Rain and mist in the morning, that finally cleared somewhat, allowed us to take off. We skimmed over Bristol Channel and the green hills of Devonshire, which were as beautiful as we had imagined. In the plane with the crew were Captain Railey and Mr. Raymond of the Times.
When we set out from Burry Port on this last lap of the journey, Captain Bailey of the Imperial Airways had expected to guide us. Unfortunately at the last moment he was unable to start his engine and Bill decided to hop for Southampton unescorted.
As we approached, a seaplane came out to meet us, and we presumed it was to guide us to the landing place. As Bill prepared to follow, Captain Railey discovered that we were not being guided. In the uncertainty of landing amid berthed steamers in a strange place, Bill finally picked up the green lights of a signal gun which marked the official launch coming to greet us. Mrs. Guest, owner of the Friendship, and sponsor of the flight, was there, her son Raymond, and Hubert Scott Payne of the Imperial Airways. My first meeting with the generous woman who permitted me so much, was there in Southampton. It was a rather exciting moment despite the fatigue which was creeping upon all of us. On shore we were welcomed by Mrs. Foster Welch, the Mayor of Southampton. She wore her official necklace in honor of the occasion and we were impressed with her graciousness. Though a woman may hold such office in Great Britain, the fact isn’t acknowledged, for she is still addressed as if she were a man.
With the crowd behind, I drove to London with Mr. and Mrs. Scott Payne. The whole ride seemed a dream. I remember stopping to see Winchester Cathedral and hearing that Southampton was the only seaplane base in England and being made to feel really at home by Mrs. Payne, who sat next to me.
London gave us so much to do and see that I hardly had time to think. One impression lingers,—that of warm hospitality which was given without stint. I stayed with Mrs. Guest at Park Lane. Lady Astor permitted me a glance of beautiful country when she invited me to Cliveden. Lord Lonsdale was host at the Olympic Horse Show, which happened to be in action during our stay. The British Air League were hosts at a large luncheon primarily organized by the women’s division at which I was particularly glad to meet Madame de Landa and Lady Heath. From the latter I bought the historic little Avro with which she had flown alone from Cape Town to London. I was guest, too, at a luncheon of Mrs. Houghton’s, wife of the American Ambassador—and many other people lavished undeserved hospitality upon us.
Being a social worker I had of course to see Toynbee Hall, dean of settlement houses, on which our own Denison House in Boston is patterned. Nothing in England will interest me more than to revisit Toynbee Hall and the settlement houses that I did not see.
But this can be no catalogue of what that brief time in London meant to us. To attempt to say “thank you” adequately would take a book in itself—and this little volume is to concern the flight and whatever I may be able to add about aviation in general. Altogether it was an alluring introduction to England, enough to make me wish to return and explore, what this time, I merely touched.
Before we left, the American correspondents invited me to a luncheon—another of the pleasant memories of our visit. It was “not for publication.” And although I was the only woman present we talked things over, I think, on a real man-to-man basis. From first to last my contact with the press has been thoroughly enjoyable; in England and in America I could not possibly ask for greater cooperation, sincerity, and genuine friendliness.
On June 28 we began our first ocean voyage, embarking on the S.S. President Roosevelt of the United States Lines, commanded by Captain Harry Manning. It really was our first ocean voyage and it was then that we came to realize how much water we had passed over in the Friendship. Eastbound the mileage had been measured over clouds, not water. There never had been adequate comprehension of the Atlantic below us.
A curious connection exists between the Roosevelt and the America. Not only had the Roosevelt relayed some of our radio messages, but Captain Fried of the America had formerly been skipper of the Roosevelt. It was Captain Fried who figured so finely in the heroic rescue of the sinking freighter Antinöe a couple of years ago. Captain Fried, I was told, is interested in trans-Atlantic flight projects. On the America he makes it a practice, when he knows a flight is in progress, to have painted periodically the ship’s position on the hatches in such a way that the information may be read by a plane passing overhead. On the day when we saw the America he had received no news of our flight so that preparations had not been made for the usual hatch-painting. Actually, however, if we had remained above the America perhaps a few more minutes the information we sought would have been painted on her decks, ending our uncertainties at once. As it was, Capt. Fried cabled us on board the Roosevelt that the operator had called “plane, plane”—not knowing our letters, in an effort to give us our bearings. But Bill could not pick up the word.