1990
Sometime in 1918 or 1919 I was seesawing with my sister Hallie in Annapolis, where we were living with Mother in what we called the "little yellow house" at 11 Maryland Avenue. Daddy was on duty with a submarine chase group at the U.S. Naval Base, Plymouth, England. Hallie, being older and heavier than I, kept me up in the air until I became scared and dizzy and fell off the seesaw, breaking my left arm—a green stick break. I got a cast and sling and much attention. Meanwhile Daddy received a Navy Cross—"for distinguished service in the line of his profession as assistant for operations to Commander Sub-Chaser Detachment I"—and was largely responsible for the development of successful sub-chaser tactics and doctrine.
Almost as soon as my cast was removed Mother took Hallie and me by Navy sea transport to England. During the journey over Mother sat in a deck chair with the two of us—aged about two and four—carefully tied to her chair with harnesses and leashes. Soon we invented the pastime of fishing. We tied pieces of rope, used to secure the chairs to the ship at night or in case of wind or storms, together, and hung the lines over the ship's railing. Quite soon we would feel a bite and pull up amazing fish—a box of cookies, lolly-pops, toys, and finally Hallie actually caught a fish which a steward took and promised to have cooked for our supper. Fortunately our memories were short, because I don't believe that we ever saw it again.
One stormy day on that trip we were inside a large stateroom where I was sitting in some gentleman's lap. At the time I decided to get down the ship heeled over and I fell and broke my arm again in the same place. Again it was set, and all the sailors made much over me. I was very spoiled. I enjoyed it very much.
I believe we landed in Plymouth. Daddy was on the continent so we stayed in a boarding house and later went to Antwerp where we met Daddy and then went on to Koblenz. Somewhere we went wading, perhaps in the Rhine, perhaps in the Mosel, perhaps on the North Sea. I still had my cast on and my arm in a sling. I fell in the water, of course, and got soaked and ended up in a hospital with pneumonia but quickly recovered. Soon we were ready to take a transport back to the United States. Daddy, then in command of the U.S.S. Zepplin, a former German liner, accompanied us and played Santa Claus at Christmas while we were on the sea voyage home. We had a tree in our small cabin and our stockings were stuffed.
Once home Daddy went on to put in commission the new four-pipe destroyer J. Fred Talbott, then to command the Little, and finally to command the Brooks. Finally, on 10 January 1921, he was ordered to Norfolk, Virginia, where he took a physical and qualified as fit for duty involving flying and was designated Executive Officer of the Naval Air Station at the Operating Base, Norfolk. He was back in aviation where he belonged. We loved it, and one of his junior officers, Commander Virgil Griffin, arranged for an obsolete airplane to be placed in our back yard and there we used it as our private play plane. All went well until in a violent wind storm the plane was blown up on its tail and hit the power line and that was the end of our private airplane.
On 21 October 1921 Daddy was ordered to the Bureau of Aeronautics and we lived in Chevy Chase, Maryland. While there our baby sister, Elizabeth Gordon Ellyson, was born on Robert E. Lee's birthday, 19 January 1922. Now a commander, Daddy was ordered to duty as member of the first U.S. Naval Mission to Brazil, where he took charge of training the Brazilian Navy in aviation.
We departed for Rio de Janiero on an ocean liner in late 1922. Mother and Daddy danced beautifully, and I remember clearly when they won both the fancy dress costume prize and the dancing prize. Much entertainment was organized for the children. Hallie and I had great fun and won many prizes in races and other games. Gordie was simply a spectator in a stroller but she enjoyed watching the excitement. We tell her so now! Crossing the equator was a memorable event for both young and old and I can still see Father Neptune, complete with trident, presiding over the excitement.
Our tour in Brazil (1922-1925) was memorable in many way. I recollect with great excitement during Carnival when, with the top down on our seven passenger Paige touring car, Daddy drove us in the parade the last night of the preLenten celebration. We were all in costume and armed with serpentino and confetti as well as some strong smelling perfume that we were allowed to squirt from a distance at other celebrants.
We lived in a beautiful house in a walled garden, with numerous palm trees but very little grass, just opposite the beach in Leme, a section of Rio. Our second story porch was high enough to overlook the wall and have a splendid view of the ocean. On the porch we had a large standing bird cage which housed from twenty to thirty lovely little birds of assorted types and colors as well as a large macaw of deep blue who lived independently on a perch of his own. He was my personal friend. There was a fort at one end of the large scallop of the Leme beach. Rio de Janeiro's beaches consisted of seven such scallops, but we were certain that Leme was the most beautiful. Running the length of the beaches were wide tiled sidewalks with a black and white serpentine design that broke the glare from the ever-present sun.
