CHAPTER XVII
MY OWN REMINISCENCES OF THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT
I Wait for News—The Americans Start—I Hear Harry has Started—And I Put Out the Flags—No News Next Morning—Fate is Unkind and Brings a False Report—Which, Contradicted, Delivers a Paralysing Blow—No Further News—“All Hope Abandoned”—Good News—Peace of Mind Once More—Everybody Happy—The King Telegraphs Congratulations—I Go to Meet Harry at Grantham—Harry’s Triumphal Progress to Grantham—Together Once More—Harry Rides a Horse Through London—“Escape” from the R.Ae.C.—Celebrations at Ham—Fireworks at Hook.
CHAPTER XVII
After the first week of Harry’s absence the time passed fairly quickly. I never left home for longer than two hours, and then I bought newspapers in case Harry had started. Often I would have news about seven in the evening to the effect that Harry was about to start. I sat up until the news was contradicted. Never before had I taken such an interest in the moon as during these few weeks. I knew every phase, and when it reached the full I felt sure that Harry would be starting.
I was in town when I saw a placard saying that the Americans had started, and I at once rushed to the nearest telephone box to find out if any message had come through from Harry, as I knew he would not let the Americans arrive first without a struggle; but the moon was waning and the weather reports none too good.
On the night of May 18th I received a message to the effect that Harry had left at 6.30. The first thing to do was to put out all the flags, for he would be home on the morrow. But this did not take long, and, when done, the time seemed to drag.
As the hours went by and darkness came on, the time passed even more slowly for me. I remember I went to the window and stood there waiting for the moon to rise; it was waning, but, despite that, seemed to make the night less terrible. It was very cold, and I wondered whether it was all worth while. I had written down each hour that Harry was to be in the air, and hour by hour crossed them off.
When the papers arrived on the morrow they were full of the start of the Atlantic flight, but gave no news beyond the precise time of the start, as no wireless had been received. No message came for me until about ten o’clock that night, after I had been down to Brooklands expecting his arrival. The message, which was from the Admiralty, told me that Harry had landed in the sea forty miles off the mouth of the Shannon, and until two or three o’clock in the morning the telephone unceasingly rang, bringing congratulations from far and near. My brother, who had obtained special leave, remained up all night and made himself comfortable by the telephone. The beginning of the night found him receiving messages and returning thanks with energy, but by one o’clock his tones lacked their initial gusto, and by two o’clock they were hardly lucid. I went to bed thoroughly happy and at peace, but I was too excited to sleep.
I was the first one down in the morning to get the papers. I opened the Daily Mail first of all, and the headlines I saw nearly blinded me. I have since had to read worse news than I read that morning, but I do not think I have ever felt so frantic and yet so completely hopeless as when I saw the fatal words, “Hawker Missing—False Report of Fall in the Sea.”
I believe at that moment I gave up all hope. Then I thought of almost his last words to me before he left: “If things don’t go quite right, never give up hope”; and as there seemed to be two sides to the question whether he was alive or not, and no definite proof of either, I decided, no matter what happened, to cling firmly to the belief that he was alive.
Mrs. Sopwith, who came to see me about ten o’clock, helped me to keep my resolution during the whole of the ensuing week. My brother obtained leave to stay with me; and then it was a case of waiting. Day after day passed with no news. Each morning, after reading the papers, I went off to the Admiralty for any further news; and every day I saw the papers getting less and less hopeful. Everyone seemed to put a time limit on his, or her, hope. One said, “I will give them three days,” while one more optimistic said, “A week.” When I had waited a week I could almost feel that Harry was near, and on Saturday I was perfectly sure that I had only one more day to wait.
On the 24th I received the following telegram:
“The King, fearing the worst must now be realised regarding the fate of your husband, wishes to express his deep sympathy and that of the Queen in your sudden and tragic sorrow. His Majesty feels that the nation lost one of its most able and daring pilots to sacrifice his life for the fame and honour of British flying.
“Stamfordham.”
But neither this nor Lord Northcliffe’s generous offer to make provision for myself and Pamela changed my conviction that Harry would turn up safe and sound.
