“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means, Jess,” said her father, “that if you stayed here for the first three years of secondary school, we could look at boarding school for the two final years.”
“Or,” added her mother, ”you could even go to my old school for those years.”
Jessica wasn’t sure what the difference was, but there were years ahead to worry about it. Besides, she might be able to avoid it altogether. She might be able to talk them into letting her leave school after three years.
“In any case,” said her father, “it would mean we didn’t have to make a decision for ages yet and you could stay here for the time being.”
Jessica didn’t know what to say. After the arguments, she didn’t think they’d cave in. And what about her grandfather? What would he say? And more importantly, what would he do?
“Nothing,” her mother said when she asked. “You’re our child and he can disapprove as much as he likes. We’ll still do what we want.”
So Jessica weathered the storm of comments that came from Grandfather, sure that he couldn’t change anything. That was all she cared about. And snaky remarks from Billy just flowed over her.
The long summer holidays came as a relief. Her future — for the next few years — was decided and she could relax and enjoy herself. There was a lot to look forward to — Christmas, her twelfth birthday in January, long hot days, dips in the dam and a few good books to read. And Mr McCutcheon of course. And maybe even some more planes to meet.
And after her birthday, Mum and all the kids were going off to spend a couple of weeks with her other grandparents in Sydney. Grandfather Douglas was a headmaster and the family lived in Glebe, close to the centre of the city. There were buses to take them down to Circular Quay, where they could ride ferries anywhere on the harbour, although they nearly always went to Manly, their favourite, with its long white beach on the ocean side and a smaller bay near the ferry terminal. And it would be lovely seeing gruff Grandfather Douglas, with his “By the Lord Harry!” and his soft heart and to bask in the tart affection of her grandmother. Bliss!
And she wouldn’t have to worry about going off to boarding school for at least three years.
Chapter Eighteen
On Monday, 1 February, Jessica returned to school. The day began like any other school day. She found herself in a group of six students who sometimes had lessons with the other ten students in the year, and sometimes had classes alone. It was an odd group — many of the students who had shared her sixth class lessons had left school. None of the ‘over the river’ Aborigines were there nor the couple of children who’d often come to school in bare feet. There were four boys (including Johnny) and two girls — herself and Molly.
With such a small group, none of them could escape the teacher’s eye — and for the first time, they would have different teachers for each subject. She was just getting used to the changes when the day gave them all something else to think about.
It started as a normal summer’s day — hot, dry and with a clear blue sky. But as the day wore on, the sun was gradually obscured by a haze that at first they all thought was clouds. Rain would be nice, moisten the soils, fill the dams and take the heat out of the day. But it didn’t look like clouds and gradually the whole sky grew dark.
To the southwest it was almost black and the winds were strong enough to take the tops off trees, which bent and whipped. The students lost all interest in their books and kept watching outside, wondering what was happening. Molly giggled, which she did whenever she was worried and clasped the hand of Brian, who was, she’d said with a flounce of the head and a self satisfied smile, her boyfriend.
Jessica looked at her with dislike. Once upon a time Molly had been fun, but these days she was a complete pain; a giggly, silly girly kind of girl. Right now she was the last person in the world you’d want to have in an emergency. She was more likely to have hysterics than help with anything.
The teachers looked up at the roof, worried about the tin, which was rattling loudly enough to cover their voices. Classes stopped and everyone focused on the weather, wondering what was happening. Then from the west came a wind that carried everything in its path. A few clouds dropped hail and rain in short bursts, but it was the wind which caused the problems. Small branches, leaves, rubbish, sticks, parts of fences and some roof iron, all were swept up in it.
From the school, the students could see it coming.
“I must get home,” yelled one over the noise.
But it was too late for that — leaving the shelter of the building was likely to be more dangerous than staying put. So they stood and watched as the debris formed into a funnel that grew in both size and intensity as it came closer to the centre of the town.
Jessica thought first of home — in her mind she imagined all the things that could be damaged. She only hoped everyone was safe. Then she thought of the aeroplanes. That day she knew there were several tied down in the field beside the airstrip. If only they had a decent hangar! But even if they did, the planes might not be safe in there, especially if the roof lifted.
It was too noisy to speak, so they all just stood and watched. Watched and waited. Listened to the shriek of the wind, the crashing of small debris carried up into the air by the funnel, terrified of what it would feel like if it caught the school buildings.
“Strewth, it’s a bloody tornado!” Johnny yelled in her ear. Swirling, whipping everything in sight it came on the town like an avenging army, clearing everything in its path. It bypassed the school, swerved and gathered strength as it continued.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
The wind died down, the funnel travelled east and began to collapse, slowing, dropping all sorts of debris in its path. The shriek diminished and Jessica could hear herself think. I must get home soon, she thought. To check on the family. And then check on the planes.
Everyone was so devastated by the experience that they just pretended to work for the rest of the day, hurrying out of the building at the first sign that classes were over.
Jessica rushed home, peddling her bike as fast as she could. Everywhere she saw signs of the tornado. Torn trees, broken fences, hunks of roof iron, some terracotta tiles, washing from lines and a lot of things she could not recognise. It was amazing that so much damage could be done in such a short time.
