“The historical details, the architecture of the town, the daily cuisine (toast with blueberry jam, baked cod and winter vegetables), the currency in pounds, the encounter with a young union organizer named Smallwood on the passenger train, all make for a rich, solid background. And Ginny makes a great protagonist, full of grit. She brings gumption and momentum to the narrative.”
—St. John’s Telegram
“Stemp’s frank and unsentimental portraits of hardship and forbearance ring especially true. It would be hard for them not to, as Stemp has based the town and characters on her own life. And there are photos to prove it!
This novel for young adults had this not-so-young adult reader captivated with the landscape of Newfoundland, the history of aviation and travel, and the characters of Ginny and her friends from beginning to end.”
—Edwards Book Club
“[Amelia and Me] is appealing because of the historical and regional setting (Great Depression in Newfoundland), the photos of some of the principal characters and locations, and the colourful cast of characters, including the iconic aviator, Amelia Earhart.”
—Canadian Review of Materials
“[Stemp’s] description of life in Harbour Grace in the 1930s rings true in every detail. Her protagonist is charming, warts and all, and we are inspired by her stubborn determination to fly in our dreams.”
—Resource Links
“Based on the girlhood experiences of the author’s aunt, this charming historical novel gives girls a spirited and likeable heroine.”
—Canadian Children’s Book News
This book is for Ginny’s great-great-nephews and nieces:
Caleb, Maeve, Charles, and Phaedra
All of the main characters in this story are real people. Ginny was my aunt, her mom and dad were my grandparents, and her brother, Billy, was my father. Aunt Rose was my great-aunt and Uncle Harry was my great-uncle. Since this is historical fiction, you can look up unfamiliar terms in the glossary.
Even in August the early morning in Newfoundland was cold. I snuggled under my quilt until the grandfather clock in the parlour struck three. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached into the warmth under the covers for my clothes. I wiggled out of my nightgown and quickly pulled on my navy dress and red sweater. With my lucky penny wrapped in a hanky and tucked into my pocket, I grabbed my socks and shoes.
The third-floor hallway was quiet as I tiptoed past Mom’s bedroom door and the messy hole my brother called his bedroom. The stairs creaked. But if I stuck to the banister side, I should be safe. Still, with every step, I imagined Mom’s voice shouting down to me, “Ginny Ross, you get back here!”
On the second floor the only sound was the distant rumble of my grandfather’s snoring in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Nana said it was a miracle she got any sleep with the racket Papa made. I turned and headed down the inside stairs to the store.
On the bottom step I pulled on my socks and shoes. A dozen giant steps to the front door and I slid the steel bolt to one side. That was when my plan fell apart. If I left through the front door, then I wouldn’t be able to lock it behind me. At 7:00 a.m., when Papa came down to open up, he’d know someone had gone out.
I quickly scanned the store. The front windows on either side of the door didn’t open—no escape route there. Behind the counters, floor-to-ceiling shelves piled with groceries lined the side walls. The four windows on the back wall overlooked the bay, but opening them wouldn’t help. The drop to the ground was at least twelve feet because the basement led out to the backyard.
That was it! The basement.
The trap door at the end of the short counter was hidden by a box of carrots. I pushed it out of the way and pulled up the door by its rope handle. A damp, earthy smell greeted me at the top of the ladder. I took a deep breath and climbed down the first two rungs. They groaned under my weight, but I couldn’t turn back. I was already late.
I grabbed the rope on the underside of the trap door, eased it back into place, and felt my way down to the dirt floor. In the darkness I turned and stretched my arms out in front of me. By the time I found a path through the crates and barrels, my elbows and knees were some sore. I got to the basement door and tugged it open. A cold wind off the bay hit my face.
The moon and stars shone brightly, so I stayed in the shadows close to the stone walls of the store. Voices came from down by the wharf, but there was no one in sight. I crossed Water Street, slipped into the darkness beside Strapp’s Pharmacy, and then cut through their back garden to avoid the street light at the corner of Victoria. When I emerged farther up the hill, my cousin Pat Cron stood in front of her house, waving at me to hurry.
The uphill climb tired me out, but I had to keep moving. Halfway up I bent over to catch my breath. When I straightened up and tried to run, I could barely lift my knees. My chest hurt and I panted like an old dog on a hot summer day. Finally I joined Pat, who pulled me into the shadow of the nearest house.
She turned and whispered in my face. “You’d be a better runner if you lost a few pounds.”
