Flight of the Tiger Moth (11 page)

“You wouldn’t catch me doing that,” laughed Jack. “That’s your cup of tea, not mine, Reverend McLeod.”

“Hey, knock it off, you…you science freak.”

Cathy was swinging on the creaky wooden platform swing, watching for the old jalopy Trevor and Basil drove.
The three teens were waiting for Ivy to open the church door. She was inside, practicing her organ pieces for the church service. Ever since Basil and Trevor had shown up, Jack’s mother had started playing more difficult music, like ­Bach.

Maybe she thought that if she could just get the music right, everything else would work ­out.

Jack shook his head, thinking of how hard it was to follow all Mom’s rules and regulations for safety and security. His dad seemed to let her orders roll over him like a rain shower. But Jack couldn’t. How was a guy supposed to grow up and spread his ­wings?

With a rattle and a roar, a car turned from the main street and headed up the hill. Trevor, Basil, and Buddy in the jalopy. Buddy, his head out the passenger side, started barking as the car stopped in front of the church. He leapt out and dashed up the lawn, throwing himself at Jack’s knees, panting with ­excitement.

“Hi, old Buddy,” Jack laughed. “Have you missed me?”

Jack visited Buddy most days during his lunch break, taking the dog a bit of meat and a slice of bread and butter and training him. Buddy knew how to sit, lie down, roll over, and shake a paw. He’d been growing like a bad weed, tripling in size in the last few ­weeks.

“Let’s go, folks,” Jack’s mother called from the church porch, holding the door ajar. She saw Jack with the dog and shook her head in a gesture of disbelief, as if to say what a stubborn boy she had raised, but she didn’t seem too upset, thank ­goodness.

Jack aimed a small grin in her direction, grabbed a rope from the back seat of the old car and tied Buddy to the ­fence.

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The choir limbered up with scales,
runs, oohs, aahs, stretches and arm ­waggles.
“Sit down everyone,” Ivy said. Basil and Trevor had been singing with the choir for several weeks and now everyone knew each other ­well.

Jack tried not to look at Cathy too ­often.

“I don’t blame you for admiring the scenery, Jack,” Arnie whispered. “She’s a fine looking girl.”

Jack blushed beet red. He opened his music folder and tried to concentrate. Arnie, on one side of him, smelling of aftershave, hay and old clothes, sang a pure, sweet tenor and kept up a running commentary between verses. Trevor was on his other side, and Jack could see that he had something to tell ­him.

He got his chance as Ivy had the sopranos going over their part, with Cathy, who could sing any part, helping ­them.

“I went up today.” Trevor whispered. “At first I was so scared of my instructor, I could hardly think about flying. He’s a real stickler for procedure.”

Jack was surprised. Trevor looked fearless. “The Tiger Moth’s a pretty good crate,” he said. And before he could think it through, he spoke. “I went up three months ago,” he ­whispered.

Trevor looked impressed and Jack realized he couldn’t stop now. “My sister’s fiancé Sandy was a flying instructor.”

“The one that’s missing? The one your mother refers to all the time?”

Jack ­nodded.

“Did you like it?”

“It was swell. Sandy and I were up there most of the day.”

“Tenors, could we have a little less chatter and a little more attention to the music,” Ivy said. “From the beginning, please. Everyone.”

Trevor was staring at Jack, really curious. Jack put his finger to his lips. He opened the music again and brought his eyes up to watch his mother as she played the ­accompaniment.

At tea break halfway through practice, Basil, Trevor, Cathy, Wes and Jack went out to the porch to get some fresh air. Cathy and Basil were talking heatedly about the music for the fête. They wanted it to be different from the usual Sunday evening entertainments at the air ­base.

Basil and Cathy had far too much to say to each other, Jack thought, and he didn’t like how close to each other they were ­standing.

“Aren’t you worried about your sister?” he asked Wes, motioning at the two standing as close together as two pickets on the white fence around the ­manse.

“Basil’s okay.”

“Cathy might get her feelings hurt,” said Jack. “He’ll be gone in a couple of months.”

