Chapter Three
Narromine 1929
Jessica decided that Sunday lunch would be the right time to tell the family of her decision. That way, she would only have to tell them once. Every Sunday, her mother cooked a family dinner. They arrived after church, her grandparents, Auntie Velia and cousin Charles, all hungry. Jessica always set the table before church, making sure that the knives faced the right way, the serviettes were folded properly, and placed on the side plates. She set crystal water glasses on the right and ensured that matching salt and peppershakers were at both ends.
She quite liked this task, enjoying the crisp linen and shining crystal. In any case, it was a lot better than most of the other household chores girls were supposed to learn. Other days they didn’t go to all this trouble, but Sunday lunch was the day Grandfather tested how well her mother was looking after the homestead, the day everyone always felt as though they were “on approval”. (That phrase was a deliberate usage, pinched from my own family and in common usage in the first half of the 20th C in both Sydney and country towns, where things were ordered from big shops and sent back if wrong. My own grandfather never quite accepted any of his sons or daughters in law, who always felt they were, as the local saying went “on appro”.) At least, that was how her father described it. Jessica had lived in the homestead since she was a baby, when her grandparents moved to the smaller house they called The Lodge. Although it felt like home, on Sundays she was aware that it was not as simple as that. Her mother had been heard to mutter that it was like having the landlord come to inspect. While her grandfather lived, he was the owner of the whole property, including their house.
Jessica’s father was placed at one end of the table and her grandfather at the other. As her mother said, that way, he could appear to be head of the household. Her grandmother sat at her father’s right hand, her mother at Grandfather’s and she placed the others in between. Mum would arrange some flowers and by the time everyone sat down, the table would be a picture, with its cream damask cloth and matching serviettes, the Royal Doulton floral plates, polished silver and crystal glasses.
This Sunday, Jessica waited impatiently through the sliced lamb and mint sauce, baked vegetables and fresh peas, and the usual compliments. It was only when everyone was served apple pie and cream that at last she could break her news.
“I have decided,” she said in her clearest voice, “I will be a pilot when I grow up.”
There was a sudden silence with only the clatter of a fork dropping onto a plate. She could see her parents glance at her grandfather who was glowering. Nobody would speak until he did. That was his rule and woe betide anyone who disobeyed. As he had a mouthful of pie and disapproved of people speaking until they had swallowed, they all waited. Jessica was not worried. It was not a request, but a statement. She was not asking for permission, she was just telling them what she planned.
Or so she thought.
Grandfather finished his mouthful and opened his lips. “Stuff and nonsense,” he almost exploded. “I forbid it. You will not do any such thing. No granddaughter of mine will fly in one of those newfangled machines. And that is an end to it.”
When Grandfather laid down the law, he always did it loudly. The only thing missing was that he did not thump the table.
Nobody else said anything, they just ate. Jessica’s younger brother Billy almost stopped chewing as he watched. A small grin lifted the corners of his mouth as he kept his eye on Jessica. The only one not watching was young Elspeth, locked into her high chair and mixing pie crumbs into melted ice cream (most of the larger properties has these wonderful ice room thingies underground and made ice cream with evaporated milk — not the heavy cream of dairy country!) with her spoon. As Jessica opened her mouth to reply, her mother kicked her gently on the ankle and shook her head very slightly. So did her father. She wanted to yell at Grandfather, to tell him that she was going to do it anyway and he couldn’t stop her, but she drew breath as she caught her dad’s eye.
She knew what he was thinking. “Don’t argue with Grandfather at the dinner table.” It was a family rule, one Jessica originally thought was laid down by Grandfather himself. “Yes,” her dad had said. “That’s what he thinks. The rest of us comply so we can eat our meals in peace.”
“And then what?” Jessica had asked.
“Just let him tell you what to do?” Dad just smiled.
Grandfather harrumphed a bit more, telling the whole table what he thought about this modern idea of women working. No wife of his had ever had to work. (Jessica always thought that was a silly statement. He had only ever had one wife and she worked hard on the property. And Grandfather didn’t pay her for it.) And no woman in his family ever would. And so on.
Jessica remembered how her grandfather disapproved of women voting and wondered for the first time, if her grandmother voted as he told her. Jessica’s mother Ellen chewed stolidly, her mouth tight, and said nothing. There was no point in reminding Grandfather that she had been a nurse before she married Angus. That was how they had met, after all, in a rehabilitation centre where Dad was learning to walk again after his injuries at Beersheba. Or that Ellen’s sister Louisa, Jessica’s godmother, was a teacher. There was no point in raising any of that. It would only make Grandfather froth at the mouth and carry on a lot longer.
Elspeth decided she had had enough food and threw her plate onto the floor. Even though it was Sunday, Elspeth had a painted tin plate rather than the Royal Doulton, so there was no danger of it breaking.
“Oh, dear,” said Mum with what Jessica recognised as mock dismay. “I must take Elspeth out and clean her up. Jess, come and give me a hand and I’ll get a cloth to clean the floor.”