The mountains all around were spectacular and we often took drives up into the hills. Hallie was scared—she must have suffered from acrophobia—but I remember feeling very superior at the time as I was younger and not the least bit afraid!! Our home and beach were separated from the main city of Rio by a long tunnel running under and through the range of mountains. We felt quite exclusive, living on the other side of the tunnel. We attended a Catholic school, actually a convent, Notre Dame de Sion, and had to go through the tunnel to get there, an inducement to attend.
We had many friends among the children on the Naval Mission and four of the officers appointed themselves as unofficial uncles to us, sending birthday and Christmas presents to each and everyone. My favorite was Captain Cheatham—Uncle Willie—whose younger daughter Billie was married while we were in Rio and Omar Fitch and I were attendants in the wedding and Nin acted as Mother of the bride!
Our lavandeira (wash woman) offered to teach me to smoke if I could manage to "borrow" some of my father's cigarettes for her. I was six years old. Daddy got cigarettes in quantity each time a liner came from the United States so I had no trouble "borrowing" a carton of Lucky Strikes. The next day I was taught to smoke. In the middle of the lesson we heard Daddy return and so I ran out to the garage and hid behind the door in order to continue puffing on my cigarette. Well, apparently the smoke or smell told Daddy where I was and he gave me the worst spanking I ever remember receiving. I promised never to smoke again and he in turn promised to give me a gold watch on my twenty-first birthday. He died when I was only eleven and that was one promise I kept—so all through the time when I might have been tempted to prove that I was grown up—at sixteen or so—I kept my promise, and have never smoked from that day to this.
I left Brazil speaking fluent Portuguese and fluent French, the latter was learned at the convent. My fluency has gone decades since, even though I have tried hard with Portuguese as we go to the Azores and Portugal annually. I can make myself understood. I can say no more than that.
When we got back from Brazil, Daddy had many jobs on board ships connected with aviation. In 1926 he was assigned to the new aircraft tender Wright as the Executive Officer but finally reported as Executive Officer to the aircraft carrier Lexington then under construction in Quincy, Massachusetts. This was his last tour of duty because when the ship was in Norfolk, Daddy received an urgent dispatch advising him of the critical condition of his daughter, at the time in the U.S. Naval Hospital in Annapolis with a severe sinus infection and a 108o temperature.
Now to my Mother, never was there a woman with such courage as she during early 1928. I had become desperately ill while we were living in our little yellow house. Mother took me to the Naval Hospital where it was determined that I had a temperature of 106o and a serious infection in my sinuses. I was admitted. The Emergency Hospital in Annapolis having just burned down, Navy dependents were admitted to the U.S. Naval Hospital for the first time. I was delirious for about a week and Mother spent all of her time with me. Daddy was notified of my condition and attempted his fatal flight up from Norfolk Naval Air Station.
With Lieutenant Commander Hugo Schmidt and Lieutenant Roger S. Ransehousen he requested and obtained permission to use a station plane to fly to Annapolis. Ransehousen piloted this plane with Hugo Schmidt at his side. Daddy sat alone in the rear cockpit. The plane took off from the Norfolk Air Station at 2 a.m. but never reached Annapolis. The Court of Inquiry's finding stated that the plane became lost shortly after leaving Hampton Roads, attempted landing on water, and crashed. Commander Ellyson was declared officially dead on 27 February 1928, his forty-third birthday.
The entire time Daddy was missing and not known to be dead, Mother kept the truth from me because I was so very ill. I was quite a pet at the hospital but had no idea why everyone was so kind. Once I asked Mother why she was so tired that she slept when she came to see me, unkindly I asked why she didn't simply stay home. How very cruel I was! Another time she arrived, as usual, in black, and I asked why she wore black, was she in mourning, had my Aunt Isa died? Mother with great spirit raised her dress and showed me her bright pink silk bloomers asking if they looked like mourning!
She was so courageous all through the memorial service they had at the Naval Academy Chapel-by then I was home and had been told of Daddy's unknown status. When his body was found a month later my mother again went through the funeral as bravely as she had endured the memorial service. I believe that Daddy was the first aviator to have Navy Wings chiseled on his tombstone. It was Mother's idea, and how effective a design!
Mother later married Alfred Gray Jr., a schoolmate of my father at Maguire's School in Richmond and we all went back to Daddy's birthplace to live. "A" was a wonderful friend to all of us. Some years after his death in 1937 Mother returned to Annapolis and once again took the name of Ellyson.
Years later, in 1961, during the year-long celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of Naval Aviation Mother was the Grand Dame, and, as many an Admiral has since said, she earned every cent the Navy spent on her. She had many wonderful reminiscences, holding every audience she had spellbound with her tales of Spuds' career as first Naval Aviator. I know that my father was proud of her. We certainly are.
© 1993-2008 Helen Glenn Court | All rights reserved