CHAPTER XV
READY FOR THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT
Conditions Governing the Flight—Arrival in Newfoundland—Mount Pearl Farm—Snowed Up—The Test Flight—Local Interest Intense—Wireless Difficulties—Details of the Atlantic—An Aerial Lifeboat—Clothing of the Trans-Atlantic Airmen—Estimates and Anticipations—Over a Ton of Fuel—A Letter for the King—An Inspection by the Governor—Storms—Prospects of a Race—Revising Plans—Grieve—Navigation Problems and Methods—Weather Forecasts—A new Starting-ground—Nervous Tension—The Aviators are Amused by Their Correspondence—A Would-be Aerial Bandsman—False Weather Reports—Services of the Air Ministry—Weather-bound at St. Johns—Harry’s Confidence—Four Magnetos and a New Propeller—Address from the Mayor of St. Johns.
CHAPTER XV
The regulations governing the competition required that the flight be made from any point in the British Isles to the United States, Canada, or Newfoundland, or in the reverse direction, within seventy-two consecutive hours. The competition was open to all persons of any nationality not of enemy origin, and no aeroplane of enemy origin or manufacture could be used. The starting-place had to be named by each competitor and also as nearly as possible the proposed landing-place. All starts had to be made under the supervision of officials appointed by the Royal Aero Club, and only one machine could be used in each attempt, which could, however, be repaired en route. The machines had to be marked so that they could be identified on landing on the other side. Intermediate stoppages were permissible, as also was towing on the water, and if a pilot left his machine to go on board ship he must resume his flight from approximately the same point as that at which he went on board. (The latter condition seems at variance with the one permitting towing.) It was permissible to alight on the water for the purpose of making minor repairs, and an aeroplane could lie alongside a ship for the period for making the repairs.
Harry and Grieve arrived at St. Johns, Newfoundland, on Sunday, March 28th, 1919, and immediately about to prepare for a start on April 16th, when they would have the advantage of a full moon, if conditions otherwise were favourable. It was their intention to start about 10 p.m. English time, and they expected to reach Fermoy, co. Cork, Ireland, between 4 and 5 o’clock on the following afternoon. They arrived before their rivals, Raynham and Morgan, the Martinsyde personnel. Considerable difficulty was experienced in getting the Sopwith machine, in its gigantic packing-case, from the city to the temporary aerodrome, although the distance to be traversed was only a few miles. The roads between St. Johns and the aerodrome were in a shocking condition, and the immediate approaches to the aerodrome at the best could only be described as sodden.
The shed in which the machine was housed was of timber, 55 feet across the front, 50 feet deep and 30 feet high. The front was made up of door sections sliding between grooved panels to either side, where they were removed and laid on the ground when the machine was brought out. The replacement of these doors presented no little difficulty when the wind was high. The shed overlooked a slight downward incline, with an eastern aspect, facing St. Johns Harbour and the Atlantic Ocean, neither of which, however, was visible from the aerodrome. The name of the place was Mount Pearl Farm, four miles west of St. Johns, and was the largest area of cleared ground in the vicinity. It was rough, uncleared ground that made it difficult to get the machine from St. Johns to the aerodrome.
For a distance of about 100 feet heavy stone was spread in front of the shed to facilitate handling of the machine. When only quarter filled with petrol about 20 men were required to wheel the machine on the aerodrome.
On April 7th, there was a very heavy fall of snow followed by a twelve-hours’ rainfall, which effectively combined to turn the Mount Pearl Aerodrome into a mud-bath, thereby preventing any test flights being made for several days. Thus delayed, Harry and the Sopwith personnel were able to take it more or less easy in erecting the machine. The work was soon completed. The Ford car which they had at their disposal became stuck in the snowdrifts more than once. Attempts to drain the aerodrome by the digging of trenches were made. In expediting the installation of the wireless on the machine, the staff of the Admiralty wireless station rendered considerable services, for which Harry was very grateful.