Her heart was thumping as she raced into Argyle Station. She could see a swathe of damage, but everything else seemed to have escaped. One of the houses had part of the roof hanging down, a few trees were uprooted, fences were damaged. She breathed again. It did not look too bad. She ran up the front stairs and burst into the house, yelling “Mum, Mum!”
“In here, Jess” her mother’s voice came from the kitchen so she headed there to see her mother and Auntie Velia sitting at the table with Mr Gibson and a bowl of red water beside them.
“What’s happened?”
“Not much,” said Mum. “Mr Gibson got cut by some iron as he was making sure the gates were tied properly.”
“How bad?”
“A scratch only,” said Mr Gibson. “It just needs a good clean and a bandage and I’ll be good as new.”
“Is everyone else all right?”
“Yes, apart from Elspeth, who was so scared she yelled herself nearly blue.”
“But she’s all right now?”
“Yes, I put her to bed with some hot milk. She’ll sleep for awhile, I suspect.”
“Oh,” said Jessica.
“Should I get the kettle?”
“What for?”
“So we can all have a cup of tea. I’m dying of thirst.”
As she put out cups, Billy burst in, his eyes alight with excitement, rattling on about all the things he’d seen. When he saw Mr Gibson’s bandage, he wanted to know everything. But when told, he was disappointed. “I’d hoped for more blood.”
But after tea, Jessica couldn’t wait any longer. She just had to go to the aerodrome to s
ee what damage was there. The edge of the tornado had caught the wings of two planes, ripping them and breaking the struts. One of them was Mr Grahame’s Gipsy Moth. “It’s not much damage,” said Mr Grahame. “Looks a lot worse than it is. I’ll need to rebuild wings and put in new struts. Take a bit of time, but it’ll be right.”
“Can I help?” asked Jessica, thinking it was about time she learned about the bodies of planes as well as their engines.
“That would be a great benefit, girlie.” Jessica winced at being called girlie — maybe she could cure him of that — but she was thrilled at the idea of helping to rebuild the planes.
“Oh, thank you. When do you want to start?” Right now, apparently, so she helped him lift a few mangled pieces and make sure the rest of the plane was safe for the time being. Real renovation was due to start the next day. So, she could add ‘learning to build a plane’ to the list she kept in her diary.
If she could only begin to fly one.
Chapter Nineteen
Narromine, April/May 1932
Jessica looked up from her calendar. “Only five days to go now,” she informed her family, as though she hadn’t been telling them on a daily basis. “Then it will be the Show and Mr Butler. And then at the end of May, Smithy comes to Narromine!”
“And no school!” Billy’s priorities were clear. His broken leg had mended and he was now itching for the kind of active mischief his imagination could conjure.
Dad glowered, trying to see what might be in his mind. Mum was preoccupied. “Yes, and that means I’ve only got five days to get everything ready for the Show.”
“What are you entering this year?” asked Dad, who had avoided the details for months.
“Well, the jams are all ready; I’ve just got to put on some labels. The fruitcakes are wrapped in the pantry. What I’ve still got to do are the flowers and vegetables and the sponge cakes.”
“Simple,” said Dad. “Do you need any help?”
“Jessica can give me a hand, now she’s finished her term exams.” Jessica didn’t hear. Her mind had travelled into a vision of Mr Butler’s new Puss Moth.
“You will, won’t you Jess?” said Dad.
“Will what?”
“Give your Mum a hand with the Show entries.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I’ve finished schoolwork for the term.” She didn’t add that she still intended to work on engines and the last finishing touches for Mr Grahame’s Gipsy Moth, slowly recovering from its disastrous experience during the tornado.
Jessica had learned more about the aerodynamics through working on her. The wing took considerable effort; carpentry, attaching it to the plane, ensuring all the struts and wires were in the right places — and at the right angles — and that everything was strong enough to take the weight of the plane in the air. Her poor sewing skills had improved with the fabric covering, despite nausea from the horrible cellulose nitrate sizing glue.
She thought about nothing else except the Puss Moth for the next few days, her mind off with the plane when she should have been helping her mother.
“Jessica, the word jam is a simple one — you really shouldn’t be able to misspell it, surely!” Her mother was getting increasingly exasperated.
“Sorry, Mum.” She paid more attention to the flowers and vegetables, as she chatted with Mr Gibson, selecting those that seemed to be the best examples. The roses were particularly good that year and Mum had entered several different types. The potatoes, pumpkins and carrots were all examined for smooth skin, symmetrical shapes and rejected if they had any blemishes.
Her mind still on her favourite obsession, Jessica said, “Mr Gibson, will you teach me about living off the land?”
“What on earth for, Missie?”
“Well, it’s like this. If I ever crash in a plane — like Smithy did — and get stuck somewhere for ages, I don’t want to die because I’m too stupid to work out how to eat and drink.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. What do you want to know?”
“It’s like those early explorers, you see. Many of them perished in land that Aborigines had survived on forever.”
“If you’re talking about the type of bush tucker the natives live on, I don’t know nothing about that.”
