But you could count on Johnny not to gloat. Her brother Billy would have rubbed his ‘superiority’ in for weeks. Johnny smiled at her as though he knew how she was feeling and was sorry she was not first. So, taking a deep breath, Jessica smiled back and waited her turn, impatiently, watching the little Moth flip and circle above her, listening to the notes of the engine, and considering whether she could hear or see anything not quite right. She fitted the leather helmet over her hair, covering her ears to keep out the cold winds, and fixed the goggles on top, and she waited — and waited — for the plane to come to a stop. Her feet jiggled and her hands twitched. Nothing had ever taken so long! What were they doing?
“Goodness me, girlie. What have you got on your feet?” Mr Grahame hadn’t hurried getting himself and Johnny out of the machine. He ambled across to Jessica. Why did he do everything so slowly and carefully? She looked down as her grubby white canvas shoes, flushed and held her chin up, “Mr Swoffer says you should wear canvas shoes so you can feel the rudder and not slip,” she responded.
Mr Grahame grinned, “Good idea.” Still slightly pink, she climbed up into the front seat and settled herself while Mr Grahame positioned the machine for takeoff. Her legs were shaky and her hands sweating with anticipation. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she made a mistake and Mr Grahame would never let her have another go? What if she turned out to be no good at flying? What if — if — she failed so badly she crashed the plane? She spoke to herself severely and counted to twenty while Mr Grahame pointed the plane down the strip.
The lift-off was smooth and soon they were high enough for Jessica to take the controls. After all the waiting, the time was suddenly here. Mr Grahame had a radio to communicate with the passenger (apparently his mother-in-law had demanded it) and used this now to instruct Jessica. She took the joystick in her right hand and placed her feet firmly on the rudder. Then she tentatively moved the stick sideways and felt the plane lurch to the left ... sorry, port … much too far, or fast or something. So she grabbed the stick tightly with sweaty hands and tried to remember Mr Grahame’s advice. Smoothly, gently, he said.
So she deliberately relaxed her fingers and tried a smoother movement. This time she forgot what she was doing with her feet and felt the starboard wing drop. Damn! She took a deep breath and tried again, this time slower. It still jerked a bit and she found it hard to keep the machine on an even keel.
She tried once again, carefully noting how far she needed to move the stick to alter what the plane was doing. It still jerked and she had to make her movements smaller. She experimented with the rudder as well and soon managed to move the plane left and right, and up and down. Then, with Mr Grahame encouraging her, she manoeuvred the plane in a circle then straightened up and circled again until they were in line with the landing strip. The wings still dipped slightly and she had to work hard to keep everything in line.
But gradually everything began to feel more comfortable. She circled twice more and then flew west for a bit, turned and came back. By this time, the stick and rudder responded to her smaller movements and the plane obeyed her smoothly. Now she was grinning widely, her tongue gripped between her teeth as she concentrated. Then she felt the plane buck beneath her, not obeying her instructions at all. Her hands grew slippery and her heart pounded. What on earth should she do next? She knew she had to stop her mind from panicking, but apart from that, she was a blank.
“It’s an air pocket, girlie, nothing to worry about,” came Mr Grahame’s voice. “No, just hold tightly and move with the plane, not against it. If you drop too far, you’ll need to lift, but otherwise, think of it like a horse that you’re riding and don’t panic.”
Easy for him to say. He knew what he was doing. Take a deep breath, Jessica and concentrate. She pulled her brain back from panic mode and tried to follow Mr Grahame’s advice. Relaxing her hands and feet and slowly moving the stick and rudder, smoothly, so there were no jerks. Then she thought about where they were — the plane had dropped only about three feet, so very gently she pulled the stick towards her and persuaded the nose to lift. Within a minute, everything was smooth again and the plane was following exactly what Jessica wanted it to do.
Her heart slowed and she swallowed. It had worked! She had handled an air pocket. And not panicked — much.
“Good,” came Mr Grahame’s voice.