Harry made the first flight with Grieve on Thursday afternoon, April 10th. Leaving the ground at 4.40, he ascended to 3,500 feet, flying above St. Johns and Concepcion Bay, where he carried out some high-speed tests, during which well over 100 miles per hour was attained. He landed at 5.30. But for the fact that the mud due to the recent heavy fall of rain had been hardened by frost, this flight would not have been possible; and, as it was, the wheels sank into the mud considerably when the machine landed, in spite of the fact that Harry had lightened the load as much as possible by carrying a minimum quantity of fuel.
So far as concerned the engine, the test flight was entirely satisfactory, and the only trouble with the aeroplane was a slight bending of the rudder, which occurred as the machine was leaving the ground. Considering the state of the latter, it is a matter for surprise that more damage was not done. The wireless transmitter was put out of action owing to the fan, by means of which the generator was driven, being of unsuitable dimensions and turning too fast. As regards the actual flight, all was nearly lost; for when the machine was leaving the aerodrome an unusually strong “bump” nearly drove it into a cluster of trees. Crowds of people in the streets of St. Johns congregated to watch the trial flight, which, incidentally, was the first ever seen by the majority. The interest was so great that even the Senate, or Parliament, was prorogued in order that members might see what was going on.
As his rivals with the Martinsyde were due to arrive, Harry was anxious to get away as soon as possible. So well did everything go that at one time he hoped to get away on April 12th (Saturday), but the weather would not agree when the time came.
As already mentioned, the generator of the wireless transmitter was burned out, and so Harry, being unable to replace it locally, cabled home for another. In the interim, Grieve, who was inclined to favour a smaller type of apparatus having a shorter radius of action, procured a “Boy Scout” set for use in case the new generator ordered from home did not arrive in time. The absence of wireless “sending” apparatus would certainly minimise their chances of safety in the event of a mishap because they would be unable to summon ships to their aid by this means. Harry and Grieve, however, were at first inclined to believe that, travelling at a speed of 100 miles per hour, wireless would be of little use in making effective communication with passing vessels.
Nevertheless, one effect of the long delay in making a start was to cause them to modify their views as to the utility of carrying a wireless transmitter, for on April 20th Harry installed a small sending apparatus. This, however, proved unsatisfactory, and about the end of the month he cabled to England for a more powerful set to be sent out by the steamer Digby on April 28th. It is interesting to note that experiments with a directional wireless apparatus were carried out during the trials at Brooklands, but they decided to do without it on account of its great weight and because wireless was not a necessary accessory for Grieve’s method of navigation.
The Sopwith machine, which was christened the Atlantic, was a single-engined biplane propelled by a 350 h.p. Rolls-Royce engine installed in the nose and driving a four-bladed tractor air-screw. The engine alone weighed 850 lb., and the rest of the machine (i.e., without fuel, oil, water, and pilot and navigator) turned the scale at about 2,000 lb., the total flying load at the start being estimated at 6,150 lb. A maximum speed of 118 miles per hour could be attained and a cruising speed in the region of 105 miles per hour at 10,000 feet.
The “fairing,” or streamlining superstructure of the body or fuselage, was designed in the form of an inverted boat, partly collapsible, which could possibly be useful in case of emergency if the aeroplane kept afloat long enough for Harry and Grieve to launch it. The boat was made of three-ply wood. During their long wait for the weather they passed away much time by testing this boat in the inland pools in which broken ice was floating, and found it possible to launch it in less than a minute. The pair of them could walk along with the boat, drop it into the pool, and, subject to their exercising considerable caution, get in; but to steer a course in it was very difficult owing to its unorthodox shape. The boat contained emergency rations, paddles, and flares, the latter, of course, being for the purpose of attracting shipping. Parachute lights for night signalling and smoke flares for day signalling were carried in the fore part. At the stern was carried an air-bag, which could be inflated not only to serve as an additional means of flotation, but also as a support for the collapsible upper part of the boat, which was made of canvas. A sea anchor was provided. The emergency rations in the boat were supplemented by a gallon of water in a hermetically sealed cask. In the aeroplane the commissariat included sandwiches, cheese, beef extract, toffee, and black coffee in Thermos bottles.
