Lamb-Faced Women

The smell of a coal fire or a diesel engine in the rain along with a nip in the air will transport me to somewhere in Northern Ireland or Scotland where my extended family has lived quicker than just about any other trigger. In fact, I chose to live in the Shenandoah Valley (western Virginia) because its topography reminds me of Scotland. The Shenandoah Valley feels like home to me--that is, to the extent that any place other than Northern Ireland and Scotland can feel like home.

The recent rain—we’ve had an abundance of it lately here in the Shenandoah Valley—has reminded me my thirteenth summer. One spent with my Aunt Belle and Uncle Joe in Peebles, Scotland—where they lived most of their married life—, and also with my Aunts and Uncles and cousins in Northern Ireland. Our itinerary included my mother and my staying in Scotland for a few weeks, then a month or more in Belfast with my Aunt Belle in tow, and a week back in Peebles before heading home to Maryland where my mother and I lived with my father and brother.

The summer of 1969 occupies a special place in my memory.

I felt at such ease with my cousins, which was so unlike the fish out of water feeling that I had wherever else I’d lived or whatever school I attended. The weather in Northern Ireland, in sharp contrast to the cool, gray weather in Scotland, was gorgeous that summer. Northern Ireland had had one of their driest summers on record, even though it rained every afternoon. I was in the right place at the right time to experience the emerald isle at its best. As our mothers spent their days reconnecting, my cousins and I were pretty much left to our own devices. We boarded trains and buses that took us on more adventures than I could possibly recount, let alone remember.

That carefree summer was a welcome break between my somewhat difficult childhood and the painful, yet formative experiences that would mark my young adult years. The following story, written in short-story format from the perspective of a 13 year old, describes the last adventure of that memorable time. So while this is an end of summer story, I recount it now toward the end of September because it is only in this month that the temperatures and the rain combine to jog my memories of that summer and my last moments in Scotland.

Lamb-faced Women

Clouds gathered overhead, rain spit from the sky and tears brimmed as Claire turned to her Aunt Belle, who enveloped her in a tight goodbye hug. Claire wished she could stay in Scotland forever, wished that they didn’t live on opposite sides of the Atlantic where water and the lack of money conspired to keep them apart. Life was so unfair. 

Over the roar of propellers, Claire's Aunt Belle shouted, “Don’t think of this as goodbye. Let’s imagine that you’re taking off on a great adventure. Before you know it, two years will have gone by in a flash, and we'll see each other again.” Aunt Belle was referring the next visit that had already been mapped out. Aunt Belle, Aunt May, and some cousins would make the trek to Maryland. Representative family members had been traversing the Atlantic every two to four years for a while now. 

Applying a brave face, Claire held back her tears so all three of them—Claire, her aunt, and her mother—would not be reduced to wet heaps on the tarmac just steps away from the metal staircase that would be the first leg in her trip back home to Maryland. She smiled, returned her aunt’s embrace, and stepped back to survey the old WWII RAF (Royal Aire Force) propeller plane British Airways re commissioned for the short hop from Edinburgh to London’s Heathrow.

While the summer-long visit had gone by more quickly than she might have ever imagined, Claire’s aunt was right, Claire was taking off on an adventure, an adventure of a lifetime. Back home, in a couple of weeks, Claire would matriculate to high school, the last stop on her way to adulthood. Besides, how many of her Maryland classmates would have the opportunity to fly in a RAF plane?   

“Good morning!  Ticket please,” the flight attendant breezed as they crested the plane’s threshold.  

Surprisingly, there were two flight attendants. Crisply dressed women in blue with bright red scarves at the neck. Surprising because the plane was small, seating at most no more than 20 passengers, and on this particular morning, there was only her mother, herself, and three lovely old women on board. Given the option to sit where they liked, Claire and her mother sat themselves opposite their fellow passengers.

As soon as the plane reached altitude, the attendants began serving breakfast--an English fry of bangers, baps, and eggs. Unfortunately, the plane's altitude was lower than was needed for the cabin pressure not to shoot pain through Claire’s ears. Hoping that the jaw action required for eating would offer relief, Claire dug into her breakfast.

The flight attendants began to clear away what remained of breakfast when an old dear stretched her hand across the isle with an offering, “Here dear, suck on some hard candy. That might help your ears.” Perhaps the handy candy could do what eating could not. At the very least, candy might help distract her. 

The gentle, kindness of the older women reminded Claire of her Aunt Belle, who was a good eleven years older than her mother and who used endearments like "lamb" and "pet" when addressing Claire, words that were as soft on her ears as, well, lamb's ears. Her Aunt Belle's last words, meant to provide comfort by characterizing their goodbye as the beginning of a big adventure, flew into Claire's mind. It was an odd moment, where the pain in her ears mimicked the pain she felt in her heart. Claire needed a distraction.

Silence. The plane's twin engines had suddenly ceased their roar.

Bewildered, Claire looked at her mother. They clasped hands, and together they looked at the attendants standing mid compartment, grasping seat backs, faces white. 

At that moment, the plane abruptly tilted down, diving, nose first toward the earth's rock-hard crust. 

There’s nothing like fright frozen flight attendants braced for impact with no time to take precautionary measures to wake passengers up to the fact that they're in a bad way. 

Claire looked to the other humans with whom she shared the plane and what might be her final moments. The three lamb-faced old women returned her gaze with looks that seemed to say, “It was nice knowing you, however briefly.” Their good-natured calm flooded Claire, and for that seemingly endless moment, the moment was what it was.

Vrroom... sputter...  pause...  vrroom... sputter... pause...  vrroom...  

Pregnant pause after pregnant pause, the pilot was doing what...? Jump-starting a prop plane? Claire had seen something like this in a movie--a driver trying to jump-start an old jalopy while rolling it down a hill. Only she wasn’t in a car on a hill, and the worst that could happen wasn’t the making of a slapstick comedy.

Vrroom... the cabin shuddered as the engines caught, and the passengers heard the sweetest of sounds: the whir of propellers and the roar of twin engines revving. The plane once again began its ascent, and everyday normal life returned to the cabin without one mention of the life-denying aerobatics. As they deplaned a short while later, knees shook, and when the soles of their shoes finally hit the asphalt, both Claire and her mother burst into laughter before gathering their wits about them and lightly making their way to their connecting flight.   

Claire would log this fall into grace, a moment where kindness and chance were linked and quite nearly frozen in time, as a new beginning. Although Claire could never again be absolutely certain of what might happen next, she now understood, like she never had before, that every moment represents a new beginning. And if circumstances were on her side, Claire also knew she might live long enough to have many adventures and grow old in kindness like the lovely lamb-faced women on the plane. She, like them, would just have to make the most of her chances.

Dedication: This essay is dedicated to the lamb-faced women on that plane who took the opportunity to show acceptance and kindness in the face of what appeared to be imminent death, to my dearly departed Aunt Belle whose kind heart and endearments were a saving grace in and of themselves, and to my cousins who have always made me feel completely welcome in their world. As a lost lamb, separated from family by a vast ocean, I have received--in brief moments snatched in time--more than my fair share of kindness, particularly from relatives. My wish is for all children to experience kindness from whomever they encounter when they need it most.