Grandma folded her napkin and stood up as well. “It’s time to clear up anyway, Ellen, so I’ll help.” Jess opened her mouth, but before she could speak her mother had somehow ushered her out of the room. Not however, before she saw Billy twist his face into a gargoyle. Dad stood as well, inviting Grandfather to the study, as he did every Sunday, leaving the cleaning up to the women. As Grandfather would say, that was their job. Billy and Charles were free to do whatever they wanted. No one expected them to help with the washing up.
Chapter Four
In the kitchen, Mum handed Elspeth to Jessica and went back to clean the floor. “Come dear,” said Grandma, “you might as well help. I know you’re cross with Grandfather but there’s no point in saying anything.”
“Why not?” demanded Jessica. “You all let him get away with being a tyrant!” She slammed a couple of pots out of the way so she could stack the plates.
“Do we?” commented Grandma, beginning to rinse the dessert plates and organise the cutlery for washing.
“Do we what?” asked Mum on her return, dirty cloth and plate under her arm.
“Let Grandfather behave like a tyrant,” Jessica responded. “Always, you all do it.”
“I don’t think so,” said Mum, filling the sink with water from the kettle. She watched the suds form shiny bubbles.
Jessica seethed. “It’s not fair!”
“Jessica, pull yourself together. You’re old enough to understand and if you really want to be a pilot, then you’re going to have to learn to deal with Grandfather.”
“What do you mean, if I really want to become a pilot? Don’t you believe me?”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Mum sighed. “I do believe you. It’s only a wonder it’s taken until you’re nine to hear this ambition. I’ve been waiting for it for years.”
“Oh,” said Jessica, surprised. “But …” She wasn’t sure what she should be asking. Did her mother approve? Would she help? These thoughts flew through her brain, blending into a mishmash that left her stuttering.
“Look, Jessica,” said her grandmother, “you’ve been going to see aeroplanes since you were a baby. Your father developed a passion for them in the war, and but for being injured, probably would have gone for a pilot’s licence himself. Your grandfather woul
dn’t have been pleased, but he couldn’t have stopped him. One of Angus’s children was sure to follow his passion and we’ve always known it was you. Billy’s far more interested in the farm, which is lucky really as it will be his one day. And Elspeth’s too young to know what she’ll be interested in. So it would have been a surprise if you hadn’t wanted to learn to fly.” She finished, drying off the first of the glasses from the rack.
“You think it’s all Dad’s fault?”
“Not fault, dear,” said Gran, over the noise of the tap as she rinsed plates. “You’re enough like him to pick it up all by yourself.”
“Oh.” Jessica was not sure whether the family supported her dreams or not. “But, I want to earn my living as a pilot,” said Jessica, “not just learn to fly.”
“Maybe,” said Mum, “maybe, it would be better if you left that desire float for awhile.”
“Why should I? Do you think I’ll forget all about it?”
“No I don’t, but being quiet about it would save trouble, that’s all.” Mum’s voice was flat and determined. Jessica looked from her mother to her grandmother and shut her mouth on what she had intended to say. Instead she said, “But that’s not fair! You’re always telling us to be honest. I don’t understand.”
Mum sighed. “Look, Jess, your grandfather has very determined views, as you well know. If you confront him, he just gets more determined. And he makes his views clear for ever. Remember when Billy said that he’d like a new Ford truck when he was about three? And Grandfather lectured him almost continually for a month. Every time he saw him, Grandfather would mention the truck and say what a stupid idea it was. But after awhile, he forgot and in another year, he decided for himself that the property needed a new truck and the Ford looked good. So he bought one.”
“Are you saying that he’ll think my learning to fly is a good idea if I keep quiet about it?”
“Not exactly. Just that you won’t have to put up with him going on and on about it if you don’t mention it again.”
“Besides,” said Grandma, “you’re only nine and lots could happen before you’re old enough for a pilot’s licence.”
“Do you think I’ll change my mind?”
“No, but not making an issue of it will save you a lot of trouble.”
“So, how do I learn then? Nothing will happen if I just wait.” She grabbed a couple of plates without looking and knocked a saucer off the table onto the floor. It broke and the two parts slid away across the wood.
“Ooh, for goodness sake,” her mother snapped. “Just watch what you’re doing. This is the best china, you know. I can’t afford for you to smash it all up.”
“It’s not fair! I just want to be a pilot, that’s all. You’d think it was something difficult, the way you carry on.” She ran out of the room, up the stairs and shut herself in her bedroom. Her announcement had not gone the way she thought it would. She really thought her family would be pleased. And even Dad had not stood up for her. She flung herself across her bedspread, ignoring the house rule of taking her shoes off first and burst into tears.
She never cried for long and soon sat up and wiped her arm over her eyes. She saw no point in being secretive, even if she understood what they said about Grandfather. He nagged something awful whenever he had an opinion. He just wore people down until they did what he wanted. He wasn’t going to have that effect on her. Regardless of what anyone said. She might have been persuaded not to shout her ambition to the skies, but maybe, if she kept quiet, not even Grandfather could tell her what to think. Or dream.
She was going to become a pilot, whatever any of them said. Now all she had to do was work out how to do it.