“And you’d still be in bed if I hadn’t told you about my plan.”
Pat smiled. “You’ve got me there.” She took my hand and pulled me toward Stevenson’s farm, which lay beyond the top end of Victoria Street. As I trotted along beside her, she occasionally gave my arm a tug to remind me I was moving too slowly.
I raised my head to see how much farther we had to climb and saw Jennie Mae Stevenson running down to meet us. Her dad’s breakfast pail swung in her hand. Mr. Stevenson ran their farm and also worked part-time as the night watchman for the Harbour Grace Airport Trust. It was his job to keep people away from the planes. If he caught us, Jennie Mae would say we were just bringing his breakfast.
She stopped in front of Pat and me, and the pail stopped swinging. “I’ve been thinking about your plan, and there’s something we haven’t considered,” she said. “If we get caught by someone other than my dad, he could lose his job.”
“So we won’t get caught,” Pat replied. She stepped around Jennie Mae and carried on up the hill.
“She couldn’t care less about what happens to my dad,” Jennie Mae whispered to me. “To her we’re just those people from up the hill.”
I took her hand and we continued walking. “Has she ever said that to you?” I asked.
“A few times,” she replied. “But not when you’re around. She’s usually with Alice Brant.”
Since Pat was my cousin, our parents expected us to do everything together. Usually that was fine with me because Pat could be a lot of fun. But she’d changed. She was moody and unpredictable. Instead of hanging around with Jennie Mae, me, and the rest of the grade sevens, she preferred to be with Alice Brant and her gang of grade eights.
Alice was a snob. Her father owned the biggest fishing fleet in Harbour Grace, and she thought she was right special. In fact, that was how Jennie Mae and I became friends: I stood up to Alice when she called Jennie Mae a farmer’s brat.
I glanced over at her. Her worried frown prompted me to stop and raise my right hand. “I promise I’ll be careful, and between the two of us, we’ll keep Pat under control.”
She sighed. “I suppose that’s all we can do at this point.” Pat was way ahead; she waved at us to hurry. I took Jennie Mae’s hand again and we continued our uphill climb. In less than five minutes, we crossed the railroad track and joined Pat at the Stevensons’ farm.
“Come on, you two.” She grabbed my other hand and dragged Jennie Mae and me behind her. “You’re as slow as molasses in January.”
I didn’t bother answering because I knew she would comment on my weight again.
A left turn and we climbed to the height of land that formed the airstrip. First we saw the light in the window of Mr. Stevenson’s shack. Then, there it was: the City of New York—the most beautiful plane I’d ever seen. It was only a silhouette against the early morning sky, but I knew its colours. It was painted maroon, with cream-coloured wings and cream letters down the fuselage to tell us its name.
A rectangle of light shone into the night. Mr. Stevenson had opened his door. We scurried onto the rocks on the south side of the airstrip. We crouched down and pulled our dresses over our legs to keep warm while he inspected the plane.
We’d been some excited when the plane landed yesterday afternoon. This was the last flight until next summer, so a huge crowd came out. Even when the City of New York was no more than a speck in the sky, we all cheered. It touched down, taxied to the end of the runway near the watchman’s shack, turned around, and stopped. And there it sat, still surrounded by the rope fence tied to empty oil barrels to keep everyone away.
We knew from the story in the Harbour Grace Standard who to expect. Mr. Brown, the pilot, emerged through the hatch above the cockpit. When Mr. Mears, the owner of the plane, climbed out of the side door, everyone cheered louder. He held a fluffy white dog, who barked at the crowd.
The newspaper went on to say the three of them would take off at 7:00 a.m. to fly around the world. But I knew a secret about the flight. I heard Uncle Harry talking to Papa in the store last night. Uncle Harry was the airport supervisor. He said Mr. Mears and Mr. Brown were not taking off at
7:00 a.m. Instead, they were leaving before dawn.
I barely had time to go to Jennie Mae’s house and then to Pat’s to tell them the news before Mom sent me off to bed. A lot of people were going to be disappointed, but not the three of us.
Pat, Jennie Mae, and I watched the light from Mr. Stevenson’s lantern as he walked back into the watchman’s shack. We waited a few more minutes to be on the safe side before crawling over the rocks onto the edge of the runway. The wind whipped my hair and I had to hold down the bottom of my dress. I pulled the other two close to me and whispered, “Are you ready?”
They both nodded. Pat led our run to the plane.
