INSPIRATION MACHINE
It had been a long week at work. My wife and I and Wallace the border collie were jammed into the truck with a weekend’s worth of gear, headed to the cottage. Ramping up onto the 417, westbound into the sun, we found ourselves in the last remnants of Ottawa’s somewhat bush league rush hour, soon coming up on a kilometre-long clot of stop and go traffic. Muttering to myself, I rolled down the windows to let Wallace sniff the gassy air. Squinting into the heat of a late afternoon freeway, and twiddling with the radio, I heard my cell phone vibrating from the cup holder in the centre console. Looking down, I read the caller’s name on the small screen: Todd Lemieux.
There’s a law in this province that says you can’t use a cell or text while driving, and well, I think it’s a law that makes sense, except, it was Todd Lemieux calling—a man you just don’t ignore for one very simple reason—he’s a prince among men. But having my wife answer the phone and hold it to my ear, well that must be OK. Surely there must be a “Todd Lemieux Clause” in that law. So I asked Susan to pick up and say hello. It was Todd Lemieux, so she didn’t need much prodding. A few salutations and she leaned across the console and jammed my iPhone up to my ear. From across the country, accompanied by his own road sounds, Lemieux and his two compadres, Gord “Gordo” Lemieux and Christie “Krusti” Whelan, were heading east down the rolling Trans Canada Highway towards Calgary, having just put the hard-working Harry Hannah Boeing PT-27 Stearman to bed in Bruce Evans’ hangar at the Springbank Airport.
“Howdy cowboy!” came Lemieux’s familiar salutation. “Hey Farm Boy.” I answered as I always do. From 2,000 miles away, masked by the rush of road noise on both ends, there was no mistaking in his voice, the timbre of exhaustion, the spark of happiness, the pride of a job well and safely done, and the giddiness of knowing you are just a half hour away from a well deserved cold beer at the Garrison Pub. “We got a car full of tired pilots and we just wanted to let you know that Harry’s Stearman is safe in the barn” offered Lemieux, “and we flew 52 cadets over the past week, 22 on one day alone. We’re happy and we’re heading home for a cold beer... maybe more.”
Over the next ten minutes, as Susan and I inched along through the knot of traffic, Todd, Gordo and Krusti yammered away excitedly and I could feel the energy and happiness that filled that car on the Trans Canada. Every ten seconds their car would explode with laughter as they poked fun at each other, causing me to laugh out loud with them. Susan had no idea what they were talking about, but she could hear the blast of guffaws coming from the phone and couldn’t help laughing and smiling along in that wide, beautiful way she always does. In one magical moment, the boys in Calgary had infected our stalled-in-traffic car with a heavy dose of good humour and happiness.
I had the immediate sense that these three tired Yellow Wings warriors were like three Drayton Valley oil rig workers heading into town to blow off some steam after a week of sustained and productive work, weak from their labours but strong of heart; like three boisterous Second World War squadron mates heading to the Eagle Pub in Cambridge to release the tension from their shoulders, to share the memories of the days past, to seek the company of others who know their joy. They were bound together in the manner of people who have just done something of great significance. They were inspired.
I guess you can say Inspiration is a two-way street. Like Newton’s Third Law of Physics, the job of inspiring young people to dream of accomplishing greatness creates an equal and opposite feeling of inspiration in the hearts of those exerting that force of inspiration. The task they had undertaken these past weeks, on their own time and at their own cost, was part of a magnificent idea of Vintage Wings of Canada to send their Second World War yellow training aircraft across this great land on a holy mission to take 500 young Canadians for a ride in a time machine. Teams of Canada’s finest pilots headed to places like Victoria, BC, Penhold, AB, Gimli, MB, Trenton, ON, St Jean and Gatineau, QC and Greenwood and Debert, NS—the task to inspire young people, to speak to them about the heroes of aviation who rose to greatness at a time in our country’s history when greatness was the only path back to light and peace.
