Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Training was just as much fun as Fitz imagined it would be. If not more. The first plane Fitz and the other ATA women were taught to fly was the de Havilland Tiger Moth and as this was Fitz’s choice of plane prior to signing up with the ATA, she was perfectly at home in the cockpit.
‘You made a decent fist of that flight,’ said one of the instructors after her first time in the air. ‘Need to clock up a few more hours, though.’ He scribbled something on his clipboard that Fitz couldn’t read. ‘You also need to take that lipstick off. Can’t have you flying into RAF stations all done up like a dog’s dinner.’
‘A dog’s dinner!’ Fitz could barely contain her outrage at the remark as she unfastened the chin strap of her leather flying helmet. She was well aware of the prejudices against female aviators from her time at the airfield, but she hadn’t been expecting this level of chauvinism from a senior ranking airman.
The instructor looked up and pointed his pen at her. ‘Before you say anything you’ll regret, I suggest you read the handbook you were given. You may be a civilian ferry pilot but you are to abide by the rules and regulations just as a serving member of the air force does. And that includes no make-up.’
Fitz wasn’t sure if that was strictly true but she didn’t want to risk being sent home, that would be worse than not wearing her favourite red lipstick.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said dutifully, marvelling at her own restraint and how her father would be amazed at her deference.
That evening in the dining hall she voiced her outrage to her friends. ‘And if he thinks I’m going to stop wearing my lipstick, he’s another think coming.’
‘Oh, Fitz, you’re going to get yourself in trouble,’ said Elsie. ‘Are you always this rebellious?’
Fitz shrugged. ‘Why is it a woman is rebellious but a man is a maverick?’
‘Because it’s a man’s world, my dear,’ said Marjorie.
‘Well, it’s wrong,’ said Fitz. ‘I mean, look how many women are doing men’s jobs now there’s a war. It just goes to prove we’re as good as them.’
‘It’s a shame women don’t get paid as much as men,’ said Marjorie. ‘Us women get ten shillings a week less for doing the same work. It’s outrageous, but what can we do?’
‘Complain, for a start,’ said Fitz. ‘We wouldn’t be here training to be ferry pilots if we weren’t essential. The ATA was only formed to ferry mail, medical supplies and personnel about but look at it now, we’re moving planes about the country.’
‘It’s going to take more than a war to change the attitude of generations,’ said Elsie.
‘It doesn’t mean we have to accept it, simply because that’s the status quo,’ said Fitz. ‘Things are changing and people’s attitudes will need to change. By people, I mean men in particular.’
‘And you’re going to change it, one lipstick at a time,’ said Marjorie, taking a packet of cigarettes from her pocket.
The other girls laughed and Fitz found herself smiling, even though she was still determined to make her point and push back against the patriarchy.
The rest of the week passed and Fitz soon found herself in the rhythm of CFS: up early for breakfast, dressed in her flight gear and out on the runway by nine o’clock.
There were several hours of flying throughout the day, with and without instructors, aeroplane type permitting. She found some of the exercises rather tedious but they had been told under no circumstances were they to perform any type of aerobatic manoeuvre or travel at any excessive speed. Their job was simply to fly the aircraft at the most efficient speed and height so as not to cause any undue stress or damage to it when it was delivered to the RAF.
It was with ease that, at the end of their first month’s training, Fitz and the rest of her class all officially qualified as ferry pilots for the de Havilland Tiger Moths and were moving onto Magisters and Proctors next.
Most of the women were already at home in the Tiger Moths. During their evening conversations, Fitz learned that both Marjorie and Betty belonged to the Biggin Hill flying school while Elsie was part of the Brooklands club. Although Fitz hadn’t been part of any of the prestigious flying clubs nearer to London, she didn’t feel in the slightest bit intimidated. In fact, she revelled in her rather innocuous passage into the world of flying, albeit because her father was wealthy enough to support her passion. She was well aware that it was a privilege.
‘I’d love for every girl, whatever her background, to be able to have the opportunity to fly,’ she mused one night when they were sitting in the mess room, drinking their late-night cocoa. They had been at flying school for six weeks now and already halfway through their training ‘How fantastic would that be?’
‘The way this war is going, it might not be long before every girl can have the opportunity,’ said Marjorie.
