She rose to her feet and pulled a scrapbook from her book shelf. Without a word she gave it to me. It was an ongoing project, nearly complete. Inside there were black and white copies of old newspaper clippings and glossy photo prints. The first headlines immediately fascinated me. Leviathan of the skies pays Toronto breakfast call . “Where did you get these? This is amazing!” I asked as I devoured sporadic paragraphs.
Blase Toronto received the thrill of a lifetime yesterday when the great ghostly shape of the R100 crept unexpectedly over the city, with her engines droning low, in the early hours of the morning, and treated watchers to a sight that will never dim in memory of the comparatively few who witnessed the event...
A roar of applause broke loose as the sky liner, half obscured in the darkness, drifted away, her five engines thrumming softly. A bell jangled somewhere in the big silver shape and the engines began a throbbing clamour of power. Lights glowed softly from the promenade deck windows, while red and green navigation lights twinkled from high up on the great silver hull...
Well done, R 100! Not so long ago the wafting of half a hundred persons across the Atlantic Ocean in under two days would have seemed a miracle. In one respect, this flight should prove real and lasting value. To a new country, like Canada, actual visible achievement means more than any words...
Then the final headline, alone in the centre of the page. It betrayed the result of all the frenetic potential. It was one year after that incredible two weeks.
R-100 is for sale, Cardington closed
A wash of excitement flowed over me only to be replaced by a flood of emotion. My reaction was the only reward she sought. Alex smiled. She could see my mind starting to focus.
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