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Chapter Five

Jessica dragged her feet as she came down to tea that evening. She had thought of staying in her room — she wasn’t at all hungry — but she knew someone would come looking for her and she’d be in even more trouble. She was used to being in trouble — as her grandfather said, saving the rod spoiled the child. Not that her parents often hit her — her father wasn’t a great fan of Grandfather’s theory of child rearing — but they believed in discipline. Her mother had been known to swipe her legs with a wooden spoon and Dad had given Billy a few strokes with his leather razor strop but usually they tried other ways, such as more chores or taking away treats. She wondered what she would get for her lunchtime performance.

She went downstairs as slowly as she could, wincing as she walked past the dining room, the scene of the disaster. On Sunday evening they ate in the kitchen, just Mum, Dad and the three children. It was a light meal, after the baked lunch, usually soup and cake for afters. Tonight she slumped into her chair, banging it against the table, face mulish, waiting for someone to say something.

Nobody did. Billy pulled his usual face, tongue out, eyes crossed, kicking the table leg as he picked up his soup spoon and, also as usual, Mum told him to stop it. She was feeding Elspeth mashed something or other and hadn’t even looked at Jessica. Jessica picked up her soup spoon and paddled around the soup for a while. Eventually she tasted it. Vegetable and barley, usually delicious but tonight it was cardboard.

After an age, Dad spoke. “All right, Jess, about lunchtime …”

Jess nearly dropped her spoon as she wailed, “I bet you’re going to give me a lecture too. No one wants me to become a pilot.”

“Oh, do stop talking rubbish. It’s a serious subject and we need to discuss it seriously. If you’re old enough to decide you want to fly, then you’re old enough to look at the subject sensibly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s look at what it would take. For a start, you can’t get a licence for several years. So, what could you do before you can start flying lessons? Is there anything that would help you?”

“How many years?”

“At least six.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. That’s virtually forever. I might as well give up the whole idea.”

“That’s even sillier. You don’t give up if something is hard or takes time, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jessica thought for awhile. “I hadn’t thought it would be that long.”

“So, you’re thinking of giving up before you’ve even started, then?”

“Girls can’t be pilots,” Billy snorted, waving his spoon around. “They can’t be anything except housewives. Not like boys!”

Mum took exception to his glee. “I hope you don’t really believe that, Billy, do you? Because if so, I might have to teach you how wrong you are.”

“Grandfather says girls are only good for doing housework and gardening.”

“I doubt that those were his exact words,” added Dad. “I know he’s a bit old fashioned, but he doesn’t say that. What he usually says is that there are jobs for girls that are suitable.” Nobody added that anything interesting, like flying, was not, in his view, “suitable”. Billy looked as if he would like to say something else, but a glare from both parents sent his attention back to his plate.

Jessica went back to the question Dad had asked before Billy butted in. “I’m not giving up.”

“Then what do you want to do next?”

If she had to wait six years before she could take flying lessons, Jessica was not sure what she could do next. She thought for a moment. “I could learn things I’d need. Like, how planes work, and what it takes to get my licence.”

“Yes, that’s not a bad place to start. Do you have any idea what you might need?”

“Um, navigation skills? Being able to fix an engine?” She ran out of ideas.

Mum grinned. “Sewing.”

Jessica looked horrified. “Why?” Sewing was awfully girly and Jessica had resisted being able to do more than sew on a button.

“Most planes have fabric covered wings and bodies and when they need fixing, you might have to sew them. Machine and by hand.”

“Really?” Sewing might not be fun, but she supposed it might be necessary. Dad went off into a dream as he chewed some bread. Mum had always said that Dad had his head in the clouds, but luckily his feet remained firmly on the ground. Jessica waited to hear what he was thinking this time.

“For a start, you should keep up your horse riding. That will help with the ‘seat and hands’ that flyers need.” He thought again. Jessica wondered if she should start taking notes. “Then there’s mathematics. And astronomy. And geography.”

“But I hate sums.” She thought with horror of Mr Bates. Erk!

“I know, but you need to be able to calculate all sorts of things. Oh, let’s see. How far you can fly on a tank of petrol. How long it will take to fly from A to B. Angles, lift, drag, geometry, all that sort of thing.” Jessica sighed. Sums were not her favourite subject. But she suspected Dad was right. “And then, you can learn more about planes themselves.”

“How?”

“By seeing how they work and by reading about them.”

“Oh,” said Jessica, thinking that this might be a lot of work.

“Well,” said Mum, spooning some mush into Elspeth’s mouth, “whatever you want to do in life takes effort and there are always things you have to learn. Dad and I will see what we can do to help.”

Billy was ready for cake and bored, especially as no one was paying any attention to him. “Seeing as I’m learning about the farm every day, how about I give up school? I don’t need any of that rubbish to run sheep and wheat.”

Dad laughed. “Nice try, son, but no chance. You need lots of what you learn at school. Like maths. All farms are businesses and you need to be able to add up and plan. You need to calculate how much seed you need, and how much feed for sheep, how much to pay shearers and whether you can afford it. All that, and then there’s learning about soils and wool classing.” Billy shrugged and kept eating.

“You mean you’ll really help me?” Jess’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“Yes,” said Mum, “we will. We’ll help our children become whatever they want to, as far as we can.” She did not add that becoming a female pilot was not going to be easy, even if her family supported her ambition.

“And what about Grandfather? Do I tell him that I’m still going to become a pilot whatever he says?”

Dad sighed. “I think Jess, you’re old enough to be sensible about this. I’d keep quiet about it. For now, anyway. You don’t have to lie, but I doubt he’ll ask you. He’ll just assume he’s made his views clear and that you’ll do as he says. In any case, there’s not much you can do about it for awhile yet. And who knows what will happen before you’re old enough to get a licence.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “Grandfather could die.”

“Billy!” thundered his father.

“Well, he could.”

“Or he could learn to think that planes are wonderful and want to have a pilot in the family.”

“And pigs,” said Billy emphatically, grabbing another piece of sultana cake, “could fly.”

Jessica had a lot to think about that week. She set herself the goal of taking maths seriously and tried really hard to listen in class and to do her homework. She still found adding up boring, and she knew that the next stage of long division was even more boring, not to mention a lot more work. But she’d show her family that she could do what it took to become a pilot.