‘Really? What have you heard?’ asked Betty. ‘I mean, I want the war to be over, of course I do. But selfishly, that means our flying days will be rather humdrum after all this.’
‘I overheard one of the instructors talking to someone and saying there is going to be a big push to get people to join the ATA.’ She looked over at Fitz. ‘So, Fitz, darling, your dream of every girl in the sky might be closer than you think.’
‘Did you hear that chap who was in the canteen earlier?’ asked Marjorie. ‘Complaining loud enough for me to hear about how women should stick to planting vegetables and making bread.’
‘Anyway, enough of all this talk,’ said Elsie. ‘We should all get to sleep. We’ve got to be up early tomorrow for dawn flying.’
The following morning the women all reported to Hangar 202 at 0600 hours, kitted out in their flying gear, having had a very early breakfast.
‘I could do with another coffee,’ said Marjorie, as they waited for the instructor to appear.
‘Me, too,’ said Fitz. ‘To think before I came here, I was a strictly tea and toast girl in the mornings. Now I’m coffee and ciggy.’
‘Morning, ladies,’ came the instructor’s voice as he entered the hangar. ‘Nice to see you all bright eyed and bushy tailed.’ He stood in front of them, casting his eyes down the piece of paper attached to his clipboard. ‘So, who fancies taking a Spitfire out for a spin?’
Fitz stood a little straighter. She loved flying the Spits.
‘Right,’ continued the instructor. ‘Fitz-Herbert, you take the Spitfire out and familiarise yourself with the south of England. You, too, Anderson.’ He took two sheets of paper and handed one each to the women. ‘There are your stop-off points. Be back in time for tea.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fitz, feeling absolutely giddy with excitement.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Betty.
As they made their way over to the Spitfires, Fitz slipped her arm through Betty’s. ‘We’re in the Spits!’
‘I know, good stuff, isn’t it?’ Betty’s excitement, as with all her emotions, was rather more contained than Fitz’s. ‘Where shall we go first?’
Fitz consulted the list of airfields they’d been given, which essentially took them in a loop, starting with RAF Tangmere, then Hamble, Northampton, Essex and back to Maidenhead. ‘What about Tangmere? It’s nearest.’
‘Good idea.’
Within thirty minutes, Fitz was in the air as the first rays of dawn stretched across the horizon, casting a warm glow through the translucent clouds. She could hear the growl of the Spitfire’s engine as it echoed through the stillness of the morning. She knew Betty wouldn’t be far behind.
The planes were fitted with minimal equipment and the key instructions on how to fly the plane were on a ring-bound notebook, not that Fitz needed to refer to it for the Spitfire. The notebook was a place for pilots to jot down anything that would help other pilots when it came to flying. Fitz had already been warned that she wouldn’t necessarily have experience in every single type of aircraft. It would be a case of reading up on the notes and then straight away flying the aircraft. She wasn’t daunted by the fact. If anything, it was a challenge she was quite prepared to take on. Some of the men might not have faith in the women pilots, but she was on a mission to put that straight, one lipstick at a time, as Marjorie had joked.
With that thought in mind, she dove into the pocket of her flight suit and retrieved the roll-up red Max Factor lipstick and applied it expertly without a mirror. Thank goodness she didn’t have to use a brush and palette.
Fitz looked back over her shoulder and could see the silhouette of Betty’s aircraft. The sun had truly risen now and the sky was clear of clouds. She couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be.
The flight to Tangmere was over far too soon for Fitz’s liking, and as the wheels touched down onto the runway she was already thinking about the next leg of the journey.
Fitz taxied the aircraft off the runway and over to the side where a mechanic was waiting for her. She took off her helmet and shook her hair free from the confines of the leather, and then fluffed her blonde waves into what she hoped looked a tidy affair. She had brought a day bag with her and reached down to pick it up before climbing out onto the wing, bag in one hand and helmet in the other.
She smiled at the mechanic who was staring up at her with his mouth half-open. Fitz lifted her bag. ‘Here, catch!’ She dropped the bag down to him and then climbed down herself.
‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ said the mechanic. ‘Not quite what I was expecting to see.’
‘We’re only here for a quick pit stop,’ said Fitz. ‘Be a darling and tell me where the canteen is.’
The mechanic cleared his throat. ‘Of course. Well, I can do better than that. I can show you.’ He ran his finger around the neck of his overall.
