Missing (3 page)

Peggy heard her husband’s footsteps upstairs. She had not slept well the past four nights. She had been dreaming about her son Jack, who was away in France, fighting in the war. All of her dreams were the same. Jack was flying a plane and he was in danger.

The Greenwoods had not seen Jack since he’d left home a year and a half ago. Not that they had tried to stop him. Jack had always wanted to be a pilot, and the war had given him his chance. He took flying lessons in Canada. After that, he went to England to train with the Royal Naval Air Service. Now, he was attached to the R.F.C., the Royal Flying Corps.

In January, Jack had been promoted. A framed picture of him in uniform stood on a shelf in the kitchen. He wore a leather coat, a soft leather helmet, and high boots. In the
photo, he held his pilot’s goggles in one hand, and he was laughing.

Peggy had Jack’s most recent letter in the pocket of her robe. She had read it many times, but now she pulled it out and read it again. Jack’s letters were always full of hope.

Somewhere in France

Dear Mother and Father,

I love to fly. I love to soar higher than the birds and the clouds and the trees. Farms and roads and rivers are laid out in wonderful patterns on the earth below. I wish you could see what I see from so high in the sky.

Two weeks ago I went up in a plane called a Sopwith Scout. I flew so high, I nearly froze. You must wonder why I was cold with all the clothes I have to wear. First, a layer of underwear. Then two sweaters and two layers of trousers. Over all, a fur-lined leather coat that comes almost to my knees, with a collar up to my chin. My leather helmet lined with wool and my high boots
complete the picture. That cold day, I wore goggles over my eyes. On my hands, I wore fur-lined gloves.

When I landed, I had frostbite under my eyes and along the top of my nose. My goggles protected my eyes, but not the skin on my face. My friends teased me for a week and told me I looked like a raccoon.

I have been in active service for many months now, but I am safe and well. Please do not worry about me. I am trying to do my part to help end this terrible war.

Your loving son,

Jack

Jack’s letters came only every few weeks. Peggy had read and folded this one so many times the paper had begun to tear. She thought about the words
active service
. She knew they meant that Jack was flying missions over German lines in the war zone.

She was not sure where Jack was located because he was not allowed to tell her. Place names were kept secret in case letters fell into
enemy hands. The Germans were not supposed to know about soldiers moving from place to place or where they were going next. That is why all of Jack’s letters started with the words
Somewhere in France
. Peggy understood the rule, but she still wished she knew exactly where her son was.

Peggy gave a long sigh. She wondered when the fighting would end. The war had started three years ago, in 1914. At that time, everyone believed it would be over before Christmas. But millions of men from many countries were still fighting.

Will came downstairs and sat at the table. Peggy poured his tea, and then she poured a second cup for herself. The kitchen warmed up while they ate their breakfast. There wasn’t much to say when they were both thinking about their only son. Peggy wondered if she should tell Will about the dreams she’d been having. She decided not to. He, too, might have had bad dreams about Jack.

The wind suddenly rattled a window that looked out over the back garden. Past the garden, Peggy and Will could see rows of apple trees, the branches reaching to the sky. The trees
were thin and bare on this cold morning, and snow covered the ground between the rows. Will reached across the table for Peggy’s hand.

“You’ve been dreaming about Jack again, haven’t you,” he said. “I can tell.”

She nodded, but she didn’t want to talk about the dreams. She tried to smile, and he tried to smile back. Peggy saw the lines in his face. Will had aged since Jack had left for the war. Peggy knew that she, too, had aged. She kept telling herself not to worry, that a letter would come soon.

The wind stopped rattling the window at that moment, and the brass ringer twisted in the front door. The noise made Will stand up too quickly. He almost lost his balance as he walked towards the front of the house. He and Peggy both knew the mail did not arrive this early. They had always feared that someone would come to the door and hand them a cablegram with a message they did not want.

The messenger on the doorstep did hand Will a cablegram, sent from the War Office in England. Will carried the piece of paper to the kitchen and laid it on the table. Peggy put
down her cup, but her hand shook so badly she spilled a puddle of tea over the table. She stood, and she waited. Will read the message out loud.

WE REGRET FLIGHT LIEUTENANT JACK GREENWOOD REPORTED MISSING MARCH 4. ANY FURTHER NEWS WILL BE SENT IMMEDIATELY.

Missing
. Peggy and Will tried to understand the word
missing
. They stared across the puddle of cold tea, and then they moved towards each other.

“But not dead,” said Peggy.

What did she say? Peggy’s voice sounded far away. Will looked at the cablegram again.

Jack was missing. But missing did not mean dead. Surely not. The cablegram did not say that Jack was dead.

Did this mean that there was still hope?

A few weeks later, a letter arrived. The letter had been written by Jack’s Commanding Officer, a man named Frank Bolton. Like Jack’s letters, it came from
Somewhere in France
.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood,

On March 4, 1917, your son Jack was involved in heavy fighting. While he was flying, he and two other pilots were attacked by German planes. They had a hard fight, but Jack shot down two enemy planes. After that, he became separated from the others. He might have been in another aerial fight. No one saw what happened to him. No one knows where his plane went down or if he landed safely. He has been declared missing.