“But you lived rough for years before you came here, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t really live off the land, you know, apart from catching rabbits. I c’n scrounge a bit, but mostly I got basic supplies from farms and houses in return for a job or two.”
“So, what can you do?”
“I c’n make a damper and cook bush stew from anything available.”
“What about finding water?”
“Mine usually came from a tank, only occasionally from a river or stream.”
“Oh well, I s’pose I can make do with learning how to cook things out of doors, make a fire and that. Can you teach me?”
“Yes, if you want.”
“Deal,” said Jessica, holding out her grubby hand to shake his.
Mr Gibson had become a fixture, since he’d been employed ‘for the summer’. He turned out to have many useful skills. Her father told her that before he went off to war he’d been a carpenter with a wife and young family. When he came home, wounded, he had trouble finding work. And then his family had all died in the terrible ‘flu epidemic of 1919. So Mr Gibson took to the road, and by the time he arrived in Narromine, he was probably ready — as her father said — to take up living again.
Apart from Grandfather, everyone on Argyle Station had accepted him. He mended broken equipment, helped out here and there, as well as doing much of the work of Mum’s market garden. He even made things like dolls’ houses, bookcases and toy trucks for the children.
The first day of the Show, Jessica and Dad set out early. Jessica was going to work for Mr Butler, taking money and making lists of those wanting a joy flight in the Puss Moth. ‘Work’ was the right word — Jessica was not going to help Mr Butler, she was going to be rewarded by a free flight in the Puss Moth. She’d rather have the flight than money any day.
Dad dropped her off at the showground and she headed towards the plane, stopping on the way to get a good look at it. Mr Butler was now working for De Havilland Aircraft Company and the Puss Moth was the latest model cabin machine, a high wing monoplane, capable of carrying two passengers at once. It was much bigger than his little Comper Swift, which could fit into a small garage if the wings were folded. And, what’s more, HRH the Prince of Wales owned a Moth just like it.
Mr Butler was already fending off fascinated viewers, many of whom wanted to touch the machine as well as look. “Jess,” he whispered, “quick, it’s lovely to see you but d’you reckon you could start taking names and money for the flights? I’ll start losing bits of the plane to souvenir hunters if I don’t get it into the air soon.”
Jessica laughed, “Sure, is that the table? And the box for the money? Right, I’ll begin.” She stuck two fingers in her mouth and issued a piercing whistle, which caught the attention of the gawkers. “Step up, step up, all those who want to fly in this wonderful Puss Moth, your names and your money here please!”
She was swamped and spent the next hour trying to get names in order, sort change and persuade people to go away and come back later. Dad limped over with a drink and fruit at morning teatime and gave the results of her mother’s entries in the Show competitions. Jessica had forgotten all about them.
“Four firsts, five highly commended and a couple of seconds. She’s pleased.”
“Congratulate her for me, Dad,” Jessica responded absent-mindedly and went back to her job.
At lunchtime, Dad had arranged someone to take her place and he took her around the showground. She had a quick look at the pavilion, so she could tell Mum she’d seen her entries, then watched a few school friends lining up for the rides. Boring! She’d rather go up in a plane any day.
Billy was spied engrossed in the performance outside the boxing tent. Sharman’s
Boxing Troupe, with its insistent drumbeat and spruiking, attracted men and boys in droves, but few women. Jessica always thought men hitting each other for fun extremely silly.
For the rest of the day, she sat on a folding chair in the dust, as Mr Butler took up one group after another, taxiing off and flying up and around, giving them a good look at the town, and then circling in to land. Then doing it all over again. Even though planes had been coming to Narromine and taking people for flights for about ten years now, it was still an adventure, and with every new plane, the people came back again to see how this one differed from the last, how much bigger it was, whether it flew higher or faster. Almost all the Aero Club members wandered over and booked a flight.
When at last flights stopped for the day, Mr Butler thanked Jessica and said, “Soon we’ll be carrying mail and real passengers, not just joy flyers. I’m looking forward to that.”
Chapter Twenty
Jessica wasn’t the only tired one that night. Billy was exhausted after rushing around the exhibits, going on rides and trying out every car and tractor on display, not to mention cheering on fighters in the boxing tent. His head drooped into his plate before they could get him to shut up. Elspeth was almost asleep after spending her time watching the animals and eating too much. Her parents were tired from having the Show on top of their normal work. They all finished eating in silence and went to bed early.
The next day, the Show continued, but only Jessica went. Today she was going up in the Puss Moth with Mr Butler. Every moment of the morning dragged. The joy flyers were a nuisance, handling the money was boring and the time — oh, the time had slowed to a crawl. She counted the flights up, every one closer to her own turn. Each flight seemed to take longer and longer. She could hardly wait for the landing plane to come to a halt, or for the passengers to climb out.
She was twitching with impatience by the time her turn eventually came. Mr Butler gave her a tired grin, as she climbed into the first passenger seat. He’d been doing this now for two days. And he still had several stops in country NSW to go. Jessica sympathised with him for a moment and then her excitement took over. “How fast can this go?”
Girl with Wings Page 7
