Flight of the Tiger Moth (2 page)

Sandy and Flo took Jack to the movies
that evening in the city of Moose Jaw and after that the three of them went to a small restaurant. Jack had buttermilk, a hot beef sandwich and a piece of apple pie à la mode. À la mode meant with ice cream. The pie didn’t taste as good as his mother’s, but he needed to eat after starving himself most of the day. He hadn’t wanted to throw up in the cockpit. Now he was more tired than he could ever ­remember.

“How do you like flying, Jackie?” Flo asked. “Ready to sign up?”

“Wish I could.”

His ­half-­sister looked extra pretty tonight. Her dark bobbed hair shone under the soft lights in the café and her forest green sweater brought out the dark of her eyes. She sat close to Sandy, across from Jack. Flo and Sandy had met at a dance when several of Flo’s nurse buddies from the Moose Jaw hospital they all worked in had dragged her out of her ­room.

At ­twenty-­six, Sandy was a couple of years older than Flo, but they’d hit it off right ­away.

Just then a gang of Canadians, rcaf student flyers and their girlfriends, came in, the men nodding at Sandy as they passed. Jack knew they were students by the white flash on their wedge caps. One of the students came over to pay his ­respects.

“Evening, sir. We missed you today.”

“Evening, Marsden.”

“Heard a rumour you’re going overseas, sir.”

Flo lifted startled eyes. “Have you heard something?”

Sandy glared at Marsden, who hadn’t realized he was letting the cat out of the bag. He mumbled something and left quickly. Probably scared he’d wash out on his next flight with Joseph “Sandy” ­Sanderson.

“I was going to tell you tonight.” Sandy looked sheepish. “Sounds like I’m being shipped out to England soon. But you can’t say anything.”

Flo’s hands gripped the edge of the wooden ­tabletop.

Sandy dug his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out of the package. “I didn’t dare hope. I thought if I said anything too soon…”

“It wouldn’t happen.” Flo let out a sigh as long as a freight train. “What am I going to do? I don’t want to sit here twiddling my thumbs in the hospital in Moose Jaw, living alone in a dinky flat, with the war going on thousands of miles away. I’ve got a couple of friends who are serving overseas as nursing sisters. Maybe they’d put in a good word for me.”

“There’s lots of work for nurses right here in Canada,” said Sandy. “Somebody has to patch up all the student pilots who crash in training.”

“There’s lots of work in hospitals overseas too.”

“I don’t want you risking your life.” A frown creased Sandy’s broad ­forehead.

“It’s all right for you to risk yours?” Jack heard a sting in Flo’s ­voice.

“That’s different,” said Sandy a bit ­stiffly.

“Is it?” Flo asked. “Well, you don’t need to think I’m going to sit here being the ‘little woman’ at home.”

“But Flo –”

Jack excused himself and headed to the washroom. Sometimes he felt like a third wheel on a bicycle around these two. He wondered if Sandy knew how determined Flo could be. Even if they were engaged, Sandy hadn’t lived with her for sixteen years the way Jack had. He admired her spunk. He knew it drove their mother crazy having a daughter so outspoken and ­independent.

When he returned, Flo and Sandy had obviously made up because they were holding hands and gazing into each other’s ­eyes.

“Your mom and dad have been swell to me,” Sandy said to Jack as he joined them. “I’m going to miss you all. So promise you’ll keep an eye on things.”

“I will. Thanks for the flying lessons.”

“You better not tell Mom. She’d have a fit. Or Dad,” said Flo. “He’d be sure to let it slip or tell the whole village.”

“Keeping secrets is hard work, Jackie. No sense worrying your mother needlessly, though. In wartime, kids have to take responsibility for their own decisions,” Sandy said. “It’s hard, but that’s the way it is.”

“Mom has her reasons, you know,” Flo said. “She’s been especially protective of us kids because my dad came home a hero and died the way he did.” She sounded almost ­angry.