‘Help Betty taxi in and you’ve got yourself a deal,’ said Fitz. She did enjoy flirting with the ground crew when she got the chance. Where was the harm in it? A dash of light-hearted flirting never hurt anyone. In fact, it practically boosted morale.
A few minutes later, Betty was standing next to Fitz. ‘Cup of tea?’ she enquired.
‘Of course,’ said Fitz. ‘This lovely chap is going to take us to the canteen.’
‘It’s Bob Allan,’ said the mechanic.
‘Hi, Bob.’ Fitz smiled broadly. ‘I’m Fitz and this is Betty.’
Bob shook hands with them both. Fitz couldn’t help giving a rather coy look from up under her eyelashes. ‘Nice to meet you, Bob. Before we go over, just give us a second to get out of these flight suits.’
Bob raised his eyebrows but said nothing as both Fitz and Betty unfastened their jackets, removed their boots and slid their trousers down. Each was wearing their dark blue ATA uniform underneath. Betty had sensibly opted for trousers that morning, but Fitz was wearing a skirt and stockings. From her bag, she whipped out a pair of low-heeled shoes and slipped her feet into them. ‘There. That’s better.’ She turned to Bob expectantly.
Bob visibly swallowed. ‘Erm. Yes,’ he said hesitantly, clearly caught out by the quick-change routine.
‘Right, Bob, be a darling and take us to the canteen. We’re gasping for a cuppa,’ said Fitz.
As they followed Bob across to the canteen, Betty nudged Fitz gently in the ribs. ‘Stop it,’ she mouthed silently.
Fitz simply grinned and winked at her friend instead.
The mess hall was busy as it was mid-morning and a lot of the crew were having their elevenses. A momentary hush descended over the room as Fitz and Betty made their entrance.
‘Tea and coffee is over here,’ said Bob. ‘What would you like?’
‘Oh, we have company,’ said a British airman, getting to his feet. ‘Good morning, ladies.’ It was as if he’d only at that moment noticed. ‘Where did you two appear from?’
‘We were just touring the area and dropped in,’ said Fitz.
The airman looked confused. ‘You can’t just drop in.’
‘Oh, they can,’ said Bob. ‘Believe me, that’s exactly what they’ve done.’
It took a second for the airmen to realise what Bob meant. ‘Attagirls?’ he said, eventually.
Fitz smiled. ‘Of course. Not that the uniform gives it away.’ She took the cup of tea Bob passed to her. ‘We landed the two Spits out there.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ said the airman.
‘And they landed them with ease, despite the crosswind today,’ came a voice that was distinctly not English. Maybe American.
Fitz turned around and nearly spluttered on the mouthful of tea. Leaning against a bookcase on the other side of the room was Flying Officer Sam Carter. The American she’d seen at the railway station when she’d stepped off the train at Maidenhead.
There was a small curve of amusement to his mouth and Fitz guessed the shock registered clearly on her face. She swallowed her tea and composed herself. ‘Well, if it isn’t …’ she paused and looked up to the ceiling, as if trying to recall his name. ‘Sam. Sam Carter. Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re turning up everywhere like the proverbial bad penny.’
There was a small chuckle from Bob. ‘That’s Flying Officer Carter.’
‘Oh, is it?’ replied Fitz nonchalantly, although she was dying to ask how an American had joined the RAF. And what a coincidence that she should meet him again.
Betty saved her the trouble. ‘How are you in the RAF if you’re American? Or are you Canadian?’
Sam pushed himself away from the bookcase and tapped one of the men sitting by the fireside on the shoulder. ‘Why don’t you let the ladies sit down?’
The airman got to his feet, albeit somewhat reluctantly, but he didn’t protest. Fitz got a sense that Sam was well respected among the British pilots. ‘Thank you,’ she said taking the now vacant seat.
The other chair was swiftly vacated for Betty by another pilot. Sam stood by the fireplace and offered Fitz and Betty a cigarette each, which they both accepted.
‘You didn’t answer Betty’s question,’ said Fitz, blowing out the smoke.
‘How I came to be here?’ Sam asked.
‘That’s the one,’ said Fitz.
‘American father and British mother,’ he replied.
‘He charmed his way in,’ said Bob. ‘He could charm his way into anything, couldn’t you, Sam?’
