A feather could easily have knocked Dash out of her chair. “Thank you, Miss MacGill. I’m flattered.”
“Designing airplanes is for my mind. Flying in them is for my soul.” She touched the handle of her cane. “Of course I cannot physically manage an airplane, but I do love to watch you girls up there. You’re a very able pilot, Miss Wilson. You should be flying more.”
“Oh yes, please!”
Her boss’s gaze dropped to the wooden surface of her desk, and she rubbed at an invisible spot with one finger. “This is not a widely known fact, Miss Wilson, and I would appreciate your keeping it under your hat until I choose to speak more openly about it with the rest of the personnel. The Canadian Car and Foundry Company has nearly completed our contract with the Royal Air Force, having built over fourteen hundred Hawker Hurricanes. We have been negotiating with a new group for a different contract, but there are aspects to that project which give me pause. I would be happy to keep you on here, Miss Wilson; however, Ibelieve I have a direction that would suit you better.” She reached for a paper on the corner of her desk. “Are you familiar with the Air Transport Auxiliary?”
“No, ma’am.”
“The ATA is a civilian organization in which new and repaired aircraft, as well as men, supplies, and much-needed parts, are ferried between factories, assembly plants, and other destinations. In 1940, I was pleased to hear they had welcomed a small number of women pilots to their ranks. Since then, those numbers have increased.
“I find it encouraging that men are finally beginning to understand how useful women are and how much they are needed in this war. In fact, the ATA recently raised the wages of women pilots so they are equal to those of their male counterparts.” She handed the paper to Dash. “Anyhow, I thought you might like to consider working for them. If you are interested, I can speak with one of the people in charge and recommend you.”
It took a second before Dash could find words. She didn’t even glance at the paper in her hand. “I could fly for a living?”
“You would be working out of the White Waltham Airfield, in Berkshire.” She frowned when Dash didn’t respond. “Is that a problem?”
“I—I’m not familiar with that airport.”
“It’s in England. Shall I contact them on your behalf?”
The room was silent for a few very rapid heartbeats. “England? So you’re saying… Oh yes, please!” Dash breathed. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I mean. I am—” She touched the edge of her boss’s desk. “Oh, Miss MacGill. I don’t know what to say.”
“In my opinion, the ATA would be lucky to have you.” She gave Dash a conspiratorial smile. “If you do this, you know what they will call you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Folks call them the ‘ATA-girls,’?” she said, pronouncing it as one word:attagirls.“And knowing your personality as I do, that labelsuits you as well as the job does. I’m very pleased you want to do this.”
A week later, Miss MacGill called Dash back to give her the paperwork she needed to submit. After that, all Dash could do was wait. If the Air Transport Auxiliary wrote back and invited Miss Margaret Wilson to pack her bags, Dash would soon be going to war.
twenty-nineDOT— Camp X —
Dot rushed out of the dormitory, buttoning her new khaki coat. “Oh!” she cried, mortified, as she crashed into another woman. “I am so sorry. It’s my first day here, and I’m rather nervous, I’m afraid. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
The heavily freckled woman barely appeared to have noticed. “I’m Ruby.” She gave Dot a wide, closed-mouth smile. “Glad to meet you. It’s my first day, too.”
Ruby had pinned her light brown curls into a roll, but Dot could tell it had no plans to stay in place. She touched her own hair reflexively, checking it was still as she’d arranged it.
“Shall we go to breakfast together?” Dot suggested.
Ruby nodded. “I’m from Brandon, Manitoba,” she informed Dot as they strode across the yard then inside the main building. “Someone told me there are six of us, and only one other girl in the class. You and I should stick together.”
“Good idea. I’m Dot. I’m from Oshawa, Ontario, but uh, I’m not sure what else we’re allowed to say to one another.”
Ruby laughed. “I figure it’s all right to talk about where we’ve come from, just not where we’re going.” She pointed across the mess hall towarda young man with soft brown hair and a tight jaw. “That’s Gordon. He’s one of us. He’s a radio operator.”
Dot regarded him with interest as she reached for a meal tray. “I’m familiar with radios.”
“He’s smart, but he barely says anything. His brother was killed in Germany, so he can’t wait to get over there and get his hands dirty, if you know what I mean.”
A radio operator who was also an operative. “I think I do,” Dot said.
“Where do you hope to end up? France? Maybe Poland?”
Dot followed her to a table and sat. “I didn’t know we had a choice.”
“Oh, I don’t think we do,” Ruby replied, digging into her scrambled eggs. “I just like to think about travelling. I’ve never been out of Canada.”
