Fly Boy (6 page)

He took the stethoscope that was around his neck, placed the ends in his ears, and started listening to my heart. Well, at least that’s what I figured he was doing, because he was moving it all over my chest area. He circled around and started to tap me on the back and sides.

“Okay, son, you’ve passed your physical,” he said, and he handed me back my sheet, with a dozen new sets of initials on it.

“Thank you, sir.”

I walked back into the waiting area, where fifteen or twenty pairs of eyes glanced up and then returned their gaze to the floor again. I made my way back to the cubbies, and I can honestly say that I’d never been so grateful to be pulling on my underwear. I reached for the rest of my clothing and then
stopped. I wasn’t supposed to be putting on my clothing—I was supposed to be getting into my new uniform!

I slipped on the pants. Bluish-tinged wool—the colour of the air force. It was rough to the skin, but it felt good to put them on. It wasn’t just about being allowed to get dressed at last; it was about
what
I was getting dressed in. This was the beginning of my new life. Once I’d put on the uniform, I was no longer a seventeen-year-old kid escaping boarding school; I was an acey-deucey … an aircraftman second class.

“Hurry up! People are waiting for your spot!” the corporal screamed, and I jumped back into action.

I pulled on the shirt and buttoned it up, then I pulled on the pants. They were a bit loose, which I figured was better than too tight. I followed up with the socks. I stood up. The pants were a bit long, the cuffs dragging on the ground, but once I put on the boots, I figured they’d be fine. I slipped my foot into the first boot. It was a bit tighter than I would have liked, but it fit. I did the same with the second boot and then tied the laces.

Now for the final touch. I took the wedge cap and placed it on my head. I adjusted it, trying to find a comfortable place where it would fit and sit.

“Here, let me help you,” Jim said.

I hadn’t even noticed him there. He was dressed— although his pants ended a good two inches above the tops of his boots. I thought about asking him if he was expecting a flood, but I decided I was the last person in the world to bother anybody about their height.

He took the cap and adjusted it so it was sitting more off to the side of my head.

“That does it. Now you look like a proper acey-deucey.
You might even want to go back to see that nurse. You know what they say: women love a man in uniform.”

“Maybe later. What’s next on the list?”

“Eye examination. I’ve never been one for school, but that’s one examination I’m pretty sure I can pass.”

Jim asked a corporal for directions, and we hurried away only to once again find ourselves at the back of a long line. This was really starting to become a pattern. As we waited, there was a lot of good-natured conversation, laughter, and jokes. Everybody looked pretty proud of their new uniforms, and it seemed as though we were all standing just a little bit straighter, a little taller—even me.

I shuffled forward with the line as one by one each man had his eye exam, until it was my turn, right after Jim. I handed my sheet over to the corporal in charge.

“Close your left eye,” he said, “and use your right eye. Can you read the third line?”

“Sure. L … E … F … O … D—”

“Are you blind, son?” he demanded. “That’s not the third row.”

“Sure it is … Oh, wait, do you mean the third from the top or the bottom?”

“The top.”

“Sorry, I was counting up from the bottom. Do you want me to read the bigger letters first?”

“Forget it. You only needed the seventh row and that’s the eleventh. Can you do the same with your other eye?”

I read the letters out easily. “Do you want me to do the bottom line as well? I can do it if you want.”

“No need to test your eyes any further. You’ve got the eyes of an eagle.”

I wanted to tell him that was what a pilot needed, but I stayed quiet as he handed me back my list, complete with more initialled spaces.

“Thank you, Corporal.”

I joined Jim, who was waiting at the door.

“Next up is grooming,” he said.

“Grooming? What does that mean?”

Jim removed my cap and ran his hand over my scalp, making a buzzing sound, and suddenly I got it: we were going to have our hair buzzed off! I guessed that wasn’t the worst thing. But then again, if I couldn’t grow a moustache to change my appearance and look older, I wasn’t sure that cutting off my hair would help much either. I’d still look young, but now with no hair.

I turned over on my side and my arm screamed out a reminder of the injections. I shifted again to relieve the pain and make my arm go back to simply feeling numb. Then I sat up in bed and slowly brought my deadened arm, which felt like a piece of lead, up to my head to run my hand over the stubble where my hair used to be. Gone were the long locks, and all that was left was prickly to the touch. At least my cap fit better now.

All around me in the darkness were hundreds and hundreds of men. Judging from the snoring, most of them were sound asleep. I was tired—no, I was exhausted—but I couldn’t seem to drift off. It had been such a long day, such a different day, from the injections to the medicals, the issuing of the uniforms and the “housewife.”

What a disappointment to learn that a housewife was
only a box containing polish for our boots as well as buttons, needles and thread, and other things we’d need to keep our kits spic and span. I’d already put mine to good use. Before we turned in, Jim had let down the cuffs of his pants, giving him another inch of material, and I’d taken mine up so they wouldn’t drag along the ground.

I couldn’t help thinking that my mother would be pretty amused if she heard about me fixing my own pants like that. Then, strangely, I thought about what that would look like in a letter home.