On the Sunday morning I read in the papers that “all hope had now been given up for the safety of the Atlantic airmen,” and I recall thinking how silly “all hope” sounded, when they could not know everyone’s hopes. I went to the little church opposite, where prayers were offered for the safety of Harry and Commander Grieve. I remember hurrying home because I thought the good news had come; but it had not.
About an hour later I was told that the Daily Mirror wanted me on the ‘phone with a message that could not be entrusted to anyone but myself. They simply told me that Harry and Grieve had been picked up by a Danish ship without wireless and had just signalled their message with flags to the Butt of Lewis; and could they, as the first to convey the news to me, send a representative down for a private interview at once. What I answered I do not know—probably nothing—but I felt that anyone could do what they liked then; I should be happy.
My brother and I rushed round to spread the good news. We went first to the Sigrists’ bungalow on the Thames Ditton island, where I had spent the previous day. They had already heard the news, and Fred Sigrist rushed down the steps of his house saying, “What can I do for you?” I replied, “Oh, jump in!” He at once took a header, fully clothed, and swam up and down, shouting incoherent messages to all and sundry on the island. By this time a lot of people had collected, and we drank everyone’s health at Fred’s expense. Then we went home, with everyone following us. When we arrived at Hook a terrible vision of a dozen or more reporters met our eyes. The Daily Mirror man wanted his interview as promised, and the others wanted to listen, which did not suit him. Anyway, we all shook hands, there was no “interview,” and plenty was said next morning in the papers.
By this time there was a large gathering of people, and although I believe each of them had a cup of tea or a glass of something better, there was little food in the house for such a crowd. I then went to the special Thanksgiving Service which Mr. Wood, the curate-in-charge, had arranged at Hook Church. It was a most beautiful service, and I was much impressed by its simplicity and the feeling in the hearts of the congregation.
On arriving home again I found a dinner had been arranged at the Piccadilly Hotel, and we were to start, about thirty strong, just as we were, the men-folk in boating flannels and the ladies in light summer frocks. Perhaps we exceeded the speed limit, or the inspector who operated a trap on Putney Hill thought we did, and we had to stop. My brother and I were leading in the Sunbeam. When the police recognised us (an enormous Australian flag attached to our radiator cap must have given them some idea), they waved us on without complaining; and as we passed, one of them said to me, “I’d feel like a bit of a blind myself if I were in your shoes.”
We were a very jolly party, and it only needed Harry’s presence to make it complete. When we arrived at the hotel the orchestra there played “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and everyone was very gracious. We dined, and, after visiting a few friends in London, returned home.
After news of Harry’s safety was confirmed, I received the following message from the King, by telegram:
“The King rejoices with you and the nation on the happy rescue of your gallant husband. He trusts that he may be long spared to you.”
From Queen Alexandra I received this telegram:
“With all my heart I wish you and the nation joy on the safety of your gallant husband and his companion. I rejoice that a Danish ship rescued his precious life.
“Alexandra.”
The next day I had appointed to go and see an Atlantic flight film at the Majestic Cinema, Clapham. We arrived at the hour fixed, and I thought there was a fire somewhere, as all the traffic was held up and there were simply mobs of people. I could not believe that they had all come to see us, but it seemed they had, and I am afraid they must have been very disappointed. Someone gave me a beautiful bouquet, but before I had gathered myself together it was taken away and then presented to me again by the same charming lady. It appeared that the hitch was caused by the cinema operator opposite falling off his cab just at the critical moment when the bouquet was being presented, so it had to be done all over again. I never saw the film version of this incident, but it must have been funny.
From a flag-bedecked box we saw the film of the Atlantic flight. Mr. Derwent Hall Caine said some very nice things about Harry, and added a few about me for the sake of politeness.
The next morning I stayed in bed and amused myself opening the more interesting of the correspondence. I received about 2,000 letters before Harry came home—that was in two days—and I am afraid many did not get opened for weeks.
Mr. and Mrs. Sopwith and myself left for Grantham just before lunch, and arrived with nearly an hour to wait for the train which was speeding Harry down from Scotland. The station was closed to the public and only R.A.F. cadets were allowed on the opposite platform. The station-master was most charming, and had arranged for Harry to meet me in his own little room on the platform.
