The Spitfire Girls
Soraya M. Lane
This is not a time for women to be patient. We are in a war and we need to fight it with all our ability and every weapon possible. Women pilots, in this particular case, are a weapon waiting to be used. Hence I am speaking up for the women fliers, because I am afraid we cannot afford to let the time slip by just now without using them.
— Eleanor Roosevelt (1 September 1942)
PROLOGUE
TEXAS, 1940
LIZZIE
‘Sweetheart, what are you doing in my office?’
Lizzie looked up, pen poised above the words she’d so carefully written on the page. She smiled at her father as he collapsed into the armchair on the other side of the heavy oak desk. He always gave her the same look, as if they were co-conspirators in whatever she was working on, and today was no different.
‘I’m writing to Mrs. Roosevelt to explain how women could assist the military,’ she said, waiting for his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise, which they did almost immediately. ‘Would you like to hear it?’
‘You’re writing to the first lady?’ he asked, shaking his head, his eyes twinkling. Her father was always humouring her, always ready to listen to whatever hare-brained idea she might have. ‘Lizzie, we’re not even at war.’
‘Yet,’ she said. ‘We’re not at war yet, Daddy.’
‘Well then, read away.’
Lizzie cleared her throat and sat back in her daddy’s chair, letter raised slightly in her hand. She glanced at the framed photo of him in his uniform before reciting the words, imagining herself doing the daring things he’d described to her ever since she was a little girl, the adventures in the air during wartime that he had so vividly recalled to her.
‘Dear Mrs Roosevelt,
As an avid supporter of women’s rights, I write in the hope of your expert assistance. I have thought of many ways to start my letter, but in truth I’m a straight talker and I want to get directly to the point. Although our country presently isn’t at war, and I certainly hope it will remain that way, I want to be prepared to assist if required.
Women can play a much bigger role in the event of war than nursing and supporting our men at home. As an experienced pilot myself, I believe women pilots could take over military flying jobs that don’t involve fighting, to allow male pilots to be released for combat service. Women pilots could successfully ferry planes for the military and conduct support missions, and I would be more than prepared to personally train these women.
To succeed, we need your support, and I would love to meet with you to discuss how I could assist the military to establish a squadron of brave, capable American women pilots.’
She cleared her throat and dropped the letter to the desk.
‘So what do you think?’ she asked, studying her father’s face. He was always telling her that she could achieve anything she set her mind to, but this time she didn’t want to be placated. This time she wanted his honest opinion. He was a veteran, one of their nation’s most celebrated pilots from the Great War, and she wanted to know what the pilot in front of her thought, not the daddy trying to say what his daughter wanted to hear.
‘Sweetheart, I honestly don’t know what to say.’
She sighed and folded the crisp sheet of paper, placing it carefully in the envelope.
‘You think I’m crazy for believing this could happen?’ she asked. ‘Is that it?’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘Lizzie, it’s not me you have to convince. I’ve seen you in the sky. I’ve been watching you and listening to you for years,’ he said. ‘But convincing men that you’re every bit as capable as them isn’t going to be so easy. You know that as well as I do.’
She squeezed his hand in return before gently letting it go. ‘Mrs Roosevelt isn’t a man,’ she replied, knowing she sounded like a temperamental child. ‘And I bet there were plenty of people who doubted how talented you were until they saw you fly first hand.’
‘Getting what you want is never easy. Don’t go thinking that I dazzled everyone from day one, Liz. It took me months before I had the chance to prove myself, but I always knew that one day I’d have the opportunity to show everyone what I could do,’ he said. ‘And it might be the First Lady you’re writing to, but it’s men you’re asking her to convince on your behalf.’
Lizzie knew that – of course she did. But if she could get just get one person on her side, if she could get one foot in the door, she knew she’d be able to convince others that she was capable. Patience had never been her virtue, and she doubted it ever would be. But determination? She had that in abundance. And she didn’t believe it had ever been as hard for a man to prove himself as it was for a woman to do the same.
‘I’m not you, Daddy,’ she said. ‘You had the opportunity to show them from the sky, but I might never get that chance unless I fight for it.’
‘One day, Lizzie, women will have all the respect in the world.’ He sat back, puffing on his pipe. The strong, familiar odour was pungent, but it was a smell Lizzie had grown up with and one that would forever be associated with her father. ‘For now, you need to bide your time, keep your flying hours up and wait for the opportunity to present itself. And you need to placate your mother before she starts on at me again. You won’t be going anywhere if you can’t get her on side.’