I sat on my bunk, my back against the wall, holding a flight instruction manual workbook. To anybody watching, and there were a couple dozen of the guys all around, it looked as though I was studying. But behind the manual, hidden from prying eyes, was the pad I was going to use to write a letter to my mother.

It wasn’t like I was ashamed or embarrassed to be writing to her; people wrote letters home all time. It was just that if anybody saw the letter, I wouldn’t be able to explain why I was writing about things that were happening at my boarding school.

These letters were necessary, but not necessarily easy. I felt bad lying to Mom, which seemed strange since my entire life these days was nothing but one big lie that I was keeping from her. Somehow, though, it seemed worse when I had to put it all down in writing. But there was no choice: in order to keep the big lie away from her, I had to keep up all the little ones.

October 15, 1943

Dear Mumsy,

I’d like to start off by apologizing for how short this letter is going to be. I’m neck-deep in work, and you’ll be happy to know that I’m taking my studies more seriously than I ever have in my entire life!

That certainly wasn’t a lie. My teachers had always accused me of not “applying” myself. Nobody was saying that here.

My marks, particularly in all of the mathematics areas, have been top of the class. My instructors have been using me as an example to motivate the other students.

Again, I was just telling the truth. My marks were also tops in navigation, orientation, and general aircraft flight dynamics, but I wasn’t about to tell her that or try to explain it.

Given my newly discovered aptitude with numbers, I’m beginning to think that I might want to pursue accountancy, or something in the financial field, at university. Perhaps I could become a banker. Never bad to be around money!

As well, while I wasn’t truly thinking much about accounting, I was starting to figure out an excuse for why I wouldn’t be coming home in June.

If my mathematics marks continue at this level, I’ve been assured that I can enrol directly in an accounting class upon graduation this year. I know that it would mean not coming home for the summer, but I have been given reason to believe that I might even warrant a full scholarship for the program! That would simply be too good an opportunity to pass up, and it would help prepare me for university!

“Anybody for a little craps?” Johnnie asked.

I looked up, surprised to see him standing there. I’d been so lost in the letter that I hadn’t noticed him coming. He was shaking a pair of dice in his left hand.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said.

“You can’t still be studying,” he said, shaking his head, a look of utter disgust on his face.

“I want to know where everything is the next time I get into the trainer, so I can be a better pilot.”

“Didn’t you see me up there?” he said. “I was the class ace.”

“You were pretty good,” I admitted.

It had been reassuring to me to watch as the instructor forced recruit after recruit to crash the simulator. After the third or fourth crash, it became clear that he wasn’t letting anybody get out alive the first time. Clearly his greatest worry wasn’t that we’d lose confidence but that we’d be too cocky.

Some had crashed almost immediately, while he’d had to work hard to make some of the others burst into flames. One of the hardest was Johnnie. Somehow his lack of interest in the classroom, theoretical part of flight hadn’t hindered him in his handling of the simulator. We’d heard instructors talk about “natural pilots,” and I was beginning to think that Johnnie was one of those—assuming he didn’t wash out tomorrow by flunking another test or getting caught coming back in through the barracks window at four in the morning.

“And do you know the reason why I was so good?” Johnnie boasted.

“I was thinking blind, dumb luck?” Jim said. He got up from the lower bunk, where he’d been lying down, and the whole bed shook.

“I wouldn’t rule that out completely,” Johnnie replied. “But I think it has to do with all the craps I play.”

“What?” I said.

“I gotta hear this,” Jim said. “Explain.”

“Well, if you think about it, flying is all about hand-to-eye coordination. And in shooting craps, everything depends on coordination in the wrist movement.” He shook the dice in his hand and then mimed throwing them.

Jim and I cracked up at that, but it didn’t seem to bother Johnnie at all, because he had a grin a mile wide.

“That’s priceless, Johnnie. Next you’ll be telling us that having a good belt of whisky makes you a better pilot too,” Jim taunted him.

“Maybe it does. Good pilots are relaxed pilots, and maybe a shot or two relaxes me.”

“And chasing the local ladies? Are you going to explain how that makes you better at flying?”

“That one’s easy. My pursuit of the honeys has resulted in me having to take evasive action on more than one occasion.” He paused and pointed to his eye. “Not to mention that it’s given me combat experience!”

Both Jim and I—and everyone else listening to Johnnie’s routine—broke into laughter again.

“You’re wasting your time becoming a pilot,” Jim said. “You should be on the radio with Jack Benny and the other comedians.”

