Chapter ­14

With school over, Jack worked every day at the air base. They’d had no further news of Sandy, but Flo had written several times, talking about the long hours she worked nursing wounded ­fliers.

She missed Sandy a lot and worried about him but said she had quite a few friends. Some of the other nurses had boyfriends they hadn’t heard from. Flo got to go to dances because the nearby bases would send a bus for the nurses to come for the evening. They danced to live bands and orchestras. Sometimes entertainers put on variety shows for the troops. Jack was glad it wasn’t all ­work.

She had hinted that she might be moved. She couldn’t say where to or when but she had written a strange sentence or two in her last letter. He didn’t think his mother had figured out what Flo was trying to tell ­them.

“I’m looking forward to taking a hike with friends soon down the winding road leading from this hospital to a much smaller one. Around the bend are fields with farmers clearing crops. It’s pretty rustic but the scenery will be ­different.

“How did school go, Jack? Did you excel in French and English?”

“Flo knows French and English aren’t your best subjects,” Dad said after reading the letter and passing it on to him. “What’s she talking about?”

“She’s probably forgotten he’s our Math whiz kid,” said his mother. “I’m glad she’s getting out with friends her own age. Flo is better at this than I would ever be. I worry more than she does.”

Dad had leaned across the table and given her a peck on the cheek. “We all do the best we can, Ivy.”

After Jack had read the letter twice, he’d decided that Flo was being shipped out to a field hospital somewhere near the front, probably in France. He was proud of her – and a tad worried. Were field hospitals ­safe?

Jack’s own life had settled into a comfortable routine, revolving around his job at the base, the choir and hanging out with Trevor, Basil, Cathy, Cheese and Dexter. Wes had gone off to be a counsellor at a church camp but would be back soon. Jack missed him. Wes could be pretty serious but he was a lot of fun ­too.

There’d been a couple of minor accidents at the base but nothing really bad. Jack was working hard, cycling out to the airfield every morning at ­eight-­thirty to find Harold and Angus already at ­work.

One morning in ­mid-­July Jack heard a loud shout from the hangar as he pulled into the service yard. The old ­half-­ton shot out of the hangar. Harold was driving and Angus slumped in the passenger seat. Harold spotted Jack and ­stopped.

“Come here, Jackie.”

Jack jumped up on the running board of the ­truck.

“Get in beside him and press this against his side where he’s bleeding.” Harold handed Jack a large gauze compress from the ­first-­aid ­kit.

Jack opened the door and squeezed in beside Angus, whose face was white as flour. Blood oozed from his left side through the shredded fabric of his coveralls. Jack placed the compress against the spot with his left hand and managed to close the door with his ­right.

“Just keep it pressed down,” Harold said as he took off for the infirmary. “Might slow the bleeding.”

“What happened?” Jack switched to holding the compress with his right hand stretched across Angus’s body, trying not to touch his stomach and make things ­worse.

“Propeller,” Harold said. “He was supposed to have all the switches off, and –”

“They were off,” Angus said, his head still bent. “I’m sure they were.”

“I came along in time to see him give the prop a good swing and all of a sudden the engine bursts into life and the prop rips through his coveralls.”

Angus ­moaned.

“Hang on, man, we’re there.” Harold stopped the ­half-­ton right in front of the doors and leaned on the horn. A startled orderly grabbed a stretcher and yelled for help. In a moment two guys sprinted to the truck as Jack and Harold helped Angus out of the cab. In another moment they had him settled on the stretcher and whisked him inside. Harold followed to explain what ­happened.

Jack shuddered. His hand was covered in blood and he tried to clean it off on the corner of the compress, which had fallen to the ground. He hoped Angus wasn’t cut up too badly, hoped he’d soon be out of pain. He could easily have been sliced to pieces by the propeller, but Jack didn’t think it would be that bad. Angus had still been ­conscious.

There had to be a better way of designing a plane. A guy shouldn’t have to spin the propeller to get it going. He thought about the diagrams of the engine and propeller he’d studied in books and tried to see them in his mind. His fingers itched to hold a pencil and paper. He was sure he could think of something. Jack needed to learn a lot more, he knew that. Maybe he could work on that at university. Maybe he could come up with a new design and no one would ever have an accident like this one ­again.

Finally Harold came out the front door. “He’s all right. Got some deep gashes that will need stitches and he’ll have spectacular bruises, but they don’t think there are any internal injuries. They’re going to keep him in a couple of days till he starts to mend. Then he’ll have to take it easy at home for a week or so.”

Jack heaved a sigh of relief. Angus would be okay. There wouldn’t be a new grave in the Cairn ­cemetery.