Fly Boy

I stared out of the train window and watched as the countryside passed by. It looked so calm and prosperous and peaceful. But why shouldn’t it? The war was half a continent and a full ocean away in either direction.

Chip slumped into a seat across from mine.I found this in the club car, he said. He had a newspaper in his hands. "It’s yesterday’s Toronto Daily Star."

What are the headlines?

He held up the front page. Under the date—September 2, 1943—the large black type read ALLIES SLICE THROUGH SICILY! and beneath that was a photograph of a Tiger tank rolling past a destroyed building.

We’ve been gaining ground, especially since the Americans entered the war, but the Germans still have a lot of fight in them, Chip said.

A lot less fight than if they hadn’t tried to take on Russia as well, I said.It’s just a matter of time, now, until we invade France and start taking it back.

Yeah, and with our luck, it will probably all be over before we’re even old enough to enlist.

Hard to say, I muttered.

Don’t get me wrong, he went on. Of course I want the war to be over, to beat the Nazis … but still, I don’t want to miss my chance to be part of it.

You’re preaching to the choir, buddy, I said.

Just think—we only have to put up with one more year of boarding school before we can enlist together next summer, when we both turn eighteen … like we promised we would.

This was getting harder. Chip had been my best friend forever, and I couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a rat. I took a deep breath.

What if I told you that I can’t keep that promise?

What are you talking about? Chip looked puzzled.

You’re the only person I know who wants to enlist even more than I do. Is it your mother? I know it’s hard on her, what with your father and all.

My father was a Spitfire pilot, and he’d been shot down and taken prisoner. It was terrible knowing he was a prisoner of war, but at least we knew he was safe, and the monthly letters we received confirmed that.

My mother’s not so crazy about the idea either, Chip admitted. "But you know, Robbie, you will be eighteen, an adult, so really, if you want to enlist, she can’t stop you."

It’s not that she’ll stop me, I said. Actually, she’ll be far too late to even try to stop me.

What are you babbling on about?

We were less than thirty minutes out of Toronto now. I’d put it off as long as I could—but that just made it harder now.

What if I told you … I won’t have to wait a year to be part of the fighting? I asked.

I’d tell you to quit kidding around.

Even if I told him, he wasn’t going to believe me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the papers and handed them to him.

What are these?

My enlistment papers.

"Your what?" he yelled.

Heads all around the car turned toward us.

Keep your voice down, I hissed at him. Those are my enlistment papers. I joined the Royal Canadian Air Force.

That’s not possible. You’re not old enough!

"Keep your voice down," I said again.

Oh … sorry.

You’re holding the proof in your hands. Remember last month when I went down to Toronto to see my sick great-aunt?

I remember. I thought it was kind of odd. You don’t even like her very much.

I don’t, but I needed an excuse to get away.

So you didn’t visit your great aunt?

Of course I did, but that wasn’t the only reason I went to Toronto. I went down to enlist.

If you wanted to enlist, you could have just gone down to Kingston. It’s so much closer to home, Chip said.

"That’s why I didn’t. I wanted to go someplace where I was less likely to bump into anybody who knew me, I explained. Besides, I had other business to take care of."

But I don’t get it. Even if they didn’t know you, they would still know from your ID that you’re only seventeen and not eligible to enlist.

"I’m only seventeen, but not my brother."

Your brother is eleven years old, so how would that help? he asked.

"Not my younger brother, my older brother."

You don’t have an older brother! Chip exclaimed. You’ve got one brother and two sisters, and you’re the oldest kid in your family.

I am the oldest, but I wasn’t the firstborn. My parents’ first child, David James McWilliams, was born a year earlier than me. He only lived a few days, but he was born and baptized, and I used those papers to enlist.

I opened the papers to show him the name. His eyes widened in shock as he read. Robbie, you can’t just—

Please, I said, cutting him off. It would be better if you called me David. I need to get accustomed to my new name.

He took a deep breath. He wasn’t happy about this."David, I just—"

No, that’s wrong … far too formal. How about Dave, or maybe Davie?Yes, that’s it, Davie! You’re my oldest friend, so you’d probably call me Davie!

He reached across and put a hand on my shoulder.Robert, he said very formally, looking me straight in the eyes."Even if you did manage to fool some 4-F recruiting officer with thick glasses and bad eyesight into believing that you’re eighteen, how long do you think it’ll be before your mother finds out that you’re gone?"

"I am gone—to boarding school."

And she’ll find out soon enough that you’re not there. How long before the headmaster contacts her to ask why you’re not in attendance at school? Do you really think old Beamish is so daft that he won’t notice you’re not there?

He knows I’m not there. That was the other business I took care of when I was in Toronto. I went to the school and explained to him that I wouldn’t be able to attend this year because of financial issues … you know, what with my father being a POW, and things being hard for my mother and all.

And he believed you?

Well, I think he believed the letter from my mother explaining everything.

"Your mother wrote a letter?"

Of course not, you idiot! I wrote the letter and forged her signature.

I don’t know if that’s insanity or genius, Chip said.

They say there’s a fine line between the two, and I hope I’m standing on the right side of it.

But what about letters between you and your mother? he asked. You know the first time she writes to you—her son who’s in school—she’ll know something is wrong.

Aren’t you in charge of the mailroom as part of your punishment for that prank we played on Mr. Henderson?

A prank that only I got caught doing and … Oh, I get it, so I can intercept the letters! Is that what you’re saying?

"Exactly. The headmaster won’t be bothered by what he doesn’t see. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me."

But as you might recall, I’m only being punished the first few months of the year. What happens after December?

I was sort of hoping you could do something else wrong and get the punishment extended until the end of the school year.