We stopped in the shadow of the wing and listened to the wind whistling in the struts. I reached up and placed my hands on the fuselage. The wood siding was cold and the nails felt even colder. With one finger I traced the C in the word City.
Jennie Mae put the handle of the breakfast pail over her arm, and she and Pat reached up too. With each gust of wind I felt the plane trembling. To calm it, I ran my hands along one side. “Hello, City of New York,” I whispered. “Welcome to Harbour Grace, Newfoundland.”
Pat and Jennie Mae followed me around the tail, along the opposite side, and back along the fuselage to the side door. We were safer there, with the plane between us and the shack. I whispered, “On this night—”
“The City of New York will be the ninth plane to fly across the Atlantic from Harbour Grace,” Pat butted in.
“Forget the news report,” Jennie Mae whispered. “We have to go before my dad gets into trouble.” She grabbed our hands and pulled us away from the plane.
“Relax, will you?” Pat tried to pull her hand away.
“Not until I get you into my dad’s shack,” Jennie Mae replied.
“What about my plan?” I whispered.
Jennie Mae dropped my hand. “I forgot,” she said. “Just hurry.”
I turned toward the plane.
“Hey, I’m staying, too,” Pat said.
I glanced over my shoulder. Pat was trying to jerk free, but Jennie Mae was holding on. I ran back to the plane, placed my hands on the door, and whispered my good-luck charm as fast as I could. “On this night of dark and light, trust me friend to see you right. Remember me in wind and rain, and I will bring you home again.”
“Let me go,” Pat shouted into Jennie Mae’s face.
“Who’s out there?” It was Mr. Stevenson’s voice.
I ducked under the fuselage and peeked over the wheel cover.
“It’s just me, Dad,” Jennie Mae shouted.
“Who else is there?” Mr. Stevenson asked.
“Uh….” Jennie Mae glanced in my direction. “Just Pat Cron and me.”
“You two get over here right now!”
Jennie Mae released Pat’s arm and she jerked it away.
“Farmer’s brat,” Pat said with disgust.
I sat down behind the wheel cover and waited until their voices died away. Then I crawled out and placed my hands on the fuselage again. For as long as I could remember, I had loved planes. But I’d never seen the inside of one.
Slowly I stepped up on the wheel cover and grasped the door handle, just to look in. When I pulled myself up, the handle turned in my hand and the door swung open like an invitation.
I reached inside the plane and my hands touched a bundle of wires running along the floor. By hanging on to them, I wriggled forward on my stomach. I lifted one leg in and then the other. I scrambled around on all fours and peeked outside before I gently closed the door.
The inside of the plane was dark and quiet. I sat back on my heels and peered out the window. There was no one around. Except for the odd gust of wind buffeting the plane, all was silent.
I looked around my small space. Aside from a leather seat with a high back, this part of the plane was completely filled by a huge tank. Uncle Harry said the City of New York carried 450 gallons of extra fuel to get across the Atlantic Ocean. My nose told me this was it.
Over the tank the cockpit was visible. But how could I get there? Mr. Brown used the hatch over the pilot’s seat, but I could never climb the outside of the plane the way he did. Not only that, Mr. Stevenson would see me way up there.
I thought for a few seconds and then took a very deep breath. By making myself as skinny as possible, I squeezed between the tank and the side wall. Baby steps moved me to the front of the plane where another small space led to the cockpit door. I felt like Alice bending down to pass through one of the doors in Wonderland. And what I saw truly was wondrous!
I slipped into the pilot’s seat and ran my hands over the softness of the leather. Then I gently touched the switches and dials on the instrument board. They looked like the ones in Aunt Rose’s Model T Ford, but there were so many more. I ran my fingers over each instrument and wondered which ones Mr. Brown checked after he started the engine.
Through the windshield the only thing I saw was the early morning sky. The stars were gone, but the moon still shone. Thanks to Uncle Harry I knew a lot about the planes that landed and took off from Harbour Grace. This one, a Lockheed Vega, was a tail dragger. Until the tail lifted on takeoff, and the plane was more level, the view was very limited.
I hesitated for a few seconds before I grasped the throttle and closed my eyes. I imagined the rope fence dropping and the chocks in front of the wheels sliding away. I felt my plane trembling with anticipation. I started the engine and pushed the throttle forward. Faster and faster I rolled down the runway until I soared up over the trees, banked left, and headed toward the bay.
“Off we go into the wild blue yonder,” I sang over the roar of the engines. All of Harbour Grace stretched out below me like a giant Christmas tree, yellow street lights looping up the hillside.
