“You, too, Dad. But only when I’m ready. When I get to fly by myself, maybe you can even come up with me.”
Her father chuckled, sounding a little nervous. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve done my share of flying, thank you. I will stay on the ground with your sister.”
“I can’t wait to show you!” Dash bounced.
Much as it shamed her, Dot was envious of her sister’s joy. Would she ever find anything that captivated her so entirely?
“The only thing I didn’t like today,” Dash continued, “was that Uncle Bob says we are only going to fly once a week. He doesn’t want to do it all at once. He says he has other things to do beside teaching me. Imagine!”
As she chattered away, Dot relaxed slightly. The idea of Uncle Bob limiting the lessons to once a week pleased her very much. The longer the instructions took, the longer it would be before Dash could head to Toronto for a job.
fourDASH— Oshawa, Ontario —
Early one Saturday morning in mid-August, Dash gave her mother a kiss on the cheek then grabbed her green sweater on her way out the door.
“I’m off to uncle’s,” she said.
“Of course you are. Is today the big day?”
“I sure hope so.” She plucked at her sleeve. “Green’s my lucky colour.”
She didn’t have to ask what her mother meant. After weeks of lessons, they all knew Dash was more than eager to head out on her very first solo flight. She had done all the land training she could, and she’d mastered peering over Uncle Bob’s shoulder at the controls. For the last two weeks, she had taken over the controls and flown the plane with him sitting in the aft cockpit, and the sense of being in charge of her own flight had been blissful. She’d never wanted to land. When she had left his yard last time, he had suggested todaymightbe the day when she did the whole thing by herself. She had barely caught a wink of sleep in anticipation.
It would be a warm day, she could tell, but it would be cold in the sky, with her head sticking out of Jenny’s open cockpit. Her coat hung over her arm as she headed out, her gloves in her pockets, and a scarf was jammed in one sleeve. She practically skipped the mile and a half downthe sun-speckled road to Uncle Bob’s farm, figuring she could get there blindfolded, since she’d gone so many times. When she finally turned the corner at the end, Jenny came into sight, her parallel, tan wings shining in the early dawn light, her gleaming wood propeller at rest. Technically, her uncle could have moved the plane to the Oshawa airport when it had opened in ’41, especially since he was an instructor there for the Elementary Flying Training School. The RCAF had a whole fleet of seventy-five Tiger Moths there, all being used as trainers, so Jenny would have had company. But Uncle Bob had wanted to keep her nearby.
Today’s airplanes looked so different from the old biplanes, she thought, approaching the field. With their single wings and aerodynamic shapes, they couldn’t help but impress. But Jenny was a classic. Dash skimmed her palm over the smooth fuselage, admiring her simplicity. Instead of painting the plane’s entire cockpit and fuselage that bright lemon yellow many others had, Uncle Bob kept his plane an understated olive green with a pale blue fuselage. She was already such a fine-looking airplane, he said. A natural beauty. There was no need to dress her up.
“Shall we fly, you and I?” she asked the plane, tapping a wing, then she turned, hearing her uncle approach. His shoulders were uncharacteristically hunched.
“Good morning!” she called cheerily, hoping she was misreading him.
“Bad news, Dash.”
Her heart sank. “Oh no. What’s wrong?”
“I’m a little under the weather. Don’t plan to fly today.”
So much for her lucky sweater. “I hope you feel better soon.”
He stopped beside the plane and leaned against the fuselage. “You can’t lean on me forever, you know. So I thought today I’d leave the flying to you, start to finish. I’ll watch from here.”
Dash caught her breath, then anticipation rushed in. “My first solo flight? Really?”
“You think you’re ready?”
Her whole body tingled with excitement. “Don’t you worry about me, Uncle Bob. I was born ready.”
“Oh, I do know that about you. All right. Up you get,” he said, helping her onto the lower wing. “I’ll do the walk-around checks, you do yours, then you can go.”
Her palms were sweating as she lowered herself into the cockpit and eyed the seven familiar glass dials on the instrument panel. Automatically, her mind traced the routine of starting the plane: slide the green fuel lever forward to let fuel into the cylinders, press this valve on the carburetor… While she went over her checklist for inside the plane, Uncle Bob strode around the outside inspecting flaps, rudder, wheels, propeller, tires, and everything else. She knew it would all be fine, but he’d made it very clear to her that doing the checks every single time was the most important thing she could do.
Once she was done, Dash snapped her helmet on, then she pressed the little lever to prime the fuel line.
Satisfied, Uncle Bob stood alongside and looked up. “You ready?”
She fastened her seat belt, fingers vibrating with adrenaline. “Roger.”
“How on earth do you know to say Roger?”
