Almost a Great Escape Read online

  At night, the competition was in the dining room and bar of the Alpine Inn. For the girls. The Norwegians in uniform had the advantage. New. Exciting. Different.

  Jens has not noticed the way the girls’ eyes follow him on the ski hill, or now, as he stands alone in a corner of the Inn watching the New Year crowd. As usual, he is keeping to himself. The other pilots tease him about his solemn attitude.

  The Inn’s varnished log walls glisten with light crackling from the tall stone fireplace. In the balcony above the dining room, a four-piece band plays slow tunes. The rafters appear to sway as red and green streamers unwind in the rising heat. Montreal socialites chat over a white wine supper. The husbands wear tuxedos with crisp white shirts. The wives wear stiff dark gowns with high necks and low hems.

  New Year’s Eve is passing slowly for Jens. After spending almost the whole week with Alice, he is going to spend the last night of his leave alone.

  She had warned him. Her parents were coming to the Inn. She would have to sit with them. He won’t have her to himself.

  “But it will be my last night here. Our last night together.”

  Jens’s Norton. This photo of the heroic and handsome Jens on his motorcycle would have thrilled the adventurous Alice while giving Big Marjorie social nightmares. Photo courtesy Jon Müller.

  “I can’t help it. My mother insists I sit with her. It is family. I have no choice.”

  You do, he thought but did not say.

  He has been preparing himself all day for this evening, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy watching Alice from a distance. He is doing a good job of keeping his thoughts under control.

  He should be enjoying his last day of leave so he can train harder when he returns to camp. He needs to work more on his navigation. Studying navigation is important, not just for a fighter pilot, but for a commercial pilot after the war. Everything is important, damn it. He mustn’t let himself get distracted by a girl he has known for less than a week. Alice Tyler.

  The war is in its second year. If he is to survive, he must learn all he can before he joins the British squadrons.

  He will not allow himself to think about his mother and brother under the eyes of the Nazis. He will not allow himself to think about his father in a Chinese prison. He will not think about the friends he lost when the Nazis invaded. He will not think of the engineering studies he left in Zurich. He will not think about his Norton motorcycle and the Oslo summer races.

  He will only think about flying.

  He will not think about his dash from Zurich to Bordeaux and then to London where he enlisted in the Royal Norwegian Air Force. He had worried unnecessarily about being accepted. That was a lesson to remember. Don’t worry unnecessarily. The Government in Exile examiners hadn’t questioned his ability to complete the training. He’d been flying since he was 18. That was for fun. The thrill. That was yesterday. This is for war. Hurricanes. Spitfires. Focke-Wulfs. Now he must concentrate on surviving the war as a fighter pilot. His home now is Little Norway, the training camp outside Toronto.

  Stay in control of your thoughts. That’s the way to survive. His Norton ran perfectly. Always. He planned his races carefully, leaving as little as possible to chance. Like the day he roared the motorcycle run full speed down the mountainside between two tramlines. He’d sat on the top of the mountain for hours watching the trams go up and down, passing each other near the middle. His friends bet him he couldn’t ride between the passing trams.

  He watches and plans. Then, when he sees the moment, he kicks the motor over and roars down the mountainside. The trams flash by on either side. Only his thoughts run slowly. Always under control.

  At the bottom he collects the bet. I knew it could be done, he says. I’m not a daredevil.

  Tonight, he promises himself, he will celebrate like the other pilots. This is New Year’s Eve. I will enjoy it, even if I have to pretend that I am only living for today. The future is nothing. Planes crash. Planes are shot down. Why worry? Make the most of every opportunity.

  And he will not think about the 15-hour drive home tomorrow. Tonight he will celebrate the great skiing. The freedom.

  He allows himself one hope. Perhaps he will have a chance to be alone with Alice. To see her eyes turn blue soft. The winter sky above Oslo.

