The point was that she did not want to leave Narromine.
If she left, she’d have to abandon her flying ambitions and she would be years behind with her plans. She knew she could come home in the holidays, but it wouldn’t be enough. She knew that she could not matriculate at Narromine, an event her parents insisted upon, but she didn’t care about that either. She didn’t see that she needed matriculation.
She just wanted to stay near the aerodrome and keep learning about flying. So far, she had learned how to strip down an engine, clean it and put it back together — so it worked. Her small fingers were particularly suited for sparkplugs. She knew the sounds healthy engines made and could diagnose — and fix — many of the problems that plagued them. She could find her way around by night — using the stars — and by day — using a compass.
She’d helped out at the second Narromine air pageant, where they let her do more than the previous year. It had been a bit of a disappointment, however, as Major de Havilland and his death drops had not been there. Neither had Charles Kingsford Smith (‘Smithy’), whom she’d seen but never met. Last time he was in town, she’d been at school. And with the Depression, fewer people could afford to come.
She’d also been trying very hard with her mathematics. She’d gritted her teeth, studied and even passed well. But some days she wondered what on earth the people who came up with the weights and measures thought they were doing. Perches. Gills. Acres. Ounces and pints. And then there were pounds, shillings and pence. Multiplying and dividing any of these was a complete pain. And it all took such a long time to learn, when all she really wanted was to get in a plane and begin flying.
Chapter Fifteen
Narromine, November-December 1931
Sitting at her school desk, Jessica sighed. She was supposed to be trying to learn poems, but none of them compared with the sheer poetry of seeing the world from the air, the odd shapes and patterns that roads and rivers made, feeling the cold air whip past her face, hearing the buzzing of the engine in front. Her twitching attracted the attention of the boy behind, who poked her in the back and hissed, “Keep still, I’m working here.” She pulled a face at her unread page.
Gazing out the window, she dropped her pencil on the wooden desktop. Something had to be done or in two months she would be off to Sydney and spend the next five years miles from the nearest airport. The question was what?
At lunchtime, Johnny Lee came up to her. “What’s up with you? You’ve been like a bear with two sore heads for weeks.” She still didn’t like him much, but at least Johnny might understand, which was more than could be said of the girls she’d been friendly with since kindergarten. Susan and Molly were more interested in boys and wedding dresses (Weddings? They weren’t even 12 yet!) than school anyway, and didn’t understand Jessica’s passion for aeroplanes. “I’m supposed to go to boarding school next year and I don’t want to.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“So, what are you doing next year?”
“Staying here, of course. My family’s not into boarding schools.”
“So, they’re not pushing you to go to year five?”
“Not really, but if I want to be an engineer I’m going to need more schooling than I can get here.”
“Yeah,” said Jessica, resuming her daydream. She wished she knew how to convince her family she had to stay in Narromine. She’d die if she had to give up her dreams for five whole years. It might as well be eternity. Somehow she had to find an answer.
Then Arthur Butler came and Jessica grew even more determined to get her own way, through some kind of action rather than by just worrying. Butler, described by the local newspaper as “the gallant little Australian airman”, had just broken the England to Australia flying record in one of the smallest planes in the world. He was well known in the region and when he landed at Darwin and received Mr Bowden Fletcher’s telegram inviting him to Narromine, he said he’d already decided that was where he was going. Narromine was in an ideal position. Not only was it flat with a good airstrip and always had aeroplane fuel, but the distances made it a convenient stop between Darwin and Sydney. For that reason, many of the long distance flyers stopped there on their way to Sydney.
The newspaper commented: “How different from Grab-all Amy Johnson.” In May 1930, Britain’s “wonderful Amy”, Miss Johnson had been the first woman to fly solo from Britain to Australia. Her arrival in Sydney was greeted by thousands of cheering fans but the Narromine aviation buffs felt snubbed by her refusal to stop there on the way.
Mr Butler’s ‘little blue bird’ touched down just before six o’clock on Saturday 14 November and the crowds gathered, excited by the plane and its pilot. What the locals called the “big D”, the Depression, had taken a stronghold on the town, and people were eager for good news and free entertainment.
Jessica was there with the rest, not sure which she wanted to see first, the plane or Mr Butler. The plane was a tiny new English type, a Comper Swift R, which she badly wanted to see up close. While the crowds thinned enough to let her through, she listened to the comments from those nearby, as various Aero Club members rattled off the dimensions and details of the small engine.
Apparently its seven pistons, running at high revolutions, allowed the engine to operate with “complete absence of vibrations”, which if true, Jessica found impressive. She saw Mr Butler from a distance, but there were far too many people milling around for her to have a chance to speak to him. It probably didn’t matter as she was going to the dinner at the Federal Hotel that night, as it was Saturday.
Sitting beside her father at the testimonial dinner, she picked at her meal as she listened, enthralled, to the aviator’s tale of his journey. After leaving England on 30 October, the flight had gone smoothly until he was blown off course in Italy and had to land at Naples in the dark.
