“Dot told me. I can’t believe you even need to ask. She knows everything.”
“What did she tell you about that?”
“Well, she said that when a telegraph is sent in Morse code, the receiver always sends back confirmation that they received the telegraph, so they tap in the letter ‘R’ for Received. Then, when they started using two-way radios, they used the phonetic alphabet, like Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog for ABCD.”
He was grinning. “Go on. This is fascinating.”
“The rest is common sense.”
“Oh? Give an old man a clue.”
“Well, Roger is phonetic for ‘R’. If you’re already using ‘R’ for Received in a telegraph, that means you use Roger for two-way conversation.”
“Dot told you all that?”
“She could put an encyclopedia to shame.”
That made him laugh. “She might know everything in the books, but she doesn’t know how to fly, does she?”
He stepped to the front and pulled the propeller down in a few revolutions, pushing fuel into the plane’s workings. When he nodded, she reached outside of the cockpit to flip the ignition switch on, then she lowered her goggles.
In his smile she saw a rare flash of her father, full of pride. “Ready?”
“Contact,” she called, and he gave the propeller a final revolution.
It caught, spinning so quickly it gave the illusion of stalling. The engine roared to life, vibrating under and around her, surrounding her in noise and filling her with a sort of breathless euphoria. From her perch, she watched her uncle pull out the chocks, the little triangles that held the wheels in position while the plane was parked, then he gave her a stiff salute and Dash was on her own. At first, a cold uncertainty flipped in her belly, but it was replaced immediately by fire. The plane bumped along the tarmac, taxiing to the start of the runway, then she faced Jenny’s nose into the wind, lining her up for takeoff. Ahead stretched a long, open road, then the vast sky she longed to be a part of. If only her family was here to watch. She increased the RPMs to 1000, and the plane growled with impatience. Her pulse raced with it.
“Let’s go, Jenny,” she said out loud. “It’s you and me now.”
She punched the throttle, and they roared down the pavement. Dash mutterednose up, nose up, nose upas she jostled over the uneven runway, ignoring the tangles of hair now pasted to her face. When the plane reached sixty-five miles per hour, she helped it lift into the air, then her stomach swooped as she left the earth behind. Relishing the sensation, she headed up, up, up to what her uncle called a comfortable cruising height, at two thousand feet. Then it was just her and the plane and the clouds and the sky.
Right where she’d always dreamed of being.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the world spread beneath her, the snaking rivers and roads, the tiny houses. But when the plane wobbled, her focus went to the dials. Her awe would have to wait. She calmly manipulated the stick, lining up to the level of the horizon so she could soar across the sky, then she flew the pattern she’d followed so many timeswith Uncle Bob. Everything felt different now that she wasn’t shielded by someone else’s wing.
“Woohoo!” she yelled, her heart full. “I’m flying!”
More confident by the second, Dash leaned her head over the edge of the cockpit and took in the unspeakably beautiful view: the greens and browns, the places she had known all her life but had rarely really seen. The colours seemed deeper now that she was on her own, the land below more intriguing. She banked slightly, turning toward home, and was a little disappointed not to see anyone in the yard. She’d have loved to wave at them. There was the old school, tiny beneath her, the redbrick building empty for the day. And in the distance, the long, blue coastline of Lake Ontario. Eventually, she pulled her head back, glad she was bundled up. Between the double wings, the motor, and the constant wind whipping past, it was freezing up here.
It was patently unfair, Dash thought as she leaned the plane to the right, that women pilots weren’t permitted to fly in the war. Who could say that Fred was a better flyer than she was? She’d always had better aim when they played ball. If the people in charge could only change their rules and allow girls like her to fly, who knew what might happen? She could easily picture herself as part of a squadron, coming in low over a German target…
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She couldn’t bear to think of it, because it would never happen. The best thing she could do would be to sign up for the Wrens as soon as she could. At least then she’d feel like she was helping in some way.
Dot wouldn’t be happy about that at all.
Far, far below, her uncle stood outside the hangar, observing Dash’s flight. She noticed Aunt Lou walking out to him, so Dash tilted her wings side to side to wave hello. She waited for them to wave back, but instead, her aunt and uncle fell together in an uncharacteristic embrace. Dash felt a jolt of concern and decided to cut her flight short. She lined up the runway, thennose up nose up nose up, she touched down with a disconcerting bump and taxied the plane home.
Uncle Bob was not smiling when Dash rolled up. He was pale, and he was still holding Aunt Lou tightly against him. Dash couldn’t see her aunt’s face.
“Uncle Bob?” Dash asked, killing the engine. When he didn’t answer, she dropped onto the tarmac and ran to them. “What’s wrong?”
That’s when she noticed the piece of paper he held in one hand, pressed against Aunt Lou’s back. A telegram. Her stomach rolled.
Dash raised her eyes to his, terrified. With all her might she hoped she was wrong. “Fred?” she whispered.
That’s when her uncle lowered his head onto his wife’s shoulder and began to cry.
fiveDOT— September 1942 —Oshawa, Ontario