While on board H.M.S. Revenge, Harry sent the following message, via Aberdeen, at 10.35 p.m. on Sunday, May 25th:
“My machine stopped owing to the water-filter in the feed-pipe from the radiator to the water-cock being blocked up with refuse, such as solder and the like, shaking loose in the radiator. It was no fault of the motor [Rolls-Royce]. The motor ran absolutely perfectly from start to finish, even when all the water had boiled away. I had no trouble in landing in the sea. We were picked up by the tramp ship Mary, after being in the water 1½ hours. We are going to London from Thurso at 2 p.m. on Monday, arriving in London between 7 and 8 p.m. on Tuesday.”
The above message constituted the first public account as to the cause of the failure.
To Harry, on the Revenge, Provost MacKay, of Thurso, sent the following message:
“The people of Thurso heartily rejoice over your and Mackenzie-Grieve’s safety, which is surely as wonderful as your pluck. May I have the pleasure of meeting you and any others at Scrabster (Port of Thurso) to-morrow and providing luncheon before the departure of the afternoon train or of assisting you in any way?”
The progress of Harry and Grieve to London was nothing short of triumphal and an experience in itself, apart from the actual flight accomplished. After leaving Thurso, at Bonar Bridge station they met with a rousing reception. The people there had turned out en masse, and two pipers, McBain and Macdonald, played soul-stirring strains while the crowd cheered and cheered again. As the train stopped, the folks swarmed round the carriage door and Harry and Grieve shook hands with as many as possible. There were several telegrams awaiting them at this remote little station, an augury of what they might expect nearer home. They took in a tea-basket here.
At Tain the excitement took a similar form. Here a council meeting was specially adjourned, and the councillors proceeded to the station to meet the train. Provost Maitland delivered a brief congratulatory message. Harry’s radiant smile thoroughly captivated the people, who cheered to the echo as the train passed out.
Similar expressions of the public joy occurred at every station between Thurso and Inverness. At Brora most of the population, including the school-children, were on the platform, and loud cheers greeted the arrival and departure. At Invergordon the crowds on both sides of the train were particularly large, and unbounded enthusiasm prevailed. At Alness they were acclaimed by pipers, amid cheers. At Dingwall and Beauly similar warm-hearted acclamations were offered.
At several places en route ladies offered bouquets, and by the time the train reached Inverness Harry’s compartment was rich in the perfume of the lily of the valley.
There were many incidents of human interest on the journey. At one point far up North Harry noticed a woman and her two kiddies waving at the train from the door of a crofter’s cottage on the hillside. He and Grieve both responded by waving their handkerchiefs until they were out of sight. At some of the stations children came shyly forward to shake hands and say, “Good luck.” Some were more bold, and said, “You will do it yet.” Harry was completely won by the warmth of the Highland welcome, and remarked later, “What fine people!”
As the train came over the bridge into Inverness, the siren of a vessel in harbour heralded their arrival. The station and the vicinity were occupied by enormous crowds, and it was with the utmost difficulty that Harry and Grieve were able to get, or rather be got, to the Station Hotel. Speaking from the main staircase of the hotel, Provost Macdonald, on behalf of the people of Inverness, said:
“We congratulate you very heartily on your brave attempt to cross the Atlantic and more particularly on the marvellous escape you have had. In 1913, when you, Mr. Hawker, passed Inverness, you did not give us much of a chance of welcoming you, but we now have the chance, and give you a real Highland welcome. We are delighted to see you, and to congratulate you on your wonderful attempt to cross the Atlantic. We are glad to know that you live to fly another day, and I hope that before long you will win that great prize offered by the Daily Mail. The proprietors of that newspaper have done a generous and patriotic action in stimulating aviation—one that deserves the congratulations of the whole country. We are all delighted to have you and Commander Grieve with us. I hope that after you have had a needed rest you will have another try at the Transatlantic flight, and, if you do, you will have the best wishes of the people of Inverness that your second attempt will be successful. I call for three cheers for Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve, and three more for Mrs. Hawker, who has never lost faith in her husband’s safety.”
