“First of all, I’m going to teach you how to fly straight and level.” Frank was standing next to her by the airplane, one hand in his pocket while the other gestured, floating airily over the cockpit.
“You need to fully understand the use of the controlling surfaces. The rudder, the elevator, and the aileron.”
Miriam was concentrating, repeating each word internally so that it registered.
She rolled the words around in her mouth and watched as he walked to the end of the wings, his hand touching the bottom one. Frank seemed to have regained himself from the day of the lunch, more the man she knew at the accident. His speech, clear and earnest, even the way he held himself, his body looser, told her that here is where he could breathe with ease.
“Now these are the ailerons,” he said, pointing. “There’s one on each bottom wing. Would you mind reaching into the cockpit and moving the control column to the right?”
“Like this?” Miriam gripped the instrument and moved it as instructed.
“You see, that causes the right aileron to go up and the left to go down, which causes the airplane to bank.”
He told her about the airstream that would be caught in the incline of the right aileron, thus pushing that wing down while the force of air on the underside of the left wing would be pushed up, and as he spoke she was imagining the feeling of sitting in the cockpit, the airplane tilting while soaring through the air. This sensation made her stomach lurch. Nerves, she thought.
“Birds have known this forever,” she said, but her voice was too soft, and the wind carried her words off in another direction. She thought of the simple magic of flying, and what it might be like to control this machine that seemed fragile, even ominous propped on the ground like this. Frank leaned down on the wing to demonstrate the banking possibilities, then moved to the tail of the airplane, reaching out to the horizontal wings on either side.
“The elevator is also operated by the control lever.”
Miriam could see that he wanted to make her understand, not just how the controls worked but the way in which the airplane responded to small adjustments, the impact of air currents, and how to manoeuvre the controls to take advantage of other forces. It was the mechanics of flight that he wanted her to understand, but also to feel.
“For the elevator, the controls move frontward and backward. Go on. Try it.”
Miriam pushed the control column forward, and the elevator dipped down.
“When I push the column forward and the elevator goes down, it’s trapping the air, which forces the tail up.” She was starting to understand the air stream and the effect of the pressure it exerted on the inclined surfaces.
“Exactly. And the nose down.”
Then the final component, the rudder. He told her that the rudder of the airplane, controlled by the foot pedal, operated like that of a boat, in that it forced the turning of the machine. He stopped then and took a few steps away. He had been assured, precise in his presentation, and now there was something quiet, youthful in his stance. His body dipped slightly to one side, and he seemed uncertain how to proceed. It was only three weeks since Peter’s crash, since she had met him, and in their enthusiasm at having rescued him, the lesson had been a rash offering. Her impulsive acceptance felt as though she were overstepping. But she knew if she hadn’t accepted, the offer would slip; she’d be forced to come to her senses, to be reminded that she was still recovering.
She pulled on the aviator cap and stepped up into the cockpit. This catapulted Frank into action as he rushed over to give the last instruction on the shuttle lever that she would operate when taxiing for takeoff.
“I need to impress upon you to keep the controls absolutely steady,” Frank said, his tone returning to that of a lecturer. “They are very responsive to the slightest movement you make.” He connected her to the cockpit radio and showed her the mouthpiece where she should speak clearly if she needed to ask him something.
Inside the cockpit Miriam felt as though she had entered a womb, one with hard surfaces, room to breathe, and she settled in, her fingertips grazing the instruments as she recited the instructions.
Aileron, elevator, rudder.
Frank was behind her, speaking into the mouthpiece, asking if she was ready. This question hung there for a moment, her mind still on the instruments which she now held in each hand, the shuttle lever in her left, the control column in her right. She moved her feet so that each foot could press the pedal that controlled the rudder.
It was impossible to understand why she had faith in this machine, its responsiveness to the adjustment that would command lift-off, allow it to turn, circle around. The physics of it were a great comfort to her.
Later, when she walked home, her head still fizzy with the thrill of it, she thought about Edmund and how he had spent his day. She’d asked him to come, to see her first flight, but he claimed he could not close the store. They’d had words, sharp words that were meant to hurt.
“I don’t have time for that today.”
“That being my first flight. Oh, come, Edmund, it will just be a few hours. Put a sign up to say you have an appointment, or that you’re ill. No one will mind.”
“But I’m not ill. I don’t have an appointment.”
“Your appointment would be to see my first flight.”
“But that would be dishonest.”
“Dishonest, but faithful.”
“I have always been faithful.”
On it went until it was time for Miriam to leave, and Edmund, overheated by emotion, had gone to the bedroom for no reason other than to escape the conversation.
“I’m off,” she shouted through the door.
“Be careful.” His words weak, barely heard.
She glanced back when she went through the gate and saw him standing by the side of the bedroom window, watching her leave. She wanted to wave, but she also did not want to acknowledge that she’d seen him.
The day had been spent on small adjustments, a constant fine tuning to take into effect wind, height, speed. She could see that she and Edmund had their own series of adjustments. The small gestures that could alter a mood, make someone happy. It seemed she and Edmund were on a particular track, careful to avoid a state where they would be weighted by the other’s disappointment. He had told her to go flying, a tone that suggested that he knew she needed to get it out of her system, while he kept an eye on the situation in Europe.
When Neville Chamberlain had gone to Germany to meet with Hitler a few weeks ago, it was the first time he’d flown in an airplane. The state of mind he must have been in, Miriam thought, to be introduced to flight and Hitler on the same day. Such intensity; it was impossible to think where his emotions might have landed.
It was a battle of the mind to lean into war, then accept that it would not come. This, their constant torment. What exactly was the situation in Europe? This, the question no one could answer. But efforts were being made to keep peace on the agenda. Edmund was talking about joining the air raid wardens, so even as they turned away from the glare of war, they were forced to keep their grip on the fringes of it.
For now she would hold on to the knowledge of this flight, having seen the village from the air again, and she would go home to Edmund and describe it to him. She would explain what she’d learned about airplane flight. She would demonstrate with pieces of card how the aileron trapped the air when turned up or down, and though he may already be aware of these fundamentals, he would nod his head and offer “marvellous” when she was done. They had talked about getting a motor car once, but Edmund didn’t see the need when they could walk everywhere they went, and she didn’t have any compelling argument for pushing the decision, so it floundered, neither a yes nor a no. It could have been that moving forward was hard for both of them; it may have been that Edmund was overwhelmed by it, not fully understanding the way the car operated, or perhaps he saw a burden in it, this machine that would propel them into the future.
He would be pleased for her, somewhat bemused by her passion for flying, then when she finished, he would turn the wireless on, and they would listen to the news.
“Sitting comfortably,” she shouted into the mouthpiece.