  Ottar is right. A girl like Alice expects more than I can offer. Ottar knows about these Canadians. Who am I? No education. No money. A foreigner. A fighter pilot who probably won’t live through the war. No prospects. It is a mistake to get serious about a girl I may never see again. And look at her now, laughing and flirting with the men standing around her parents’ table. She can take her pick.

  “Where’s your poker face tonight?” Ottar asks. “It looks to me like you’re breaking your heart over that Tyler girl.”

  “I have a chance with her,” Jens replies. “Her parents are the problem.”

  “Of course they are,” Ottar says. “They know pilots fly away and never come back. No matter what they promise.”

  “If I say I’ll come back, I will.”

  Ottar laughs. “Got it all planned out, don’t you?” He sets his glass on the bar. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to her parents. Then you’ll know who you’re up against. Big Marjorie. She’s the boss. Just call her Mrs. Tyler and you’ll do fine. Alice’s father is Bert. Everybody likes him.”

  Big Marjorie is small. Maybe five feet. Dark-haired with low lid hazel eyes that study Jens. A Panzer gunner choosing a target. Are you armed, her eyes ask? No matter. I am the Blitzkrieg. Unstoppable.

  “This is Second Lieutenant Jens Müller,” Ottar says, pulling a chair from another table to sit beside Big Marjorie.

  Bert stubs out a cigarette, pours himself two inches of Scotch, drinks it, then stands and shakes Jens’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Any friend of Ottar Malm’s is a friend of the Tyler family. He’s charmed all of Montreal. Even Mrs. Tyler and she’s damned hard to charm.”

  Blue eyes, Jens thinks about Bert. Like Alice. An athlete. Getting heavy.

  “Jens is our best pilot,” Ottar says. “And best skier. He’ll be racing for Norway at the military competitions in February. He’s been helping Alice.”

  Alice smiles at Jens. “Yes, he has,” she tells her mother. “Jens has very good technique.”

  Big Marjorie ignores Alice. “Do you speak English?” she asks Jens. Identify yourself.

  “Yes, Mrs. Tyler,” he answers. “My father was an engineer in Shanghai. I was born there and studied English in school.” Big Marjorie is already looking away. Jens is of no consequence. A nobody in Montreal. She watches the maitre d’ seat a family near the dance floor. She whispers to Bert who shrugs.

  Jens is still standing beside the table, not sure whether he should stay or leave.

  Big Marjorie looks up at him. “Well, good luck with your war,” she says then turns to Alice. “I have a wonderful evening planned for you, darling. You have a partner for every dance.”

  Ottar slides his chair back and stands. “I think I’d better buy Jens a drink. We have a long night and drive ahead of us. Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler.”

  “Have a good time, boys,” Bert says as they leave the table. “Tell the bartender your next round is on me.”

  At the bar, Ottar clinks glasses with Jens. “There’s nothing you can do. Big Marjorie keeps a close eye on Alice. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already picked the man Alice will marry. I know she’s been working on a university fellow named Don.”

  Jens gulps down his drink and sets the glass down hard on the bar. “Damn it. I wanted Alice to have a good time tonight. She shouldn’t have to sit with her parents and dance with whoever they choose. She’s got a mind of her own.”

  “You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  Ottar grins. “I never thought I’d see you show your feelings about any­thing.”

  “You don’t have to worry. This won’t affect my flying.”
/>
  “It might,” Ottar says. “Especially after you see me dancing with Alice tonight.”

  “You!”

  “That’s right. Big Marjorie has given me a waltz with Alice. She thinks I’m a safe choice. But here’s what I’m going to do. Just before eleven o’clock the band will take a break. The first dance after that is supposed to be my waltz. You can have it, instead of me.”

  Jens shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

  “It’s my duty. You’re my best pilot and it’s my responsibility that you return to training camp ready to fly. I don’t want you crashing because your heart is broken.”

  “What about Big Marjorie? She won’t like this.”

  “I can handle Big Marjorie. I come from a family with money. That counts with her. I’ll be forgiven if Alice has one dance with a Shanghai Norwegian pilot. Besides, I know Alice. I can tell she’s fallen for you. This way I’m helping two friends.”

