“To Captain Charles Lindbergh, the City of Brussels, May 29th, 1927.”
Lindbergh left Brussels for London in the early afternoon. On his way over Belgium he paid a tribute to the American soldiers who sleep in the cemetery at Werington near Ghent. Cutting off his motor, he flew low over the field, but little above the rows of white crosses. He dropped a wreath of flowers, circled the cemetery twice, then headed out for England.
In a sense this visit to Belgium was a surer test of the man than either of the other countries. His stay was very brief; his hosts neither spoke his tongue as did the English, nor had as natural a reservoir of emotion to draw upon as did the French. Yet Lindbergh’s easy dignity, his simple bearing, and always his ready smile, were as quick to earn him the permanent friendship of King and Queen as to excite the adulation of the crowd.
It was said everywhere of him when he left: “We hope he comes back some day.” No traveller receives higher praise than that.
III
London
The flight from Brussels was comparatively simple and there was little or no strain on the plane. The pilot steered straight across the Channel, reaching England on the southeast corner.
The weather was nearly perfect; in fact Lindbergh was never privileged during his stay in England to see a real London fog.
It did not seem long before he found himself throttling his motor above the great field at Croyden on the outskirts of London. A tremendous crowd had gathered—a crowd almost as large as that which had watched him land that memorable night at Le Bourget. And again no sooner had his wheels touched the ground than this crowd, too, made a rush for his plane. Fortunately, officials of the Royal Air Club dashed up in a motor car and got the pilot aboard just in time to rescue him from the uncontrollable enthusiasm of the throng.
As in Paris, all the carefully laid plans of the reception committee were swept aside. Even Secretary for Air, Sir Samuel Hoare, and Ambassador Houghton were swallowed up by the multitude. Later another crowd, almost as large, was found waiting at the American Embassy for a glimpse of the American air traveller.
Then came welcomed rest. Lindbergh dined with some friends of the Ambassador and went to bed early. Next morning he went direct to Croyden and found that, despite his fears, very little harm had been done to his ship save for one little hole in the wing and a landing strut that had lost two bolts.
Monday was a comparatively quiet day. There was a luncheon at the Embassy attended by many persons prominent in the government and otherwise. One war hero was perhaps especially interesting to an air man. This was Lieut.-Col. W. A. Bishop, the Canadian ace, who had brought down 72 German planes.
In the afternoon a Memorial Day service was held at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster. This honoring in England of our Civil War dead was a strange experience for the visitor. One of the veterans present, Jabez Jrayell, aged 86, had known President McKinley as a comrade in arms. After the service and sermon a procession formed, which, headed by the Stars and Stripes, moved slowly from the church to Westminster Abbey. There, Ambassador Houghton, with Lindbergh at his side, walked to a tomb and laid a wreath on which was inscribed:
“In memory of England’s unknown warrior from the American people.”
In the evening British newspaper men gave Lindbergh a dinner in the Abraham Lincoln room of the Savoy. On the speaker’s table before the guest of honor were five sandwiches and a half gallon jar of water. The Chairman gravely announced: “Captain Lindbergh will now partake of his customary meal.” After a round of laughing applause the real dinner began.
Next morning was the 31st of May. On this day Lindbergh was received by the King of England. King George talked to him alone for some time about his flight, and by his conversation showed he understood a great deal about flying. Setting aside all precedent, he personally presented Lindbergh with the Royal Air Force Cross. The only other Americans who ever received this cross were the crew of the NC-4, the United States Navy plane, which crossed the Atlantic by way of the Azores.
After his conversation with the King, Lindbergh was presented to Queen Mary. From Buckingham Palace he went to York House to be received by the Prince of Wales. The Prince wanted to know what he was going to do in the future, to which Lindbergh promptly replied: “I am going to keep on flying.”
He visited Prime Minister Baldwin at Number 10 Downing Street, the little house from which so big a slice of this world is being run. Mr. Baldwin took him out on the balcony to watch the colorful ceremony known as the Trooping of the Colors, which epitomizes the dignity and power of the British empire.
At a luncheon given by the Air Council, Lindbergh was presented with the Daily Mail’s gold aviation cup, which was instituted many years ago by the late Lord Northcliffe. Here Sir Samuel Hoare was the principal speaker. After complimenting Lindbergh on his flight he continued:
“There are some foolish people—I am glad to think there are very few of them—who are asking you the question: ‘Of what use to the world are these efforts and sacrifices? Of what use to the world is a flight like Captain Lindbergh’s?’ If I had time I should prove to them that from a technical point of view these long distant flights are of great value. They stimulate progress; they test reliability.
