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Since "Flying Mother" Markham had chosen a course far to the north of ship-lanes, had no radio, few people ever expected to hear from her or see her again. While authorities anxiously sat up all night on both sides of the ocean, Son Gervis slept quietly in Sussex. Said his father: "He is too young to know what his mother is doing." Next day, Son Gervis knew enough to dance with glee as his father told him that his mother had successfully crossed the "big water." Seeing nothing in a constant fog, bucking 40-mile winds which held her speed down to 120 m.p.h., Mrs. Markham had barely reached North America when her fuel gave out. Circling over Cape Breton Island 24 hours after leaving Abingdon,the exhausted flyer picked out what seemed to be a smooth field. It was really a swamp, and the resultant crash slightly crumpled the light Messenger, gave Mrs. Markham a cut over one eye. Climbing out, she set off in search of a house. On the way she met some fishermen who took her home, gave her tea and scones while she babbled: "I didn't know whether I was over Lapland or Newfoundland." Having talked by telephone to her backers, "Flying Mother" Markham was treated by a doctor, ordered to bed. Next day, in a plane sent from the U. S., she went on to Floyd Bennett Field, a reception by a crowd of 5,000 who greeted her with: "Hello, Blondie!"
Published in England meanwhile was the letter she left behind just as she took off. Excerpt: "I notice that I have been frequently captioned in the press as 'Society Mother.' 'Flying Mother,' 'Bird Woman,' etc. The phrase 'society' is repugnant to me. . . . In describing my as yet unaccomplished but no doubt amazing exploit, please give me credit for being an ordinary human being without too many of the conventional virtues. I can laugh, love and hate. 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 will be more than satisfied."