Straight on Till Morning (27 page)
Read Straight on Till Morning Online
Authors: Mary S. Lovell
On the 3rd there was fog over most of the country but the forecasts were that there might be a break on the way. The
News Chronicle
ran an editorial under the heading âAtlantic Flights'.
Mrs Beryl Markham did not take off yesterday for her proposed solo flight across the Atlantic to New York. We hope that she will never take off. The time for these âpioneer' solo flights in overloaded radio-less machines has passed. The only Transatlantic flights which serve any purpose now are those which lay the foundations for a regular mail service. If Mrs Markham were to reach New York she would not have demonstrated anything worth risking her life for. If she came down in the ocean she would cause prolonged suspense to all her friends and considerable inconvenience and expense to all the ships that would have to search for her. We hope that Mrs Markham will think better of it.
Beryl dismissed the article with a wave of her hand and a sniff. That evening there was yet another party. This time, she forecast, it was a farewell party. Tom had gone north on business. Present were Mollison, Percival and Beryl's mechanic Jock Cameron. âBefore dinner Mollison asked her if she had a good watch or a mascot. “No,” she replied. “Then,” said Mollison unstrapping his own watch, “take mine. It's been across with me twice. It won't fail you. But mind you it's only a loanâ¦I want it back!”'
30
This is the story Beryl and Mollison gave to the press. But there was a more practical reason. Beryl did have a watch of her own, but Mollison recommended that she wear two watches. Her own set to Greenwich Mean Time (London), and Mollison's recording Eastern Standard Time (New York). She would be very tired at the end of her flight, he knew. He told her that to avoid confusion she should make all her calculations in GMT, and his watch could be used merely as a check on local time.
The forecast on the morning of the 4th was not promising. The ministry said there was a possibility of a break in the late afternoon but it was only a possibility. Before the break â if it came â there was thundery rain and low cloud. Behind it, and they did not know how far behind, was a gale. By now Beryl was thoroughly fed up with waiting. She telephoned Jim Mollison and arranged for him to fly her to Abingdon, telling him she was âgoing this afternoon come what may'. In an interview to the
Daily Express
, which they published as a lead story, she explained why she had not been able to get away as scheduled, what supplies she planned to take, details of food and drink, the amount of fuel. And she finished with:
People ask me my feelings about this ocean flight. I have become dreadfully fidgety. It is natural. I am still young and while I am supremely confident I am not particularly anxious to die. But if I get acrossâ¦it will have been worth it because I believe in the future of an Atlantic air service. I planned this flight because I wanted to be in that air service at the beginning. If I get across I think I shall have earned my place. Don't you?
31
Just before five o'clock in the afternoon BST (British Summer Time) Beryl arrived at Abingdon with Jim Mollison. She was dressed warmly and comfortably in grey flannel slacks, blue blouse and jumper, a warmly lined Burberry raincoat and helmet. The first news that greeted them was that they would have to wait. A bomber had overturned on the take-off runway and was being cleared. âIt was the first thing I heard when I arrived,' she complained whilst chain smoking. âI'm glad I didn't see it, it might have made me feel even more queer inside than I do now. The wind's to blame apparently. Trouble is it's the same wind that I'm taking off intoâ¦I wish the fire engine and ambulances didn't have to be so obvious.' The press reported that she appeared pale, her face set, her lips drawn. Her friends say she was as casual as usual.
32
There were puddles lying all over the aerodrome. The latest forecast was telephoned through. Head winds of forty to fifty miles per hour; low cloud over the water, squalls for the next fourteen hours. Both Percival and Mollison tried to dissuade her. But Beryl was now determined to go. âNeck or nothing,' she said. It was an old hunting phrase, eagerly snapped up by the reporters and used abundantly in the next editions.
The Messenger
was pushed out of the hangar and refuelled.
33
Tom was not at the airport to see her off. He had gone to Liverpool to see John Moores about his participation in the race to Johannesburg which was coming ever closer. Possibly because of the adverse weather forecasts he assumed Beryl would not make the attempt, and that he would have returned before she took off.
This must have been a blow to Beryl. Despite her assertions that she was attempting the hazardous flight to stake her place in the prophesied transatlantic air service, the truth was that in her mind she hoped that somehow success would win back Tom. âShe worshipped him,' her great friend in later years, Buster Parnell, told me. âI think she only flew the Atlantic to get back at him after he'd dumped her for Florence Desmond. In a way I think she hoped she'd be killed â just to spite him.'
