Straight on Till Morning

by Mary S. Lovell

  While the world lauded her achievement, Beryl had woken at 4.30 a.m. It was a kind of pre-jet jetlag, one supposes, but she was unable to sleep longer than four and a half hours. She complained that she could still hear the roar of the engine in her head. ‘They wanted me to sleep but I couldn’t. I was so mad that petrol had stopped me from getting to New York.’ She was up and dressed before her host, Captain George Toom, and went out for a walk. Later, after a light breakfast she was driven out to see The Messenger, still embedded in the bog. There with Ray Goodwin, the manager of Sydney Airport, the damage was examined. Clearly it would not be possible to continue the flight in the crippled aeroplane, though Goodwin thought it could be repaired and made airworthy again. Beryl noted with considerable bitterness that the weather was clearing up. It was a fine morning with light, high cloud. If only…

  She was depressed, still suffering from mild concussion, the after effects of the long hours of flight and the seeming failure of her venture despite an almost superhuman effort. She had then no idea that her flight was seen as a tremendous success. She was not to remain long in ignorance as the press descended on Baleine Cove, an isolated coastal town at Cape Breton which was once known as ‘the Dunkirk of America. A proud fortress, Cape Breton has the only walled city in North America, Louisburg, and was reputedly named by early French settlers in honour of King Louis IV.’

  Gradually it was borne in on Beryl that she was being feted. As more and more people – press and members of the tiny community – appeared at her side in the bog, it seemed that the world did not think she’d failed after all. Telegrams started to arrive in handfuls. One was from Mayor Fiorello La Guardia of New York: PERMIT ME TO EXTEND MY CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU ON YOUR EPOCHAL ACHIEVEMENT IN BEING THE FIRST WOMAN TO MAKE A SUCCESSFUL EAST–WEST CROSSING OF THE ATLANTIC. I SHARE WITH YOU YOUR DISAPPOINTMENT IN BEING FORCED DOWN BEFORE REACHING FLOYD BENNETT FIELD YOUR ORIGINAL DESTINATION. I HOPE YOU WILL FIND IT CONVENIENT TO CONTINUE ON ANOTHER PLANE AND LOOK FORWARD TO THE PLEASURE OF SEEING YOU COME TO NEW YORK.17 After that Beryl’s talk became brighter, flippant. ‘What did I think about? Oh, a lot of unpleasant things – all the terrible things I’ve ever done…’ ‘I didn’t know whether I was over Lapland or Newfoundland.’ ‘See this watch. That watch has crossed the Atlantic three times. It was Jimmy Mollison’s. He put it on my arm as he left. He wore it both times – when he flew alone and when he flew with Amy…’18

  When she was told that an aeroplane was waiting at a nearby airfield to take her to New York, she gave only a rueful glance at The Messenger, asking Goodwin to try to ensure that not too many parts were torn off by souvenir hunters, before allowing herself to be led away. From the local airfield she was flown to Halifax.

  There she was met by A. L. MacDonald, the Premier of Nova Scotia, who headed a civic reception and conveyed congratulations from the Canadian Government. Awaiting her arrival was a US Coastguard Beechcraft 17, The Staggerwing, one of the most beautiful light aeroplanes (in the opinion of the author) ever to grace the skies. Harry Bruno had been busy and Beryl was to co-pilot the powerful bi-plane to Floyd Bennett field where crowds were swelling by the minute to greet her.

  Like most beautiful women, Beryl thrived on the adulation which was now directed at her. With the dressing still adorning her forehead, she smiled happily at the crowd (estimated at over five thousand people) who cheered as she stepped from The Staggerwing which she had piloted for most of the trip down from Halifax. Her clothes, which had been grey when she left England, had apparently changed colour overnight, for when she arrived in New York she was unaccountably described as ‘the beautiful lady in blue’. Perhaps she had borrowed some clothes in Nova Scotia. ‘Hello Blondie…’ the crowds were reported to have shouted to her. ‘Hello, hello,’ she called back, and later she is supposed to have said, ‘America is jolly grand.’ The same newspaper reports that she chewed gum – an equally unlikely event. Much more likely was the report that in the airport building Beryl had asked a girl if she could borrow her compact, whereupon she hastily applied lipstick and a dusting of face powder before she faced the reception committee. ‘I haven’t a stitch of clothing except what I’m wearing, nor a toothbrush, comb nor a pair of stockings. That’s hard on a woman you know,’ she told reporters. Within days she was swamped with offers of clothes.19

  Among the first to greet Beryl were the Carberrys. ‘It was a very sporting thing that Beryl did,’ said June. ‘We are delighted over her success. It’s a shame she was not able to reach New York non-stop, but we are very happy to have her with us after such a remarkable trip from home.’ John Carberry would not give interviews, but described the trip somewhat dismissively as ‘purely a sporting proposition’. The others in the smiling committee, adroitly handled by Bruno, were representatives of the Coastguard, New York Aviation Committee, the police commissioner, airport manager and, inevitably – the customs inspector.

