Jenny in the Sky

Jenny's father was a pilot.

He worked with five other men, building planes, training others, and testing new models. Ever since Jenny was young, her father had taken her up in the planes, so high her fingers frosted over and she couldn't hear her thoughts, and whenever they landed, Jenny would always say "can I go again?"

When she was five she announced at Christmas she wanted to be a pilot, to the horror of her mother and other relatives.

When she was eight, she tried to fly a plane by herself, only to be caught just before take off.

When she was fourteen, she helped her father build and design a new model.

When she was fifteen, in 1939, war broke out, and her father's air station became a lot busier. Jenny would often watch the new recruits train, saw planes she knew and loved having artillery attached to them, and was there when men left and never returned. She knew every switch, every engine, every machine. She would hover over the mechanics as they worked, frequently asking questions, occasionally being allowed to help out. While her friends learned to manage rations, she learned to manage an overworked engine.

That December, a week before Christmas, Jenny stayed up late with her father.  An old, yellow model stood proudly in front of them, it's belly open and surrounded by a littering of tools. Jenny's father lay on his back, staring up at the mechanics and twiddling a screw driver.

"Shame about Timpson," he said "He was a good kid. Nice flyer."

"Hmm" said Jenny, thinking of how the underside was going to be patched.

"Listen, I've been thinking."

"Hmm" said Jenny.

He father paused.

"Jenny, are you listening to me?"

"Hmm."

He looked at her.

"Jenny this is important."

Jenny glanced up from the pile of tools.

"Tomorrow I'm taking his place and flying out on a raid. It's time I did my duty for this country. I know more about planes than most of the men in this, and they need me."

Jenny stared at him.

"Don't be silly, you can't! It's not your job, and you're... well, you're old! You've done your bit, building these planes, training others. Why should you risk your life?"

He sighed, and sat up, putting his hands on Jenny's shoulders. She searched his face, looking for a sign that he was joking, but every wrinkle only enforced the severity.

"It is an honour to fight. I cannot leave these men one pilot down, you know I can't. I'm tired of being the one who never risks himself for others. It's high time I backed the others up."

"So you value honour over life?" she cried, her voice rising high.

"How many of you're friend's dads are away fighting," he snapped angrily "you should count yourself lucky I haven't had to go abroad to work for the war."

"You can't go, you'll die!"

"Thanks for the vouch of faith. I am an experienced pilot, Jenny. Lesser skilled than I have survived much worse. I'm going out and fighting, so they can't come here and take over. I'm fighting to keep you, and your mother, and all of England safe. That's worth a thousand of me." He stood up, gathered up the tools angrily, and left the garage, the door banging shut behind him. Jenny sat, stunned. Her eyes stung with tears, but she wiped them away. Crying was only weakness.

The next day she watched as her father flew off with the rest of the pilots. Just before they took off, he turned and gave her a thumbs up.

That was the last time she saw him.

The entire squadron had been shot down. This time, Jenny let herself cry, locked in the bathroom and hunched over the toilet.

Outside, a wisp of tinsel fluttered down the street.