A Dog With a Destiny

by Isabel George

  Although Bill never owned the Great Dane called Big Boy, he was as close as you can get to your best friend’s dog. George Harsa was a friendly boy and his dog matched his character perfectly. Wherever Big Boy went, George was bound to follow, and Bill too. They were friends from their first meeting. Walking and playing in West 119th Street with the huge mutt bounding along beside them, the boys were happy as the day was long. At eight years old, no one should have a care in the world and this was so true of George and Bill. In the evenings, George would entertain the neighbourhood children with his banjo playing and Big Boy would sit alongside him, his most faithful fan. It was a relationship that Bill longed for for himself. The days at Parmadale were mostly happy but the discipline was harsh, even for children of only three years old. The sting of the half-inch wooden stick that often slapped down on his hand was something he would not forget. When Queenie wandered into his life, their relationship seemed meant to be. Bill was out playing and Queenie, whose breed was somewhat mixed to say the least, came to see what he was all about. She was quiet and friendly and interested in everything he had to tell her. She was so engrossed that she followed Bill home and his mother let her stay. Like all the dogs that found refuge in the Wynne household, Queenie was absorbed into the family’s life. She was a friend to all but it was Bill she would follow to the end of the earth. Queenie settled so well into the neighbour-hood that she was able to present her family with a litter of pups. All adorable and all possessing Queenie’s calm and loving temperament, the pups were popular and had plenty of visitors. The whole neighbourhood grieved when Queenie was killed in a road traffic accident. She had made quite an impact, especially on the children.

  It was lucky for Bill’s mother that one of the litter, Pal, was still around to comfort her young son. Pal was more of a breed mix than his mother but every inch of his stocky, brindle body said that he was Bill’s protector. There was certainly a little Chow Chow and some Bull Terrier in the mix and a good deal more besides to make up his muscular body. Pal loved everyone and everyone loved Pal. He didn’t like other dogs very much but every child in town felt he was their pet and Bill was happy to share him. Bill was always teaching Pal new tricks such as riding downhill on a sled and then pulling the pile of sleds back to the top of the hill. He could jump in the air and take a hat off someone’s head and hand the hat back to them. Bill loved showing off Pal’s tricks.

  Bill and Pal were a real partnership and looked after each other. Every time they came close to the busy road that ran behind Wynne’s house, Bill would stop and say, ‘Up!’ and Pal would jump into his arms and be carried safely over the road. The same would happen if Bill saw a rival dog coming towards them. But Pal’s best trick of all was working out how to get to Bill’s school. No one had shown him the route, he just seemed to find it one day and there he was waiting outside the school gate at home time. After that, he did the same thing everyday at 3.30 p.m. and walked Bill home. Then one day, after about a year, he wasn’t there. Bill searched high and low for any trace of his dog. The neighbourhood turned out to help but he was no where to be found. Pal never came home again. He was gone and it broke Bill’s heart.

  So, when Toby came into Bill’s life some years later, the relationship had a bittersweet beginning. Having Toby brought back all the memories of Pal, the dog that gave him so much joy in his childhood, a joy that was as real and tangible as the hardships he had experienced during the Depression of the 1930s. The Depression had a catastrophic effect on Bill’s family and its fortunes. Of course they weren’t alone in that. The Wall Street Crash put an end to Bill’s mother’s well-paid job and meant she had to move her family around in order to chase work and an affordable rent. It was why they moved house so often, finally settling when Bill was seventeen.

  At that point, life changed for the better in so many ways. Turning from a boy who showed little interest in schoolbooks, Bill became a dedicated and successful student. He met his sweetheart, Margie, and then Toby, the dog came pattering along. Toby was going to receive all the attention that Bill missed giving to his beloved Pal; the dog he vowed would be his last. There was a new challenge too: his desire to marry and set up home with Margie which meant making money became the focus of each day. Working in the local foundry was hard and heavy work but Bill was able to work two shifts a day to support the war effort and his own personal effort to save money. And Toby? He accompanied Bill to work and enjoyed long naps on the warm brick floor. Pressure was building on the foundry to step up production. The demand for steel to feed the manufacture of fighter planes, ships and munitions was heightening to the point where the foundry’s furnaces were ablaze twenty-four hours a day. Bill could have worked around the clock but the arrival of his draft papers cut that plan short. His country needed him and Bill answered that call.