  After a short interview with the press she was driven off amidst the deafening sound of ‘the hooting of thousands of motor car horns’ in her first experience of a motorcade, escorted by police motorcycles with sirens wailing, to New York. On arrival at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, where a suite had been booked for her, she bounded up the steps to the cheers and applause of a waiting crowd. In the foyer she was asked, ‘How about a drink of orange juice?’ Beryl burst into peals of laughter, apparently sharing some private joke with her party. ‘Oh I think I’d like something stronger,’ she said, stifling her laughter. ‘I’ll have a champagne cocktail.’20

  After a short rest she appeared on the stage of the Avon theatre in West Forty-fifth Street for a radio interview with Milton Berle in which she laughed and joked, but said she’d rather fly the Atlantic again than appear on radio. ‘I am so very glad to have got here,’ she said, serious for a while. ‘I only wish I could have done it in my own machine.’ Later still, interviewed for the newsreel, she clasped her hands tightly behind her back, hung her head and smiled her sweet, shy smile. ‘…and did you have anything to drink, Mrs Markham?’ ‘Yes I did…I had a drink of brandy.’ ‘Just one?’ ‘No,’ she replied, irrepressible laughter bubbling up, ‘Two swigs, I’m afraid.’

  The following day was Labour Day. She enjoyed a quiet morning in the hotel with friends, and the inevitable few journalists. Several fans managed to invade Beryl’s suite asking for kisses and autographs. Bruno put a security guard on her door and later took her in an open-top car into the countryside around Westchester. That evening she attended a celebration party given by the Carberrys and other friends. Someone loaned her an evening dress. ‘I am waiting for the shops to open tomorrow,’ she told reporters, ‘so that I can do a lot of shopping. I am also looking forward to seeing New York.’21

  The days that followed were a whirlwind of interviews, luncheons, dinners. On Beryl’s behalf Bruno had been in touch with Goodwin in Nova Scotia about The Messenger, and subsequently contacted Wing Commander Edwards of the Royal Canadian Air Force, at Halifax. After a survey he reported to her that it was structurally sound, though souvenir hunters had stripped the fabric from one wing and stolen the sparkplugs.22 The engine needed major repairs too so there was no question of her making the return trip to England in the aeroplane…or at least not for some considerable time. She had mentioned this possibility to journalists, and it may be that Carberry was insisting on her fulfilling her part of the bargain to get the aeroplane back to Britain in time for him to participate in the Johannesburg Race. Now, it was obvious that Carberry’s participation in the race would have to be abandoned.

  Bruno cabled Wing Commander Edwards: WOULD APPRECIATE CHEAPEST AND BEST METHOD PUTTING SHIP FLYING CONDITION BILL SHOULD COME OUR OFFICE ADVISE COST BEFORE REPAIR STARTED BELIEVE ESSENTIAL GET SHIP UNDER SHELTER EARLIEST MRS MARKHAM AND I APPRECIATE ALL YOU HAVE DONE TO HELP STOP HARRY BRUNO.

  There was a civic reception where Beryl met the popular, rumpled little mayor, Fiorello La Guardia. She towered over him, svelte, happy and confident in her new clothes.
‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’ he said, mopping his forehead. Looking as cool as a cucumber, she agreed. The two clasped hands so often for the hordes of cameramen that in the end Beryl said with exasperation, ‘Look! Do you mind…?’23