34
If Parnell's assessment is correct, her great exit scene was missing the principal member of the audience.
The only friends to see her depart were Percival and a number of the Percival works engineers. Jock Cameron gave her a sprig of heather. She refused a lifejacket â she would sacrifice security for warmth, she said. Mollison made a play of being concerned about his watch. âDon't get it wet,' he said. Beryl asked for the
Daily Express
reporter â he stepped forward and she handed him a letter addressed to his editor. Her basket of food was stowed away â they could hardly find room for it, so confined was the cabin with the huge additional eighty-gallon fuel tank occupying most of the cabin space. She took with her a packet of chicken sandwiches, a âchewing' mixture of nuts, raisins and dried bananas, five flasks of tea and coffee, a hip flask of brandy and a bottle of water. Now, after some last-minute discussions with Percival, she hopped up on to
The Messenger
's wing and turned to Mollison. âGoodbye. Good luck,' she called to him. She grinned shyly â her appealing boyish grin. âLuck, Beryl,' he replied. âYou deserve the best.'
35
The runway was a mile long. It was expected that
The Messenger
, with its 1900-pound load of petrol, would take nearly all of that to unstick. Percival himself swung the propeller as Beryl called out, âSwitches onâ¦Contact.' The engine, impeccably tuned, fired first time and roared into life. Immediately, for she did not want to waste a single drop of fuel, she taxied away across the aerodrome in the weak rays of the sun, which appeared through a watery slit in the clouds. The little group of friends, the journalists and the Abingdon workers stood and watched tensely as she sat at the end of the runway performing her flight checks. Then her hand appeared through the sliding side window of the cockpit and waved cheerily.
36
She was off on her great adventure.
One of the biggest hazards faced her right at the start of the flight. Would the aeroplane take off with the enormous load of fuel, within the runway length? Percival and Mollison had previously paced out the runway with Beryl, and placed markers at hundred-yard intervals, with a red flag at the point of no return. One mistake now in the little aeroplane, which was no more than a flying petrol tank, and nothing could have saved her. In the event
The Messenger
needed only 600 yards of the runway. After the tail lifted, the onlookers noted that Beryl coolly held the aeroplane down to gather plenty of speed and was in no hurry to haul it off. Professionalism had taken over from the nervous tension that had overshadowed her through the terrible period of waiting, which all the record-breakers described as âthe worst part of it'.
âShe just rushed off,' said Squadron Leader St John who had travelled up from Gravesend with the Percival crew. âAll the pilots at Gravesend have a very great admiration for her. We are all anxious because she is flying a machine with which she really has had too little time to become accustomed. She had only two short flights in it before setting off.'
37
The following morning the
Daily Express
published on the front page, the letter she had handed to the reporter before her departure.
Sir,
As I am now on the eve of what I believe to be a rather hazardous night I would ask the usual courtesy extended to the condemned to state some of my views. I notice that I have been frequently captioned in the Press as âSociety Mother,' âFlying Mother,' âBird Woman,' etc.
The phrase âSociety' is repugnant to me. I have no pretensions, and fail to see what bearing an accident of birth has to do with flying the ocean.
I may be âjust another blonde'; but as a professional pilot accustomed to working for my living, and as this flight could not even in my wildest dreams be described as pleasure, I look on it as another job of work. When I am asked my reasons for going I give varying explanations every time. As adequate a reason as any other is that, whatever the result of my efforts, I shall not have laboured in vain as it will give a very real friend â no other than the bold, bad Jim Mollison â an excellent excuse for a celebration, or the reverse.
In describing my, as yet unaccomplished, but no doubt amazing exploit, please give me the credit of being an ordinary human being without too many of the conventional virtues. I can laugh, love, hate, and occasionally fall in at the off-licence to hear the views of my fellow-beings. I am neither an innocent girl from the country, nor a city slicker, but an ocean flyer, in embryo. If I can dispense with the last two words I am more than satisfied.
I am etc.
Beryl Markham
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Tom must have heard the news even before he returned from his trip to the north. When he returned home he told Dessie he'd heard from Percival that âBeryl had simply gone. Apparently, nothing anyone said could dissuade her.' Jim Mollison had said to Percival with grim flippancy, âWell. That's the last we'll see of Beryl.' All they could do now was wait.