Along Water Street I looked for familiar landmarks. The clock tower on the post office was higher than any other roof or chimney, and there was Papa’s store right next door. The white printing on the side wall said Joseph Ross Household Goods and Ships Provisions.
Farther down Water Street I flew over the huge warehouses, sheds, and wharves at Rutherford’s, Simmons’s, and Munn’s, where the fishermen prepared their boats for the morning catch. Beyond the business section Victorian houses with long front gardens and views of the bay stood dark and quiet. Their owners didn’t have to be at work for many hours.
I banked left at Bear’s Cove and headed back to town. Over the houses where my friends still slept in their warm beds, I skimmed the roofs and waved. I moved faster than everyone—no more panting up hills, no more bending over to catch my breath, and no more “molasses in January.”
Then I heard a car door slam.
Suddenly, I was back in the real world.
I looked out the small side window next to the pilot’s seat. Over toward the rocky ridge, a car had arrived. A man was getting out, and then another one. And now there was a third man. It was Uncle Harry. Mr. Stevenson joined them. They made their way toward the plane—all four of them. It was too late to get out!
I crouched in the small space between the door leading to the cockpit and the gas tank. My heart pounded so hard I was afraid it would burst. The crunch of footsteps on the gravel got closer and closer. With my back against the side of the plane, I hugged my knees to make myself smaller. The voices were right outside.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss the flight,” Mr. Stevenson said. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, John.” It was Uncle Harry’s voice. No one else spoke until Mr. Stevenson walked away.
“Are you ready to listen to reason, Henry?”
“I want this speed record, George.”
It was Henry Mears, the owner of the plane, and George Brown, his pilot.
“Feel the wind as you’re standing here,” Uncle Harry said. “You’re partially protected by this rocky ridge. When you get to the end of it, you have Lady Lake on your right and the bay on your left. A stronger wind could gust from either side. Stick to your original plan and leave at seven.”
Mr. Mears didn’t reply.
“At least walk down to where the ridge ends and feel the wind for yourself,” Mr. Brown said.
There was a pause, and the plane door opened. Something thumped onto the floor and the door slammed shut. A scratching sound, from the opposite side of the gas tank. My heart pounded again. The seconds ticked by.
Then a furry white face poked around the tank. It was Mr. Mears’s dog! I had forgotten all about him. He ran into the cockpit and jumped up on the pilot’s seat. For a few seconds neither of us moved. Then he poked his face around the seat and sniffed the air. I was afraid to breathe. He looked over, saw me, and started yapping.
“Quiet, Tailwind,” Mr. Mears yelled back to the plane.
Tailwind crouched down and growled.
“Nice doggy,” I whispered.
He barked again.
“Shhh! Mr. Stevenson will lose his job,” I whispered. “Not to mention what will happen to me.”
He barked louder.
“Tailwind, that’s enough,” Mr. Mears shouted from farther down the runway.
That’s all I needed—someone coming back to shut up the dog. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. There was nowhere to hide. I had to get out, but I was afraid the men were still too close to the plane.
I waited another few minutes. The growling was softer now. I stood up and peeked over the pilot’s seat to look out the windshield. Tailwind looked up at me and moved to the farthest corner of the cockpit. I smiled at him and wiped my forehead again. Now that I was taller than him, he was much quieter. I just hoped he would stay that way.
Down the runway the men approached the end of the rocky ridge. I could see the three of them, but not clearly. From the side window next to the pilot’s seat, this end of the ridge appeared to be about thirty feet from the plane. With a little luck I could be in the rocks before they noticed me.
I squeezed my way back to Mr. Mears’s seat. Then I heard a familiar scratching sound from the opposite side of the gas tank. Tailwind was following me. I couldn’t let him get out. A quick turn of the door handle and I jumped. My right knee smashed against something and I let out a gasp. I must have hit the back edge of the wheel cover.
When I rolled over, Tailwind appeared in the opened door. I stood up to close it and a shooting pain made me bite my lip. Now that I was out of his plane, he wagged his tail and smiled down at me. On another day I’d probably have smiled back, but not that day. I gently pushed him back and closed the door.
My right leg wouldn’t hold my weight, so I ended up doing a step-drag, step-drag across the runway. I was halfway to the ridge when someone called out.
“Hey, you!”
I turned toward the voice from down the runway and saw Mr. Mears, Mr. Brown, and Uncle Harry in the distance. One of them started running toward me. It looked like Mr. Mears.
