Fly Boy (10 page)

My mouth dropped open.

“You’ll be shipping out tomorrow, so you have tonight to pack your gear and say your goodbyes to your classmates.” He paused. “And of course, since this is all so sudden, we’ll allow you the opportunity to make a long-distance telephone call to inform your family of your reassignment.”

“My family … yes, that would be good,” I mumbled.

“I’ll have my clerk make that call right now. It would be an honour to speak to your mother and pass on my personal congratulations.”

“Um … that won’t be possible … We, uh … we don’t have a telephone at home,” I stammered, trying madly to think of an excuse. “Money is tight, what with my father being gone. But there is an uncle I could call … my uncle Chip.” Chip needed to know what was happening so the letters wouldn’t come here again. “He’s not really an uncle but a close, close friend of the family. I could call him … tomorrow … if that would be acceptable, sir.”

“I’ll make arrangements with my clerk for you to make that call first thing in the morning. You’ll have to see the clerk tomorrow anyway. He has to make up your transfer papers and travel arrangements.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, sir. I just think it would be better for my uncle to tell my mother … You know how mothers worry.”

“I know how we all worry about our children. I’m glad my son is still too young to enlist, although he’s only a year or so younger than you.” He picked up a picture from his desk and handed it to me. “That’s my wife, Betty, and our children—my daughter, Lorraine, who’s twelve, and our son, Graham. He’ll be seventeen on his next birthday.”

He was basically my age, and he looked older than I did. I wondered when the picture was taken. I handed it back to him.

“My wife is entirely opposed to the idea of him enlisting. She says she doesn’t want her baby going off to war. I tell her he isn’t a baby, but truth be told, I’m not that crazy about it
either.” He looked up from the picture and directly at me. “How did your mother react when you told her you were joining the air force?”

“She wasn’t too happy.”

“I understand that. The very worst part of this job is sending young men off to …” He let the words trail off. “Son, it’s hardest when the men are as young as you. I know—we all know—that some men who go off to war don’t come back. It’s difficult for me to live with the fact that I’m making arrangements to send you into combat, knowing that that decision may very well cost you your life.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. And besides, it wasn’t your decision. It was mine. I enlisted because I want to do my duty.”

He stood up. “I’m sure even if your mother didn’t approve of you enlisting, she’s still proud of you.”

I could only hope that would be the case.

“I want you to know that I’m proud of you.” He stood up and offered a salute. “Dismissed … Leading Aircraftman McWilliams.”

I stood up and returned his salute. He then reached out and shook my hand.

I looked anxiously up and down the platform. Where was Chip? The train was going to leave in a few minutes, and if he didn’t show up soon, I’d miss him completely. I stood up on the step of the car so I could get a better view of the whole platform. It was filled with soldiers, sailors, and flyers, either standing together in groups or separately with their families or wives. It looked as if the whole armed forces were on the move and passing through Union Station today.

The only people I’d had to say goodbye to were my new buddies at Manning, especially Jim and Johnnie. True, we hadn’t known each other that long, but all things considered, it almost felt as though we’d been through a war together already. Goodbye was a firm handshake, a pat on the back, congratulations on my success, a few jokes about meeting up again on the “other side of the pond.” No one wanted to make a big deal out of goodbyes in the military—there were too many of them.

It was impossible to travel—impossible to go anywhere—without bumping into somebody in uniform. We weren’t a big country—Canada’s population wasn’t quite 12 million, compared with more like 136 million in the United States—but I’d heard that almost a million of us were in the armed forces, fighting against the Nazis.

In the crowded station, with everybody coming and going, maybe Chip couldn’t find the right platform or find me. There were so many men in uniform and we all looked the—

“Chip!” I screamed.

He looked up, scanning the crowd. I waved to him. He saw me and waved back. I jumped down and ran toward him, dodging people on the platform. I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug.

“My goodness, my man, let me have a look at you!” he exclaimed, and stepped back. “You’ve gained weight.”

“Ten pounds.”

“And have you grown? You look taller.”

“It’s more the thick boots,” I said, lifting one of my feet for him to see. “I think it’s more likely I’ve been worn down!”

“So how does it feel, you know, going overseas?” he asked.

“Great … good.” Chip was the one person who knew the truth, so it didn’t seem right to lie to him. “Actually I’m a little scared.”

“If it was me, I’d be a
lot
scared. Me and you sitting around our dorm at school talking about going over to fight is a whole different thing from actually shipping over.”

“I know. It’s really happening.”

“Honest, Robbie—I mean Davie, sorry—part of me is jealous beyond words. You get to join the fighting, while the only battles I’m waging are with my history teacher.”

“From your letters, at least it sounds like you’re getting along better with Beamish these days.”

“I
was
getting along with him.”

“Was? What happened?”

“For starters, I’m skipping class today to meet you.”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think of that!” I exclaimed.

“Not to worry. I had to do something. He was threatening to pull me out of the mailroom early because I’d been doing so ‘bloody well’ in my studies. Can’t have that, old man. Going AWOL should keep me in the doghouse—and in the mailroom—for the rest of the year.”