Neither Harry nor Grieve had much confidence in the lifeboat, in spite of their skill in launching it. For one thing, they had no experience in launching it with the aeroplane either afloat or in a sinking condition. When ultimately they had occasion to launch their boat in mid-Atlantic, Harry and Grieve found that, with the machine right way up, the process presented no difficulty. To simply lift a catch and heave clear was easily done. In the cold inland pools in which they practised with their boat Harry and Grieve also tried out their patent unsinkable clothes, which, contrary to many reports, were not electrically heated.
The clothes which Harry and Grieve wore comprised heavy woollen under-garments, and two jerseys over their ordinary suits. Outside all this was a floating rubber suit with air-bags back and front, ready for inflation if needed. These safety suits were of the American Navy pattern.
In attempting the flight, Harry was of opinion that he was undertaking nothing of an exceptionally hazardous nature. Several flights of over 20 hours’ duration had been made by other pilots previously, and, having confidence in his machine from his knowledge of it, he felt as safe over sea as over land. He would prefer to fall into the water than on to the land, and the boat and special clothing were a good insurance against the drowning risk. The only doubtful factor was the estimation of the probable weather conditions in mid-Atlantic. Murky weather would prevent the use of the sextant, and might therefore impede navigation. Harry believed that at a height of 8,000 feet the conditions over the Atlantic would be similar to those over a like area of North America, which being so, he would be able to reach London in 24 hours.
It was estimated that the 350 gallons of petrol which they carried would be enough to keep them in the air for 22 hours. They proposed to fly at 10,000 feet and, if possible, maintain a speed of 100 miles per hour. As the range of their wireless receiver was 300 miles they would be in touch with the wireless station at St. Johns for three hours after the start. Nevertheless, when it came to the actual test it was very difficult to make out any message owing to the noise emanating from the propeller, and the batteries ran down too.
Naturally, with over a ton of fuel on board to carry them across, the machine would get lighter and lighter as they progressed, a fact which would be in their favour as regards “landing.” Had the engine failed near the start at, say, 10,000 feet the machine would have glided down in about twelve minutes at an angle of 1 in 6, and Harry, choosing a spot at once, could have “landed” anywhere within a radius of about twelve miles. As the machine proceeded further on its course and became lighter and lighter due to the consumption of petrol and oil, the radius within which it could “land” would become correspondingly greater owing to the increasingly fine gliding angle. This fact was one to give the two pioneers added confidence, seeing that ships which under the circumstances prevailing near the start would have been beyond range, if encountered later on in the flight might have been within the gliding range.
When Raynham was asked why he had not any safety device such as boats and tank-exhausters, his reply was that he “proposed to fly the Atlantic, not to fall into it.”
Sir Charles Harris, Governor of Newfoundland, handed Harry a letter for delivery to His Majesty the King, and, with members of the Cabinet and several naval and military officers, inspected the machine on Saturday, April 12th.
Among many visitors was Harry’s old friend Raynham, and Harry returned the call on the following day. The two who, six and a half years before, had struggled for the British Duration Record were now matched for Atlantic honours.
After the inspection the tanks were filled, and on the main planes seals were attached by the representative of the Royal Aero Club, Major Partridge, who gave Harry an envelope addressed to the secretary of the club, in which the number of the engine and a list of identification marks were enclosed for Harry to deliver on landing. Truly for Harry and Grieve it was now only a matter of sitting still and awaiting the pleasure of the elements. Before the tanks were filled the petrol and oil were strained six times.
A storm in mid-ocean was reported early in the day (April 12th), with westerly winds right across the Atlantic, which caused Harry to decide to start at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, but when 5 o’clock came preparations were not complete, so a further postponement until 6 o’clock was made. But the weather conditions went from uncertain to bad, and thence to worse, with a westerly gale blowing at St. Johns, and so the flight had to be declared “off” for that day. But at the first opportunity a start would be made, and this was provisionally fixed for mid-day on the morrow, Sunday.
