The Economist

74 The EconomistAugust 4th 2018

T

HE first time Mary Ellis then Wilkins

saw the sleek small fighter aircraft

parked in the distance on a runway she fell

in love. Perhaps it sounded like nonsense

to fall for an aeroplane. But when she came

to make her first flight in one as a 25-year-

old pilot ferrying aircraft between Britain’s

airfields in the second world war she

knew for certain.

The date was October 15th 1942. From

the moment she picked up her chitty in the

morning with the list of planes she had to

deliver that day her heart was pounding

with joy. As she climbed in just the ticket in

her Air Transport Auxiliary uniform of

dark navy slacks fur-lined boots and navy

jacket with golden wings she caught a

glimpse of her blonde curls in the Perspex

canopy of the cockpit. She never wore a

leather helmet; it didn’t do much for the

hairstyle and she was fond of fashion. But

she had not forgotten lipstick and nail pol-

ish because this was an assignation.

Inside the cockpit it was warm snug

and quiet. As she slowly commanded the

propeller to turn turn and spin fast she felt

the Spitfire respond to every move of hers.

The thrust and virility she also felt right

through her bones building to 2400 revs

per minute and a take-off speed of150mph

came from the magnificent 12-cylinder

Merlin engine erupting like a symphony

and blasting out a three-second show of

flame. But the wonderful aircraft itself had

become her outer layer a dynamic metal

sheath like the feathers on a hawk. The

whole experience she had to admit was

sexual and orgasmic and like a dream.

Who needed love with all its tortures and

entanglements when there was this? From

the age of three she had wanted her wings

to grow so she could reach the shimmering

sky. Now she had them she was free full of

adrenalin and purpose.

She had flown many kinds of planes

since at 15 she was allowed to skip hockey

at her school in Burford and take flying les-

sons instead. Most of them were pretty lit-

tle aircraft such as Tiger Moths and Swal-

lows. If women were to fly at all an odd

thought in itself those seemed the right

type. Though the shapely Spitfire was of-

ten seen as a lady’s plane the notion of a

girl at the controls of the sexiest thing going

sent a shudder through commanding offi-

cers everywhere. The demands of war the

need to get fighter planes to the RAFboys

as fast as possible meant they just had to

put up with it—even when this particular

girl all five feet two of her was silly and ro-

mantic enough to write “WilkinsATA” in

the cockpit of one Spitfire in the hope

some handsome chap might get in touch.

The bigger the plane the worse the pre-

judice. When she flew Wellington bom-

bers glorious aircraft so reliable and well-

mannered some ground crews were flab-

bergasted she was the pilot. (This did not

put her off and she was training to fly four-

engine Lancaster bombers when the war

ended.) In the ATA itself which took wom-

en from 1940 about 12% of the pilots were

female and not all ferry pools would ac-

cept them. The worst she found were RAF

airfields where the ground crews often ig-

nored her and if one wanted to spend a

penny one had to find a bush as the loos

were men-only. She learned early in the

ATA not to drink too much tea before a

flight—only afterwards when she some-

times managed a quick bike ride home to

her parents near the airfield at Brize Nor-

ton for a cup and a spot of tennis. They

never really knew what her job was.

At least after 1943 there was equal pay

for men and women of the ATA about £6 a

week. For after all they faced the same

dangers and had the same scrapes—flying

as they did without radios relying only on

compasses and Bradshaw’s Railway

Guides. She met anti-aircraft fire over

Bournemouth barrage balloons suddenly

popping up doodle bugs coming for her

and engine failure. Friends got killed. Each

of those horrors she dealt with calmly; one

didn’t get excited just got on with the job.

Besides men did not own war; women

knew about duty too. It was terribly an-

noying when after one crash-landing she

had to be rescued by men from a field be-

cause she was besieged by curious cows.

All through the Spitfire remained her

soulmate. When in 1946 she flew one

alone for the last time she reflected that

never again would young women have the

chance to fly such a beautiful aircraft so of-

ten and so freely. Still in love with the fast

and the furious she joined the RAFfo r a

time flying Gloster Meteor jetfighters and

bought a gorgeous black Allard K1sports

car in which she whipped about the roads

and won rallies. She took on the manage-

ment of Sandown airport in the Isle of

Wight setting up a school there where

women could learn to fly. Later she mar-

ried Don Ellis a gliding instructor which

brought happy years though she never

took to gliding. She missed engine power.

As the liveliest member of the shrink-

ing band ofATAveterans straight-backed

and without a stick even at 100 she never

missed a chance to wear her uniform trim

navy with its golden wings. And at 100 she

also for 15 minutes took the controls of a

Spitfire again. Another flewalongside as

an escort of honour and a co-pilot sat with

her but of course it would have been even

more wizard without them. For in her

dreams a feisty little Spitfire was always

out on the horizon waiting for her to climb

in and become a bird again; away into the

clouds close and fast on and on. 7

In love with Spitfires

Mary Ellis née Wilkins ferry pilot in the Air Transport Auxiliary died on July 24th

aged 101

Obituary Mary Ellis