Today she was going to turn all that practice and theory into an independent flight. And today, after all those years of waiting, she could say “I can fly!” To the long list of knowledge and skills in her diary, the record of all the pilots she had met and the planes she recognised, she could add, “My first solo flight!”
As long as everything went well.
Her instructor was Rob Johnson, middle-aged and grey with a wide moustache that hid his mouth. Jessica had never seen him smile, but he grunted approval from time to time. His criticism was equally brief, but as clear.
Today, he walked with Jessica to the small Moth that was to take her up. He reminded her of things she needed to remember, Jessica nodded. She’d heard it all before. Check this, remember that. She was certain it was well ingrained into her brain. She pulled her helmet tight over her ears and adjusted the goggles in front of her eyes. She had made the usual external checks — with Mr Johnson watching and nodding — petrol cap, tyres, body, and then she climbed aboard and made the internal checks.
Everything seemed in perfect order. Switch on, petrol on. Her hands were sweating with anticipation, shivers ran up her backbone leaving a trail of cold moisture. If she just took it step by step, she was all right, but if she stopped to think about what she was about to do, she felt herself verge on panic. She nearly said it out loud. Pilots can’t afford to panic!
This was her first solo flight. There would be nobody but her if anything went wrong. It was not like Narromine, where everything around was flat and she could land fairly safely if she had to come down.
If anything went wrong here, she …For goodness sake, Jessica. Pull yourself together, she said, taking two deep breaths and holding every muscle in her body still. She’d been through this before. Mr Johnson was thorough, teaching her everything she needed to know. He had drilled her and drilled her. Not a great fan of young females in planes, he had still taken her lessons seriously. If Jessica wanted to learn to fly, then he would make her as good a pilot as he was capable of doing. All Jessica had to do was listen, learn and practise. And she had.
Mr Johnson grasped the propeller and pulled it towards him. Jessica heard the familiar clicking become a roar as the engine caught and the plane began to throb. Mr Johnson moved away, gave her a thumbs up sign and then she was on her own. Along the strip she taxied, checking speed, holding straight, feeling into the smooth lift-off she wanted. Nose pointed at the horizon, gently up.
Then the ground fell away and she was up. Up, higher, circling up, and then with a wiggle of the wings, she circled and headed back to the aerodrome for landing.
Straightening, slowing, the engine roared and she touched down, taxiing to a standstill.
Mr Johnson strolled across. He looked at the plane and then at Jessica. “That was satisfactory,” he said. “Now, I think you can take it on a longer trip. Head towards Botany Bay and then down to Wollongong and back, between the mountains and the sea. That all right?”
Jessica nodded, her speech having dried up in shock. A proper solo flight! She hadn’t expected Mr Johnson to let her try that yet, certainly not today
“Now, don’t forget to check the altimeter when you start to cruise and don’t go too far out into the Bay.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Once again, Jessica switched the petrol and engine on and lifted the nose as she took off. She circled and headed towards Botany Bay. She had a clear idea of her flight path.
Over the sea and down to Wollongong, over the town and then north, over the edge of the Great Dividing Range as she wended her way back to Mascot.
It was a grey day, the sea and sky matching, with slivers of sun turning flecks of waves into a mirror. Jessica was glad of her goggles. She kept her speed steady, rising to a height that would allow her to fly over the mountains, feeling the icy breeze lash her face. From here she could see dark specks that were fishing boats and a liner or freighter somewhere near the horizon. Parts of the coast were still bushland, with the grey-green of the eucalypts and shrubs showing through limestone rocks.
Down the coast she flew. Factories and refineries appeared as she headed towards Wollongong, recognising the markers of the coastline and the road from Sydney as it wound into the town. She circled over, holding the plane steady so she could look out and down. She dipped the starboard wings, giving herself an even better view of the town. Red roofs, scrubby gardens and paved and gravel streets, with ant-like cars driving along. She could see people, like tiny manikins, moving along.
All the time, she kept an eye on the controls, on what the plane was doing. She checked her altimeter, air speed and the feel of the stick. Rudders and ailerons felt firm and responsive and she had plenty of fuel. Cloud was sliding in from the west, and she wanted to reach Botany Bay before running into any. Being immersed in damp grey cottonwool, that deadened sound, was disorientating. Today she wanted to avoid that.
She dipped the port wings now and turned northwards; setting the plane’s nose at a nor-nor-east setting as she aimed it over the line of the Range, back towards Sydney. Suddenly she was enveloped in the grey cloud, swarming towards the coast. She had no sensation to guide her. She turned right, checking her altimeter and compass. She’d dropped further than she thought and changed direction. Sweat seeped down her back as she pulled the stick towards her.
When she emerged from the cloud, she found herself with one wing pointing towards the ground. Shaking, she straightened up and turned north. Bushland sprung up beneath her and she recognised the expanse of the National Park south of Sutherland, in between the clouds that were swirling towards the sea. As she peered downward, she could see a couple of cars parked near the entrance and some hikers heading into the trees.