In the meantime Harry had plenty to do on the ground, with such duties as supervising the turning of the machine on the ground while Grieve was adjusting the compass. In England betting books were being made, and Harry’s chances of making the flight before May 31st were estimated at 5 to 1 against about the middle of the month, and he was first favourite, Raynham being second at 7 to 1.
The mail, consisting of about a hundred letters, included, in addition to the letter for His Majesty, others for the Prime Minister, Cabinet Ministers, and other celebrities. “First Trans-Atlantic Aero Flight” stamps were printed by Newfoundland, but there was no demand for them at £100 each.
On the following day, Sunday, at the appointed hour, Harry was ready to start, but a strong south-east wind, heavy rain, and thick fog would not permit. Moreover, it had been raining throughout the night. At 1 o’clock the proposal to start was definitely abandoned. Harry and Grieve were now very concerned as to their prospects, seeing that rival machines were now getting ready and would probably be able to start as soon as they did, whenever the weather became propitious. The hangar was besieged by crowds of reporters, photographers, and cinema operators.
Early on Monday, April 14th, Harry cabled to Sopwith the words “Bad weather,” which intimated that the flight was not likely to start on that day. As a matter of fact, after the week-end a spell of continued bad weather set in, and on Tuesday Raynham was practically ready to make his trial trip.
Harry was by several days the first to arrive and be in readiness at Newfoundland, and small wonder that when he was robbed by the weather of such valuable advantage there should be very keen competition between him and Raynham. For several days they did not come in contact very much, but when both had had time to realise that they might be held up for weeks and months, the rival crews continued on terms of most intimate friendship.
Thus one effect of the delays of Harry’s departure was to increase the possibility of a race across the ocean by him and Raynham, who was ready to start without a preliminary trial if necessary in order to gain an advantage. Both crews were burning with eagerness to be first away, but they fought the contest in a thoroughly sporting spirit. They stayed at the same hotel in St. Johns and were on terms of close personal friendship. When at one time it was thought that Raynham’s aerodrome might be too small for his machine to get off safely, Harry, with characteristic grace, offered the use of the Sopwith field. They agreed that the first away should carry the mails.
The unavoidable delays in starting also served at least one useful purpose in that they provided an opportunity for Harry to review and, where necessary, amend his plans. His final decision was to head due east until striking the northern steamship route, to which he would keep, because, owing to alterations in the wireless equipment, he would probably only be able to receive messages and not transmit them. On sighting a ship he would fire a red Vérey light as a signal for the ship to notify her position. These arrangements were communicated by wireless from Cape Race to ships already on the high seas.
It was Harry’s intention to fly fairly low, gradually gaining height, until reaching the Grand Banks, frequently fog-bound from sea-level up to 2,000 feet. Beyond there he expected finer weather, and would ascend to 8,000 feet, which he would maintain for the greater part of the flight, until nearer home, where he would climb to about 12,000 feet. At 8,000 feet he anticipated freedom from the impediment of fog usually very prevalent in that season, and as Grieve used clouds, not the horizon, for navigation, it was necessary to be above them. But if they were uncertain of their position at dawn Harry would decide to come down low near some passing ship or other in order to get a check on his reckoning. Arrangements were made whereby as soon as the flight was begun the Admiralty wireless at St. Johns would advise all the coast stations and ships in the Atlantic zone; and it was anticipated that general interest in the flight would keep every wireless operator on the Atlantic keenly alive to the importance of getting news of the machine.