Sam didn’t answer. Fitz could sense a self-assurance that the flying officer didn’t feel the need to explain himself to anyone. Although there was a quiet and reassured confidence about the man, there certainly was no sense of arrogance.
Fitz was aware that not all the RAF pilots welcomed the ATA girls. The idea that a woman could fly a plane as well as, or indeed better than, some of the male pilots was alien to them. Still, it wasn’t the first time she’d come up against such resistance. It only served to spur her on even more and there was nothing she liked better than putting the men in their place.
‘So what are you both doing here today?’ asked Sam.
‘Our assignment is to familiarise ourselves with the south of England,’ said Betty.
‘And what better place to start than with RAF Tangmere,’ said Sam.
‘Yes, the Millionaire’s Club, as I understand it,’ remarked Fitz, casually looking around the room.
Sam shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
Bob laughed. ‘Our American Anglo pilot is being very modest. You know he’s an Olympian.’
Now that did surprise Fitz. ‘Really? In what sport?’
‘Rowing. Men’s eight,’ said Sam, matter of factly, as if it was no big deal.
‘And did you win? I have to admit I know nothing about rowing,’ confessed Fitz. She’d never wanted to get into a boat in her life but for some reason she was inexplicably fascinated by this American Olympian Anglo pilot based in Britain. She had no doubt he won.
‘Of course, Sam won,’ said Bob. ‘Gold.’
‘Wow. That’s impressive,’ replied Fitz.
‘He also went to Cambridge,’ added someone else from the other side of the room. ‘Quite the golden boy, aren’t you, Carter?’
‘Someone has to be,’ replied Sam.
Another ripple of laughter rang around the room. Fitz got the feeling that Sam was popular amongst his contemporaries. The ribbing was gentle and she could sense the ease among the men.
‘What made you swap a boat for a plane?’ she asked.
‘It sounded like good fun,’ replied Sam.
Fitz had the impression there was more to it than that, but Sam didn’t want to talk about it.
‘And why did you want to join the ATA?’ asked Sam.
Fitz held his gaze for a moment. ‘It sounded like good fun,’ she replied.
Sam laughed and lifted his teacup up to her. ‘Touché.’
‘So, what’s Tangmere like?’ asked Betty. ‘Seeing as it is the Millionaire’s Club.’
‘Oh, Tangmere is pretty quiet,’ said Sam.
‘Yeah, most of the village has been seconded by the military,’ said Bob. ‘Only a handful of villagers left. The houses and everything are needed for the likes of us. Well, mostly the officers.’
‘Not much nightlife,’ said Sam. ‘There’s the pub and the church. A few more pubs in Chichester. That’s three miles down the road but that’s about it.’
‘There’s a satellite airfield nearby, if I remember rightly,’ said Fitz. ‘Westhampnett.’
‘Someone’s been doing their homework,’ said Sam.
‘She’s not top of the class for no reason,’ said Betty with a motherly pride. ‘Our Fitz here is one of the best pilots in our group.’
‘I’ve only had clearance for class one aircraft at the moment,’ said Fitz. ‘Hoping to get onto the twin-engined planes soon.’
‘Those Spits are pretty good fun, though, I imagine,’ said Sam.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ gushed Fitz. ‘We love flying them. They are super fast.’
They chatted for about another twenty minutes or so, mostly about the aircraft and the war. Fitz thoroughly enjoyed talking to Sam, who seemed to take an interest in her personally. Asking where she was from and what it was like growing up with a governess.
‘Ghastly,’ confessed Fitz. ‘Although I think rather more ghastly for the governesses than for me. I did manage to go through seven of them in ten years.’
‘That’s quite an achievement,’ said Sam.
‘Probably not one I should boast about,’ said Fitz. ‘My father would be horrified.’
‘Gosh, we’d better get a move on,’ said Betty looking at her watch. ‘We’ve got to get around three more airfields today.’
It was with a great reluctance that Fitz said her goodbyes to RAF Tangmere, Sam in particular.
‘It’s been great talking to you,’ she said.
‘Likewise,’ said Sam, holding the door open for her and stepping out into the hallway. ‘If you’re ever here again, let me know.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that,’ replied Fitz.
She couldn’t help grinning to herself as she crossed the tarmac to her Spitfire.
‘Gosh you look like the cat who got the cream,’ said Betty.
Fitz just grinned even more. There was no point denying it.