Flight of the Tiger Moth (20 page)

“I had a hard time landing it.” Jack managed a crooked ­grin.

“What about Basil?”

“They took him to the infirmary. We’ll find out soon enough. If it’s really bad they’ll take him into Moose Jaw.”

Buddy was licking Jack’s hand, which was sweaty from holding the stick in a state of ­panic.

“How’d you get here, Buddy? Did Basil pick you up this morning?”

“The dog may be smart,” laughed Wes, “but he can’t talk.”

“I left Buddy tied in the yard, though.”

“I think Basil came in to see Cathy off to her first day teaching. He probably wanted a last day with the pup.”

“Thanks for helping me, Wes,” Jack said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” His mind flashed on Wes bringing the water, the oil, helping with the lifting and hauling. He felt a rush of gratitude toward his old ­friend.

“I didn’t do anything,” Wes said. But Jack could see he was pleased to have his part in the rescue ­acknowledged.

“What’s going to happen? Are you in trouble? Are civilians allowed to fly air force planes?”

Jack shrugged, corralling the ­nearly-­too-­heavy dog in his aching arms, and wobbled as he walked through the ­hangar.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I don’t care.” He knew something about himself that he’d never known before. Jack Waters had flown solo. He smiled and hummed the tune from Basil’s crazy ­song.

Chapter ­26

“
H
ow come you never told us you could fly,
Jackie?” asked Harold, when they met later at the ­cafeteria.
“It wasn’t something I was ready to talk about.”
“I bet your parents will be proud of what you did,” said Angus. “I know I am.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

“Too bad you aren’t a couple of years older,” said ­Angus.

“I for one am glad he isn’t,” said ­Harold.

“I’ve got bad eyes,” said Jack. “I can’t fly.”

“You just did, boy,” laughed ­Angus.

“After the war, who knows?” Harold got up. “Angus, drive this boy home. He needs to get cleaned up.”

“We can take the dog and the doghouse in the back of the truck, “ Jack said. All the way into the village, Jack worried about his mother and the flying ­episode.

When they pulled up at the side of his house, he could see several heads through the window. Who was there? Mom and Dad should both be at the ­store.

His dad and Dr. McLeod came bounding out the back door, letting the screen door bang behind them. Both men gave Jack bear hugs. “Great job, lad!”

His mother and Mrs. McLeod came out and stood behind the men. Jack couldn’t read his mother’s ­face.

“I can explain,” he ­said.

“How’s Basil?” Mom asked ­calmly.

“I stopped by the infirmary. The station doctor says he’ll be all right in a couple of days.”

“You saved his life,” said Dr. ­McLeod.

“This is getting to be a habit, son.” Dad pounded Jack on his shoulder. “First Buddy and now Basil.”

Hearing his name Buddy barked and pranced around the ­yard.

“I put the boiler full of water on the woodstove so you can get cleaned up,” said his mother. She was talking about the big copper pot they used to heat bath water. “You look like heck.” Jack couldn’t help smiling. His mom was taking things awfully ­well.

“You’re quite the clever fellow, Jackie Waters,” said Mrs. ­McLeod.

His mother was picking roses by the door and looked up. “We’re pretty proud of him.”

Jack’s chest expanded. He’d been afraid she’d be really mad at ­him.

“Not many of us would have done what you did, Jack.” Ivy brought Mary McLeod a few roses wrapped in tissue. “Take these home with you. They need water.”

“We’ll be going then,” said Mrs. McLeod. “I brought over some fresh scones, Jack.”

Ten minutes later Jack was sitting in the metal tub in the middle of the kitchen floor and it wasn’t even Saturday night. Imagine having a bath in the middle of the week, he thought. It felt good, though, and he used the dipper to splash warm water over his head and washed his hair with soap. He slid down with his knees up and his torso ­submerged.

His parents had gone to the store and left him on his own with the plate of Mrs. McLeod’s saskatoon berry scones and a pitcher of milk. He couldn’t help it – he went over his flight from start to finish. Taking off over the spindly trees, soaring through the sky and experiencing the freedom that was flying. The surge of power over the machine and the elements, the wonder of space and the curve of the ­earth.