“… but the little bus did splendidly and with the help of Providence — nothing else — I came down safely. I was soon surrounded by excited Italians, none of whom spoke English. Eventually a young girl, who could, got me out of the difficulty.”
In Naples, he’d been warned to guard his plane, but was dragged away to be feted by the locals. “I flew over Brindisi and tried both magnetos separately and found one wasn’t working. I landed, then discovered that the distributor had been tampered with while the machine was in Naples, and cunningly fixed so the magnetos worked all right separately, but with constant vibration, the distributor ring was liable to fall off at any minute. Fortunately, only one had been tampered with.”
He had problems in Athens, as the oil company meeting him had not been informed, then hit a storm over the Aegean Sea and had to learn ‘blind flying’ in a hurry.
He flew over an Arab caravan outside Baghdad, missed an aerodrome, met more violent weather over Calcutta and was relieved to land safely at Darwin. He thought that, without interference with the engine in Naples, he could do the journey in seven days.
“Golly,” Jessica whispered to her father. “If he can do it in seven days in that tiny machine, it won’t be long before other planes can make the trip even faster.”
After dinner, a civic reception was held, in Railway Square, beside the Soldiers’ Monument. The Mayor puffed himself up as he spoke to the crowd. Jessica’s father had been overheard calling him a bumptious galah — Jessica could see what he meant. He spoke as though he was personally responsible for the wonderful airmen this small country had produced. Not only were the first men to fly from England to Australia Australian, he said, but Australia had Bert Hinkler too. “And all our gallant feats were not accomplished by airmen either. For instance, we have Don Bradman, the greatest cricketer in the world.”
Amid loud cheers, a voice yelled out “And Phar Lap,” and the audience roared.
After the reception, Jessica was introduced to Mr Butler. He was a small neat man, with a brush of dark hair and tired eyes. He smiled at Jessica as though, she thought, she was an equal. “I hear,” he said, “y
ou want to be a pilot.”
Jessica nodded and asked, “Are people going to fly that route faster than you did?”
“Definitely and then we can make a case to fly mail and passengers because it’s so much faster than by sea.”
“One day I hope to earn my living as a pilot.”
He did not laugh at her, although it was a reaction she’d already experienced several times. “Then, as long as you keep working at it, you’ll be one. There are women pilots out there, doing as well as the men. I look forward to flying with you one day.”
Jessica went home that night, determined that nothing was going to stop her. She knew that if she went to that Sydney boarding school, she would never meet people like Mr Butler or get to spend time with planes, and she’d be ancient before she had a chance to learn to fly.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day was Sunday and the usual family dinner after church. She had not intended to raise the subject. Truly, she hadn’t. But Grandfather began to refer to her going to Sydney at the end of January and, without really thinking, she said, “I don’t know that I will.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could swallow them. She knew exactly what would come next, because, even if Grandfather’s sight was getting worse, there was nothing wrong with his hearing. And now the words were out, she would have to weather the squall. It was not pleasant. Her parents, as was their usual policy, said very little. Despite her grandfather’s view that whatever happened within the family was his to control, her parents thought that bringing up their children was their business. So, like her grandmother, they often nodded and smiled and went their own way. As her mother said, “He is not their father.”
Grandfather carried on about Jessica’s duty, as one of the Mackay family, to be educated like a lady, to learn all the womanly arts and skills she would need as a wife and mother. And which she would not get at that local school, a public school where all the riffraff went and where the people she would mix with were not the sort of people he wanted her to spend her life with.
Typical, thought Jessica — he didn’t care anything for the type of people she might want to know. And so on. And so on. Jessica took a deep breath, bit her lip and said nothing further; just let him rave on, while she ate. Perhaps she was learning — what did her parents call it — ‘discretion’? To her side, she could see Billy smirking as he listened — he wasn’t stupid enough to say anything though. She kicked him in the leg, but it was the leg still in plaster and he nearly choked as she widened her eyes in pain. Brothers!
At a few comments she raised her chin and just looked at Grandfather but, as usual, he didn’t notice anyone else’s reactions. Just then her father made a strange choking noise and abruptly left the room, to return a couple of minutes later with a bowl of cream and a suspiciously damp look around his eyes.
Jessica endured in silence until her grandparents left and then stomped into the kitchen to help her mother with the dishes. Her father followed her and much to her surprise, burst out laughing.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” her mother snapped, as she poured a kettle of hot water into the sink.
“Well,” he answered, his voice still choking slightly. “I’d never realised how alike Dad and Jessica are. There they were, on either side of the table, chins up at the same angle and looking more like twin stone heads by the minute.”
“I am not,” said Jessica.
“You are, you know, in some ways. You’re both obstinate and when you put your chins up like that, you can tell you’re related. I’d never seen it before. That’s all.”
“Well,” added her mother, “if what you said at lunch is true, you’ll need every bit of stubbornness you might have inherited from him.”