39
1936
It was a long wait for those left behind. There were headlines in the newspapers on the following morning, reporting Beryl's departure. The stop-press columns carried the news that the aeroplane had been seen off Castletown, Berehaven, County Cork at 10.25 BST. Other than that there was nothing. They could expect nothing. And the day wore slowly on.
The Markham family, literally under siege from the press, rapidly decamped to the country. Speaking on the telephone from his Hurst Green home in Sussex, Mansfield made a statement that he was âvery anxious. I wish my wife all the luck in the world. Our seven-year old son is with me. I think he is too young to realize what his mother is doing.' Later he was to add that he had not been able to sleep and had spent the night pacing the floor.
1
Just after two o'clock that afternoon a radio message was flashed across the Atlantic. The Radio Corporation of America intercepted the following message from the steamship
Spaarndam
(at 7 a.m. New York Time â 2 p.m. BST), a Holland-America Line freighter headed towards New York from Rotterdam: â
AIRPLANE
,
PROBABLY MRS MARKHAM'S PASSED THE SS SPAARNDAM AT
7
A.M
.
EST
.,
POSITION
47:54
N
., 48:22
W
.,
HEADING FOR
.' This still left her 1500 miles from New York but within a few flying hours of the American coast.
2
A further sighting by the SS
Kungsholm
confirmed her position and reported that she was heading towards the coast.
At 9.35 a.m. EST (19 hours and 40 minutes after take-off)
The Messenger
, âflying high', was spotted off Newfoundland, where âit circled the bay, very likely to fix a position and then headed off to Cape Race, twenty-five miles to the south-west.' Ten minutes later she was seen by the inhabitants of Cape Race, and shortly afterwards above Drook Point in rain and low cloud.
3
Then silence. No word. No sightings. No news.
At Floyd Bennett field where a crowd of 2000 had already gathered to greet Beryl on her expected arrival late that evening, there was an excited flurry of rumours. She had been sighted. She was only five hours away. She'd gone down in the sea off Newfoundland.
And then, over twenty-two hours after Beryl took off from Abingdon, the news came through on the telephone from the tiny community of Baleine Cove, on the eastern tip of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, that she had crash-landed but was safe. Like Mollison, Beryl had failed to achieve her ultimate goal, But she had safely crossed the Atlantic Ocean from east to west, the first woman to do so. She was also the first person to make a solo non-stop crossing in that direction, from England to America. And she was safe, though tired and suffering lacerations to her forehead.
Now every newspaper in the world wanted Beryl. News of Beryl. Stories of Beryl. Two fishermen had found her struggling through a bog where she had landed the aeroplane, blood streaming from a cut in her forehead. âI'm Mrs Markham,' she told them. âI've just flown from England.' They took her to the nearby farmhouse of Mr Alex Burke where she requested a cup of tea and the use of the telephone. Within minutes she was speaking to a startled Edith McGuinness, the telephone operator at the Louisburg exchange. âI am Mrs Markham. I have just crash-landed my aeroplane. I would like the airport notified and could you also ask someone to send a taxi for me?' She was swiftly whisked to Louisburg where a Dr O'Neil stitched and dressed the cut in her forehead and ordered her to bed. The same doctor had treated Jim Mollison when he had landed near Sydney (Cape Breton Island) in August 1932.
4
Before she slept, she telephoned Mansfield, Jim Mollison and Harry Bruno, at the expense of an opportunist local reporter, who then contacted his editor with a story which was syndicated around the world. Another speck of human interest emerged, for until then it had not been realized that Beryl and Mansfield were separated. âHer Broken Romance is not Mended' was a typical headline.
5
Alert to the potential of his client's publicity value, Bruno said he'd call her back, and did so with a stenographer at his elbow. Hardly a major newspaper in Europe and America failed to carry news of Beryl's success on its front page on 6 and 7 September. The version, written for (and paid for) by the
Daily Express
, was cabled to them by Bruno, and the style owes much to his particular brand of hokum:
It was a great adventure. But I'm so glad it's over. I really had a terrible time. That's the only word for it â terrible. I knew I was in for it half an hour after I left. I pulled out my chart of the Atlantic and a gust of wind blew it out of my hand. I saw it floating away down to earth. There was nothing on that chart but waterâ¦When I saw that chart whisk away I sat back and waited for trouble. It came in plenty. I had rather a bad time after that. There was a 30 mile head wind, a helluva lot of low cloud and driving rain. I almost wanted to turn back, but of course I couldn't do that.