When the cheers had subsided, Harry said:
“I can assure you I feel very embarrassed under the present conditions. I cannot help feeling in a sort of way that I am here under false pretences in so far as I am not so good as people think I am. The risk I ran was not so great as people think it was. It was a perfectly straightforward thing, and not at all an attempt of the do-or-die order.” (Amid cheers, somebody shouted, “You’re too modest!”) “Under ordinary conditions, there are hundreds of ships in the Atlantic without wireless, and one might be picked up and be there for a fortnight without anybody knowing about it. There was practically no risk at all. I thank you very much indeed for your warm welcome and your good wishes.”
Grieve was also called on for a “speech,” and said:
“I can only echo Mr. Hawker’s words. I deeply appreciate your great and enthusiastic welcome, as I am a Scotsman myself.”
They were both called on to make a brief speech from the balcony of the hotel as well. After supping with Provost Macdonald, they entrained for Edinburgh and London.
In the small hours of the night, even at tiny stations, there were little groups of people eager to catch a glimpse of the train as it passed through, and long after Harry and Grieve were enjoying a sleep they were passing stations where the train halted to the accompaniment of bagpipes.
Perth was reached at 5 a.m., when one would have thought everybody there would be fast asleep. But this was not so. The people were there in thousands to cheer and watch the heroes of the hour for a few moments. A bouquet was presented and, in acknowledging it, Harry mentioned that he had had an excellent sleep from Inverness and was feeling very fit.
As for the reception at Edinburgh, I cannot do better than reproduce the account given by the Evening News (London):
“... At Edinburgh, which has grown accustomed to the visits of the great, there were the same scenes. The station platform was crowded by 8 o’clock and there was a strong force of police on duty to keep the way clear for passengers. When the train steamed in there was a great murmur of excitement and craning of necks. Hawker was at once surrounded by all kinds of official and unofficial admirers. It was really marvellous, the number of solemn officials who found it their duty to be very near Hawker as he came down the platform. The cheers grew and grew till the whole station echoed with them. Suddenly there was a rush through the barrier, and before the police realised what was happening Hawker was raised shoulder high and carried, smiling and a bit unstable, through the clamorous crowds. It was an extraordinary scene of fervour and welcome. Then he disappeared into the Station Hotel for breakfast. The same desire to see and acclaim the hero was there, though it was more discreetly veiled, as becomes a great hotel. It was wonderful, the number of people who had left their newspaper and their handkerchief in the dining-room and in the hall.
“I had a few words with Hawker in the hotel. I found him looking the very picture of health, bright and youthful—as one could hardly believe after his journey into the Atlantic and across Scotland. He told me that already he had given the whole story of the flight. He talked with the greatest enthusiasm of his journey through Scotland. ‘You would hardly believe,’ he said, ‘how kind and appreciative they have been the whole way down. It has absolutely astonished me.’ I asked him whether he thought he would ever try the Atlantic again. One might have expected a very emphatic negative to such a suggestion, but all Hawker could say was, ‘I don’t know.’ He said it depended on the Sopwith firm, seeming to suggest that his own personal experiences and tastes were rather unimportant things.
“Commander Grieve does not look quite so fit as Hawker. I thought he looked a bit tired and strained, but the journey from Thurso would do that, even if he had not done before it the biggest feat in navigation the world has known since Columbus. When the train left at 10 o’clock there was a repetition of the scenes of arrival, only with a bigger crowd.
“Every corner of stair and platform and bridge where one could get a glimpse of Hawker and Grieve was crammed to the utmost. There was wild cheering and the police were busy. The two dived quickly into the Pullman as if a bit embarrassed with all this excitement; but, after many requests, appeared at the carriage door to be photographed. In a moment the train was away, and Edinburgh set to talking about the magnificent young heroes, and to-night will read of the acclamations all down the line.”
At Newcastle, some hundreds of people were on the platform when the train steamed in, and Harry and Grieve met with a great reception. The Lord Mayor and Sheriff (Mr. Cole), who were accompanied by other members of the Corporation, and Mr. Herbert Shaw, representing the Chamber of Commerce, congratulated them on their escape and wished them better luck next time. The Lord Mayor presented each of them with a volume of views of Newcastle and a case of cigarettes as a souvenir of the occasion.
After thanking the Lord Mayor, Harry held a miniature reception by shaking hands with some hundreds of people who passed in front of his carriage door.