“Is it, Jess? True? You really don’t want to go to school in Sydney?”
“Of course not. I’d be miles from any airport and with no way to get there. Here I’ve got weekends and after school, but there I’d have nothing. Can’t I stay here?”
Her mother took a deep breath as her parents looked at each other. “Look, I don’t agree with your grandfather about public schools. As you know. But the local school finishes after three years post primary. There’s no hope of a proper secondary education or matriculating.”
“But I don’t want to go to university anyway.”
“Regardless. I still want you to get a full education of five years high school. I won’t compromise on that.”
Jessica looked back at them, realising that if she were determined, so were they.
Over the last couple of years, she had grown into what her grandmother called “a yard of pump water”, as tall as her mother but gangly. Her light brown eyes and dark brows gave her a ferocious scowl when she was concentrating, one she wore now. “I just want to be a pilot.”
“Yes,” her mother said dryly, “we know. But you still need proper schooling and I’m not sure you can get it here. Boarding school might be fun. Perhaps you could give it a go?”
“Not if it’s anything like the stories they print. They’re all full of girls who want everyone to be like them. All jolly hockey sticks and Girl Guides. Every time someone different arrives, the book’s all about how she learns to fit in. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Don’t you get any of that at Narromine?” Mum asked.
“Not any more — we’ve all known each other since we were five, so if someone teases you, you know how to annoy them back. If I went somewhere else, I’d have to waste ages learning about everyone all over again.”
“Nevertheless …” began her father. Jessica’s anger at being told what to do with her life bubbled over. It was her life! They weren’t going to have to live it!
“I hate you. If you send me to that boarding school in Sydney, I’ll run away. You can’t make me!” yelled Jessica, running to her room and flinging herself on the bed. But she knew they could make her. As she watched the light from the window flicker across the ceiling, she wondered what to do next. She knew she had made a big mistake. She hadn’t handled the announcement well. She had not handled the discussion with her parents sensibly. She hadn’t done any of it right.
She was going to have to begin again. And although her father had found her the place with Mr McCutcheon and the Aero Club, and generally supported her desire to be a pilot, it was time she took her future into her own hands ... and didn’t rely on her parents to come up with a solution. Besides, she knew they had mixed feelings. They wanted her to be happy, but they also wanted her to have a good education. And her mother, at least, worried about her being a pilot. “It’s not a very safe career,” Jessica overheard her say to her father.
In the next few weeks she would finish primary school and soon it would be too late to do anything about changing schools. So what could she do?
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning at school, she considered which teachers might be helpful. Her class teacher was all right, but she wasn’t sure he’d be much use. Her best chance might be to go to the headmaster and just ask for advice. He could only tell her to go away. But then maybe he wouldn’t.
At the beginning of recess, she knocked on his door. “May I see you, sir?”
Mr Barrett nodded. “What’s this about, Jessica?” He was an imposing man, not as tall as her father, but with the skill of appearing larger than life and powerful when he stood in front of the students. He looked over his glasses at her in a way that made him look as if he was looking down his nose. He fiddled with a pen, his hands, she noticed, red and pudgy.
The one disadvantage of staying in Narromine was that her parents knew all the teachers — and the teachers knew her parents. Nothing remained a secret. “I was wondering about staying here next year …” she began, and went on to tell him about the proposed school in Sydney, why she didn’t want to go and why her parents wanted her to. At the end of her rushed explanation, he nodded, and swung his chair around to look out the window.
Swinging
back, he said, “Parents do know what’s best for their children. Can I think about it and let you know later?” Jessica nodded, sure that he would take their side. So that was useless. She’d have to think of something else.
Nothing happened that day or the next, or for that matter, for over a week. She was right; old Barrett was useless. And school was nearly finished for the year.
But then the next Wednesday, after dinner, when she had gone to her room to study some aerial map reading, her parents called her down to the lounge room. Mr Barrett was sitting there, drinking a cup of tea.
Jessica stopped at the door, her face flushing. He’d sneaked on her! He was worse then useless.
“Sit down, Jess,” said her father, “I want you to listen to what Mr Barrett’s got to say.”
Shooting him a worried glance, she did. Shivers, she’d be in trouble later. “With the Depression, a couple of things have changed. More children are leaving at the end of primary school. And also parents who’d have sent their children away to boarding school can’t afford that now, so they’re letting them stay on here.
“Some of these children would have matriculated, but at present Narromine is a super primary - so it doesn’t offer that. And there’s no chance of that changing as far as I can see. So the teachers have been talking and we decided to give children who wanted to go on, like you, some extra help. Most of the teachers have worked at one-teacher schools and are used to having classes with mixed levels or abilities.
“It seems likely we’ll have a small group of students who want to go to Year Five so we’ll try to give them a grounding that would allow them to finish their schooling somewhere else where they could matriculate.”
Jessica looked at her parents to see if they understood this. Her mother looked a bit tight about the lips, but smiled at her.
Girl with Wings Page 6