  Bill was assigned to the 5th Fighter Command of the 5th Air Force at Port Moresby in New Guinea. His interest and qualification in photography had made him a perfect recruit for air reconnaissance duties and, after completing a laboratory technician course, he qualified as an aerial photographer. In any other time and under any other circumstances the balmy breeze that rippled around them would have been a luxury to enjoy and relax in but not this location. There was always the threat of a red alert – the warning to take cover as enemy bombers attacked the airfield. The ‘ack-ack’ of the anti-aircraft guns continued throughout the night. For a while, Bill and Ed Downey helped out with general duties on the camp but Ed was frustrated and convinced the commanding officers had forgotten they had two aerial photographers and felt their skills were not being utilized. Ed was not afraid to make a fuss and his film-star looks and presence made him a force to be reckoned with. An immediate transfer to 5212th Photographic Wing meant a posting to Nadzab to take up a position as an aerial photographer.

  Bill and Ed were there as General David W. Hutchinson’s personal photographers but Photo Hutch, as he was nicknamed, had crashed his B17 while on a mission on Boxing Day of 1943, just before the two photographers arrived. After an awkward start, they were assigned to the photographic laboratory. Their boss, Captain Powell had developed an aerial camera mount for low-level bombing photography and this development was made at a crucial time for the Allies. As a member of the 26th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron, Bill was part of an elite force whose activities were vital to the success of the war in the Pacific. There was a saying that the side with the best aerial reconnaissance team was the one that would win the war. Bill and Smoky were a part of the best.

  While Bill was working twelve-hour shifts in the photo lab, Smoky would accompany him and entertain the other technicians just by being with them. Sitting on one of the trays used for passing wet images outside for washing in the daylight, Smoky would be passed between the men. And she was acquiring a wide range of tricks to show off. When he wasn’t at work, Bill would spend his time teaching Smoky something new. The little dog was a good pupil and picked up tricks very quickly and, more than that, she was eager to please. Her favourite party trick was playing dead: Bill would point his finger at her and shout, ‘Bang!’ This was Smoky’s signal to fall onto her side. From that point she would remain limp and still, and no matter how many times Bill prodded her, swung her round or tried to wake her she remained totally lifeless. The audience loved it. Then, with one word from Bill – ‘OK’ – she sprung to her feet and dashed to her master for some well-deserved praise. Smoky’s antics helped fill the long and lonely hours spent waiting for news of the Japanese invasion.

  Formed in 1943, the 26th Photo Recon Squadron was vital to the war effort and its planes were constantly on or near the front line throughout the war. The planes were F-5s, stripped down, customized versions of the P-38 Lockhead Lightening one-seater fighters. They had to be light and manoeuvrable so they could get in fast, get the shots and get out again so the armoured protection on the fuselage and the guns were removed. All the time the planes would be drawing enemy fire, but were unable to fire back. It was the onl
y way to find out where enemy troops were positioned along with their hardware and ammunition. The images the recon teams captured could prove invaluable evidence of enemy activity to share with the Army, Navy and Air Force. Each flight entailed risking life and limb with only a camera for protection.

  Hollandia, in Dutch New Guinea, was approximately 450 miles from Nadzab and had three aerodromes which harboured the remainder of Japanese air strength in that area. It was surrounded by a range of 6,000-foot high mountains which would make any approach more problematic. But due south, in We Wak, there was a reported force of around 200,000 Japanese troops fresh from combat in China. The strategy was to starve them out by cutting off supplies from the outside world. Air reconnaissance revealed there were 350 enemy planes: the 5th Air Force wiped them out in three days.