She recited to herself the route: North again and over Cronulla where the sea crashed on the beach in little white puffs, watched by more people on the sand than in the water. Over the sea again and back to Botany Bay, circling around the bay to line up with the strip where she would land. Round twice, check to see if she could land, adjust speed, hold the stick forward so the plane began to nose down, softly, smoothly, make sure the speed was right, listen to the engine noise. Check height and then, at last, lower the plane, keep speed steady, slower, lower and then with a final revving, put the wheels onto the ground.
There was a slight bump as Jessica felt the plane touch down. It swerved slightly, she corrected neatly, then straightened and slowed the plane to rest. The propeller stopped being a translucent ring of movement and became itself, slowing to a final revolution and then sudden silence.
Jessica sat for a moment, waiting for everything to stop, then she stood up and took off her helmet and goggles, ran her fingers through her hair, unclenched her mouth and climbed down. Her legs were shaking and fingers stiff, but she put all her effort into a nonchalant stroll towards Mr Johnson and Aunt Louisa, standing waiting for her and trying not to grin too widely.
Mr Johnson’s moustache twitched at the ends as he opened his mouth. “A bit rough on landing, but all right. Anything else happen?”
Jessica’s face still felt iced. “Just a bit of cloud, nothing to worry about. It was so smooth I was almost disappointed.”
“Never be disappointed when things go well,” he replied. “Never.” She saw him give a slight shudder as if somewhere in his mind, the idea of things going wrong brought back bad memories. She’d never heard him talk about his flying days, but given the scar on his forehead, she had assumed some of those days had been exciting.
Aunt Louisa gave her an ecstatic grin and a hug. “Well done!”
Jessica turned back to Mr Johnson. “Thank you for everything. If the flight went smoothly, it was probably because of your hard work.”
“Not just mine,” he answered gruffly. “Your hard work as well.”
“All right, I’ll be back next week then?” He nodded at her, the conversation over. She wondered if he had a wife at home and what dinnertime conversations were like.
“Let
’s go,” she said, grabbing Aunt Louisa’s arm and moving off to go and collect her things. A few of the watchers nodded at her, congratulating her on the solo flight. She thanked them and went off to the car, her mind still up in the air.
When she reached Glebe, she rang her parents and reported on her progress. “It was wonderful, Mum. I could see the whole of Sydney and Wollongong, and everything went just perfectly. Now all I need is hours and hours of flying so I can qualify for my licence.”
At dinner, Grandfather Douglas brought out a bottle of wine and poured Jessica a tiny glass. “Now,” he said, standing at the end of the table, “let’s do the customary thing and rise to congratulate Jessica, our new pilot.”
Her grandmother and aunt stood to their feet, holding their glasses up as they toasted Jessica. “To Jessica, pilot,” they chorused. Jessica’s cheeks grew red and for a minute she was struck dumb.
Then she recovered and held her own glass up. “And here’s to a future where you’ll all get to fly with me!” They drank.
Epilogue
Narromine, Saturday 24 September 1938
The ground was already a sea of aeroplanes and still they kept landing, taxiing to rest in the shade of the new hangar. Jessica had never seen so many in one place, not even at Mascot. She parked the truck close to the Aero Club’s tent and sent Billy off to help guide the planes into their allotted positions in the park, while she looked over the program.
Each planeload was greeted by the steward, provided with information, tickets for the ball and offered a car ride to their hotel.
Meg climbed down from the truck slowly, looking around her. As a cadet reporter on the Sydney Morning Herald, she was rarely allowed to write about anything the size of an air pageant; actually she rarely got to write anything more than a paragraph or two for the women’s pages. Male cadets, on the other hand, wrote up fires, crashes, business, politics, everything interesting in fact. Although technically on holiday, she hoped her newspaper would take a small report. After all, the Daily Telegraph had flown their representative up in the famous Faith of Australia, much to the excitement of the waiting crowd. She had even brought her camera to catch some good shots, some for her article but also as a record for Jessica.
Unfortunately, neither Celia nor Johnny could be there, both up to their ears in their second year of university. Jessica had hoped to show off to them, the pageant and her flying skills but she would have to rely on photographs and letters.
Billy, however, still had a couple of days before he went back to his boarding school and intended to make the most of his freedom.
“Hello Mr Fletcher,” Jessica beamed. “Isn’t this smashing? How many planes have turned up?”
“When they’re all here, thirty six, twenty different types. See that batch over at the end of the first row? That’s the RAAF contingent.”
“Yes, I saw them fly over yesterday, but why did they send so many?”
“Well, probably because we invited them, but I think it’s really a bit of forward planning. IF there’s a war, then they’ll be looking for places to train more pilots. Narromine’d be a good choice.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped in shock. “But I thought that the British government had ensured peace with Germany and that a war was less likely.” The newspapers, even the local one, had been full of this success. Jessica had not, however, read all the paragraphs under the banner headlines, the bottom ones carrying a cynical doubt that the threat of war was gone forever.
“That’s the current public statement, but I’d bet that planning for war is going on at a great pace behind the scenes. Negotiate for peace but prepare for war, isn’t that what they say?”
“I don’t know. I’d never thought seriously that a war was possible.” She closed her eyes to adjust her mind to this new idea. “What’ll you do if war does happen?”