Chapter Five
Jessica dragged her feet as she came down to tea that evening. She had thought of staying in her room — she wasn’t at all hungry — but she knew someone would come looking for her and she’d be in even more trouble. She was used to being in trouble — as her grandfather said, saving the rod spoiled the child. Not that her parents often hit her — her father wasn’t a great fan of Grandfather’s theory of child rearing — but they believed in discipline. Her mother had been known to swipe her legs with a wooden spoon and Dad had given Billy a few strokes with his leather razor strop but usually they tried other ways, such as more chores or taking away treats. She wondered what she would get for her lunchtime performance.
She went downstairs as slowly as she could, wincing as she walked past the dining room, the scene of the disaster. On Sunday evening they ate in the kitchen, just Mum, Dad and the three children. It was a light meal, after the baked lunch, usually soup and cake for afters. Tonight she slumped into her chair, banging it against the table, face mulish, waiting for someone to say something.
Nobody did. Billy pulled his usual face, tongue out, eyes crossed, kicking the table leg as he picked up his soup spoon and, also as usual, Mum told him to stop it. She was feeding Elspeth mashed something or other and hadn’t even looked at Jessica. Jessica picked up her soup spoon and paddled around the soup for a while. Eventually she tasted it. Vegetable and barley, usually delicious but tonight it was cardboard.
After an age, Dad spoke. “All right, Jess, about lunchtime …”
Jess nearly dropped her spoon as she wailed, “I bet you’re going to give me a lecture too. No one wants me to become a pilot.”
“Oh, do stop talking rubbish. It’s a serious subject and we need to discuss it seriously. If you’re old enough to decide you want to fly, then you’re old enough to look at the subject sensibly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s look at what it would take. For a start, you can’t get a licence for several years. So, what could you do before you can start flying lessons? Is there anything that would help you?”
“How many years?”
“At least six.”
“Oh, that’s not fair. That’s virtually forever. I might as well give up the whole idea.”
“That’s even sillier. You don’t give up if something is hard or takes time, do you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jessica thought for awhile. “I hadn’t thought it would be that long.”
“So, you’re thinking of giving up before you’ve even started, then?”
“Girls can’t be pilots,” Billy snorted, waving his spoon around. “They can’t be anything except housewives. Not like boys!”
Mum took exception to his glee. “I hope you don’t really believe that, Billy, do you? Because if so, I might have to teach you how wrong you are.”
“Grandfather says girls are only good for doing housework and gardening.”
“I doubt that those were his exact words,” added Dad. “I know he’s a bit old fashioned, but he doesn’t say that. What he usually says is that there are jobs for girls that are suitable.” Nobody added that anything interesting, like flying, was not, in his view, “suitable”. Billy looked as if he would like to say something else, but a glare from both parents sent his attention back to his plate.
Jessica went back to the question Dad had asked before Billy butted in. “I’m not giving up.”
“Then what do you want to do next?”
If she had to wait six years before she could take flying lessons, Jessica was not sure what she could do next. She thought for a moment. “I could learn things I’d need. Like, how planes work, and what it takes to get my licence.”
“Yes, that’s not a bad place to start. Do you have any idea what you might need?”
“Um, navigation skills? Being able to fix an engine?” She ran out of ideas.
Mum grinned. “Sewing.”
Jessica looked horrified. “Why?” Sewing was awfully girly and Jessica had resisted being able to do more than sew on a button.
“Most planes have fabric covered wings and bodies and when they need fixing, you might have to sew them. Machine and by hand.”
“Really?” Sewing might not be fun, but she supposed it might be necessary. Dad went off into a dream a
s he chewed some bread. Mum had always said that Dad had his head in the clouds, but luckily his feet remained firmly on the ground. Jessica waited to hear what he was thinking this time.
“For a start, you should keep up your horse riding. That will help with the ‘seat and hands’ that flyers need.” He thought again. Jessica wondered if she should start taking notes. “Then there’s mathematics. And astronomy. And geography.”
“But I hate sums.” She thought with horror of Mr Bates. Erk!
“I know, but you need to be able to calculate all sorts of things. Oh, let’s see. How far you can fly on a tank of petrol. How long it will take to fly from A to B. Angles, lift, drag, geometry, all that sort of thing.” Jessica sighed. Sums were not her favourite subject. But she suspected Dad was right. “And then, you can learn more about planes themselves.”
“How?”
“By seeing how they work and by reading about them.”
“Oh,” said Jessica, thinking that this might be a lot of work.
“Well,” said Mum, spooning some mush into Elspeth’s mouth, “whatever you want to do in life takes effort and there are always things you have to learn. Dad and I will see what we can do to help.”
Billy was ready for cake and bored, especially as no one was paying any attention to him. “Seeing as I’m learning about the farm every day, how about I give up school? I don’t need any of that rubbish to run sheep and wheat.”
Dad laughed. “Nice try, son, but no chance. You need lots of what you learn at school. Like maths. All farms are businesses and you need to be able to add up and plan. You need to calculate how much seed you need, and how much feed for sheep, how much to pay shearers and whether you can afford it. All that, and then there’s learning about soils and wool classing.” Billy shrugged and kept eating.
Girl with Wings Page 2
