A KISS FOR THE BAY OF PLENTY

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 5, Issue 99, 2 September 1942, Page 2

A KISS FOR THE BAY OF PLENTY

A STORY FROM CANADA ] (By Matt Armstrong) I Sent in by N.B. I Th'S story which appeared in , the May issue of the Canadian Home Journal has a warm local ] flavour which will commend itself to our readers. Written obviously about a young airman from the Bay of Plenty, who trained in Canada, the story is simple in its plot and conveys a message which sihoul'd 1 be appreciated by all who remain at home. —Ed. And now another Sunday afternoon. They sat toother on the grassy knoll near the house. Mary sighed h:>ppi!y, snuggled closer. She felt like a girl in a dream as she let her eves swing out over the panorama of the adjoining airport,—tlie rows of green-roofed. buildings, the huge, shingle-walled hangars, the control tower, and never-ending stream of j planes, j-ellow planes, planes that gleamed silver in the sun, landing, taking off, taxiing to and from the aprons before the hangars. To her it was still unbelievably strange. Truly, a dream. Little more than a year ago it all had been farm land. Where the hangars stood had been Henry Miller's oat fields. This way, where her father's wood'lot used to be. not a tree now. Peaceful farmland, fenced fields, com fields, oat fields, an orchard, woods. Now look —How strange. Too. a year ago New Zealand had been a little island somewhere near Australia; now a boy from New Zealand, in actual flesh and blood, a boy from that beautiful and vastly important country of New Zealand, sat at her side, talking to her about flying, about aircraft. She could feel his e'ibow at her side.

"Look now." she heard him say. "Watch tliis fellow." She turned to the field and watched with him as a plane, waddling and zig-zagging like a drunken duckling, taxied along the strip, swung into the runway and. in a miracle of transformation changed instantly from a drunken duck to a roaring tiger as it raced down the runway, tossed its tail up and lunged into the air. "It's thrilling," she said.. "That was a Yale, wasn't it?" He smiled indulgently. "No, that is a Harvard," he said. "The yellow T ones are Harvarus, the silver one> Yales. Remember?"

She shook her head. "I'll never learn, I'm afraid." He bent toward her, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You're a sweet, child," he said. Her heart throbbed. "O'h, Johnny, Johnny." Her 'lips formed the name silently. "A really sweet child." He released her chin to watch a Yale make a particularly bumpy landing. "Careful there," he urged the distant pilot.. "Easy does it . . . Probably another of those hanged New Zealand chaps," he grinned, turning jback to her. She forced a smile.

"By Ihe way, Mary," Johnny said, as if lie had only that moment remembered, "I hope you'll be able to come out to the port next Wednesday.''' "Next Wednesday? Why, Johnny?" Ha wore a mocking mask of mystery. "Oh, a little ceremony, that's all. I would be glad if you could come." A ceremony? . . . For a long moment she was mystified, then the grin on his face told her. "Oh. Johnny, you mean your wings? You're letting your wings on Wednesday?" "You've hit it, Mary." "Oh, Johnny, I'm so glad. I'm so glad."

"Yes, Mary. It's been a long time" "Fll be so proud, Johnny." But in the midst of the happiness she felt, for him, sadness 'laid a cold finger. "But, Johnny," she began slowly, "that means that you'll be . . . leaving, doesn't it?' "Yes, Mary. Of course." Her fingers clutched his eoatsleeve. "Yes, of course," she repeated. "When Johnny?" "Wednesday. Mary. Right alter the ceremony. There 11 be a bus ready." | It was difficult for her to speak.

He rose to his feet, then bent down .and raised her with him and stood facing her, liis hands under "her elbows. "Yes, Mary, it has been a long time coming," he said, "and I want you to know how kind you've been, how much you ve helped to shorten the long hours. You're one of the best."

She looked up at him. "I've been happy, Johnny.'' She felt his arms slip around her. felt herself being drawn to him; she closed her eyes and felt his lips, his warm, tender lips, pressing against her own. Her world swam. Within herself she kept repeating his name, "Oh, Johnny., Johnny . . . Johnny . • • ' She could not stop her own arms from stealing about his neck . . • Suddenly lie stiffened. lie dropped his hands and stepped away from her. When she looked he was staring, not at her, but out acros?

the fields. "Mary," he said. To her his voice sounded distant; she had a fleeting feeling that he was not talking to her at all. "Mary." "What's the matter, Johnny?" she whispered. He turned at last and looked down at her. His lace Avas pale. "I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was tight down in his throat. "I shouldn t have done that." She couldn't understand. I "L thought—" she began, and stopped.

"I'm sorry," lie repeated. He did not. look at lier now. "We've been such good pals. I'm afraid I lost my head." The lump of lead that was her heart grew colder and heavier. "I must have been carried away, lie said. Carried away. A sort of half understanding gradually came to her. Carried away. Away across the continent, across tlic seu. "Don't say any more, Johnny," she forced herself to say. "What time next Wednesday?" "Thanks, Mary. You're a brick . - . Shortly after lunch." "Of course 111 be there . . • But; we'd better go back to the house. She felt the tears burning her eyes, so she laughed quickly. "Mamma will be ready with supper and lm nearly starved." They walked silently to the brick house. (To be continued).