If Jack had to land behind enemy lines, he might now be a prisoner. We hope that after this war is over, we will see him again. If we hear any news from the other side of the line, we will let you know right away. We miss Jack and his bright, happy ways. He never left his friends in trouble, and he was always one of the first to volunteer for duty.

All of Jack’s personal things have been collected and sent to England. These items will be sent on by mail to your home in Canada. In the meantime, the other pilots and Jack’s many friends here join me in
saying how sorry we are. We miss our true friend.

Sincerely,

Frank Bolton

This letter gave hope to the Greenwoods. Maybe their son was a prisoner. Maybe he was alive, after all.

Peggy looked over at Jack’s photo on the shelf. He was a handsome young man with dark hair and dark eyes. He was twenty-three years old and taller than his father. He was laughing, and ready for adventure.

June, 1917
Somewhere in France

Three months had passed since Jack Greenwood had gone missing. On this sunny day, two pilots stood chatting outside at their base camp. One was Frank Bolton, Jack’s Commanding Officer. The other was one of Jack’s friends. The two men heard the buzzing of an airplane, and they looked up. A single plane flew above them, a German plane.

The enemy pilot dropped a package from the plane and quickly flew back towards the German lines. Frank Bolton and the other
R.F.C. pilot ran to see what was inside the package that had landed with a thump nearby. Frank tore it open. Inside, he found a message written on a sheet of paper.

JACK GREEN CRASHED OVER MY LINE, MARCH 4, 1917.
TOT

Packages like this had been dropped at other times by enemy planes. The pilots on both sides of the war had a special code of honour. Sometimes, when a British or Canadian pilot died behind enemy lines, a German pilot would drop a package giving the news. The Royal Flying Corps did the same. Both sides received information about missing pilots in this way. The code of honour also helped the families of the pilots. Otherwise, years might pass before parents or wives knew if a loved one was alive or dead.

Jack Green crashed over my line, March 4, 1917. Tot.
Frank Bolton knew that the German word
tot
meant “dead.” No pilot named Jack Green had ever worked for him. But Frank knew that Jack Greenwood had gone missing
on March 4, 1917. And, of course, the names were almost the same.

The news had to be about the same man. The Germans might have made a mistake and left off the last part of the name.

Frank handed the message to the other pilot.

“The name is
Green
, not
Greenwood
,” he said. “But this must be about Jack Greenwood. What do you think?”

“I agree,” said the other pilot. “The Germans wouldn’t lie about a pilot’s death. But this is bad news about Jack.”

Frank looked through the package to see if it contained anything else. He wanted to know more of the story, because there was always more to know. Someone might have seen Jack’s plane go down. Someone might know other facts. But who was that person? And where was Jack’s body? Had he been buried by the Germans? Did he have a grave?

Frank was both sad and angry. Many of his pilots had been killed, and now one more was dead. Here was the proof, on a piece of paper in his hand. The proof came from the enemy and had to be believed.

The message about Jack’s death could not be treated as official news. Even so, Frank knew he would have to write another letter to Jack’s parents. He hated this part of his job, but the truth had to be told. Jack’s mother and father in Canada were waiting for news. And their son had been so young, only twenty-three years old.

Somewhere in France

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood,

Three months have passed since I first wrote to you. I must now tell you that I have received news about Jack. I have learned that his plane crashed behind enemy lines on March 4. It is my sad duty to let you know that Jack was killed at the time of the crash. We had hoped that his plane had landed safely and that he was a prisoner, but that did not happen.

I am so sorry to send such bad news. But Jack died the death of a hero. He served his King and country well. Every one of us is proud to have known such a fine man. You should be proud of him, too.

If you want to write to me, I will be glad to hear from you. I wish I knew more about the details of Jack’s death. If I learn anything else, I will write to you immediately.

Sincerely,

Frank Bolton

This was not the only letter received by the Greenwoods. Two official letters were also sent, both from England. The first was from the War Office.

London, England

June 10, 1917

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood,

I must inform you that word about your son, Flight Lieutenant Jack Greenwood, has been received from a German source. He was killed March 4, 1917, when his plane was brought down in the German lines.

We send our deep regrets.

The second letter, sent on behalf of the King and Queen, came from an office in Buckingham Palace. Their Majesties, said the letter, had learned with deep regret that the death of Jack Greenwood had now been confirmed. The King and Queen were very, very sorry.

Summer, 1917

Nova Scotia

The Greenwoods read the three letters about Jack’s death many times. Now they knew there was nothing left to hope for. Frank Bolton, Jack’s Commanding Officer, had even said in his letter that they should be proud. But why should they be proud? How could they be proud when the son they lost was so dear to them?

Peggy and Will could not bear to talk to each other about their son’s death. Not until much later. The thought of Jack’s plane crashing
to earth caused them too much pain. During the day, they tried to carry on. In the night, each of them heard the other crying.