  Congratulatory cables and letters poured in. In 1986 this writer ploughed through more than forty which Beryl had kept in her old tin trunk. It was an astonishing selection. People wrote to say that they’d stopped work to pray for her, had sent drawings of her. One letter was supposedly written and signed by a dog, yet another was from a man named Markham who sent her the Markham family history dating back to the Battle of Hastings. There were cables from the firms who had sponsored petrol and parts, and from friends: MARVELLOUSLY DONE BERYL LOTS OF CONGRATULATIONS EVA VON BLIXEN; THANK GOD YOU SAVED MY WATCH JIM MOLLISON; and from people she had never heard of: I HAD FORGOTTEN HOW TO PRAY UNTIL I HEARD OF YOUR MAGNIFICENT ATTEMPT. I PRAYED THAT GOD WOULD GIVE YOU COURAGE AND KEEP YOUR INSTRUMENTS TRUE AND LAND YOU SAFELY. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MAGNIFICENT VICTORY. ENGLAND DARES AND PERPETUATES BRITISH SPIRIT. HURRAY FOR THE WOMEN OF ENGLAND. HARRY O’HEARN 2746 HAMPDEN PORT, CHICAGO; there was even a cable from a theatre producer of a show in England, Broadway Rhythm, offering her £500 a week to appear in the opening scenes representing the arrival at Croydon of the first transatlantic passenger aeroplane.24

  During the busy, exciting days that followed Bruno tried to arrange a lecture tour of the United States. Beryl could fly from city to city in The Messenger if it could be repaired, or even another aeroplane would do. Things looked great, he assured her. She relaxed and started to enjoy herself but told him that she was returning to England in time to see the start of the Johannesburg Air Race, and then she intended to fly down to South Africa herself. But she would return to the USA later to take up some of the offers.

  On 14 September, a week after her own arrival, came news that Merrill and Richman had also landed in a swamp after running out of petrol. They had failed in their objective of a New York– Croydon–New York round trip, but they had broken the east–west record, taking 17 hours and 44 minutes for the trip. They had encountered headwinds, thought not as strong as those Beryl met, and the papers were quick to point out that Beryl had gone nearly 400 miles further than the two men, despite the fact that her aeroplane and engine were smaller. There were said to have been ‘disagreements’ between Merrill and Richman during the flight, especially about the dumping of fuel whilst over the ocean.25

  Immediately Beryl heard the news she offered to fly up to rescue the two stranded pilots. This created further headlines but Eddie Rickenbacker – the famous American air ace of the First World War, and Merrill’s employer – would not allow her to take any further risks. Richman and Merrill waited for rescue by a light aeroplane in the same way that Beryl had done. It was still not proven that man in his puny machines could successfully make the crossing, and a commercial transatlantic passenger service was a long way from becoming a reality.

  Meanwhile, some of Beryl’s friends were busy furthering their reputations. Eva von Blixen was planning a non-stop flight from New York to Stockholm with a countryman, K. Bjorkvall. The flight eventually took place on 7 October, but at the last minute, to Eva’s fury, ‘Bjork’ refused to take her and took off on a solo attempt. He made a forced landing near the Irish coast and was rescued by a French trawler. The baroness had some acid comments to make to journalists on her countryman’s performance.26

  Jim Mollison, who still hoped to take the London–New York record, travelled to New York, arriving on 25 September, to take possession of the Bellanca aeroplane in which he hoped to make the flight to London and return. It really was too late in the season to be thinking about transatlantic crossings, but the record was now so close to falling that those in the running hardly dared delay. In the event Mollison was forced to land at Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, where he was delayed by bad weather. In the end he took off, like Beryl, despite the conditions. He then flew to Croydon, establishing a record time of 13 hours and 17 minutes for the crossing from Newfoundland. By this time even he realized that it would be suicidal to attempt the return and Bellanca later repossessed the aeroplane after issuing a writ for its return.27

  Tom, meanwhile, was engaged in the last-minute preparations for his entry in the Johannesburg Race. The aeroplane which he was to fly in the race was a Percival Mew Gull. This super-sleek little racing aeroplane represented a new peak in perfection of line, but was a ‘hairy little beast to fly’ in the opinion of many pilots. It was fast and very unforgiving. On Friday 18 September he flew to Liverpool to be present at the naming ceremony of the Mew Gull Miss Liverpool at Speke Airport. On the following day he was due to give a demonstration flight for the sponsor Mr John Moores and a large crowd of wellwishers – the Moores’ publicity machine had not been idle. The purpose in sponsoring the flight was to publicize the City of Liverpool and Tom Campbell Black was the right person to sponsor, for he would obviously start as one of the favourites in the fastest thing on wings.