This time as they flew towards the aerodrome, Mr Grahame told her he would take over and land the plane. She was very disappointed to give up the controls but listened carefully as Mr Grahame explained what he was doing to bring the plane to a smooth stop. Soon, she might be allowed to do that herself. The propeller continued whirling after they pulled up and Jessica took a moment to pat the joystick before she reluctantly climbed down to the ground.
Johnny was watching her, a quizzical look on his face. “Well?”
“Well, it was all right, I suppose,” but her face gave her away. She was grinning, eyes dancing, as Mr Grahame came towards them. “Oh, Mr Grahame, it was wonderful. When can I do it again?”
Chapter Twenty Four
Sydney January 1933
Jessica and her family were on their usual two weeks holiday in Sydney, when the news came that Bert Hinkler was missing. It was announced on the radio just before dinnertime. Everyone had been to Manly for the day and Jessica’s legs still felt as though the sea was washing past them, her toes curled in sand. Elspeth had a couple of new freckles on her nose and Billy was pink as a baby lobster. The day had been great, but the news put a damper on everyone’s spirits, especially Jessica’s.
“Australia’s Bert Hinkler is reported as missing somewhere in Europe. He left England a week ago on his way home to Australia and was expected to touch down in France or Italy by now. The fact that no one has heard from him has raised concern in flying circles, both here and in Europe.”
Bert (Herbert John Louis) Hinkler was Mr Grahame’s favourite pilot and Mr Grahame had added much to Jessica’s knowledge during the long hours working on the Gipsy Moth. Johnny, the would-be engineer, hung onto Mr Grahame’s every word about Hinkler, because he was an inventor of flying machines, as well as a pilot.
When he disappeared, he was on his way back from England, to work in Australia. After she heard the news, Jessica couldn’t leave the house for days. Mum took the other children out several times, but Jessica wanted to stay home in case there was news of Hinkler. “The news won’t change because you can’t hear it,” her mother said. That might be true, but Jessica didn’t feel that way. She was sure if she stayed by the radio, then the news would be good.
At first, nobody had looked for him because he had always turned up before. The governments of France, Switzerland and Italy sent out search parties. He was still missing when the time came to return to Narromine. School was starting and she had to go. Waiting to hear the fate of Hinkler was hardly an excuse. Months went by without news.
Then in the northern spring, when the snows melted on the high Apennine Mountains in Italy, Hinkler’s body was found. He had always said that he would not be found in his plane if he were still alive. When they found him he had been lying in a hollow without his helmet, as though when the weather improved he would go back to the plane and try to get help or repair it.
He was buried in Italy in a solemn funeral, with full military honours. There were flags and flowers along the way to Florence where his body lay in state at the Aero Club, guarded by Italian soldiers and airmen while the crowds passed. In the night, aeroplanes soared overhead and bands played as the funeral procession moved slowly through the streets to Bert Hinkler’s last resting ground.
When Jessica heard of his death, she cried. Flyers had been killed all over the world, but none of them was more careful of themselves or their machines than Bert Hinkler. It was not only Hinkler that she mourned, but also his dream, that flying was safe. If Hinkler could die in a plane crash, then anyone could.
“What’s up, Jess?” Dad asked one evening shortly after
school went back. “You’ve been a bit down in the mouth since the holidays. Is it this business with Bert Hinkler?”
“I suppose so,” she answered slowly. “It’s just that I’ve heard of people dying in plane crashes, but it all seemed in the past. I guess I’ve just realised that becoming a pilot might be a bit more dangerous than I thought.”
“It is dangerous, but probably no more than driving on the roads. Most of the people who’ve died in plane crashes seem to have been pushing the limits — their own and the plane’s; trying to prove something; trying to set a record.”
“But Hinkler wasn’t — he was just flying home to Australia. He knew the route, he knew his plane. He wasn’t even trying to go fast. And Hinkler never took risks, everyone knew that. So if Hinkler could die, anyone could.”
