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