In acknowledgement of their great welcome to him, Harry addressed the following message to Scotsmen, through the medium of the Press:
“I am deeply touched by all the marks of respect that have been shown to me, and particularly by the kindness and sympathy displayed towards my wife during a week that must have been a severe trial to her. Only the kindness shown to her could have enabled her to get through that trial.
“As for myself, I am simply overwhelmed by the warmth of the greeting showered on me everywhere since first I touched British soil on Sunday last. I shall remember it to my dying day. It almost makes me feel that it was worth while failing to have such an ovation as has been accorded to us. Certainly I am convinced that the public display of appreciation more than repays me for anything I have gone through, and convinces me that the attempt to cross the Atlantic was well worth while.
“I am not discouraged in the least by what has taken place, and I have not abandoned the idea of crossing the Atlantic. What I shall do is a matter for discussion with my friends and backers, but I am far from being out of the race.
“I have nothing to say about the criticisms of those who think the attempt under the conditions then prevailing was foolhardy, save to say that I do not regret anything I have done, and that under similar circumstances I should act in the same way. The attempt was well worth making, and it had to be made, for there was a danger of the honour of being first across the Atlantic being wrested from the old country. Someone else may succeed where I failed, but I hope that, whoever does succeed, the honour will rest with Britain.
“I may say I have been loyally backed up by my wife; and when a man embarks on an adventure of this kind the spirit in which it is taken by his wife counts for a great deal. She has been splendid through it all, and what credit there is for what has been achieved is hers as much as mine.”
Commander Grieve’s message ran:
“I can only say ‘ditto’ to Harry Hawker. I have been deeply touched indeed by the kindly interest taken in our flight and the disappointment of failure is easily forgotten in the warmth of the welcome given us. It was a fine stunt, well worth attempting, and, like Hawker, I have no regrets. I am more than ever convinced that the Atlantic can be crossed, and I am ready to try again when circumstances permit of the battle being renewed under more favourable conditions. Next time we ought to succeed, but if somebody gets in before us we can only say ‘Good luck to you.’ Everybody has been splendid in connection with our flight.”
A SOUVENIR OF THE FIRST TRANS-ATLANTIC AIR MAIL.
[Facing p. 264.
At Darlington the welcome was magnificent. Hundreds of people were congregated on the platform, and as the train—15 minutes overdue—steamed in, loud cheers were raised and cries of welcome greeted them. Harry came to the carriage door, and his bronzed face was the signal for renewed hurrahs. The crowd surged round the door to shake Harry by the hand. Smilingly he responded by gripping as many hands as possible. As the train left the station cheers were renewed, rattles sounded, and hooters and whistles were blown.
At York, the Scotch express was twenty minutes behind time, and for over half-an-hour before the scheduled time a crowd had been steadily assembling on the platform. Lord Knaresborough (Chairman of the North-Eastern Railway) was among those present, and he subsequently travelled on the train to London. The Sheriff of York (Alderman C. W. Shipley) was also present.
When the train ultimately drew up at York station, shortly after three o’clock, a rousing cheer went up. The police found it impossible to restrain the crowds from surging up to the fore part of the train where Harry and Grieve occupied a first-class compartment. They swarmed round the door, crowded on the footboards and on the coaches, and cheered themselves hoarse. Aided by the railway police, Mr. T. C. Humphries, the station-master, was able to reach Harry’s compartment and hand in some telegrams, including the Royal Command to Buckingham Palace. For some minutes Grieve held the door while Harry was busy with replies to telegrams; then he, too, appeared. There was a fresh outburst of cheers. Describing the scene, the Yorkshire Post said:
“... He looked well-bronzed, wonderfully fit, and smiled genially in acknowledgment of a fresh outburst of cheers. For the convenience of a group of photographers, who were poised on a pile of baggage, Mr. Hawker pleasantly raised his head and leaned forward. The cheering was continuous, and both Mr. Hawker and his navigator seemed particularly interested in a portion of the crowd who, failing to see from the platform, had climbed to the roof of a train on an adjoining platform, swarmed over the tender and cab, and along the footplate of a locomotive, while the more nimble juniors had clambered to the under-girders and lattice-bracing of the station roof.
