A Sad Trip

Words cannot describe my thoughts and emotions on learning of the deaths of Mac, my father and David Busby, and being in England at the time, several thousand miles away from home, only amplified the sensations of grief and horror. My friend Jane had hastily organized a sleeper train at the Penrith Station in the wee hours of the morning, and had tried her best to comfort me as the train carried us to London. I felt numb, losing my father, husband and a dear family friend in one fell swoop was a “triple whammy”, and I was worried about Vanessa and Rachel.  I knew they were being taken care of and their creature comforts met, but they were having to deal with the loss of their father without their mother there to comfort them. I was also worried about my mother, having to be a source of strength for her grand-children while dealing with her own grief and that of her friend Norah was too much for anyone to cope with, and knowing my mother she would be drawing on that strength. She was an amazing woman.

Flying to Barbados with my BWIA ticket was not an option, there were no flights scheduled for that day. American Airlines DID have a flight to Puerto Rico with a connecting flight to Barbados, and after learning of my dilemma they graciously honoured my BWIA ticket.  I had to say good-bye to Jane at the departures door, and found it difficult to pull away from her as we stood and cried together; once through those doors I would be alone, and the thought of being alone frightened me enormously. Standing at the security checkpoint I began to shake uncontrollably, and when asked if I was all right I burst into tears. I will never forget how kind and understanding the security man was, he settled me in a quiet room with a cup of hot tea until the flight was called, and made sure I was escorted to the plane by a sympathetic stewardess.

The jet was filled with excited people heading to the Caribbean for a holiday in the sun, the last thing any of them needed or wanted was an unhappy, sobbing woman in their midst! I was therefore placed in first class with no-one seated beside or in front of me, I had a block of seats entirely to myself. The stewardesses were very compassionate, offering me sympathy as well as whatever I wanted to eat or drink, but I was unable to make them happy by taking even a sip of water let alone a bite of food.  I just couldn’t. The flight was long, and I sat bolt upright for the duration with my mind trying to grapple the realities of the situation.

We landed in Puerto Rico, where I was led from the plane to an empty V.I.P. lounge. The flight to Barbados would be leaving in three hours, and while I waited a grief counsellor appeared and asked if I wanted company. It was nice of the airline to arrange for someone to be with me but I didn’t want to talk, a reaction the kind woman understood. We sat in silence until my flight to Barbados was announced, and I joined the throng of passengers across the tarmac and into the plane. This time there was no first-class treatment, I was squeezed into a window seat beside an elderly Barbadian couple, and the noise in the packed cabin gave me a ferocious headache.

The airline crew had been advised that I needed to be the first to disembark at Barbados, and my name was called before the plane had come to a full stop. I stood with the stewardess at the door, and when it opened felt the familiar tropical breeze of the Caribbean. Jonathan Palmer of Mustique Airways and his brother Jeremy were waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, and practically carried me to their Baron, a small fast plane that would get me to Bequia in about half an hour. It was quite late, after 9:00, and a part of me realized that this flight was highly unusual, under normal circumstances the Bequia airport closed right after the sun set. Jonathan wasted no time, as far as Barbados Immigration was concerned I didn’t exist, and we were airborne within minutes of my arrival. Jonathan was a very good friend that night, he went out of his way to get me home, and although I dreaded landing on Bequia I was grateful for his kindness and generosity.

The Baron approached Bequia, the runway lights carving a path for us, and we touched down at about 10:00. I was utterly exhausted, I had not eaten since the pheasant shoot party, neither had I slept a wink throughout the trip, and trembled with fatigue as the Palmers helped me from the plane. A lot of people were waiting beside the tarmac to witness my homecoming; my children stood with my mother in front of the crowd, my entire Tourism Committee was present, and many close and not-so-close friends were there to touch and console me. They watched in silence as I crossed the tarmac, respectful of my overwhelming grief, and as I held mom and my children I was relieved to have made it home.

When I eventually unpacked my hand luggage, I discovered several mini bottles of champagne and little gilt-wrapped boxes of chocolates tucked inside, with a sweet note of condolence from the entire crew of the American Airlines plane.