Even the scary bit at the end when he had trouble stopping the ­plane.

The water began to cool. Jack climbed out, towelled off, and called Buddy from his spot in the yard. The dog nosed the screen door open and padded into the kitchen. “It’s your turn. But don’t tell Mom I bathed you in the house. This bathtub is too heavy to haul outside.”

He grabbed Buddy and put him in the tub, taking some dish soap to lather him up and the dipper to rinse him as the dog whined and shook. He looked quite annoyed, his eyes glaring. But soon he was released and bounded out the door and rolled on the grass. Buddy finally relaxed and curled in the sun by the ­caragana.

Jack cleaned up the kitchen, dumped the water and rinsed the tub, hanging it on its giant hook in the shed. He pulled on the fresh clothes his mother had laid out for him. He wolfed down four scones and two glasses of milk. Maybe he’d walk over to the store later and see how things were. But first he’d go into his room and stretch out for a few minutes. A wall of fatigue seemed to be surrounding him. It had been quite the day so ­far.

He’d drop into the infirmary with Wes and Cathy this ­evening.

Instead of a short nap, Jack slept most of the afternoon ­away.

Basil was sitting up in bed in the infirmary, his head swathed in bandages. He had a pile of magazines and a plate of Cathy’s brownies on his nightstand. Crickets chirped in the grass outside. Evening dew misted the ­window.

“So the Commanding Officer has been in asking for my report. The doctor told him to give me a day. Harold says 3828 needs a few repairs thanks to that wandering goose dancing with my propeller and getting sucked into the engine. Your boss is really proud of you, Jack. Feels like he gets some of the credit for training you in aircraft maintenance. After all, you got the plane going as well as flying it.”

Jack blushed. He, Wes and Cathy sat in a row on the empty bed across from ­Basil.

“The doctor says I’d lost a lot of blood. You saved my life, young Waters. Who knows when anyone else would have come along?”

“Does the co know about Jack?” Cathy ­asked.

“He wondered what happened. It wouldn’t be the first civilian in a training plane.”

Wes coughed. “I told Dad. He spread the word quickly.”

“Everyone knows. No more secrets, Jackie.” Cathy picked up a brownie absentmindedly. “Trevor would be proud of you, Jack.”

“He took me up for a spin just before he died. He was a good flyer.”

Basil sighed. Cathy fished in her pocket for a ­hankie.

“I’ve been thinking about my future,” Jack said. “I’m going to university, and I’m going to learn how to make planes safer.”

“Some day everyone will be taking plane rides, Jack,” Wes said. “And you could help make that possible.”

Jack grabbed a brownie. He didn’t know what to ­say.

“How’s your mother feel about it all?” Cathy ­asked.

“She said I could keep Buddy. We’ve won that war.”

“Ivy liked Basil and Trevor more than anyone knows,” Cathy ­said.

Jack didn’t say what was in his mind: No one could have saved Trevor, maybe not even a safer plane. I’ll never forget him, not in my whole life, not if I live to be a hundred. He looked away and blinked his eyes to keep the tears from ­falling.

“All the guys are leaving tomorrow,” said Basil. “I have to stay put for a new more days. Blast it all anyway. A bloke needs company.”

“Buddy and I will come after school.”

“Brilliant.”

“So will we,” chimed in Wes and ­Cathy.

“I’ve got a few things to do,” said Jack. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Stop for me on your way to school, Wes. We’ll go together.”

“I’ll be there too, my second day teaching.” Cathy smiled. “The first one went just fine. I love the kids.”

Jack was struck by the way Cathy looked now. There was new purpose in the way she moved. She’d grown up this summer. Losing people you cared about in war did something to your body and your ­heart.

Losing Trevor was harder than anything else in the world – losing a good friend, a person with so much talent and promise. Jack didn’t feel sixteen. He felt years older than he’d felt in April before his first flight. He whispered a silent prayer for Sandy’s safe return. The war still raged in Europe and the Far ­East.

