Plane Talk about Blatchford Field: A memoir by Ruth Williams

Recently there was a write-up in the Edmonton Journal about Blatchford Field. Immediately I began to think back to my very early memories of aeroplanes. I guess that my first experience of plane watching would be about 1918, when I would have been about five years old.


At that time we still lived on the north side in what is today the Oliver district. The day was probably Sunday, as my Dad was at home. When he heard a plane buzzing overhead, he took me outside to see my first plane.


"Let's see if you Mother and Margie would like to go for a little car ride", said Dad. "We could drive along Portage Avenue, where there is more space for plane watching."


Soon we were settled in the car, Dad behind the wheel, mother beside him on the front seat, and Margie and I on the back seat. She was about two years younger than I. I think the care was an early Ford. Of course, there were no windows. In those early days, curtains and windows were fastened in only to protect us from the weather. When it was necessary to do this, we looked through windows made of ising glass, a form of mica. I doubt that this was necessary on that particular day.


We drove along Portage Avenue, heading west. Edmonton's Portage Avenue was modeled on and named after a similar very wide avenue in Winnipeg. Even then it was so wide that I don't believe it has ever needed to be widened. Today it is called Kingsway Avenue, a name given to it after the Royal couple, King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, drove down it to cheering crowds. (For this occasion special bleachers were built to accommodate special bus loads of school children. I remember that my husband, Jim and I brought all the town children from Lavoy in by train.) This was in early summer, 1939.


Dad parked our car on the north side of the avenue facing west. He told us to watch as well as listen. It was here that we were most likely to see other planes.


Sure enough, it wasn't too long until Dad spotted a plane high above us. Again he told us to look and listen, as he printed to where he had seen it. Finally I saw it, about the size of a toy, high in the sky. The pilot flew it back and forth overhead making quite a hum.


Then the plane began to fly further afield. "Let's drive along St. Albert Trail to see if we can spot it again," said Dad. "There it is! It's going down!" I was looking and looking for it. "There it is!" should Dad excitedly. He was so anxious that I should see it on the ground.


When I finally saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes. I had been looking for something the size of the one I had seen in the air. A toy aeroplane! What I saw was so large. I could not believe it! Dad explained to me that it was the same place we had seen high in the air earlier. The distance from us just made it seem smaller.


As I think back when our two children, Barb and Doug, drove along Kingsway Avenue with us to watch planes coming and going, taking off, coming in to land, flying high overhead, they accepted the apparent change in size so naturally. They seemed always to accept and understand perspective or whatever. Could I have been a slow learner?


Some years later, I was lucky enough to share another experience at the airport with my Dad. When I was in high school, I often worked in Dad's office for a couple of weeks each summer.


It was a Thursday, Dad was a Rotarian. The downtown Rotary Club met at the McDonald Hotel each Thursday noon for lunch. Usually they had a guest speaker. When he came back to the office he told us of the particular guests that day. Two pilots from the States, Wiley Post and Gatty had spoken to them. At the end of the talk, they offered passes to the members to tour their plane. It was the biggest plane that had landed and taken off from our local airport. Dad had two passes. He immediately phones Mother at home to see if she would like to go along. However, she was already busy with something else. Since I was "Johnny on the Spot" right then and there he took me with him. Wasn't I lucky?


After the First World War some of the enlisted men who had returned to Edmonton had learned to fly a place while away. They wanted to fly again and formed a core of pilots known as the Edmonton Flying Club. These bush pilots helped to open up the country north of Edmonton. Usually they were single plans with double wings. Often they were called on in emergencies. Perhaps to pick up a patient who had been accidentally injured - an air ambulance! Two of the names that I remember, Wop May and Punch Dickens.


On one occasion, there was an outbreak of Diphtheria in a northern settlement. I believe it was Wop May who flew that emergency trip to take Diphtheria serum to the infected area, saving many lives. He became an instant hero. On his return the Journal immediately put out an extra edition of their paper to honor the Bush Pilots, Wop may particularly. In fact, I have a very distinct memory of our own paper buy-out on our street calling in a very loud voice "Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Wop May saves many lives in far North. Flies serum in to stop Diphtheria epidemic". Of course, my parents and others went out and probably paid five cents for a copy. At the same time, they were being sold in the downtown area in a similar manner. Planes making such emergency flights, were often equipped with floats or skis. Today there are so many faster means of keeping us informed of world happenings. Radio, E-mail, even our T.V.'s, Who ever hears of our papers putting out extra editions today? No need for it!