Once a pilot, always a pilot...

by Cora Nelson

“There are old pilots and bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.” ~ E. Hamilton Lee, 1949

At face value, this well-known adage seems to ring true. It suggests that bold wartime pilots took risks and many met their demise.

However, it doesn’t take digging very deeply into a pilot’s life to discover another interpretation of boldness. Men returning to Canada from their service in the Second World War were offered little assistance in finding their way back into normal, everyday life. What were they to do? Did they go back to their childhood homes and try to figure out how to make a civilian life for themselves? Certainly it took a measure of boldness to chart that course successfully.

My late father, Gerald C. McKay, formerly of Yarmouth, NS, and a Second World War pilot, occasionally repeated Lee’s little adage, always humbly—despite his years at the controls of a Spitfire, and usually with a little wry and wistful smile.

In his papers, found long after his passing, I came across his unpublished manuscript entitled Flying Schools: So Called. His manuscript documented the story of the Yarmouth Flying School, in operation in Yarmouth, NS, from 1946 through 1949. It’s the story of two bold veteran pilots who came home from the Second World War and began the incredible process of piecing together new lives. As this history reveals, it was through their passion for flying and their committed, determined hard work that interest in flying in this south coast town really took flight. 

Making a job

As my father wrote in his manuscript, “a large number of qualified pilots were turned loose on our fair land with no trade other than flying.” This included, he wrote, the many others he found himself in line with on one day at a Halifax-based company that had advertised one position for one pilot. All 15 men were hoping to be the successful candidate for that one and only job.

Dad wrote that when it was his turn for an interview, the interviewer explained that even after each pilot completed and passed a medical examination and began the newly instigated and lengthy process of obtaining a civilian flying licence, few flying jobs were available, anywhere. Instead, the interviewer suggested: “But, look, why don’t you start a flying school and make your own job?” Bold idea, indeed.

The interviewer continued with, “As a matter of a fact, there’s a chap here now from your hometown and I don’t see why you don’t get together and start a school. I’ll send him around to your hotel if you want and you can talk it over with him.”      

This gentleman and Dad’s future partner, Jim McRae, was also an RCAF pilot returning to Yarmouth after the war. Mr. McRae is alive and well at 100 years of age. I recently had the honour of meeting him. When I mentioned this initial meeting to him, he replied by saying: “Oh yes, we met at the Lord Nelson Hotel. We decided then and there to go ahead with a partnership.” He added: “In those days we really were out there on our own.”

After medical examinations were taken and passed, a written exam studied for, taken and passed, and various forms completed and submitted, the partners were handed their licences to open and operate the Yarmouth Flying School. Their pilot logbooks from their war service, documenting their flying time, served to waive the flying tests. The pilots then purchased their first aircraft, a Piper Cub, with the registration letters CF-DCY, for $3,000.

Dad wrote: “These days, about a year after the war ended, will be considered the best days of light plane flying in Canada. It was possible to land in a field and soon have a never-ceasing crowd of passengers wanting to go up on a sightseeing trip, at the cost of two dollars for 10 minutes. A school’s dream come true…money coming in instead of going out!”

Beyond sightseeing

The partners realized that this rush for sightseeing wouldn’t last. They were preparing to become flight instructors, which they viewed as a more stable way of earning their livings. To their growing school they added a second aircraft, a Piper Cub, CF-DGV, for another $3,000.

Along with his manuscript, Dad also kept a scrapbook of newspaper articles pertaining to the flying school. The local newspaper at the time, the Yarmouth Herald-Telegram, wrote about the flying school with a great deal of enthusiasm. An early article featuring a photo of both pilots in the cockpit of their first Piper Cub stated: “Considerable interest has been shown by local people and the school is expected to very shortly have a full calendar of instructional and passenger flights. Plans for the future allow for expansion, with the probability of it becoming one of a chain of provincial flying schools.”

Several prominent Yarmouth businessmen signed on for flying lessons, which gave the school a good boost in publicity. Mr. Jack Baker, deputy sheriff and owner of the Baker Motor Ltd. was the first local businessman to make a solo flight. Mr. Clifford Hood, a well-known Yarmouth jeweller, was also taking lessons and, as a newspaper article stated, “will be winging his way into the wild blue yonder shortly.” Another newspaper article recorded that Yarmouth resident, Mr. Bernard G. D’Eton, an ex-air gunner with the RCAF, flew solo after eight hours of intensive instruction.

Up until this time the school was operating out of the visitors’ hangar of the Yarmouth Airport. With business going well, the partners decided to build an office on the main highway (today’s Starr’s Road), across from the airport runway. They thought that passersby on this busy road might be tempted to stop in and ask for a flight. This initial building was just big enough to serve as an office and had a wall of windows across the front with a clear view of the runway.

Growing pains

Flying schools were opening in other towns around the province and throughout the Maritimes and the need for regulation was becoming evident. Into these busy days of the Yarmouth school and into their newly built office walked a newly appointed government inspector. This inspector requested to see the paperwork that assured the airworthiness of the two Cubs.

To that request, Dad wrote that he and his partner replied, “We don’t have any!”

The conversation continued with,“What! You don’t have a certificate of airworthiness or a certificate of registration for each of your aircraft?”

“No.”

“Well, how do you get them signed out?”

“We don’t.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said.

And that was the end of their unregulated flying days. From then on they were to fly each plane to the nearest qualified engineer—a 600-mile round trip to have each plane checked out and signed off on, each week, or every 30 hours of flying time, whichever came first.

