Skyhawks and the question of sex

Press, 12 September 1988, Page 5

Skyhawks and the question of sex

Wilsons Week...

My mate asked me to repeat the news. It sounded just as depressing, the second time around.

“You’re absolutely sure about it?” he pleaded. “Confirmed, not five minutes ago.” “It’s a bleak day.” “A lifetime’s illusions shattered.”

“Whatever possessed them? They could have asked us if they were short,” he wailed, echoing the thoughts of many other blokes we could name.

“Read it out again,” he said. “Just so I can be sure this isn’t a bad dream.”

“Okay. According to this official announcement from the R.N.Z.A.F. it says women are now allowed to fly Skyhawks.” Something like a sob drifted down the telephone line. Fellow aeroplane enthusiasts were commiserating at the passing of an era — the passing of the fighter pilot as a male and his transformation into a combat jet flying person. “I’m not sexist,” he insisted. “You are many things, but you are not a sexist.”

“I mean, votes for women. Equal pay. The right to give a cheeky doctor a thick ear. I’ve always been in favour of

them.” “Yes, and I argued in defence of the mini skirt when others said it was outrageous,” I offered. “True, you’ve always stood up for women.” “Including times when the bus wasn’t full.” “But this!” we wailed in unison.

“Next thing they’ll have those grunty green and grey Skyhawk camouflage colours redone in some pretty pastel shade.”

“And a bright pair of check cafe curtains around the canopy.”

“And another rear view mirror for applying mascara.” “Grim.”

“No more fighter jocks. ‘Spose we’ll have to call them jockettes now.”

“A woman’s place is in the home,” he blurted. "Come on now. That’s a 1950 s attitude. Women are equally entitled to be in the workforce and they’re everywhere in the armed fores. There are women serving at sea in the Navy.” “They’re in no danger,” he pouted. “That’s only a rumour. And. anyway, I know a lot of married sailors.”

He grudgingly began to accept the view. “And the army — women are doing everything in the army except

carry guns.” “Yeah. They’re not allowed to carry a rifle but they can be in charge of two humping great airborne 20mm cannons plus assorted missiles and cans of instant sunshine.” ,

He had a point. “Anyway,” he concluded, “A woman’s place with guns is on the other side of the fence, protesting about them. How can they protest about war when their sisters are up there waging it?” “Simple,” I replied, referring to the news release. “They can’t fight in a war.” “Huh?” “If there’s a war the women have to stay behind and train other pilots.” “You mean, they get to fly Skyhawks but not get shot at?” “Affirmative.”

“Jeez, that’s exactly the job I wanted.”

"Me too. You ever try to join the Air Force?”

“Yeah. Turned down on account of eyesight. I kept talking to a recruiting poster. Thing was so lifelike too.”

“Know the problem. I tried too. Trouble was I was a big lad and the recruiting bloke reckoned I’d never be able to eject from the plane.” “Sad.” “Yeah. I told him I like planes and had no intention of wanting to jump out of one. Anyway they reckoned my maths wasn’t up to scratch. I always did have trouble with the 12 times table.” “Mmm. You know what it is. Jealousy — plain old green-eyed devil.” ‘Huh?”

“Jealousy. The fact that you and me never made it and some bird

“Women. Female. No derogatory labels, please.” “Yeah. Sorry. You and me never made it and some female is going to be up there going almost Mach 1 in a Skyhawk. We’re jealous.” “Yeah, well, I mean I’m 38 now. Too old, anyway,” I offered in defence.

“Know how you feel. Same here. Guess it’s

only fair to hand over to the young ones. You going to the model meeting?” “Too right. I’m building a model now.” “Oh? What are you

building?” “A Skyhawk.” “Oh. What sex is the pilot?” “Male” we both chorused. — DAVE WILSON