“Stop!” he yelled.
My step-drag sped up. When I reached the ridge, I squeezed through the first few big rocks and pushed myself into a deep crevice in the boulders behind. I was shaking so hard, I was sure he would hear my teeth chattering.
“You better come out of there right now!” The voice was gruff. It sounded like Mr. Mears and he must have been out of shape. He sure was panting a lot.
I pushed myself farther back and held the bottom of my dress tightly around my legs.
“Do you hear me?”
It was Mr. Mears. I saw him through a chink in the rocks and he was coming awfully close. I held my breath. He scanned the rock face. A minute or two passed, but it seemed like an hour.
“It’s four thirty, Henry,” Mr. Brown shouted across the runway. “If you insist on getting off the ground before sunrise, we’ve only got twenty minutes.”
There was a silence before Mr. Mears yelled again. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this!” He shook his fist in my direction. Then his footsteps crunched back toward the plane.
I sighed with relief but decided not to look out yet. That was when I noticed the pain in my knee again. I bent over to examine it more closely. A dark gash ran from one side to the other. My leg and the hem of my dress were covered in blood. I had to stop the bleeding.
With my hanky I tied a bandage tightly over the cut. It did a pretty good job, so I gritted my teeth and straightened up. By leaning against the big rock for support, I peeked back at the runway.
Mr. Mears and Mr. Brown were talking with Uncle Harry. They shook hands with him, but I could see Uncle Harry shaking his head. He still didn’t think the plane should be taking off. The two men climbed into their seats and Uncle Harry dropped the rope fence. Then he removed the chocks from in front of the wheels and ran back to the parked car to join Mr. Stevenson.
The plane blocked my view of the watchman’s shack, but I pictured Jennie Mae and Pat crowded together at the window. Although this wasn’t what I expected when I snuck out this morning, at least we would all see the takeoff. It was as if we were part of history.
The plane coughed and sputtered in the cold and puffs of smoke escaped the exhaust port. The smell of gasoline surrounded me. The engine caught and a thunderous roar made me cover my ears. It started to move. Within seconds it gathered speed and bounced down the runway. I clambered out of my little cave to see the takeoff better. My knee screamed with pain, but I didn’t care.
The plane wobbled a bit, as if the wind got to it already. Then, just as it passed the end of the rocky ridge, the tail end lifted off the ground. For a split second I was about to cheer. Liftoff! But right away the plane swerved sharply to the left and then to the right.
Uncle Harry clenched his fists and put them up to his head.
The plane was out of control. But Mr. Brown managed to lift it off the ground. It wobbled something crazy in the strong wind. I covered my mouth with my hands to stifle a scream. Suddenly the engine cut out. After all the noise the silence was deafening. The wings dipped up and down. The plane quickly dropped. Before I could take another breath, the right wing caught the ground.
The City of New York somersaulted once, followed by the sound of splintering wood and flying gravel. I heard myself scream as it skidded into the rocks.
“Get out!” Uncle Harry shouted. “She’ll burn!” He and Mr. Stevenson ran toward the plane.
I ran too—I couldn’t stop myself. But my right leg wouldn’t support me. In the middle of the runway, I fell and cried out in pain. I managed to roll onto one side and sit up just as Mr. Brown emerged through the hatch above the cockpit. Uncle Harry opened the door where Mr. Mears was sitting and pulled him out. Mr. Stevenson put his arm around Mr. Brown’s waist and the four of them stumbled away from the plane.
Wait. Mr. Mears ran back. Tailwind! He was still in the plane. Mr. Mears reached the door, but Uncle Harry dragged him away.
“Hurry,” I whispered. “Please, please hurry.”
Mr. Mears struggled, but he was no match for Uncle Harry. He deposited him a good distance from the plane on the runway next to where Mr. Brown sat. Mr. Stevenson crouched beside them.
Uncle Harry ran toward me.
Over his shoulder he shouted back to the others. “I’ll get the car.”
I pulled my dress over my knees to hide the blood and waited for him. I couldn’t get up, let alone run away to hide.
“My God, Ginny. What are you doing here?”
He reached down and pulled me to my feet.
“It crashed!” I replied. “Where’s Tailwind?”
Uncle Harry held my shoulders and stared into my face.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded.
“Can you get yourself home?”
I nodded again.
He pointed me in the right direction, pushed gently on my back, and then ran toward the car.