“I guess there’d be more money in that, but I’m in this for King and Country. At the rate I’m training, and with all these sacrifices I’m making to become a good pilot, I might become the greatest Canadian air ace since Billy Bishop!” he trumpeted, and there was even more laughter. “Well, how else can you explain it? You certainly can’t think it comes from any book!” Johnnie exclaimed.

Before I could react, he reached up and snatched my book, letter and all, out of my hands. The book he took away, but the letter fluttered to the ground.

“Give me that!” I screamed.

Before I could even think to react, he grabbed the letter from the ground. “Let’s see who Davie here is writing to! Maybe the ladies’ man has got himself a girlfriend!” he said as he danced away.

I jumped down to the ground and tried to take the letter, but he fended me off with one arm and started to read.

“‘Dear Mumsy’ … Mumsy? … Shoot, he’s writing to his mother.”

Before Johnnie could get any further, Jim reached over and swiped the letter back and handed it to me. Thank goodness.

“Might as well let him have his letter back,” Jim said, “especially seeing as we’re not sure you can actually read.”

Johnnie just laughed. “Well, fellas, while you’re wasting your time writing letters and studying books,” he said, slapping the workbook with his free hand, “I’m putting mine to good use to become a better pilot, according to my own patented training system. Now, are you interested in playing, yes or no?”

“I’ll pass. When I finish my letter, I’m going to study,” I replied.

“I think I’ll play some craps,” Jim said. “He might just have something there. No other reason I can think of for him to be any good in the air.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Johnnie chirped. He tossed the book to me and I caught it. “As for you, don’t wear your eyes out studying, and send your mother our love!”

“Yeah, right.”

I climbed back up onto my bunk. I smoothed out the paper, which had gotten a little crinkled in the exchange. The very bottom of the sheet had also been ripped. I thought about starting over, but that seemed like too much effort. It was best just to continue with this one.

Of course, with things going the way they are in the war, even though I’m eager to begin training as an accountant, university will probably have to wait a little longer.

There was no need to say any more, because we’d argued about it often enough. She also knew that by summer, she wouldn’t be able to stop me from enlisting. Besides, I really couldn’t let her sidetrack me. My only hope of all of this never being discovered was to continue to write to her from overseas next year, after telling her I’d enlisted on my eighteenth birthday. She wouldn’t have to know that I’d really enlisted a whole eleven months earlier. And even though by then I’d be flying in combat, I’d just pretend that I was still in basic training. And on the bright side, she’d be less worried thinking I was still in training and not yet flying missions. So, in a strange way, I was lying to make it easier for her. That was how I had to think about it.

Back to the correspondence. A letter from Chip had arrived and it contained the sort of tidbits that would keep the boarding school illusion alive. Even better, his letter contained correspondence that my mother had sent to me at school, so I was able to work some realistic details into my letter to her.

I don’t know if you had a bad storm last week, but we certainly had one in Toronto. A couple of trees on the school grounds were hit. One was split right down the middle as if it had been struck by a giant with an axe. The lightning and thunder were so bad that it practically shook me out of bed.

I was so sad to hear about Mrs. Henderson. She led a long life and I know she’ll be remembered fondly by all who knew her. Please send on my condolences and my regrets at not being able to attend the funeral.

I said a silent thanks to Chip.

He’d also written to tell me that he was slogging away in school and getting the best marks of his life. Maybe what our teachers had always said was right: we were a bad influence on each other. He also promised, though, that come early December, he’d stir up enough to keep himself stuck in the mailroom.

Please send my love to the girls, and even to Scotty (just kidding, little brother). I miss you all and love you all very much.

Your loving son,

I stopped myself, in shock. I’d almost written David, the first stroke already made. I could easily fix that. It would have been so much easier just to write McWilliams.

Robbie.

There, that did it. Now I’d put the letter in an envelope, address it to my mother at my home address, and put it in a bigger envelope that I’d mail to Chip. Of course, I’d write him a letter as well. It was good to have one person in the world with whom I could be honest.

“McWilliams.”

That startled me! It was a corporal standing beside my bunk.

“CO wants to see you in his office.”

“He does? Do you know what it’s about?”

He pointed at the two stripes on his shoulder. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but the commanding officer generally doesn’t share his thoughts with me. I’m more his clerk than his best buddy.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry,” I mumbled.

“But if you want, I’ll just go back and ask him, you know, to make sure it’s something important enough to make you want to come and see him … I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“That’s okay,” I said as I jumped down from my bunk.

I started off and suddenly remembered that my letter was sitting up there on the bed. What if it blew down or somebody picked it up and looked at it? I ran back and grabbed it, stuffing it in my pocket.

“He did say on the double, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you!”

“No, Corporal!” I replied. I started off, running at what could only be called triple time.