  Only one thing could stop a recon team in its tracks were the big, black tropical storms which swept the area. Cruel and destructive, the storms cancelled out the daylight making flying dangerous and photography impossible. On Black Sunday, 1944, a sudden storm turned day into night in seconds. Out of 200 B-2s, four B-25s and A-20 bombers, eighteen per cent were lost in the air and on the ground. 5th Air Force alone lost thirty-seven. Those in the air either lost sight of the mountains or ran out of fuel.

  The storms were an unpredictable force of nature and the bane of the recon team. Smoky was not keen on them either. Bill soon learned that his dog could predict a storm several hours before it hit. Smoky would go very quiet and sniff the air before she began to whimper and then head for Bill’s cot. She knew the storms were bad news and did her best to warn the men. It was just another way she paid Bill back for taking her into his care.

  Of course, Bill and his friends were always looking out for Smoky too. One of the big health threats in the jungle was Scrub Typhus. Nine out of ten sufferers died and Smoky, being the perfect host for the ticks that carried the disease was in a vulnerable position. It was decided she would have a daily bath in Bill’s helmet to help keep her tick-free, and Smoky loved it. The relief of the tepid wash was a joy to her and she seemed to smile as Bill swished the water over her body. Carefully, Bill would lift her out of the make-shift bathtub and pat her dry, feeling for the telltale lump of the insects on her body. Bill’s heart was in his throat each time he started to examine her. He knew that if she was sick there would be no veterinary help available.

  Smoky had mastered the basics of Bill’s recall training: when he called her she returned immediately so he knew it was safe to let her run free in the jungle – she would always come back. And it was wonderful to watch her chase the birds and the giant exotic butterflies as she looked so happy and free. In those special moments, watching Smoky, it was as if the war was non-existent and it was a normal day in the sunshine, a day spent relaxing with friends, not a care in the world. A sudden burst of gunfire would usually bring everyone back to their senses and the moment of normality would pass as quickly as it had been conjured up. There were pressing realities that had to be faced up to.

  The scare of the Scrub Typhus made Bill and his friends face the fact that Smoky’s life was potentially in danger. They decided that Smoky had to be confined to barracks, only venturing as far as the tether tied to Bill’s bed would allow. And there were other concerns in the jungle too: pythons. A python would have found Smoky a tasty bite-size meal and Bill was well aware of that danger. There was also the constant worry of her being kidnapped by someone else. She liked to chase the native humpbacked hens and that’s probably how she ran into one of the local villages where the children discovered that she was far more intelligent than the average camp dog. Bill was used to losing sight of her for short periods of time but that day he was terrified she had gone forever. Unable to speak the native language of Papua New Guinea and aware that some of the tribes were cannibals, Bill had to face his fears and ask a group of local people if they had seen his dog. At first, the language barrier looked as though it would stifle his enquiries but then his short impersonation of Smoky barking, raising a paw and standing on her hind legs was enough to communicate with the man who beckoned Bill to follow him. Leaving the dusty path, Bill followed full of eagerness to see Smoky again but all the time knowing he had no idea what he was going to see. When he stepped into the clearing, he could hear Smoky barking and his heart leapt in anguish until he recognized it was her happy bark. The village children were sitting around her and Smoky was running through her repertoire of tricks for them. The joy on their little faces was clear for all to see. The more laughter Smoky generated, the more she wanted to entertain. Bill felt almost guilty for depriving her of her enthusiastic audience. But Smoky didn’t mind. One look at Bill and she saw home and everything was good again. The children all kissed her goodbye and Bill and Smoky waved as they disappeared back through the jungle and found the pathway onto the main track. It was a surreal moment but another little miracle in the centre of the hostilities. A moment that, in any other time and circumstance, would have been ordinary. But not here and not now.

  The more Smoky established herself in the camp, the higher her profile became and there were always jealous eyes on her. She was small and cute. She was friendly and talented. And, although there were other canine mascots adopted by the soldiers, Smoky stood out from the crowd. It seemed that keeping her close to him was the only way Bill could be sure she would remain safe. The risk of losing her was too great to take.