As for Grieve, his chief concern was as to the weather conditions over the ice area from St. Johns to the Grand Banks. He conceived four weather zones between Newfoundland and Ireland, the first of which was that just mentioned, where conditions were complicated by the existence of heavy Arctic ice-floes drifting south on the Labrador current into the Gulf Stream, the fog being caused by this confluence of currents having a temperature difference of 20 degrees. From Grand Banks to mid-ocean was an area regarding which atmospheric conditions above sea-level were very little known, but where frequent storms were reported by shipping in the early spring. Farther east was an area less notorious for violent weather changes, and beyond this the region round the Irish coast, where, on account of the complete meteorological records of the United Kingdom, the condition could be forecasted with approximate accuracy.
Although Grieve had a good understanding of weather, forecasts were useless unless the type of weather prevailing was known. This essential information, obtainable only from vessels carrying wireless, was very difficult to get, and when it arrived was generally days late. A weather chart of the Atlantic was plotted out daily by the local meteorological officer, Mr. Clements, to the best of his ability, but he was handicapped by the absence of necessary reports and had to assume a good deal. Regarding the weather during the Atlantic attempt, Grieve wrote:
“The day we flew the weather was apparently of the westerly type with a depression in mid-Atlantic a little to the southward of our course. This depression should have proceeded to the E.N.E., over towards Ireland, but apparently it spread to the northward, and we landed in the middle of it.”
The first half of the journey, therefore, seemed to involve the greater element of risk, and it was a debatable point whether the great total flying load during this stage would be an advantage or otherwise. With a ton of petrol on board, the machine would be less likely to be severely tossed about than without it, and if it did not yield to the wind gusts it would have to be strong enough to resist the buffeting of the wind, which it was quite capable of doing. On the other hand, it would not have such pronounced climbing powers as it would in the later stages, when a great proportion of fuel would have been consumed. Grieve[2] was of opinion that, if they safely traversed mid-ocean, information from west-bound ships in the vicinity would be of great guidance during the remaining half of the voyage. He also believed that the machine, the qualities of which they had tested thoroughly for nine hours, could easily maintain full speed for eighteen hours, which should enable them to reach Ireland; and they hoped to be able to make their landing at Brooklands, another five hundred miles from there.
[2] Commander Kenneth MacKenzie-Grieve is the youngest son of Captain MacKenzie-Grieve, R.N., and a younger brother of Captain Alan MacKenzie-Grieve, R.N. He entered the Navy at the age of fourteen and a half and spent many years on foreign stations, Australia, China, and the Mediterranean. During the Great War he served in an armed trawler on the East Coast, and was later acting Commander of H.M.S. Campania, a seaplane ship, for navigating duties. In 1913 he received the vellum of the Royal Humane Society for saving life.
In order to locate their position and lay a course which would take them to the Irish coast, just north of Valentia, Commander Grieve intended to take observations every half hour. It was Harry’s intention to fly on to Brooklands without landing in Ireland if daylight would allow. He also intended to release the undercarriage soon after the start in order to conserve his petrol as much as possible. In view of the fact that the machine would have to be landed without an undercarriage it was highly important that this act should be accomplished in daylight. A squadron of R.A.F. aeroplanes was in readiness at Fermoy co. Cork to proceed to the coast to escort Harry over the last few miles of his journey. Four magnetos were installed on the Atlantic on April 14th, in place of the two ordinarily carried, the risk of engine failure due to ignition troubles being thereby halved.
Heavy rain fell during the night of April 14th and the morning of the 15th, but by 11 a.m. the weather had somewhat improved. In view of the keen competition of the Martinsyde, which was by then ready for trial, Harry hoped to make a start from a less sodden stretch of ground which he had discovered at Mount Pearl. Raynham’s main object was to make a start at the same time as the Sopwith. Later in the day a fall of snow prevented any flying for either the Sopwith or the Martinsyde.
The new starting-ground which Harry had found was a gravel hillside to which he could draw his machine by means of horses. He expected to be able to take off down the slope. Harry and Raynham had now become so equally prepared to start that they agreed to spin a coin as to who should carry the mail bag.
