rushed to my study and with Coverdale peering eagerly over my left shoulder I carefully opened the book. It revealed a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. Old Cornelius was a wily old fox and had meticulously documented every aspect of the experiments he had carried out all those years before. The handwritten text augmented by clear schematic diagrams.

During the next few days I did not venture from my study. I was totally gripped by the secrets revealed in the old book. Feverishly I read page after page thirsty for the knowledge I had found. My housekeeper Mrs. MacDougall expressed concern for my welfare as she removed yet another tray of uneaten food from the table outside my room. Her gentle Scottish brogue mildly rebuked me through the locked wooden door.

I had become a man obsessed. Day after day, night after night, I read through the manuscript not sleeping or eating until days later I emerged tired and dishevelled into the bright sunlight of the wood panelled hallway. By now I was replete with the knowledge old Cornelius had so generously imparted. To appease Mrs. MacDougall I ate a hearty breakfast and after several cups of sweet tea retired to my bed for much needed rest. I slept the sleep of an exhausted man dreaming of rockets and space travel until I emerged refreshed twelve hours later.

I did not delay further. I ordered Coverdale to prepare the Silver Ghost for a trip to the village. Sensing my urgency Coverdale had already donned his driving goggles, full-length leather coat and matching gauntlets. Presently, having purchased tools and supplies from Flange & Spigot, the local ironmongers, Coverdale and I hurriedly drove back to Hanna Towers.

We swept through the main gate and up the long gravel drive coming to an abrupt halt outside my laboratory located next to the stables. During my confinement to the study, reliable old Coverdale had, on his own initiative, moved the rocket ship to my lab. We began work immediately. Although we never spoke about my intentions we both knew the aim of our endeavours. I fully intended to get the old machine into pristine condition and attempt a launch as soon as possible.

During the next two weeks our steely resolve never wavered. Mrs. MacDougall brought sustenance in the form of tea and sandwiches which Coverdale and I ate while we worked non-stop. At last we proudly rolled out our completed machine into the courtyard. Mrs.MacDougall and my loyal gardeners Simpkins & Potts soon joined us, the latter still grasping his trusty old dibber he'd been using prior to our arrival. Ruddy-faced Simpkins had been in my service for many years. After seeing much action during his army career he was painfully wounded during the closing overs of the Suez campaign. His injuries had left the unfortunate fellow with a pronounced limp and a meagre war pension supplemented by remuneration from his employment on my estate. I had, by using the calculations in Cornelius' book, determined that the following evening would be the ideal time to attempt a launch. After supper I nervously strapped plucky old Coverdale into the cramped cockpit.

The launch procedure was quite a complicated affair. With great care, using the petrol pump Coverdale had by good fortune installed the previous day, I fuelled the rocket ready for blast off. I'll never forget Coverdale's proud face as the countdown ticked down to zero whereupon I pressed the button igniting the mighty rocket. Coverdale's screams were barely audible over the roar of the engine as slowly thrust overcame gravity sending the projectile streaking skyward. I had taken the precaution of installing an army surplus radio transmitter to keep in touch with my newly recruited astronaut. As Coverdale's voice crackled through the speaker, I, and my assembled staff let out a huge HOORAH! . The craft was by now almost out of view as it raced towards the heavens.

Suddenly I became worried for Coverdale's safety and instructed him, via my radio, to pull the lever marked Parachute. Dutifully Coverdale complied and in a moment the engine cut out and a large parachute had deployed. At this point I lost radio contact Several worrying minutes elapsed until finally the telephone rang. Lifting the receiver I was connected to Constable McTavish who was speaking from a public telephone on the other side of the village. Joyfully I received the news that my intrepid manservant was safe and well and was currently enjoying a well-earned brandy in the taproom of the Duke of Wellington, our local inn.

Coverdale had by all accounts had a miraculous escape, the rocket fortuitously landing in a large haystack on a local farm. So concluded our wonderful adventure. The old rocket was duly recovered and is now a proud exhibit in the village museum. Even now, all these years later, on cold winter evenings, over glasses of brandy, Coverdale and I often look longingly skyward and recount our incredible story. Though nowadays we keep our feet firmly on the ground!