About: Royal Zeppelin Capturing Society

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It must have been back in 1905 when old Jack Farnsworth, what a man, had a head of hair like you wouldn't believe and could shoot the hat off a hare from a mile and half away, though in those days to find a rabbit wearing a hat you practically had to go over the wall into Scotland, most rabbits these days don't bother with the fine niceties of life, I blame it on the damn Protestants, ever since they started reforming the mother Church nobody's been quite as polite as back in the day. Any rates, it seems old Jack was trying to find himself a woman by the accepted method of shooting her father and then paying his respects the next day when he accidentally shot a small balloon with a fellow name of Augustus Portsworthing riding in it to Ireland. Augustus, he gets out, and he's been a veteran

Attributes	Values
rdfs:label	Royal Zeppelin Capturing Society
rdfs:comment	It must have been back in 1905 when old Jack Farnsworth, what a man, had a head of hair like you wouldn't believe and could shoot the hat off a hare from a mile and half away, though in those days to find a rabbit wearing a hat you practically had to go over the wall into Scotland, most rabbits these days don't bother with the fine niceties of life, I blame it on the damn Protestants, ever since they started reforming the mother Church nobody's been quite as polite as back in the day. Any rates, it seems old Jack was trying to find himself a woman by the accepted method of shooting her father and then paying his respects the next day when he accidentally shot a small balloon with a fellow name of Augustus Portsworthing riding in it to Ireland. Augustus, he gets out, and he's been a veteran
dcterms:subject	War Aviation
abstract	It must have been back in 1905 when old Jack Farnsworth, what a man, had a head of hair like you wouldn't believe and could shoot the hat off a hare from a mile and half away, though in those days to find a rabbit wearing a hat you practically had to go over the wall into Scotland, most rabbits these days don't bother with the fine niceties of life, I blame it on the damn Protestants, ever since they started reforming the mother Church nobody's been quite as polite as back in the day. Any rates, it seems old Jack was trying to find himself a woman by the accepted method of shooting her father and then paying his respects the next day when he accidentally shot a small balloon with a fellow name of Augustus Portsworthing riding in it to Ireland. Augustus, he gets out, and he's been a veteran of several wars by this point, including that Prussian nastiness in France, and he says that we really ought to make the whole thing more organized, as he's never had so much fun and he reckons Jack hasn't either. After this it was mostly a problem of finding a club house and a cook (we already had maids, Bulgarian triplets who went by the name Susannes), and a man to do the monogramming over the door. Ah, the old RZCS, with David Longsworthy and Harold Spaldingshiresworthingtonhat. Such men haven't been seen for a long time. Used to be you could walk out a door in London and run into no fewer than three members of the RZCS without turning from your course to the diner on the Thames. Seems like these days no one knows about the RZCS, and it's probable that we can blame that little oversight on the Russians, whose propaganda machine hasn't stopped against us. That Trotsky fellow, good with a pen, but absolutely ruthless, and never gave our club the respect that was due it.

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