On Wednesday, the 16th, snow fell heavily all over Newfoundland, making flying altogether impossible. Nevertheless, the rival camps kept a wary eye on each other, Harry being particularly on the alert to prevent Raynham stealing a march on him by an unexpected start, but really there was nothing for both parties to do other than watch and wait for the passing of the bad weather. The Martinsyde crew claimed that they could afford to give Hawker three hours’ start, and catch him up after that.
Later in the day report showed that it was very problematical as to whether anybody would make a start during the week, and the weather charts indicated unfavourable conditions for several days to come. Raynham had made a trial flight on the previous day and was entirely satisfied. The moon was on the wane, and as this was a most important factor in influencing a decision to start by either party, hopes of an early start were at most slight.
On the afternoon of Thursday, April 17th, Raynham and Morgan, his navigator, made another trial on the Martinsyde. Raynham cabled to London two bets of £50 each at prevailing odds on Harry and himself.
On the morning of Friday, April 18th, the weather prospects were so good that both Harry and Raynham decided to start at noon, but before then a storm came on, accompanied by weather reports which indicated no prospects of an early start being at all possible. It was on this day that Major Wood and Captain Wyllie left England for Ireland, in the Short biplane on which they were to attempt the flight from east to west. But their effort was terminated in its preliminary stage by an enforced descent in the Irish Sea.
Hawker, Grieve, Raynham, and Morgan supported the nervous tension of the immensely trying period of waiting with remarkable fortitude. It was a great strain, living in a highly keyed-up condition day after day; yet beyond a certain restlessness there was nothing unusual in their outward demeanour. It was easy to see that they were watching each other to guard against a surprise start. They were on the best of terms. When practically no work remained to be done on the machines they found time hanging very heavily, and how to pass the hours was a matter of difficulty.
The long delay in starting was due to lack of knowledge of weather conditions in the Atlantic rather than to the weather itself. Many crossings will have to be made before the requisite knowledge is gained, and as this knowledge is gained so will the evolution of commercial trans-Atlantic aircraft be influenced. It was only elementary wisdom for all concerned to wait for tolerable weather.
Hopes of a start being made were high on Sunday, April 20th, when the Air Ministry stated that conditions were then exceptionally favourable, except at Newfoundland, where it was still foggy, and between 18 degrees and 25 degrees west, where the clouds were low and extensive and the sea rough. At St. Johns at 8 a.m. there was a light west wind and a clear sky, and the day was very promising. If mid-ocean conditions were in their favour Harry decided that he would start early in the afternoon.
Subsequent reports, however, indicated the presence of storms in mid-ocean, and all hope of an attempt being made that day was abandoned. So Harry busied himself by installing a small wireless-sending equipment, which was later on discarded as it proved unsatisfactory. Raynham, too, would have nothing to do with appliances tending to lessen his will-power and induce him to summon help in an emergency which might otherwise be overcome.
Pending a change in the weather, Harry tended his machine as one would a thoroughbred racehorse. Every morning he visited the hangar, started up the engine, and tested the controls to ensure that everything was in order for a “snap” jump-off in the event of the opportunity arising; while Grieve busied himself “listening-in” for wireless reports. Sandwiches were changed every morning and Thermos flasks replenished, to the delight of young urchins, who enjoyed an al fresco meal. During the whole of the waiting period Harry continued to be optimistic and was never really downcast by the weather prophets.
On Monday, April 21st, a strong head wind, accompanied by indications of a complete break-up of the weather, prevented any start being made and almost induced Harry to give up all hope of making a start during the month. Nevertheless, the same evening the Air Ministry announced ideal weather conditions as being prevalent. Betting odds on the chances of a successful flight before May 31st were now 7 to 2 in the cases of both Harry and Raynham.
The local weather conditions at St. Johns on April 22nd were decidedly unfavourable for flying. A severe sleet storm was raging off the coast, which would have impeded the progress of any machine, and the city and suburbs were overshadowed by a dense fog. Conditions reported from mid-ocean were equally discouraging, and the general effect of the reports led Harry to suppose that there would be no substantial improvement for a day or two. Both Harry and Grieve and Raynham and Morgan were showing increasing signs of the strain arising from the delays and the uncertainty regarding the start. They all agreed that they had come to the starting-point much too soon, but each party pleaded that the other was trying to steal a march and get away first.
