She’d close her eyes and listen to hear the sounds of the farm when everything slept, or the tires of the Dodge, jumping from rut to rut on the dirt roads and no one in the car but her. Even in the air she was accompanied by an instructor. She craved the day when training would move past solos, and she would have her time in the sky to herself again.
Before she slipped away to the canteen, Liddy took pen and paper from her locker to write home before lights out. She wrote to Daniel and Celia, and she jotted off a note to Rowby. She would tuck it away until she heard word from Daniel where she should mail it. She was careful to make sure it was light and friendly. She knew how natural it would be for him to make what he wanted of it. And then she wrote to Jack and Crik again:
May 12, 1943
Dear Daddy and Crik,
Well my time of luxury is over, but the food at the mess here would put Carol Ann at the diner to shame. The kitchen puts out quite a spread and encourages the trainees to pile it high. I had eggs and brains for breakfast. I think it must be like what I’ve heard Earl talk about. He’ll be glad to know I’m taking some risks. The barracks are crowded, but I’ve been bunked with some gals that are sure to make the next five months interesting.
I flew a PT-19 the past two days. It’s a heavy ship and like all the planes here, has some miles on it, but boy are there lots of planes. When you look out on the main strip, there must be 100 of them lined up and then there’s more on the back fields and in the hangars.
Texas is dry and I’m bracing myself for the heat of summer. People keep talking about the blistering heat to come like it has wheels and is going to roll over us like a freight train.
We haven’t been back to the town of Sweetwater. We’re restricted to the base for the first two weeks “quarantined” but the townspeople seemed nice, a little unsure of us, but nice. I think of the show and how just one lady pilot knots up the sensibilities of our little crowds, and Sweetwater has hundreds of lady pilots on their spot of the earth, all at one time. I guess that’s a lot for a groundling to handle.
Try to put your heads together and write me a letter okay? I miss you both. Tell everyone I said hi, and give Muck a scratch for me.
The first few weeks of training were just the beginning of a long line of exhaustion hangovers. Each day got tougher and ended with the women dragging themselves into their bays and flopping into bed. And the following day was always a struggle to drag themselves out again. It wasn’t unusual to wake up full of confidence one morning and then run on empty the next. That was the gauge that determined the spring in their step.
The women’s interest in a look in the mirror faded until they no longer visited the spot at all. Marina hadn’t opened her paint bag in weeks, and the thought of having pearls rubbing against her sweaty skin made her feel claustrophobic.
The inspections were another weight. The quarters were to be neat and tucked at all times. Sinks had to be dry and polished, shoes lined up, beds wrinkle free, nothing in the trash can and no dust. The list went on.
Joy Lynn was collecting demerits like coins, and both sides of the bay were put on restriction for her transgressions. The twelve women were confined to the base for two weeks, which was supposed to teach everyone a lesson. The disciplinarians didn’t know that the grounding would have had to last for at least a month to have had much of an impact. When two or more girls get together they have a way of finding fun, no matter where they are. Joy Lynn’s housekeeping did improve somewhat, but it was the others picking up her trails that really kept her and the rest of the bay in the clear.
Liddy, Bet, Louise, Carla and Ruby were stuck with Gant for phase one. None of them really minded though. He turned out to be an excellent pilot and his tone had leveled to a rumble. Each morning he would lead them through the day’s agenda with as much patience as he could forge. “I expect you to have this checklist down by tomorrow,” he growled one day.
“We memorize it?” Bet whispered to Liddy.
Gant stepped in front of Bet. “No, Bailey, you have to know it. And the flight forms have to be filled out for every flight: name of pilot, time, class, flight, signature. Got it?”
As the temperatures climbed, heads bobbed and eyelids drooped during ground school. Surprise examinations became the norm but they still somehow caught the gals off guard, especially Liddy, who found so much of the information useless. She hadn’t needed it up till now and couldn’t imagine what would possibly change that.
With every ambush Captain Charles would say the same thing, “Hope you reviewed the material that was presented yesterday because you’re being tested on it today. Have fun, ladies.”
Liddy didn’t really think she needed to know when and how the first plane was built. She knew how it worked and that, she thought, was what mattered. But with each day she was introduced to instruments, weather patterns, or some other new territory and realized she had better try and make some connections. What she did know, which was a great deal, she found difficult to pull from her intuition and put down on paper. Ground school took flying from Liddy’s heart and worked it through her brain like a clothes wringer.
Liddy knew more about the engines than some of the mechanics on the field—Crik had taught her well. Word spread through the Avenger underground that Liddy had some skill with a wrench. When a particularly stubborn problem plagued one of the engine jocks, he might quietly seek Liddy out and ask her a question or two.
Ground school also included time in the Link Trainer, which was also more difficult in the heat of the summer. The Link was essentially a wood box with wings and a tail that had been outfitted with a control panel and was mounted on a swivel. Forerunner to the flight simulator, it was used in a classroom to work on instruments and navigation skills. A trainee would be shut up inside the enclosed chamber and then spun and rocked at the instructor’s discretion.
It was after Marina’s first work in the enclosed trainer that she rushed back to the bay and put her beauty bag at the bottom of her locker. When she climbed out of the box that day, her hair hung like vines, and her make-up had melted and was sliding off her face. She passed Homer Nash in the hall and was devastated. Even though they couldn’t date the men, there was no reason to frighten them.
Surprisingly, marching was one of the greatest challenges. It was quite a jumble, and became the source for group humiliation. One afternoon the new trainees marched past the senior class who stepped in meticulous unison as they sang to the tune, Swinging on a Star.
“Would you like to loop round a star, ferry ATs home from afar, and be better off than you are. Or would you rather be a WAVE?…”
The younglings craned their necks to take in the show, until their jumble became a tumble and most of them ended up on the ground entangled with one another.
The senior class enjoyed the spectacle and continued on, “… A WAVE may be an ensign or a seaman first class. Her uniform of navy blue will pass. As the Navy says her weight in gold she’s worth, but who could want to be confined to earth? As for me, she can keep all of those things—I’d rather have my silver wings.”
Liddy was still on the ground when she looked up and saw Jenna Law marching past her. Jenna grinned down at her and snapped a salute. That was not Liddy’s best day.