“Anyone could die any day, Jess. Life’s not guaranteed. Look at Mr Gibson’s family. He got home more or less safe after four years of war and they just died in a flu epidemic. People die of diseases every day. They die in accidents. Planes are probably no worse.”
“But I’ve never really thought about that before, I suppose. I’ve just thought how lovely it would be up in the air, floating on wings.”
“Well, stick to that dream, but it won’t hurt you to be aware that there’s more to flying.”
“All right,” but Jessica was quiet for the rest of the day. If Hinkler was only mortal, so was she. And planes really were fragile — sometimes she even wondered how they could fly, with nothing to hold them up. She knew about aerodynamics … well, a bit about it … but some days the physics was hard to believe. All that air. And gravity. The miraculous dream of flight was also a possible nightmare.
Chapter Twenty Five
Narromine, May 1934
“Dad, Dad!” Jessica flung her case onto the floor and skidded to a stop. Her father was nowhere to be seen. If she had thought even for a second, she would have known that. It was too early for him to be back from work. She couldn’t wait, so she raced out to the paddock and leapt on Cabbage bareback and pushed the poor horse faster than he wanted towards the field where Jessica could see dust rising in a red puff.
Sure enough, there was Dad on the tractor, so she waved and yelled until he noticed her and then waited — and waited — until he drove slowly towards her. “What’s up, Jess?” He was frowning, looking worried.
She supposed that she didn’t do this sort of thing often, usually waiting until dinnertime to talk. “No, Dad, it’s not some disaster. Everything’s all right. It’s just that I’ve heard that Mr Butler’s got the mail route, and maybe, Narromine will be one of the stops. Had you heard?”
“No, I hadn’t.” He didn’t add that he was going to an Aero Club meeting that night and would no doubt hear the news then. Even if exciting, it would wait. For everyone except Jessica, that is. “Anyway, love, it’s great news. How about you let me finish off here and we’ll talk about it later?”
Jessica nodded. She felt better about waiting — now she’d told someone — and Dad could be trusted to talk later. He wouldn’t forget. Either that, or he knew she wouldn’t let him. Over dinner, he asked her, “How did you hear so soon?”
“I ran into Mr Fletcher on my way home from school and he told me. And he asked if I’d like to help him with some final paperwork over the holidays. They’re hoping Narromine will be named one of the stops, but they still need to do some persuading.”
Mr Fletcher was not one to leave anything to chance. He wouldn’t nag exactly, just keep reminding the powers that be in the hope he’d get what he wanted. “So, can I help him, over the holidays?”
“Of course, as long as you don’t forget you need to give your mother a hand as well.” Jessica winced. School holidays might be a break from school but the family seemed to think she should fit in all the other learning they deemed important. Like ‘womanly’ pastimes, as Grandfather called them. Some she didn’t mind too much. A bit of cooking would come in useful. So would growing vegetables, well, maybe. But washing! That was the absolute pits. The weekly wash was an especially boring and back straining task; lighting the copper, poking and lifting the sheets, scrubbing everything in the tub on the washboard. Rub, rub, rub against the ridges, adding more soap, getting hands red raw. And then rinsing — and rinsing — putting things through the hand wringer and lugging them all to the line. By the end of the day, her hands were redder and more raw than an afternoon working on engines and her back felt like she’d never be able to straighten it again. Thank goodness she wasn’t ever going to be a housewife!
On the Thursday before the holidays, Jessica hurried home from school because her mother had planned a special treat. The Southern Cross Talkies was showing “Little Women” starring Katherine Hepburn. Usually she wasn’t allowed out on a school night, but it was the last week of term. Jessica hadn’t seen many films.
The small local theatre was proud of being able to screen the new talkies and brought as many of the American films as they could. Occasionally there were Australian films, although the accents sounded more British than local. Mum, Aunt Velia, Grandmother and the other women on the property were all going. Even young Elspeth was allowed to stay up (Billy wasn’t interested, neither was Charles). Everyone — especially Jessica — had read the book and were all excited at the idea of seeing it brought to life on the screen, with the famous Hepburn playing Jo.