“Thanks so much, Chip. I really appreciate the sacrifice you’re making.”

“You appreciate
my
sacrifice? You’re the one going off to war! So, tell me, is it true—do the ladies love a man in uniform?”

“You know me. I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”

“You’re not even the type to
kiss
! But don’t worry, some nice woman will eventually take pity and go out on a date with you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“No problem. That’s what friends are for. So, you said they’re making you a navigator.”

“Yeah. I’ve been assigned to a Lancaster group.”

“Lancs! How exciting. That’s one beautiful bird! You’ll be raining down death on Hitler’s factories and forces!”

“Assuming I can find my way to the bomb sites. But I’ll try to be the best navigator I can be … for now. I’ll be able to apply for transfer to flight school after one tour.”

“How long will that take?”

“Between six and twelve months.”

“So, technically, I could enlist and become a pilot as quickly as you,” Chip said. “Who knows, you might even be
my
navigator.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not acting as the navigator on any plane where you’re the pilot.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to fly any plane where
you’re
the navigator. You might land us in Berlin, for all I know.”

“I might, assuming you didn’t crash before we got there.”

He gave me a playful punch on the shoulder. “You know I’d be proud to have you either as my navigator or flying the plane beside me in formation.”

“I know. And there’s nobody I’d rather fly with.”

This was all getting far too maudlin and emotional. I pulled out the letters I’d written on the train. “Here are the next three letters for my mother.”

“Why so many?”

“I’m going into a theatre of combat. All my letters back are now subject to being opened, read, and censored, so I can’t risk pretending I’m still in school.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Chip admitted.

“I’ll still write to you and tell you what I’m doing and where I’m going, but I’ve got to figure out a way to get letters through to you for you to send to my mother.”

“Maybe you could hide a letter inside a parcel.”

“No good. That would only make a censor more suspicious. Parcels are sent overseas to military men—not back home from men in uniform.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. There must be some way to get a letter through.”

“I’ll try to think of something. In the meantime, I’ll still write letters to my mother for you to pass along, but they’ll say very little, nothing that would suggest either that I’m in the air force or that I’m in boarding school. Just make sure she gets these letters when she’s supposed to receive them.”

I took one of the letters back and opened the flap. In light
pencil strokes I’d written the date it should be mailed. “This one is particularly important. This explains why I won’t be home for Christmas.”

“I was wondering how you were going to explain that one.”

“I’m hospitalized. Nothing too serious, a bit of pneumonia, not life-threatening, but I’m in quarantine. Always at least a slight risk that it could be TB, so there’s no point in her coming to see me. You are going home for Christmas, aren’t you? You could deliver it by hand?”

“Of course, although now you’re making me feel guilty.”

“Don’t. None of this would be possible without you. When you deliver the letter, could you please give my mother and sisters a big hug for me, shake my brother’s hand and tell him to listen to our mother, and … tell them all that I love them?”

“You can count on me.”

“I
have
been counting on you.”

“How long before you’re in England?”

“I arrive in Halifax tomorrow evening and then head straight down to the
Queen Mary
. She sails the next day, and it’s a four- or five-day passage, depending on the seas and the route she takes.”

“I’ve heard that Hitler has a bounty out on that ship.”

“I heard that too. A quarter of a million dollars and the awarding of the Iron Cross to the U-boat captain who sinks her. But that’s why she’s so fast and well protected. We’ll be fi ne.”

“Yeah. The only danger you’ll face is from seasickness.”

“I’m sure you’re right. As soon as I’ve settled in, I’ll write you a note, tell you my mailing address—although I might not be able to tell you exactly where I’m stationed because of censorship issues.”

“I understand. I’ll wait for your letter and take care of these”—he held up the envelopes—“until then.”

“All aboard!” the porter yelled out.

I felt a surge of electricity shoot up my spine. This was it.

“You keep yourself safe,” Chip said as he offered his hand and we shook.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t just try—succeed. By the time I get over there, I want to make sure I’ve got an old hand who can lead me around and show me the ropes.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He let go of my hand and saluted. I awkwardly saluted back.

“I’d best be going,” he said.

“Yes, don’t want to keep old Beamish waiting.”

I could see there were tears in his eyes. I wasn’t far from tears myself.

“Godspeed, old chap,” Chip said. He turned and walked away.

“Thank you,” I said under my breath. “Thank you for everything.”

I grabbed my bag and hopped up onto the first step. From that vantage point I could see all along the platform. There were so many men saying their final goodbyes and getting ready to board the train. Others were already aboard and were leaning out of windows; arms reaching down met arms reaching up so that a final bit of contact could take place. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of these goodbyes would be for the whole war. Or forever.

“We’ve sighted land!”

I looked up from my reading. It was one of my bunkmates, Campbell. Twelve of us—ten soldiers plus me and Campbell, the only two in the air force—shared a small stateroom, with four triple bunk beds. I put down my manual—it was an advanced text on navigation—and jumped off my bed. It was a long way from the very top. It seemed to be my destiny always to be on the top bunk. I was just hoping the bunks wouldn’t be four high the next time!