The craft in this case was called the R101. Despite a two-year delay in completion, the fact that the engines provided little over half the lift expected, and mixed results during test runs of the airship, the craft was given certification to fly. Instead of going back to the drawing board, engineers (eager to salvage something worthwhile out of the mess to satisfy the Air Ministry) tinkered with the engines and the craft’s skin.

The R101 was a the largest British airship ever constructed, however, measuring nearly 800 feet in length and with an interior capacity of 5.5 million cubic feet. It wasn’t the type of vehicle that could be fixed with patchwork efforts, and that notion became painfully clear on October 5, 1930. The airship was difficult enough to control without weather problems, and wind gusts north of Paris sent the ship careening into a hillside. All but six of the 54 aboard were fatally wounded; two others made it to the hospital before succumbing to their injuries.

While this tragedy spelled the practical end of British efforts on dirigibles, the Germans and Americans continued their efforts, and other tragedies would unfold before the idea of using airships as transportation vehicles was abandoned.