Jessica had always had a soft spot for Jo, the tomboyish heroine who didn’t quite fit the mould of American womanhood during the civil war way back in the 1860s. Many things might be different today, but ideas of proper womanhood hadn’t changed much - as Jessica was well aware, whenever her grandfather expressed his opinion of women. It was amazing to see the people moving and speaking, while Jessica sat in the dark theatre with the soft rustling of the audience, all engrossed in the happenings on the screen. Paper crackled as people shared sweets, but no one spoke until it was over and then the theatre erupted in applause.
“Wasn’t it wonderful?” Velia sighed. She’d always been soft hearted (soft headed, Jessica sometimes called her) and loved a good romance. “And wasn’t Katherine Hepburn a perfect Jo?”
“Yes,” answered Mum, “It was just as I’d imagined the family. Didn’t you think so Jess?” Jessica agreed and they went home in a haze of delighted memory. Jessica actually thought that it was awfully sentimental, even for Hollywood, but she still enjoyed it. Hepburn was every bit as good a Jo as she’d hoped.
The next week — after the washing — Jessica was free to help Mr Fletcher. Usually paperwork bored her to sobs, but not this time. Earlier that year, the new mail service had begun to fly mail from England to Australia. There were several ‘legs’ in this voyage and Mr Butler was given the contract to deliver mail between Charleville in Queensland and Cootamundra, a bit southwest of Narromine.
The Aero Club thought that Narromine would make an excellent point of call on the way to Sydney, instead of going to Brisbane from Singapore. As Mr Fletcher wrote, “We’ve got the best flying conditions here and almost never suffer the bad weather that afflicts the coast.”
Jessica had begun to go to Aero Club meetings, to learn about the world of flying, all the planning, the arguments and debates. Not to mention the possibilities. She took notes sometimes, and at other times helped by taking printing to the newspaper office. There she would watch as the typesetters checked the writing, and answer any questions about what it said and how it should look. She loved being in the back room, where the printing was done. The typesetters used hot metal, pouring it into little rows of metal letters that they rammed into a big frame. The big frame was used for the newspaper itself; they used smaller frames for other printing, including advertising flyers, brochures and invitations.
Jessica loved the burnt metal smell and the way the typesetters handled their work as carefully as Mr Grahame handled his plane. She became adept at checking work from the frame, reading it backwards and guessing what the final layout would look like. Mr Fletcher ex
pected perfection when he was in charge of anything and Jessica didn’t dare get it wrong. Once she’d made a mistake when taking down notes.
Mr Fletcher looked disapproving and then said to her, “Jessica, it’s unacceptable to spell anyone’s name wrongly. If you don’t know, ask. Then when you write it down, check and when you get a proof of the printing check again. It’s very easy to make a mistake, but you have to learn not to.” Jessica felt devastated. She could hardly look Mr Fletcher in the eye, so she nodded, her face flaming. “Good,” he said.
Checking. And then checking again. It seemed to be the mantra of aviators, double check and again. She felt as if her face was burning up at the end of his lecture, but Mr Perry smiled at her in sympathy, patted her shoulder and she felt a little better. She would never make that mistake again. When she had time, she would wait and watch while the printers finished the job. They always gave her the first copy off the press, to check, of course. She took care but she never found an error. The ink smell came off the page and she was careful not to smudge it.
This time, she waited for the papers and took them proudly back to Mr Fletcher who thanked her gravely for her work - and then gave her some figures to check. She still didn’t really like figures, but she could now add, subtract and multiply without mistakes, especially when she double-checked it. She sighed. She might as well get used to all this checking if it was essential to the life of an aviator. She read what Mr Fletcher had written:
“Thus looking at the proposition from the points of view of economy of time, and the provision of better flying conditions, there appears to be no arguments against the present arrangements, providing that a feeder service is established from Narromine to Sydney.”
Girl with Wings Page 9