  After the break, Jens waits until the Tylers have sat down at their table before asking Alice to dance.

  “I’m sorry,” Big Marjorie interrupts. “Alice has promised this waltz to Pilot Officer Malm.”

  “Pilot Officer Malm sends his regrets. He has asked me to take his place.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s impossible. I have given our neighbour’s son, Donald, the privilege of being the first stand-in.”

  Jens continues to stand beside Alice. “Perhaps Alice could choose,” he says. “Perhaps she would accept me as the stand-in for this waltz.”

  Big Marjorie frowns. “Well, Alice. What’s your choice? Donald or this Norwegian pilot?”

  Alice’s eyes are dull when she answers. “If it was already decided, then it should be Donald.”

  The band plays “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight and champagne corks pop. Jens drifts through the bar wishing his pilot friends a Happy New Year. On his way outside for fresh air he sees Alice tying her boots on the porch. He turns away, knowing he might slip. Might reveal his disappointment.

  “Jens,” she calls out gently. “Come here. Please.” She stands on one of the benches, arms around his neck, and whispers, “Be patient.” Moments later, Big Marjorie is there and leads her to their car.

  His friends are too hungover in the morning to drive. Some sleep while Jens drives. The others barely murmur as he slides the car around an icy corner. He will write Alice a letter as soon as he is back in camp.

  “But I won’t let this affect my flying. I won’t be foolish.”

  LETTERS

  FALLING IN LOVE

  After Jens returned to Little Norway to resume training and Alice returned to Montreal, they began writing each other. All I had to guide me in under­standing their love was the Jens letters Alice pasted in her album.

  Reading Jens’s letters had two effects on me. First, I kept hoping for him, that he would be able to keep his promises to Alice. Second, the letters helped me remember the mother of my childhood. In Jens’s letters I could see he knew that Alice was much more than a debutante — much more. For the first time since our railway station goodbye, I was sure Jens had known the same Alice that I had.

  His letters helped me roll the stone from my forgetting place.

  January 26, 1941

  Dear Alice,

  It really is difficult finding the words to express my feelings when receiving and reading your letters. In Norwegian I think I could, or if I had some of your ability to write. The only thing I can say is that you’re wonderful Alice.

  I’m so glad to hear you got that part. You seem to be very serious about becoming an actress. If you are able to criticize your own ability and results in the acting business, and you really think you’re good, I would take the chance and go in for it, although it seems to be hard competition nowadays. Hope to get a chance to see you in that play. Good luck to you!

  “Better luck next time,” Alice wrote to Jens with her typical never give up attitude after he crashed this Fairchild PT-26 Cornell in training outside Toronto.

  Photo courtesy of the author.

  The last days have not at all been dull here. Specially one event has changed my plans for the near future a great deal. — Here’s what happened. I was out on a navigation trip in a Fairchild trainer. After one hour of flying I suppose I got in a “playful mood” and dived down on a river. I flew along this some minutes about 4.5 feet above the water. Coming around a bend, in between the high banks, I flew under a telephone wire going across the river. The wire peeled the rudder and tin off the plane. Nearly without any control the plane now headed towards the trees on the bank. I pulled up above them, cut the motor, and the plane sat down among the trees. It didn’t stop till we hit the ground, but then it stopped. The plane was a complete wreck, and I should have been too, but I was lucky as usual. I remember having read some-where that “every landing one can walk away from is a good landing”. Well, the “boss” didn’t seem to know that, so the result of the whole thing is that I most probably will have to go to jail for 30 days. Well, that’s that. It was fun while it lasted, but it “ain’t no more”! About that trip to England, I suppose it’ll still be within reach. Of all the things to do I had to crash a plane at a time where a happening much less serious than that could spoil everything. Well it’s no use sitting down and being sad. — One thing is sure, hearing from you Alice, at this time means if possible more to me than usual.