“Mr. Hawker did not attempt to make a speech, though encouraged by the crowd to do so. He was also appealed to by autograph hunters, several of whom vainly waved their albums from the densest part of the crowd. Some Australian soldiers, not to be denied, forced their way through the crowd and grasped the hand of their fellow-countryman, congratulating him with characteristic warmth and vigour. When the train, after ten minutes’ stay, was restarted, a perfect forest of hands was thrust towards the carriage, and as his coach slowly passed forward Mr. Hawker grasped such as were within reach. It was a royal reception from a crowd moved to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and their deafening cheers completely drowned the noise of the escaping steam as the powerful train moved on its southbound journey.”
Harry’s next stop would be at Grantham, where he expected to meet me.
At last the train came in, and there seemed to be an awful scuttle outside. Then Harry literally fell into the little room where I was waiting. He just said the sweetest and most wonderful thing I could ever hear, and added, just as the people started to crush in, “Don’t cry.”
Then we went back to the waiting train. Standing in the doorway of the little room, we were faced by a veritable sea of cameras, which I tried to count but could not.
We got into our carriage in comfort—the last comfort of the day—and with an aeroplane as escort overhead, Harry and Grieve triumphantly proceeded to King’s Cross, where a terrific reception awaited them. As the train drew up at the platform, part of the enormous crowd surged into our compartment. How they knew which one was hard to tell. The civic reception party who were on the platform to give official welcome to the heroes were completely shattered, and I believe it must have been wonderful tactics which allowed the official Mace-bearer to retain the mace in the face of 300 or so Australian soldiers who thought they needed it. Anyway, the two adventurers were just carried out of the train and placed in Harry’s big Sunbeam, which a few hundred Australians, not content with towing, began to carry!
Harry, by then worried as to what would happen to his car, with about forty people up, and carried by hands which caught hold of anything which projected, decided, in consideration of the welfare of the car, to leave it, and he began literally to crawl out over the heads of the people. Eventually he was saved through the offer of a ride in tandem on a police officer’s horse. Later, this officer relinquished the animal for Harry, who arrived at the Royal Aero Club in Clifford Street in triumph and to receive more welcomes. Arrived there, and once inside, Harry and Grieve had to stay. The crowds outside grew bigger and denser instead of the reverse. Mr. Sopwith and others, from the balcony, tried to persuade them to disperse by telling them that further jubilation was not desirable and the aviators wanted rest badly. But these efforts were of no, avail, probably because owing to the tumult below the words passed unheard rather than unheeded.
However, a little strategy, a side door, and about ten mounted police who kept close to the car until it had gathered up enough speed to keep people from jumping on, combined to facilitate an escape, and, having parted from Grieve at the Club, we were speeding off for Kingston.
The employees of the Sopwith firm had organised a special entertainment in the grounds of the Ham works, and Harry had promised to be there. But when he arrived all seemed to be in a state of chaos. A singer stopped singing in the middle of a word, and the whole audience rose as one man and seemed to engulf Harry. It must be a very strange and wonderful experience, even although it last but a few days, to be continually the centre of a demonstrative crowd. Crowds waiting to see you leave your house; more crowds waiting at your destination. It can only be the very few who remain unspoiled by such ovations.
After having thoroughly broken up the proceedings at Ham, for which all the artistes who had not yet appeared were probably thankful, our party proceeded to Kingston in the car of honour, towed at a run for about two miles by the Sopwith people. At Kingston an impromptu supper was given to all and sundry by Mr. and Mrs. Sopwith.
At about 11.45 we all left for Hook, as I had promised the people in the village they should get their welcome in some time during the evening. Although it was about midnight when we reached our home, the crowds around were far more than the population of which Hook could boast. Here, as our car turned into the gate, Harry was greeted by a fine set-piece which emblazoned the words, “Welcome Home!”; and this was followed by a long and wonderful display of fireworks, arranged by the men at the Sopwith Works and executed by Messrs. Brock.
More speeches and thanks returned and then to bed, after what must have been a day which few men have experienced; especially as I know all the welcomes and demonstrations were unexpected by Harry, who, having failed to do what he set out to do, had thought of creeping home and getting to work on another machine as quickly and with as little fuss as possible, with a view to making a fresh start.