I got my first fright at Abingdon when I saw the trees at the far end of the airfield. I never thought I'd get over them with my heavy load. Then the weather simply went to pot when I got over the sea somewhere near Bristol. It blew great guns, worse and worse. It got darker and darker and darker. It meant blind flying and that went on nearly the whole way.
Once I got over the Atlantic I could see nothing but water, and not much of that. Then an electrical storm popped up to make it all gay and happy. But you know I really welcomed that storm; it was a relief to see something besides cloud and water. The clouds were lying about in lumps, absolutely in lumps, and poor old
Messenger
was so sluggishly heavy. I was flying at about 2000 feet. I wanted to fly lower so that I could keep an eye on the water but bucking winds made that too dangerous. I passed out of the storm, but only into more dirty weather. I've found since I got here that you've all been reading about my having bright moonlight for the first part of my journey. That makes me laugh. I saw the moon only twice and he was a pretty sorry sight. Once, poor old
Messenger
took a terrific toss. I didn't know quite what was happening but she seemed to be behaving in an extraordinary manner. Next time the lightning flashed I took a look out of the window. I was flying upside down. That was a nasty shockâ¦I got so fed up seeing the sea that I said to myself, aloud: âIf you don't see something besides water you'll go crazy.' I thought about all sorts of things â lots of things about home and Africa, my little boy Gervase and my father in Durban. To help pass the time I made entries in my log book and calculated my position.
The Messenger
should do about 158 mph cruising speed in still air but I reckoned I was doing about 90. Those nasty old head winds were to blame for thatâ¦I couldn't eatâ¦except some coffee and some nutsâ¦I got so weary of battling against the icy gale all the way over that I was just about ready to give up whenever I let myself think about it. I never completely lost my bearings, but it seemed so impossible to go on, driving the ship against all the odds, knowing that all the time I was using up far more petrol than I ought. I know I got into a spin more than once. I just went on â on â on hoping for the best but not expecting it, bumping and rocking all over the place.
At a particularly low ebb before dawn, tired, cramped and cold, she reached for her final flask of coffee. A sudden violent lurch tipped the opened flask, spilling the entire contents. She said later that it was the worst moment of her flight and she had been close to tears. Many of the long-distance pilots of the 1930s agreed that the worst part of the flight was the sheer loneliness.
6
Then dawn broke through the clouds. The wind changed and I stopped being so silly. I wouldn't have imagined that there was an expanse of desolation so big in the whole world as the waste of sky and water I saw go past me from the time I left Abingdonâ¦It was fog, rain, sleet for hours on end. If I climbed it was sleet, if I dropped it was rain. If I skimmed the sea it was fog. I couldn't see anything beyond my wingtips.
She had a moment of near disaster when one of her fuel tanks ran dry and the aeroplane dropped to below 300 feet before the new fuel supply reached the engine. The final fuel tank read âThis tank is good for eleven hours.' It was the only one with a fuel gauge. Bitterly she watched the level getting lower and lower. A further moment of anxiety occurred when her engine cut for no apparent reason. This time it was ice in the carburetor â though she did not know that at the time, only heart-stopping fear as she brought the plane in a long shallow glide for a water landing. As she lost height the ice dissolved and the engine started up again.
Her hands had been gripping the control column so hard that they were numb with cramp, but she began to relax again as she watched the few instruments and saw that everything seemed to be working well again: oil pressure 42 pounds, RPM 2000; airspeed 146 mph. Only extreme tiredness and her fuel supply were now causing concern.
That tank, on which I was banking my all, didn't last eleven hours. It lasted nine hours and five minutes. That's why I came down in the swamp. I watched that tank getting emptier and emptier and still saw nothing but sea and clouds and mist.
When I could bring myself to do it I had a good look at my watch. I judged I ought to be somewhere near Newfoundland by then. Then I had a good look at my petrol gauge and my spine froze. I was nearly out of fuel and I ought to have had enough for hours yet.