While trying to pass away the time, Harry derived some entertainment from a large number of letters which arrived daily, both from England and all parts of the American continent. These letters contained good wishes of all kinds, besides offers of assistance from inventors and weather prophets, poetry, and the usual requests for autographs in handwriting which was obviously “flapper.” The gem of the collection was from an old Irish soldier in Manitoba, who asked if the airmen would have any use for the services of a cornet-player during the journey across. He said he served fourteen years in the Army as a bugler and had the honour of sounding all calls during the military ceremonies in connection with Queen Victoria’s last visit to Dublin. His suggestion was that, apart from entertaining them during the flight, he could make himself useful in sounding calls or playing tunes as the aeroplane approached towns in Ireland or England. He thought “Garryowen” would be suitable to herald the arrival over Ireland, and suggested “We’re Bound for London Town” as an appropriate melody after crossing the Irish Channel. He wound up by saying he would give his services gratis.
From New York came a poem in a feminine hand, entitled “The Vikings of the Air.” Both Hawker and Grieve, as well as Raynham and Morgan, received copies of this effusion, which they considered displayed considerable powers of versification in its authoress, but was tactless in one part:
“Like Norsemen bold who launched their sturdy craft
On seas that stretched beyond their farthest ken,
And drank deep draughts of ocean’s briny air
With keen delight, and sailed they knew not where.”
The last line was considered by Grieve as casting serious aspersions on his skill as a navigator.
From an Englishwoman in New York Harry received a letter which was voted “first rate” by all members of the Sopwith party. After wishing him the best of luck on his “daring venture,” the writer continued:
“I have followed the papers feverishly each day for news of your latest movements. And now the honour of the old Mother-Country rests on your success. You have just got to be the first across the Atlantic. May God speed you on your perilous but still wonderful flight.”
In a different strain was a letter received by Grieve from two young women in the cable office of the British War Mission in New York. It ran:
“Sir, do buck up, and start—we cannot stand the suspense much longer. Best of luck from two Cablettes.”
Grieve’s only comment was to the effect that their suspense was nothing in comparison with his own.
Excitement was keen on Tuesday, April 22nd, when Raynham announced his intention to make another “trial” flight. Although the fog prevented Raynham from carrying out this project, Harry had his machine out, suspecting an attempt to outwit him, for on the previous Sunday Raynham had declared that his next flight would be The Flight, and Harry knew Raynham’s tanks were full. This episode resulted in both parties coming to an agreement not to make a “hurried unconsidered departure,” and not to start unless the weather conditions were fairly settled. The local betting was by now 5 to 1 against Harry and 8 to 1 against Raynham. The weather conditions at St. Johns, around the Newfoundland coast, and across the Atlantic continued to be most unpropitious for flying, and there was little prospect of an early change. Weather experts, who expressed doubts as to the possibility of the flight being accomplished before May, said that the only day during the previous two months on which flying was possible was Friday, April 12th, when the Sopwith machine was scarcely ready and the Martinsyde only arrived. Harry was now greatly concerned over the prolonged delay and did not expect to be able to start before April 25th, or 26th.
Consternation was caused in the airmen’s camp on Wednesday, April 23rd, by what appeared to be a genuine message from the Air Ministry asking the reasons for Harry’s and Raynham’s failure to start. The message, which was addressed to Mr. Clements, the meteorological expert of the Royal Air Force at St. Johns, declared that all the weather reports reaching England indicated favourable conditions for a start. Harry replied that wireless reports from vessels at sea announced conflicting winds, making the start inadvisable.
The weather had not improved on Thursday, April 24th, when rain fell all day. It was discovered that impostors had been busy sending messages purporting to come from the meteorological bureaux of Canada and the United States. One such message, which advised the airmen to leave at once, said that the weather was suitable, notwithstanding the fact that it was the worst possible.