This was a significant hardship for their school as the expense of getting each plane to its inspection site was considerable in fuel and oil, and in the time it took each plane away from earning income. This difficulty was resolved when the partners brought on a local, former Air Force engineering officer, who obtained his civil licence and served to check out and sign-off on the planes.

With this latest obstacle dealt with successfully, the partners decided the time was right to add a third aircraft to their fleet. They purchased a Stinson Voyager, a seaplane, with the letters CF-FOZ. This four-person aircraft cost more than $10,000. Using floats, the pilots could now offer charter trips for fishing and hunting enthusiasts into backwoods lakes and hunting areas that were otherwise difficult and time-consuming to reach.

Dad wrote, “Now we were really in business. We had three aircraft and all of the appropriate licences, entitling us to fly anywhere.” A newspaper advertisement from the time stated that their business slogan became “Anywhere East of Montreal!” The Yarmouth Herald-Telegram, in announcing the acquisition of the new plane, said: “Yarmouth can well be proud of this budding industry and the Yarmouth Herald-Telegram congratulates these two veterans who are leading the way in not only re-establishing themselves, but showing by actual effort what can be done locally. We wish them continued success.”

Beyond flying for fun

In a May, 1949 newspaper column, the writer recounted the acts of charity, mercy and public service the flying school rendered the community, whenever asked and often without remuneration. When ice closed in and prevented a family living on Owls Head Island in the Tusket Island group from getting to the mainland to obtain food, the pilots packed a tightly-wrapped emergency supply of food into a barrel. The newspaper reported: “The family was highly appreciative of the quick response of the two Yarmouth flyers and said that despite the fact the groceries had to be dropped from a considerable height in the air, the only damage sustained was to a can of milk and a package of sugar.” Although my father seldom talked about his flying school days, this was one story he did tell, always laughing because by sheer luck, he said, the barrel rolled right up to and practically knocked on the family’s front door.         

The pilots were called upon to patrol for forest fires and to help locate missing fishing boats, a not uncommon event in this fishing community. An undated newspaper article from the time describes the pilots taking flight to aid in searching for one such missing vessel. They located the boat, which was disabled and adrift, and guided three privately-owned rescue boats to it, where the floundering craft was secured and towed into port.        

Aerial photography was gaining in popularity at the time and the late Bob Brooks, a well-known and award-winning photographer, often went up with the pilots to take photographs of local news events. Additionally, the pilots took newsworthy aerial photos and submitted them to local newspapers.

With the Stinson operating in the summer from an anchor in nearby Doctors Lake, the time seemed right for the school to build its own hangar for housing their two Cubs. Housing the two planes at the local government hangar was done at significant cost and with changing regulations at the airport, these costs were going higher. The pilots secured permission to build a hangar on their own property and also secured permission from highway officials to cross the road with their aircraft. An attractive hangar was built, with the roof painted with the words “Flying School,” which provided free advertising to anyone flying into the area or driving by.

Unfortunately and through a clerical error, the school continued to be charged airport storage fees even after their planes were housed in their own private hangar. This miscommunication resulted in the school being presented with a large bill for storage charges, which they declined to pay. In reply to this refusal to pay, the Department of Transportation built a fence along the road across from the flying school, blocking access to the runway for the school’s planes, complete with “Do Not Trespass” signs. The Yarmouth Herald-Telegram presented the school’s case in an article entitled “Flying School Planes Barred From Airport.” The Yarmouth Board of Trade became involved and passed a resolution requesting that the Department of Transport review the case and rescind the blocking order. Three weeks after the fence went up, it came down, and Dad wrote, “this matter was finally ironed out and the fence quietly spirited away.” 

Ahead of their time   

However, shortly after this issue was resolved, another issue of even more dire consequences arose. The Department of Highways decided to pave the highway that led passed the flying school. This involved a long period of preparatory work during which potential customers simply could not reach the school.

One of the last newspaper articles among Dad’s papers, entitled “Yarmouth Flying School being Forced to the Wall,” documented the hardships the school had faced and called for community and government support. It mentioned that other local schools in the province were struggling under similar, growing financial burdens.

The precise reason for the closing of the Yarmouth Flying School after three years in business is undocumented, but it was likely a combination of factors. More and more licences for running the operation were being required, all of which were expensive in time and money to obtain. The types of insurance required were increasing, as were the rates. Even Yarmouth’s notoriously foggy weather played a role, often keeping the planes grounded. Leaving customers without a way to reach the school seemed to be the final straw.   

The Yarmouth Flying School closed in 1949 after only three, although very busy, years of operation.

Many of the pilots trained by the school pooled their resources, purchased the two Piper Cubs and formed the Gateway Flying Club. In a Yarmouth Vanguard newspaper article dated May 21, 1975, author R. E. Dease wrote that the Stinson was purchased by “a company formed by several local businessmen in order that charter flying might still be available to Yarmouth and vicinity.” This company operated under the name of Yarmouth Air Services.

In a newspaper article dated April 19, 1982, titled “Flying interest takes off in Tri-County,” author Rob Gorham writes of the Yarmouth, Digby and Shelburne counties’ newly-formed flying association: “…the goal is to have one four-place plane for pilots to take people up and show them what flying is all about, and one two-place aircraft for training purposes.”         

My dad had clipped this newspaper article and placed it at the end of his scrapbook. It was as if these two bold pilots, who had laid it all on the line, were simply ahead of their time.