“What do you mean?” asked Jack. He knew very little about his ­half-­sister’s father, the World War I veteran and ­flyer.

“He was your dad’s older brother, right?” Sandy turned to ­Jack.

The family didn’t talk about Uncle Jack, not even Dad, and he usually told stories about everything. There seemed to be a cloak of silence around his uncle’s life and ­death.

“No one’s ever told me the whole story.” Jack ­sighed.

“I’ll tell you sometime, kiddo. Not tonight.” Flo shook her ­head.

Jack was puzzled, but he knew better than to pursue ­it.

“Time we took you home,” Flo said. “Mom will be worried and Dad will want to know about the flight.”

“Better not tell him too much,” laughed ­Sandy.

“Don’t worry.” Jack drew a zipper across his face. But he knew he’d tell his best friend Wes McLeod. He had to share the news with ­someone.

Jack Waters, boy ­flyer.

Chapter 2

MAY ­1943

A few weeks later Sandy was sent to Bournemouth, England,
where he paraded with thousands of others in front of the king and queen. Flo got ­tissue-­paper- thin military envelopes that unfolded and worked as letters too. There were photos in the newspaper. Word filtered back through Sandy’s friends on the air base in Moose Jaw that he had joined an active Canadian squadron, the 418th, and begun flying night missions over Europe somewhere, with ­anti-­aircraft weapons ready to shoot them ­down.

Shortly after Sandy left, Flo came home for the weekend from Moose ­Jaw.

“Wish me luck, little brother.” She carried a small suitcase into her old bedroom, now the official guest ­room.

“Why do you need luck?” Jack followed her to the door of the small room. It still had most of her school pennants and photographs on the walls. The quilt on her single bed was a ­pink-­and-­white pattern. A fluffy stuffed bear sat on the ­pillow.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Flo hummed as she hung up her skirt and blouse and tucked her pyjamas under the ­pillow.

“Flo, what brings you home on a Friday?” Ivy Waters burst through the back door with a bag of groceries. Jack’s mother was a compact woman with pale skin and neat black hair hinting of grey at the temples. “You should have phoned. I haven’t anything special made.”

“I got a ride with a student minister – a friend of mine is dating him. He was coming out to see Dr. McLeod.” Flo, her dark bob slightly untidy from the journey, came out and stood in the centre of the kitchen. She wore a pale blue linen dress with plain black ­pumps.

“I hope he’s a safe driver.”

“Oh, Mom, you worry too much.”

“I wish you could take a job at the infirmary at our own aerodrome two miles away. You could move home.”

Flo had lived in Moose Jaw for the past five years, first while she was in residence training as a nurse, and after she graduated, in a rooming house near the hospital with several of her ­friends.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve joined the wd, the Women’s Division of the rcaf. As a nursing sister, I could be called up any day. I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“No, Flo.” Jack’s mother had been running around the kitchen unpacking the groceries, putting on the kettle and getting tea things ready. She wiped her hands on her crisp apron and sat down at the kitchen table. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m not like you, Mother. I can’t just stay here in Cairn, or even in Moose Jaw. Here, I’d stitch up accident victims, collect ration coupons and fold bandages.”

“Don’t do this, Flo. You could be injured over there – or worse. Listen to your mother for a change.” Ivy got up and paced the floor. “Good girls don’t do this.”

“Who told you that?” Flo’s voice was ­angry.

“Who knows what kind of people you’ll be dealing with?” Ivy pulled a hankie out of her pocket and wiped her ­eyes.

“Mom, someone has to take care of the wounded. I have friends who are nursing sisters and you couldn’t ask for any nicer girls.”

“I can’t stand the thought of you risking your life. Leave it to the military men.” Jack’s mother wrapped her arms around herself as if she was being hit, still clutching the crumpled ­hankie.

“The world is changing.” Flo glanced over at Jack. He was leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of it. “It’s time we women got involved in the tough stuff.”

Jack shook his head. His sister was one determined ­lady.