  Tom waved goodbye to the crowds and slid into the tiny black and white aeroplane, which was no more than four feet off the ground at its highest point. It was a fine, bright day with an autumn sparkle to the sunshine as he taxied out to the runway.

  Modern aircraft are fitted with a tricycle undercarriage arrangement which places the aircraft in an upright position when taxiing. The Mew Gull, however, like most aircraft of its vintage, was fitted with a tailwheel, so that visibility was extremely limited until the tail was lifted from the ground on take-off. In addition, the extremely long engine with its faired-in cowl meant that the only way a pilot could see ahead was to fishtail along, looking out of the side windows.

  Thus Tom probably never saw the aircraft that killed him.

  It was a Hawker Hart – a ‘light bomber’ in the parlance of the day. Its pilot, a young RAF officer, with equally restricted vision, and landing with the sun in his eyes, could not see anything but the ground thirty or forty yards to the side and front of his aeroplane. He stated that he had checked the runway whilst flying a routine circuit of the aerodrome before landing. Simultaneously, Tom had jumped into the Mew Gull and quickly taxied out on to the runway. At the inquest a woman witness stated that Tom was reading a piece of paper, which may have been a map, seconds before the accident, so that his attention may have been diverted. To the horror of the spectators, the Hawker Hart landed straight on to the tiny Mew Gull, its propeller slashing through the tiny bubble of canopy, and through Tom’s left shoulder and lung.28

  Terribly wounded, he was gently lifted from the plane and taken to the hospital, but he died within half an hour. The only words he spoke were, ‘Oh God! Help me, darling! Help me, darling!29

  Dessie was on stage rehearsing for an opening night the following week, when news came through that Tom had had an accident. They had had a silly tiff the previous evening over the positioning of some furniture, and Tom had slept in his dressing room, but they had made it up before he left for Liverpool on Thursday morning. Dessie had had the furniture moved back the way he wanted it, but she couldn’t help thinking of him. ‘How sensitive he was! How quickly he took offence and was hurt! He reminded me of a highly strung, nervous thoroughbred. If anything upset him, his eyes would flash and up would go his head.’ After only eighteen months, the exquisite actress was a widow and her grief was accentuated by the thought of their quarrel.

  Dessie travelled to Liverpool with members of Tom’s family in order to accompany Tom’s body back for the funeral. That night she stayed at the Moores’ home near Liverpool and never forgot their kindness. During the night whilst Dessie was sobbing her grief into the pillow, her hostess Ruby Moores came into the bedroom, got into her bed and cradled her in her arms. Dessie eventually fell into an exhausted sleep and woke the next morning to see Ruby slipping quietly from the room.30

  The inquest recorded ‘accidental death’ and it seemed particularly tragic that Tom, with such outstanding ability as a pilot, should me
et his death in what the press described as ‘a million to one accident’, where all the ability in the world could not have saved him.

  Beryl was still enjoying her triumph when Jim Mollison telephoned to tell her of Tom’s death. Though she had technically already ‘lost’ him to Dessie, he was still the man in her life. All through the summer and in the build-up to her flight it was to Tom that she turned for help and guidance. When Denys had been killed, Tom had been there. In this terrible grief there was no one to whom she could turn and all her old feelings of insecurity returned. Later she was to receive a long letter from Percival, but initially, she recalled when I asked her for her reaction, ‘It didn’t seem possible. You know he was so good…I could hardly believe it was true.’31

  Her return passage was already booked on the Cunard White Star liner Queen Mary, leaving for Southampton on Thursday of that week. She told Bruno to cancel all her appointments. The remainder of her stay in New York was unmarked by interviews or meetings, but she did attend the reception in her honour organized by Bruno and his wife for the eve of her departure to England.32

  On the journey back to England she was, inevitably, photographed. Wearing a chic white satin evening gown, she smiled out from the photographs, at the captain’s table and perched on the edge of the dressing table in her first-class stateroom. But there is no humour in her smiles.

  The journey was not uneventful, for a fellow passenger was Jack Cohen, vice-president of Columbia Pictures Corporation. Before the great liner docked at Southampton Mr Cohen was able to cable the following message to his New York office: AFTER MUCH PERSUASION FINALLY INDUCED MRS BERYL MARKHAM TO SIGN CONTRACT APPEAR IN MOTION PICTURE PORTRAYING HER GREAT ACHIEVEMENT FOR COLUMBIA.33