“You’re jealous, you idiot. Don’t worry about Cathy, she can take care of herself.”

Cathy and Basil joined them. “Let’s drive over to Mortlach after,” Cathy ­suggested.

“What for?” asked Wes. “There’s nothing in Mortlach.”

“Oh brother,” laughed Jack. “How little you know.” Then he whispered. “They just want to be together.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” said Basil. “I haven’t been to Mortlach.”

“We might need more gas,” said Trevor. Gas rationing made everyone think twice about car travel. “The blokes who borrowed the jalopy last week only put a dollar’s worth in.”

“Will we all fit in the car?” asked ­Jack.

“Being crowded is half the fun,” said Basil. “It’s not a party without a proper gang.”

“Seeing as I’ve been away, I’ve got a deadline for the base newsletter,” said Wes. “I’m going to hit the typewriter.”

Cathy studied her brother’s face. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll come the next time. I’m not that keen on ice cream anyway.”

“Buddy loves ice cream,” said Trevor. “Is there ice cream in Mortlach?”

Ivy struck three loud chords on the organ, and everyone hurried back to their ­spots.

“I don’t think my mom will let me go,” Jack whispered to Trevor. “She’s suspicious of all moving vehicles.”

“You’ve got to come,” said Trevor. “To keep Buddy and I
company. Basil and Cathy are becoming an item, if you hadn’t
noticed. He’s been dropping into the administration office on the base ever since she started as a volunteer secretary.”

“I can’t stay out long.” Jack had a hard enough time being in the same room as Cathy McLeod, let alone the same car. He was so jealous of Basil Skelton it wasn’t funny. And he knew he didn’t have a hope. Cathy was almost three years older than he was. But he couldn’t help the way he ­felt.

His mother stared at him as he walked down the aisle to his seat. “We’ve still got work to do.” Jack felt his stomach ­tighten.

“Turn to the new songbook and let’s try ‘Shine On Harvest Moon.’ Tenors, you have a particularly interesting part.” She peered over her glasses at Jack. “If you can pay attention, that is.” Sometimes being the choir leader’s son was as bad as being a pk. And now Arnie was whispering in his ­ear.

“My nieces say the old swimming hole is great these days. Maybe you should take those English boys out there for a good old Saskatchewan skinny dip. Just check that the girls aren’t there before you chuck off your duds.” He ­chuckled.

Jack whispered. “I’ll warn them about the poison ivy close to the caragana, too.” Jack had bad memories of itching and burning blotches of reddened skin when he was a kid. Flo had dosed him in calamine lotion and his mother had put Epsom salts in his ­bath.

After practice the four young people piled in the jalopy to head down the road to Mortlach. Ivy had repeated her “be careful” rant. “Don’t drive fast. Get home by ten o’clock. Don’t forget it’s a workday tomorrow. Stop at the corners. Go slow past Hobbs’ farm – their cat wanders at night and their old German shepherd sleeps on the road.” Jack nodded in agreement. She had let him go, that was the main ­thing.

Trevor drove. Jack sat beside him. They stopped at the ­one-­pump gas station for a dollar’s worth of gas. Basil unscrewed the ­silver-­coloured gas tank top while Trevor checked the oil. The jalopy needed a quart of oil every time it was filled with ­gas.

Frank, the older Boyle boy, worked the handle that pumped gasoline into the glass cylinder at the top. “That’s about five gallons.” Then he put the hose into the opening on the gas tank. Gravity fed the gas from the glass cylinder into the hose and then into the gas tank. Basil recapped the tank and Trevor banged the hood ­closed.

Trevor handed Frank a crisp dollar bill and gas ration ­coupons.

“How’s the family doing?” Cathy leaned out to ­ask.

“Did you hear Jimmy tried to get into the army?” Frank asked. “They figured out he was too young right away. So he’s back driving truck for Dad. Making deliveries to the Moose Jaw and Cairn airfields.” He tucked the money in his pocket. “I’d join up myself but someone’s got to keep an eye on the old man.”

Cathy nodded. It wasn’t often one of the Boyles talked this ­much.