“Go back to the air force. I’m sure they could use me. Now let’s get on with the pageant, will we?”
As she walked away, she wondered about his words and whether other war trained pilots were also planning to re-join the RAAF in the event of war. There were several in the Aero Club. Surely nobody would be silly enough to start another war, not after the Great War, the ‘War to end all Wars’?
Jessica was going to help with organisation and registration of planes for a couple of hours in the morning and then, in the afternoon, she would transform into a pilot and take joy flights over the town. Mr Grahame and two other local plane owners had asked her to use their planes so they could watch the pageant. She was delighted at the opportunity to show off her new commercial licence. Maybe she’d meet more people who could offer her work, especially if she performed well in the next day’s air derby.
The RAAF planes were too much of an attraction to miss, so she decided to take Meg over and check them out before she joined other Aero Club members in the tent. The large Anson bomber and three Hawker Demons which had roared into town in formation the previous day were a popular sight and the two girls had to queue to get close to them. In comparison with the planes she had flown, they were huge.
Remembering her conversation with Mr Fletcher, she looked closely at the bomber, shuddering as she imagined the size of bombs it could drop and the damage they could do. If there was a war, at least the Anson would be on their side. But the German planes were excellent and she wondered what they were developing.
She left Meg to talk with pilots and educate herself about the planes, while she went back to the tent. The air race contestants were due to begin landing about 11 am and she was scheduled to meet the first arrivals.
At exactly a quarter of a minute past 11, according to the official watch (kept in perfect time by Mr Fletcher), Miss Clare Thompson, of the Royal Victorian Aero Club, piloting a Tiger Moth with a Mr Kruger, crossed the circle to win the race.
Thereafter planes came in clumps, touching down to great applause and Mr Fletcher’s accurate timing. Jessica kept the records of arrival, aiming to keep her notes readable. Some of the names were a challenge but she printed everything difficult.
The official opening was at 2 pm. Jessica’s father and Charles had arrived by then, leaving Mum at home with Elspeth who was recovering from the bad influenza that Billy had brought home from school and then shared with everyone in the family. Jessica wondered if Elspeth did it on purpose to avoid air shows. Highly unlikely, but still … Being ill made her a more annoying little madam than usual; in adolescence, she had added a passion for drama to her usual determination.
The entertainment program began straight afterwards, with the popular car bombing by three planes zooming over and aiming half-pound bags of flour at the cars on the paddock, while the cars tried to get out of their way. When the bags hit there was a realistic white puff from the flour. Those in the car added to the spectacle by throwing out ‘real bombs’, (Jessica had no idea what they were made of but they gave out realistic flames, smoke and bangs) then escaping as fast as they could before the bombs exploded.
Various Captains and Flight Lieutenants showed off their skills in slow flying, gained originally in the air force. Flight Lieutenant Coleman’s balloon bursting kept everyone enthralled, as the gas filled balloons were released and he chased them in his Tiger Moth, trying to break them with his propeller. He burst the last five balloons without missing.
Captain Mendham, flying his Klemm Swallow, then tried to shoot more balloons, as they bobbed away, even faster with the slipstream of the plane. He still hit a good proportion of them.
Then the real RAAF showed off with their Hawker Demons in a stunning display of aerobatics, formation flying and mock aerial combat. They began with the three Demons in simultaneous aerobatics. Jessica was envious of their skills as they dived at 200 miles per hour, with the wind screaming through their wires, and then zoomed upwards to a great height.
Just as the audience was beginning to breathe again, they stalled the planes at the top of the loop, before demonstrating a slow roll and an inverted glide.
Their expertise drew every eye and the audience, usually a buzz of voices, was silent as the planes were in the air. For a few minutes, the only sounds were sighs of awe as they zoomed, crossed, dived and soared, fast and accurately — or slow and controlled — and the commentary on the loud speaker.
“Now, if you can do that, you can call yourself a pilot,” commented Billy in Jessica’s ear. “Not that the RAAF’s ever likely to hire women.”
Jessica and Meg glared at him, both thinking he was probably right but not wanting to admit it.
Mr Bruce Irvine, the ex-RAAF pilot who had located Mr Grahame’s downed Moth a few years before, kept the crowd informed as he described each manoeuvre, using his experience to explain what everyone was seeing and what skills were needed.
The grand finale involved the RAAF and local Aero Club members in a choreographed demonstration of what small planes could do in skilled hands. As it ended, there was a brief silence and then the watchers erupted enthusiastically.
Jessica headed straight to the airstrip for her stint as pilot, first in Mr Grahame’s Moth, then in Mr Irvine’s. She felt a similar excitement to that of novice passengers, as they clambered up into the passenger’s seat, buzzing in anticipation as they fastened themselves in and made sure their ears were covered.
As the propeller began its revolutions the first time, with the familiar puttering and then the rhythmic burr as the engine caught, Jessica’s hands began to tremble. Not with fear — it was just that she realised she was at her favourite aerodrome, a pilot with her own commercial licence, taking up passengers at an air pageant, where in the past, she had only taken names and collected money. She remembered herself at the first pageant, eight years before, almost bursting with excitement.
Girl with Wings Page 13