You can’t expect me to deliberately try to get into … Wait, that’s probably going to end up happening one way or another, isn’t it?

Of course it will. I’m simply counting on you to get in your usual amount of trouble.

Without you there, it just won’t have the same magic to it, but I’ll do my best, he said with a grin. Now, that just leaves one problem. What about your letters to your mother? It’s not like you can send letters postmarked from England, and I know she’s not going to let you go a whole school year without writing.

I reached over and unsnapped my valise and pulled out three envelopes. Each was stamped, addressed to my mother, and contained a letter. I turned one of the envelopes over and opened up the flap.

You see here, this number I wrote in pencil?

Yes.

I’ve numbered the letters one, two, and three. You just need to mail them to my mother in that order. One each month for the next three months. Just erase the little number, seal them off, and send them. Each letter talks a little bit about how wonderfully the school year is going, how much I’m enjoying classes, and in October I’m going to be coming down with a cold and will have to miss a rugby game … I’m going to be terribly disappointed.

You are definitely moving to the genius side of the line, my friend! But what then? What happens after the third letter is mailed?

By then I’ll be in a place where you can send me letters, with her letters to me inside, and I’ll send you back letters with a new letter to her tucked inside that envelope. And of course, in your letters, you’ll give me enough information about school and events that I’ll be able to fill in the details in my letters to her. I think I have all the bases covered.

And if Mommy decides to come and pay you a visit? Won’t she be in for a nasty surprise when you’re not there?

Chip, my mother hasn’t been able to come to Toronto since my father enlisted. She’s stuck at home looking after my brother and sisters. She’s lucky if she gets a chance to go over to the neighbour’s for coffee.

I guess you have all the bases covered for the school year, but what about in July when you’re supposed to return home?

I’m going to be writing my mother throughout the year explaining that if I do extremely well in school, there will be an opportunity for me to stay on during the summer and be a paid tutor for some of the younger students. She’s going to be so proud of me! I beamed.

And after that?

And after that I’ll be eighteen, and I’ll just tell her I’ve enlisted, and there will be nothing she can do about it. She’ll know I’m in the air force, but she won’t know that I’ve already been there for ten months.

Chip shook his head slowly and a smile came to his face. I’m jealous! And I must admit that I’m a little bit hurt that you didn’t bring me in on the plan before this.

I’m sorry, Chip. I just didn’t want to drag you too far into this. There’s going to be hell to pay if this gets out, and I didn’t want you to be implicated too deeply. I want you to at least try to plead ignorance.

Ignorance has always been my best defence! But you’re right—I know the military needs everyone who can to enlist, but I imagine they’re not very understanding about people enlisting under a false identity. You could be in really big trouble.

I’m just hoping that by the time they find out I’ll be such a hotshot ace pilot that they’ll be happy to look the other way, because they need pilots so badly.

He reached out his hand. My congratulations, sir. You’ve thought of everything.

I tried. Which leaves me with one more favour to ask of you. I reached into my valise and handed him a fourth envelope. Inside is a letter from Headmaster Beamish confirming for the air force that I’ve completed my junior matriculation, graduating with both high honours and distinction.

Chip opened the envelope and took out the letter. It was typed and had the headmaster’s signature at the bottom. This is official school stationery. How did you get this? Chip asked.

This summer when I was in Beamish’s office and told him I wasn’t returning to school, I got rather choked up. He turned to get me a handkerchief, and when he wasn’t looking, I pinched a couple of sheets.

I think you’re wasting your time wanting to be a pilot. You should be a secret agent.

I’ll take that as a compliment. Just pop it in the mail so it’s clear from the postmark that it was sent from the school. Okay?

I’ll do whatever I can to help out. You can count on me.

More than anybody else I know. You’re a good friend, I said.

And at the end of the year, Chip replied, when I turn eighteen and enlist, maybe we’ll even end up in the same unit.

That could happen. Of course, I don’t know if we could be friends, I said.

What do you mean? He looked a bit shocked.

"Well, by then I’ll be a full-fledged ace, and you’ll just be a sprog."

Sprog … What’s a sprog?

New pilot, fresh out of training, wet behind the ears, with no combat missions to your credit!

Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll still be a sprog who’s big enough to box your ears! Chip growled.

Oh, sure! Try hitting a superior officer and see where that gets you! Time in the can and—

Next stop, Union Station! the conductor announced as he walked down the aisle of the car. Next stop, Union Station, Toronto!

"That’s our—I mean, my stop, Chip said. I wish we had more time to talk."

We do have a little more time. I’m getting off here too, I said.

Your training is in Toronto?

"Not my training, my train. I have to meet up with the rest of the fellows who’ve enlisted and catch the train from here. You can walk me to my platform."

The train shuddered and then came to a stop. We both got up and shuffled down the aisle along with everybody else, dragging our luggage with us. I’d been told not to bring much with me, just what I could fit in my valise, but Chip had everything he’d need for a year at boarding school, including his tennis racquet, lacrosse stick, and winter coat and boots.

My train leaves from platform four in about an hour, I said.

Where are you going to?

Brandon, Manitoba.

Manitoba! I’ve heard about winters on the Prairies. You’re going to freeze to death!

Not likely. I’m only there for basic training, about a month, so I’ll be long gone before winter arrives.

Long gone to where?

That’s the question. I could be assigned to any one of the air training schools across the country, depending on how well I do.

What do you mean? Chip asked.

Some of the schools are for pilots, others specialize in training navigators, or bomb aimers, or wireless operators.

Oh, you’ll be a pilot—no question! You know more about airplanes than anybody I ever met.

Knowing about them doesn’t make you a pilot.

"Yeah, I guess … but I can see