Hello Mom, just wanted to tell you about fixing the trousers of my air force uniform … Oh, by the way, I’ve run away from boarding school and am now in the air force … Say hello to everybody at home … Lots of love … Your son who was called Robert but now is known as David
.

Maybe I was getting a little punch-drunk from not having slept. I rolled over on my side, my left arm to the top this time, and tried to think of something that would help me get to sleep. My mind’s eye focused on that nurse—Nurse Johnson. She was very pretty, and even if she did flirt with half the men on the base, I was still part of the half she flirted with. I wondered what her first name was. Probably something pretty. Maybe I’d even find out.

October 1, 1943

Dear Chip
,

First off, I apologize for the delay in writing. I had planned to write to you much sooner, but I have found myself so exhausted every night that I’ve been too tired to put pen to paper. Some evenings I’ve been too tired to even pick up a pen, let alone have the mental capacity to put words together in a manner that approaches normal grammar and spelling. But enough of my sorry excuses. Having spent years in school and hearing a variety of your oh-so-clever reasons for not completing assignments, I must bow before the master
.

After you receive this letter, I would like you to mail off the first letter to my mother. PLEASE, make sure it is letter number one. She would be rather confused to receive the second letter, in which I detail the party for All Saints’ night and the Hallowe’en costume I wore
.

She would be most shocked, I imagine, to see the costume I actually am wearing—my air force uniform. I would also imagine that there is a good chance she wouldn’t recognize me. Not only have I lost all my hair to a very close buzz cut, but I’ve managed to gain ten pounds during the past four weeks. I do believe I could walk right past her—or you—and she wouldn’t even recognize me
.

My weight gain is rather shocking since our daily regimen involves morning calisthenics, a regular five-mile run, a strong belief that we should always run about at double time, and a diet of chores that includes kitchen duty, mopping floors, and keeping the grounds well tended. They have a saying here: “If it’s on the ground, pick it up. If you can’t pick it up, paint it. If you can’t paint it, salute it.” I do a great deal of saluting. My rank— aircraftman second class—means that everything and everybody is superior to me, and they waste little time in pointing that out to us
.

I have never walked—or, more precisely, marched—so much in my life. I had no idea that flying a plane and fighting Hitler would involve drills. Over and over we practise until thirty or more of us can move, turn, and stop in unison. I feel more like I’ve joined a dance company than the military. I think the plan is that if we’re ever shot down over occupied Europe, we can march all the way to Berlin in a precise military manner. Then, upon our arrival, Adolf will be so impressed with our drills that he will admit the inferiority of his so-called Master Race and simply surrender
.

I hope school is going well for you. With my absence, I would suppose that Headmaster Beamish no longer needs to divide his time between us and is focusing his great insights and wisdom more directly on you. What a delight that must be. I hope you have been keeping your nose clean and staying out of trouble—while still initiating enough mischief to keep yourself confined to the dungeon (a.k.a. the mailroom)
.

I mistakenly thought that by enlisting I could escape the drudgery of school work that I had left behind. That has not been the case. While you slack off or fall asleep during class, I am compelled to not only go to class but pay full attention! Some things, such as studying the parts of an airplane, the physics
behind flight, and regulations seem to make sense and are fascinating. Other areas, such as history and mathematics, are just as boring as they were when I was sitting beside you. The only difference is that I dare not drift off or I’ll have a corporal or sergeant bellowing in my ear. Apparently, becoming a non-com (that’s short for “non-commissioned officer”) involves losing the ability to speak in a normal voice. All corporals and sergeants yell at all times. I can only picture what life must be like for their poor wives!

For what it’s worth, I have scored extremely high in all aspects of mathematics, and the staff sergeant who is the instructor says I have “a knack” for finding my way around a map. I think that might come in handy—I would imagine that it’s always best for a pilot to be able to find his way both to the target and back home at the end
.

For the privilege of working like a dog, I am rewarded with the princely sum of $1.10 each day. For me, with nobody to support and nothing really to spend it on, this goes a long way. For others, especially those who have a wife and children to support back home, or an “itch to scratch,” be it booze or cigarettes or gambling, the money doesn’t go far
.

Technically it is illegal to drink on duty or while on the base, but it often seems easier to find hooch than water. As for smoking, there are far fewer of us who have no use for the weed than those who smoke. I still regard it as a rather filthy habit, and I am unsure how some of these men—who can’t seem to go more than an hour or so without a ciggie—will manage during a long flight. Do they plan on stepping out onto the wing for a puff?

I am also writing to inform you that my time here at Manning is at an end. These four weeks have passed … as have I! I am being transferred to a flight school! I am, according to military censorship rules, unable to tell you exactly where I am going, but
the postmark on my next letter will probably give you a good idea of my destination
.

A number of men who have become my friends are coming along with me. Closest are Jim, whom I met on the train ride, and Johnnie. Jim is a big farm boy who has nothing but good words for everybody he meets—although I wouldn’t want to be the one to get him mad. Johnnie reminds me of you. He’s finally—after numerous punishment details on KP peeling potatoes—learning to keep his mouth shut. Still he’s bloody good entertainment, and it’s always interesting to see what new trouble he’s going to find himself in. As I said, he does remind me very much of you
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