These young people were exposed to the notions of duty and honour and a concept no one is willing to speak about in these days of entitlement—the meaning and importance of personal and national sacrifice. And what better stages to stand on to deliver this story, than the very training bases that pilots and aircrews trained at during the Second World War? Every Yellow Wings venue was originally built as part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan between 1939 and 1942. All were home to training schools that did their best to provide knowledge and experience to what was then Canada’s finest young people. Despite the excellence of their training, the young men and women of that period could never escape the suffering, deprivation, injury and even death that were their immediate future. But the BCATP did equip them with the confidence and the inspiration to move forward and to achieve greatness in the face of inconceivable adversity.
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The BCATP, it facilities, its instructors, its communities and its aircraft were in fact a great machine, one that processed, pressed, milled, shaped, built and inspired heroes. Today, on the same fields, in the same communities, with a new stock of young Canadians and experienced pilots, we are, in a much smaller, but no less meaningful way, starting up that wonderful yellow inspiration machine. Today, in the form of vintage aircraft like the Tiger Moth, Finch, Cornell, Harvard, Chipmunk and Stearman, the beat goes on.
This summer, the Stearman made its way across the Rockies to Victoria in just one day. There, the pilots briefed hundreds of cadets on the core messages, the history of the RCAF, VWC and then it took 50 wide-eyed cadets in the air. Once that was accomplished, the old yellow biplane once again crossed the Rockies, heading east to Southern Alberta and the once active training air base known as RCAF Penhold, near Red Deer. In 1966 it became the home of the Penhold Air Cadet Summer Training Centre. Carrying on a tradition that dates back decades, PACSTC is home to the basic leadership, flight scholarship courses and Regional Air Cadet Bands.
During the summer PACSTC hosts some 800 Air, Army and Sea Cadets at a time (roughly 1250 cadets throughout the summer) who attend one of the many courses offered on base. These are taught by an additional 150 Staff Cadets who run the canteen, sports activities, security and training on base. There are also roughly 200 officers and Civilian Instructors who supervise all activities at the summer training centre. For some of the Yellow Wings pilots, this was home turf.
Penhold, Alberta, and No. 36 SFTS
A small town with a big role to play in Canadian History
Messages from some inspired Young Canadians at Penhold
It is important to note that this is just one camp, one venue, one group of inspired pilots committed to the Yellow Wings mission to inspire the leaders of tomorrow. All across Canada—in Gimli, Trenton, North Bay, St. Jean, Debert, Greenwood and Gatineau—similar teams of Canada’s finest aviators deployed to other air cadet camps with other vintage aircraft. The result was the same—inspired and motivated young Canadians, safe and professional execution of the mission, inspired pilots and successful achievement of the goals our sponsors and donors are supporting us for. Today, as I speak, in Nova Scotia, the Eastern team is lifting off into the grey Maritime skies with 50 more talented, enthusiastic and very lucky cadets. But for now, let’s take a look at a typical cadet summer camp and the effect of the Yellow Wings program on 52 of its attendees.
Return to Netook
Upon the return flight to Calgary, it was decided to take the Harry Hannah Stearman a hundred kilometres north of Calgary to visit the base she once called home—No. 34 EFTS Bowden, Alberta. The site of the airfield at Bowden shows only faint traces of its original use. Back in the 1940s, Bowden was used by men seeking freedom in the skies. Today, the sight is the home of Bowden Institution—a medium-security prison facility. Men there still seek freedom!
If the main base was not available for her homecoming, Netook, one of her satellite relief fields, is still in operation today both as an airport for the nearby town of Olds and as an air cadet gliding centre. The X-configured field of Netook is also the place where, in 1943, FJ875, the Harry Hannah Stearman, suffered considerable damage in a taxiing accident on the grass fields north of Calgary.
FJ875 touched down on the lush green grass of Netook 70 years after leaving it for the last time, roped to the bed of a farm truck. While there last week, the Stearman team set up a photo shoot to recreate a photograph that was taken at the time of a wingless FJ875 being prepped for transport back to Bowden. But first, a few historic images of Bowden and the days of Stearman operations.