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: