With the descent of reporters one of the first questions I was asked was whether I knew Colonel Lindbergh and whether I thought I looked like him. Gleefully they informed me I had been dubbed “Lady Lindy.” I explained that I had never had the honor of meeting Colonel Lindbergh, that I was sure I looked like no one (and, just then, nothing) in the world, and that I would grasp the first opportunity to apologize to him for innocently inflicting the idiotic comparison. (The idiotic part is all mine, of course.) The celebration began with interviews and photographs. We managed to have dinner and what was most comforting of all, hot baths. The latter were high-lights of our reception, being the first experience of the kind since leaving Boston weeks—or was it months?—previously. Sleep that night was welcome. In all, we had five or six hours. We could not rest the next day, because an early start was necessary in order to reach Southampton on schedule. [Illustration: description: Photo wide shot of airplane tied to bouy caption: WE DIDN’T DOUBT THAT TYING TO THE BUOY WAS AGAINST OFFICIAL ETIQUETTE © _Topical Press Agency_ ] [Illustration: description: Photo wide shot of person looking out open door of airplane caption: WE OPENED THE DOOR OF THE FUSELAGE AND LOOKED OUT UPON WHAT WE COULD SEE OF THE BRITISH ISLES © _International Newsreel_ ] Rain and mist in the morning, that finally cleared somewhat, allowed us to take off. We skimmed over Bristol Channel and the green hills of Devonshire, which were as beautiful as we had imagined. In the plane with the crew were Captain Railey and Mr. Raymond of the Times. When we set out from Burry Port on this last lap of the journey, Captain Bailey of the Imperial Airways had expected to guide us. Unfortunately at the last moment he was unable to start his engine and Bill decided to hop for Southampton unescorted. As we approached, a seaplane came out to meet us, and we presumed it was to guide us to the landing place. As Bill prepared to follow, Captain Railey discovered that we were not being guided. In the uncertainty of landing amid berthed steamers in a strange place, Bill finally picked up the green lights of a signal gun which marked the official launch coming to greet us. Mrs. Guest, owner of the Friendship, and sponsor of the flight, was there, her son Raymond, and Hubert Scott Payne of the Imperial Airways. My first meeting with the generous woman who permitted me so much, was there in Southampton. It was a rather exciting moment despite the fatigue which was creeping upon all of us. On shore we were welcomed by Mrs. Foster Welch, the Mayor of Southampton. She wore her official necklace in honor of the occasion and we were impressed with her graciousness. Though a woman may hold such office in Great Britain, the fact isn’t acknowledged, for she is still addressed as if she were a man.