“Women are needed for their skills,” Flo said. “If Sandy is fighting for our freedom, the least I can do is join up and do my part. It’s not like I’m going into combat. I want to save lives.”

Jack started down the hall to his room. The tension in the kitchen was more than he could bear. Maybe he should go and get his dad from the store. His dad, Bill, was a pretty ­peace-­loving guy. He might be able to calm things ­down.

Instead, he stretched out on the crazy quilt on his bed and stared at all the airplane models he’d built, hanging on threads from the ­ceiling.

He could still hear the loudest part of the argument. His mother was crying. Flo shouted about how Mom made her feel like a naughty child instead of respecting her decisions. Then a door slammed and there was silence. He figured his mother had gone to see his dad at the store. Flo had probably gone for a walk to cool ­down.

He waited until the house was still, then walked over to the garage behind the store, where Sandy’s black ’36 Ford sat under a tarp. Jack pulled the sailcloth tarp off, folded it and put it on the workbench. Then he took the keys off the hook by the door and unlocked the door on the driver’s side. He got in and started the car. It started smoothly like it should. But then, it was oiled and in good ­condition.

“While I’m away I want you to take care of old Bessie,” Sandy had said the day he left. “Can you do that? I bought her with my first batch of paycheques from the Royal Canadian Air Force. I don’t want you roaring around the countryside, frightening the wild life, though.”

“No sir.”

“Take her out for a spin every week or so. Change the oil. Check the battery, especially in the winter months.”

“Sure thing.”

“Rotate the tires every six months or so. Hopefully I’ll be back before you have to do that too many times.”

Sandy had stood there with his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be weighing his words. “If anything happens…” he paused. “If anything happens to me and I don’t make it…”

“You’ll be fine,” Jack blurted. He wanted to close his ears so he wouldn’t hear what Sandy was saying. He didn’t want his mind going in that ­direction.

“If I don’t make it home, Jack, I want you to have the car.”

Jack didn’t know where to look or what to ­say.

“However, my boy, if I come back, you better make sure there isn’t one scratch on this baby, you hear me.”

“Yes, sir.”

A couple of days later Sandy had climbed on the train going east and left. Flo and Ivy had cried. Bill and Jack had hurried back to the store in case there were customers. That way no one would see if either one of them had tears in his ­eyes.

>>>

Flo left in May to go east
for speedy officer’s training and orientation to military life. She was being sent overseas to a military hospital in England. One of her former nursing instructors had asked for ­her.

Jack stood on the platform beside his dad. Flo and his mother were ­talking.

“I’ll write as often as I can.”

“I will too.”

“Mom, I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

Ivy nodded. “Me too. It was the shock of it.”

“You’ve never liked change.” Flo said. “I love it – the challenge of it.”

“We aren’t much alike. I’ll send parcels. I hear the food is awful over there.”

The train whistle ­blew.

“Don’t forget to feed Dad and Jack too. Hey, little brother, don’t get into any trouble while I’m away.”

“Thank goodness, he’s too young to fly away too.” Bill laughed, gave Flo a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Some of us have to stay home and mind the store.”

Jack gave his sister a hug. “I’ll miss you. Mom always made chocolate cake when you came home weekends.” While they stood close together, they ­whispered.

“Is it me you’ll miss or the chocolate?” asked ­Flo.

“You. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have gotten to fly.”

“Sandy says you’re a natural,” Flo whispered. “Keep flying, kiddo.”

As the train started to roll, Flo jumped ­on.

The last they saw of her, she was waving from an open window in the last car. Jack heaved a sigh and headed ­home.

Chapter 3

June ­1943

J
ack was mowing the grass after school
when his mother
came hurrying up the street from the post office carrying a ­familiar-­looking tan airmail letter. It could only be from ­Flo.

His sister had written a lot since she’d left; but sometimes the letters came in bunches. This was just a single envelope. Ivy carried the unopened letter like it was one of her precious china ­plates.