  The good thing about the whole affair is that they probably will give me a last chance to see my friends before I go to jail (very Tragic?!) So I think I’ll get leave this weekend, which means leaving here Friday at 6 in the evening, arriving Montreal about 3 in the night! As I really think it would be a pity waking you up at this time of the night, I’d better call on you at about 10? I’ll phone you before I leave here, provided you have given me the “all clear”, and it won’t collide with your other engagements.

  Sunday we went up to Bethany near Peterborough to train for the competition at Huntsville next Sunday. We had a really good day of skiing. Ottar was photographed by the press, with a whole bunch of sweet girls of course.

  Well Alice, I’ll be seeing you. In the mean time, send a letter, will you? Ottar sends his best greetings to you all, and so do I.

  Jens

  Undated Draft

  Dear Jens,

  Sorry to hear about your accident. What — or who — were you thinking about! Better luck next time. Please telephone the moment you arrive. I shall be waiting to hear from you. Don’t wait till ten o’clock. I will not be in until two thirty Saturday morning anyhow so it won’t make any difference if I stay up another half hour.

  February 5, 1941

  Dear, dear Alice

  Well, today they read the punishment I got for that crash: 30 days and $50 fine. I’ll have to stay in jail only outside the service time. That means I’ll be flying just as much as before. And I’ll be able to sport too. The worst part is not getting a chance to see you again. So now you have a[n] opportunity of doing some war work. You will keep a “pilot” alive by writing often. — The boys here are a swell lot. Two hours after I got the fine they had gathered together the fifty dollars and paid it. I really felt shameful, as the crash was due to the very bad piloting of me, and I deserved every bit of that punishment.

  You seem to be a very busy young lady nowadays. I don’t see how you can possibly manage all you do. You’ll wear yourself completely out by studying so late. Suppose it’ll be better when the examinations are over though. Good luck! We’ve had two examinations here to but in this outfit we take that sort of thing very lightly.

  Alice, we won’t be seeing each other for another month after all. I only hope the time won’t change things too much Alice?

  February 12, 1941

  Dear, dear Alice . . .

  Thanks so much for your letter today again . . . And will I wear your school pin! What a question. Now it’s on my flying helmet, and there it shall stay till I’m through with flying. . . .

  Jens


  Undated Draft

  Hello there darling,

  I felt so lost when I didn’t hear from you Friday and that is why I am writing to tell you how much you mean to me darling. The three days you have been away feel like three years.

  I love you with all my heart.

  Alice

  (By the way, I see I’ve been editing out a lot of chit-chat from the letters you received from Jens, your family, and your friends. As you must have been, I am intrigued by Poker Face who is turning out to be surprisingly communicative when it comes to writing about his love for you. With that intent so obvious I am leaving untouched the idiosyncrasies of everyone’s spelling and punctuation.)

  April 7, 1941

  Dearest!

  You should hear the boys: “What! You’re not married?” “And not even engaged?!” And they were really sincere about it. I certainly must have looked as if I were in love when I left for Montreal. It’s funny because they used to call me “poker-face” in Norway.

  As the lights will go out very soon I have to close now, although I hate to stop writing you. You seem to be so close Alice, sometimes, I can hear you whisper “I love you” quite clearly.

  Till tomorrow.

  With all my heart I love you, and I’ll always be yours

  Jens

  AN ALICE AND JENS STORY

  A NIGHT OUT WITH BIG MARJORIE

  Windsor Station, Montreal, 1941

  “This will warm you up, Blondie,” Bert says as he splashes whiskey from a silver flask into their coffee mugs. “It’s damn near as cold in here as it is outside.”

  “I’m okay, Dad. I’m worried about Mother. If the train isn’t here in the next ten minutes I’ll have to phone the restaurant and tell her we’ll be late.”

  “I’d better phone,” Bert says. “Not you. I’ll tell the maitre d’ to open a bottle of wine. That will keep her busy until we get there.”