“Where’d you get the dog?” Frank went on. “Looks like one of ours.”

Basil and Trevor shrugged. Cathy and Jack said ­nothing.

“Jimmy’s not too impressed with you, Jackie,” Frank said. “I’d watch out for him. He’s got a temper like Dad’s.”

“I know.”

A few minutes later they were headed down the gravel road, dust clouds drifting behind them, the moon rising in the darkening sky. The last ­pencil-­thin line of pinkish light faded on the western horizon. Soon the stars would be out. Crickets sang. Specks of light moved across the sky. Some of the raf boys were doing ­night-­flying ­exercises.

Basil and Cathy were singing “Coming In on a Wing and a Prayer” and laughing. Trevor was concentrating on driving. The brakes on the old Chevy weren’t the best and the steering was loose as a hay ­wagon.

“The Moth’s easier to steer than this bucket of bolts,” Trevor ­said.

“I know,” said Jack. “I mean, Sandy told me.”

“Right, Jack,” laughed Trevor. “You’re a sly one.”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Maybe one of these days I could take you up. Once I’m allowed to go solo, that is.” Trevor dodged Hobbses’ dozing German shepherd. “I guess your mom wouldn’t approve of having a flyer for a son.”

“She hates planes.”

“My mom’s a real softie,” sighed Trevor. “It’s Dad we have to worry about. He hit the roof when he found out I’d signed up. Threatened to throw me out of the house.”

“What do you miss the most?”

“My two brothers – Terry, who’s your age, and Tom, who’s older.”

“I only have a sister. But Wes is like a brother.”

“I just hope Terry can stay out of Dad’s way.”

“My dad’s a pussycat,” laughed Jack. “Everyone likes him. He’s not a very good businessman, though. If it weren’t for the raf coming in, we’d probably be out of business.”

“Are you going to take over the store?”

“Me? Never.”

“None of us wanted to work on the London docks like Dad. Tom can’t, of course.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Run over by a horse and cart when he was nine.”

“Oh.”

“He takes care of the newsagent’s shop on the corner. Terry delivers papers for him. Keeps it all in the family, you see. But Dad treats Tom like it was his brain that was injured, not his legs. I should be there to help but I ran off after the Blitz. After the bomb hit the house.”

“Maybe Tom could find a place on his own.”

“He needs help to do things.”

The crew in the back seat was singing one song after another: “Waltzing Matilda,” “There’ll always be an England” and “The White Cliffs of Dover.” The lights of Mortlach shone ­ahead.

“Maybe Tom will find a girl and get married.”

“Mom would have a fit if he married at eighteen. She told us all to wait until we’re twenty at least.”

Jack was puzzled. Were Trevor and Tom twins? Could they be brothers and both eighteen? How long did it take to have a baby? “I thought you said Tom was older than you?”

“I mean nineteen. Tom’s nineteen.”

Trevor slowed down as they reached the outskirts of Mortlach. The whole town seemed to be sleeping. “That’s what I meant to say. Tom’s nineteen.” And then he turned around. “Where to?”

“The café across from the grain elevator,” said Cathy. “They make really good ice cream.”

“Trevor?” Jack persisted. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, of course. Chap has to be eighteen to be in the raf.” He pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the café.

“I think you skipped a year or two while you were growing up,” said Jack with a grin on his face. “How’d you do it? Use Tom’s birth certificate?”

Trevor grinned. “I wouldn’t talk, Jackie boy. Just what did you do all those hours up in a Tiger Moth? Your mother would be pretty nervous if she knew.”

“Okay, okay!”

Trevor put his index finger to his lips and led the group into the café. A few flyers sat with some Mortlach girls, otherwise the place was empty. The jukebox played Glenn Miller’s “The Nearness of You.” The group slid into a booth and ordered bowls of ice cream and cherry ­sodas.

Jack listened as they discussed going into Moose Jaw for an evening of dancing. As he watched, Cathy gave Basil a taste of her ice cream and Jack almost felt the cold silky cream run down his own throat. Maybe after Basil graduated and went back to England…

What a dreamer he ­was.