The Air Ministry, in emphatically denying having sent any cable asking why Harry or Raynham did not start, indicated that their function was merely to prepare forecasts and not to say when a machine should or should not start, this decision being within the province of the pilot and navigator concerned.
Considerable mystery surrounded the circulation of the false weather reports which held back both Harry and Raynham, who were waiting for favourable weather at St. Johns, with their petrol tanks filled and all stores on board their machines.
It appears that these reports were entirely in disagreement with those supplied by the Meteorological Department of the Air Ministry. During one spell of 24 hours the conditions were ideal and almost unprecedented for the time of year, the anti-cyclone area extending all over the route; and had the airmen started through the coastal fog they would have soon flown into bright skies and light winds. As it was, misguided by false reports from unknown sources, Harry and Raynham, greatly to the surprise of the Air Ministry, decided not to start. After this happening the Air Ministry arranged to transmit their reports by secret code and so prevent interference.
Naturally, before the matter was cleared up, Harry bitterly resented the attitude of the Air Ministry which resulted in his receiving communications containing implied criticisms of his failing to fly when weather conditions were favourable; for during three successive days no mid-ocean reports of any kind turned up. He could not be expected to risk a start without such information, seeing that it had to be made in the “foggiest place in the world.” Having once ascended, he would not be able, in case of emergency, to regain the aerodrome, owing to the fog, and off the coast he might have had to face sleet which, if it accumulated on the wings, would soon have driven him into the sea.
April saw no change for the better, and Harry and Raynham continued weather-bound throughout the last week. On Saturday, the 26th, the fog was reported as spreading many miles out to sea. Raynham having received many mascots, including a wooden parrot, “Emma,” which was built into the cockpit of his machine, Harry was interrogated as to what special charms he intended to carry. “I only believe in one mascot,” he said, “and that is Grieve.” Grieve, on the other hand, was carrying mascots such as white heather and a lady’s handkerchief.
With the pilots straining at the leash to get away, the navigators made good use of every opportunity to improve their wireless skill. A Marconi representative gave them daily tests in receiving, wireless communication being maintained between the two aerodromes, eight miles apart. “D.K.A.” was the wireless “call sign” of Harry’s machine.
Chatting with the special correspondent of the Times, after running his engine, Harry said: “It’s simply splendid; to hear it makes me long to be up and off.” He said that he had arranged to throw overboard his charts and maps with a message asking the finder to forward them to the Royal Aero Club, London, as soon as he had crossed the Irish coast. On the back of the charts would be written the time of crossing the shore and other details for identification purposes. The Ardath Tobacco Company, Ltd., announced the offer of an additional prize of 2,000 guineas to be given to the winner of the Daily Mail £10,000 prize for the first Atlantic flight.
During the week-end the weather conditions improved a little, but not to a degree that would warrant the making of a start. That Harry did not hope to start for at least ten days was apparent from his having cabled to England, ordering a new wireless outfit to be sent by the steamer Digby, which left Liverpool on April 28th.
Describing his preparations in order to avert ignition trouble, Harry said he had four magnetos, set in a series independently of each other, each giving a spark to the twelve cylinders, so that in the event of one or two failing he would still have a reserve. Discountenancing any idea of effecting repairs in the air, Harry said, “Once we leave the ground, we must fly or fall.”
There was great activity on Monday evening, April 28th, when hopes of a start were high. Harry replaced his four-bladed propeller by a two-bladed one. For over three hours Raynham and Morgan stood by their Martinsyde, waiting to seize a favourable opportunity to get away. At 6 o’clock they decided to abandon the attempt. Just as Raynham had given orders for his machine to be housed for the night, Harry drove up from his aerodrome. Some good-natured chaff was exchanged.
The Mayor of St. Johns, on April 30th, presented each of the airmen with an address from the inhabitants, a cup being forwarded to each of them later.