I thought for a while. And then I reached for my flask of brandy. I don't drink much of that as a rule â only for medicine. But I took two long swigs of that flaskâ¦I could see nothing could save me. Good old
Messenger
was going to stop any moment and I said to myself, âIf I'm going to go, now is the time to get ready for it.' The only thing anywhere around was fog, great hefty banks of it. And then I saw the coast. The beautiful coast. I've never seen land so beautiful. I kept going, I wanted to make Sydney Airport, come down, get petrol and go on to Halifax. I felt better when I saw land and thought perhaps the notice âThis is safe for eleven hours' was right after all. But the engine began to go âput, put, put'.
I knew then that I'd have to come down as soon as possible. I watched out for Harbour Grace, the first airfield on my route, but could I see it?
I saw that I had to come down and made for the beach. I couldn't land there; there was nothing but great big rocks and
Messenger
and I would have been dashed to pieces. I went inland.
My engine was missing badly now. It was sheer agony to watch my petrol gaugeâ¦I peered around for a field to land on. I was still peering when the engine stopped.
Bringing
The Messenger
into the only field that looked suitable, Beryl executed a perfect forced landing. The plane landed into wind, the speed just right. Unfortunately the âfield' was a boulder strewn bog, its green surface covered not in grass but moss.
The Messenger
ran for 40 feet before her weight caused the left wheel and wing to plough into the water-laden peat and the aeroplane tipped up on her nose. Beryl crashed against the windshield and lost consciousness.
I suppose I crawled out somehow. Well, you know the rest. It's been a great adventure. Now it's all over perhaps I'll try it again one day â who knows? I'd have made New York all right if it hadn't been for the miscalculation over petrol. When I came down in the bog on Cape Breton Island there wasn't one drop left in the tanks. I'd been flying only twenty-one hours and I thought I'd enough for twenty-eight. Fifteen seconds more and I believe my aeroplane and I would have gone down on the water and no one would have ever known what became of us.
7
It was only later she discovered that if she had been higher she would almost certainly have seen Sydney Airport a few miles away and could have glided in.
The photographs of Beryl's stricken plane are an eloquent testimony to the last sentence in her article. The upended machine came to rest only a hundred yards from the ocean. Clearly it had been a very difficult flight, far more so than she had bargained for. At eighty-three she said that it was probably the only time in her life that she had been really scared. After it she hated flying over water.
8
John and June Carberry telephoned from New York where they had been awaiting Beryl's arrival. She told them about the damage to
The Messenger
. âShe's badly mussed up,' Carberry told reporters later. âThe motor is ripped from its mountings, the propeller broken and the landing gear gone.' To Beryl he had said, âLeave it there, don't worry about it.'
9
Tributes poured in:
Mansfield: People might think a woman would be afraid of being alone over the Atlantic. I know my wife's spirit betterâ¦I am extremely proud of her fine achievement. I think it is magnificent and that she is very plucky. I always had great confidence in her as a pilot. She has done some very good work. I should not have done what she has done for a million pounds â I should have been in a complete funk. When I told our son about it he clapped his hands with joy, but I do not think he fully realizes what has happened. At the moment he is more interested in railway engines than in aeroplanes. The whole world now knows that my wife and I are separated, but we are still very good friends. The reason I did not go to see her off at Elstree was that she did not know herself that she was going until very shortly before. I spoke to her by telephone and wished her good luck.
10
Jim Mollison: It is a first-rate performance, I am particularly delighted at her success because she went on my advice. I know that Mrs Markham considered this flight as important in her ambition to have a part in the regular transatlantic air service when it starts. On all points, first on navigation, but also on skill in piloting and every other department she has justified her candidature.
11
C.B. Clutterbuck: Beryl's a grand girl. This is the happiest day of my life. I knew she would triumph, but in spite of my faith in her abilities, yesterday was the most anxious day I have known. It's a devil of a thing for a woman to have done all on her own. All day I have been on tenterhooks and now I shan't be able to sleep for excitement.
12
Tom Campbell Black: Amazing! I thought she'd do it, but the weather, on what is always a tough crossing, seemed appallingly bad.
13
Captain Percival: She has shown, in view of the bad weather, a marvellous piece of course-keeping. It has been a very good piece of flying to get through at all.
14
Amelia Earhart: She did a splendid job. I am delighted beyond words that Mrs Markham should have succeeded in her exploit and has conquered the Atlantic. It was a great flight.
15