  Smoky’s tricks became part of the daily entertainment in the camp, especially in the print room where Bill worked. Their impromptu shows were a welcome distraction from the pressure of the job and the fear that resulted from the random snippets of news they received about the status of the Japanese invasion and the war beyond their far-away section of the Pacific. Of course, news of Smoky’s talents spread beyond the confines of the 26th Camp and it didn’t take long for Yank Down Under magazine to track man and dog down. The magazine had launched a mascot competition and was keen for Bill to enter Smoky even though the squadron had already entered its existing mascot, a monkey called Colonel Turbo. At first, Bill was reluctant to take up the challenge. He could think of all the reasons why Smoky should not be entered into the competition but he was underestimating the enthusiasm of the dog’s fan base. Bill had to concede due to public demand and once he had done that he wanted the image they sent to the magazine to be perfect. Ideas fluttered into his head until his mind was buzzing with winning shots of Smoky as a military mascot. First he grabbed his helmet and put it on the ground. He knew Smoky would jump right in as she would be expecting a bath, and she loved baths. Bill took the shots himself and was very pleased with the results – Smoky looked so happy to be there and she adored being the centre of attention. But for the next idea, Bill was going to need some help.

  The idea was to photograph Smoky descending by parachute. A creative idea, but with one problem: they needed a parachute, or at least a part of one to make the shot believable. Everyone was keen for Smoky to win the competition and besides, it made a pleasant diversion from the other off-duty pastimes. Within no time at all a ‘find Smoky a parachute’ project team had formed with Bill at its helm. The first item called in was the pilot’s parachute which was quickly adapted to Smoky’s size and then a collection of belts were added to create a harness. Bill then took a little time out with Smoky to practise the swinging to-and-fro movements so she wouldn’t be spooked later on. In the meantime, it was agreed that the drop needed to be about thirty feet from a tree with Bill and a buddy ready to catch the dog in a GI blanket at the bottom. Branches were sawn off a nearby tree to accommodate the parachuting dog and in no time at all, Smoky was in Bill’s safe hands in the tree. The plan worked perfectly and the men knew they had the shots they wanted. Smoky seemed so happy as a parachute dog that they couldn’t resist doing it a few more times, just for fun. What the men hadn’t noticed was the slight breeze that had been so helpful up until now was growing stronger and with Smoky set for her final drop, the wind caught the chute, wh
ich collapsed and then swept the tiny ‘para’ off course. Free falling at speed, Smoky yelped in panic. She tried several times to correct herself and managed to land on her feet but then bounced twice leaving her on her back. Bill dashed to where Smoky was lying. He saw her little body lying limp and helpless on the ground and thought the worst. Why did I do that? Why did I carry on with the jumps when I had the shot I needed? Bill chastised himself for getting carried away with the whole parachuting dog idea. He knew he would never forgive himself if anything had happened to Smoky because of his sheer stupidity. Maybe it was a slight concussion? Maybe she just wanted to teach him a lesson in taking better care of her? Whatever it was, the moments (that seemed like hours to Bill) passed and finally the fear-ridden GI could feel Smoky’s body stir in his hands. She looked up at him, as much to say: ‘Hey you. What did you think you were playing at, buddy? No more games like that one, please.’ Bill heard every word and guilt swept over him. He vowed, there and then, not to abuse her trust in him again. She did everything he asked of her, even jumped out of a tree. But that was to be the last time.

  Of course, Smoky was perfectly capable of getting herself into scrapes singlehanded. Watching a game of softball has to be one of the safest activities no matter where you are, but maybe not if you are mistaken for the ball! Everything was fine while Smoky sat on Bill’s lap watching the game but suddenly she decided to join in the action on the field. Reaching third base, she caught the attention of the player who mistook her for the ball and scooped her up. He was all ready to throw to second base when he realized what was in his hand. Smoky had made a fantastic run but it was all about to end horribly. Bill’s frantic shouting and the realization of the players saved Smoky from a dash to the ground. It was a lesson to her to sit quietly next time.