Jack felt as if he had left childhood behind when he had flown in the sky over Cairn and when he stood with his father by the railroad tracks in Cairn. And finally, he’d felt older than the village as he visited the graveyard where Trevor and his Uncle Jack were buried, two young fliers who had never known each other. Both had played a part in Jack’s ­life.

He left the McLeods with Basil and walked down the quiet corridor, out to where he’d leaned his bike against the fence. He stopped at the graveyard on his way home and paid his respects, told Trevor what had happened today, nodded in his uncle’s direction and said hi to his ­grandparents.

Jack cycled slowly back to Cairn. A gorgeous ­pink-­and-­lilac sunset lay before him. The sounds and smells of evening surrounded him. Gravel crunched under his tires, the roadside wolf willow and saskatoon bushes rustled in the breeze, the aroma of clover and sweet grass, of mown hay and alfalfa filled his nose. He was alone on the prairie. A bat whirred ­overhead.

One of the Boyles’ trucks came barrelling along the road and slowed as it passed. Jimmy leaned out of the window and yelled, “You’re a bloody hero, Jackie Waters. You sure had me fooled.” He drove on, leaving Jack to eat his ­dust.

It tasted ­sweet.

Buddy was sitting in the backyard by the doghouse Cheese had built of scrap lumber and painted white. He bounded up to meet Jack and barked a fierce welcome. Jack crouched before the still ­soapy-­smelling border collie. He wrapped his arms around Buddy’s neck and buried his head on the dog’s shoulder. It was good to be ­home.

Historical ­Notes

No. 33 Elementary Flight Training School opened in November of 1941, outside Caron, Saskatchewan. It was one of nearly one hundred aerodromes and landing fields built in Canada during the first few years of the Second World War. It was part of the British Common-wealth Air Training Plan (bcatp). The province of Sask-atchewan hosted 16 training facilities in both major cities and in numerous small towns across the prairies. The people responded warmly and generously welcomed student pilots and ­aircrew.

In the 1930s it became clear that airplanes and an air force would be a necessary part of any armed conflict with enemies like the Third Reich in Germany. That meant that young men had to be trained as pilots and crew, and soon. Discussions between the British and Canadian politicians, military leaders and bureaucrats went on for several years before the first schools finally were launched in 1940. Several men were instrumental in imagining the concept and working out the financial and functional details. For additional background on how the bcatp came about, read
Wings of Victory
by Spenser Dunmore or
Thousands Shall Fall
by Murray Peden. A good list of articles on the subject is available on the Internet under ­bcatp.

Noted Canadian historian J.L. Granatstein described the bcatp as the major Canadian contribution to the Allied War effort. Wing Commander Fred H. Hitchins thought that the air battle of Europe was won on the fields of the bcatp. Charles Gavan Power, Minister of National Defence for Air during World War II, maintained that the bcatp was the single most grandiose enterprise ever embarked on by ­Canada.

More than 131,000 aircrew members were trained. The bcatp trained young men from Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand and, of course, Canada. In all, 49,808 pilots, 29,963 navigators/observers, 15,673 air bombers, 18,496 wireless operators/air gunners, 1,913 flight engineers and 704 naval air gunners graduated from these training ­facilities.

More than 900 students, instructors and ground crew lost their lives during training. The community graveyard outside Caron and Caronport, Saskatchewan, with its ten ­well-­tended military graves, is one of several across the country that holds the bodies of those young men who died in training accidents or ­crashes.

The De Havilland ­Moth

This plane was built in 1925 by Geoffrey de Havilland of England. It was recognized as an outstanding plane immediately. Several different engines and styles followed its creation. There followed the Gipsy Moth, the Cirrus, and the Tiger and Menasco Moth. Over the Moth’s lifespan several modifications were made, like the enclosed canopy for Canadian climate, the metal fuselage, and other minor ­changes.

Most pilots in Canada in the nineteen thirties were trained in Moths. Moths were the most popular plane in the late twenties and thirties, used for short and ­long-­distance flights. Amy Johnson flew a Moth from England to Australia in 1929. Tiger Moths were at first built in England, but in 1927 De Havilland of Canada was established to assemble and maintain ­Moths.