I decided that Margaret Hathaway was a tag-along spouse sharing her husband's flying hobby with her presence but not with her attention or her interest. The older couple was sitting in front of the blackboard on the end wall of the office. I was using it and a cockpit poster to brief them on their first lesson of instrument flying. They both listened politely, but Glenn Hathaway answered all my questions while his wife gazed around the room.

My partner in the flying school was also an instructor. Henry was pulling our two Cherokee 140s from the hangar while I did the briefing. When we were finished, Henry came into the office.

"I've done the pre-flight checks on both aircraft," he said, "so we can climb in and go flying."

"You mean we don't have to do our own walkarounds while the instructors wait in the office and drink coffee?" Glenn asked.

"It’s our first day in business,” Henry replied with a smile. “We're trying to make a good impression."

He signed himself out with Glenn.

The airplanes were parked one behind the other on the ramp. Henry and Glenn headed for the lead Cherokee. Mrs. Hathaway and I walked to the second.

The older lady climbed onto the catwalk of the low-wing airplane, opened the right hand door and slid over to the left seat with surprising agility. I climbed into the right seat and held the door ajar for fresh air.

Mrs. Hathaway then started rummaging in her handbag. She pulled out a tissue and tucked it up the right sleeve of her sweater.

"In case a girl gets the sniffles," she said.

I nodded patiently.

The engine started in the Cherokee ahead of us. My student reached into her purse again and extracted a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror.

"It's part of my pre-start check," she said with a little smile.

"Take your time," I said.

She finished applying the lipstick. "Girls my age have to use everything they can to look good." She gave me a bigger smile.

I smiled back. The other Cherokee started to taxi toward the runway. I tried to relax. It appeared that much of my lesson was going to be wasted starting the airplane. It was hard to believe that the doddering oldster already held a Private Pilot Licence.

She dropped the lipstick tube back into the purse and dug out a bag of scotch mints. "Candy?" she offered.

"No, thank you."

Then she pulled a pair of half-round reading glasses on a string from her purse.

"I'll be ready to go in a minute," she said.

"Take your time," I said less patiently.

Glenn Hathaway and Henry were already beside the runway doing a pre-take-off check.

There was a checklist in our aircraft side pocket but Mrs. Hathaway pulled her own from the purse. "Do you mind if I use this one?" she asked. "I'm more familiar with it from when I learned to fly."

At the rate we were going, it didn't matter what she used, we were never going to get airborne.

"That's fine, Mrs. Hathaway."

“Please call me Margaret.”

“Okay, Margaret.”

With that, the kindly old lady started down the pre-start list rapidly and out loud. She sounded like an auctioneer. In a matter of seconds she was through the check. She pumped the throttle, yelled, "Clear!" out the pilot's side vent window and turned the key. The engine fired, chugged and then settled into a smooth idle. She turned off the electric fuel pump, checked the engine gauges, snapped the radio on, called the ground controller and asked for taxi instructions.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Hathaway," the controller replied. "The runway is 24, wind 240 at 20 knots, altimeter 2992; you're cleared to taxi Charlie, Bravo to hold short of 24, call the tower for takeoff."

She released the brakes.

"A cheery good morning to you," she replied into the microphone.

"Sounds like you're well known here," I commented.

She gave me a big smile. "The boys in the tower are friendly, but I wish they'd call me Margaret."

While talking, she taxied the airplane at a fast clip. She pulled up beside the runway and immediately started into a pre-take-off check. Henry and her husband were parked on the runway about to depart.

She grinned as she continued her rapid-fire run through the checks.

"Seat belt on, door closed," she said to me.

Without waiting for a reply, she spun the radio selector to the tower frequency and called for a take-off clearance.

The other airplane was rolling down the runway.

"India Romeo Charlie Uniform Sierra, taxi into position and hold," the controller replied.

"India Romeo Charlie Uniform Sierra, thank you."

"Charlie Uniform Sierra is now cleared for takeoff, wind two four zero at twelve"

"Charlie Uniform Sierra."

I was closing and latching the door as Margaret accelerated onto the runway. She continued into the take-off roll and shoved the throttle wide open. At lift-off speed, she held the airplane on the ground. It continued to gain momentum. Her face was split with a wide grin. I was about to tell her to raise the nose when she hauled back on the control wheel and pulled the Cherokee into a steep, zooming climb that put us both on our backs. She turned to me and whooped, "I love this!"

The Cherokee's extra airspeed bled off. When it had decreased to the best rate of climb, Margaret pushed forward on the control wheel and held the airplane in level flight. She retracted the flaps and allowed the airspeed to build up.

The City of Circus lay before us and we were headed over the centre of it at 500 feet. Margaret saw the questioning look on my face.

"The only time you can legally fly over the city this low is on takeoff or landing," she offered. "It's amazing what you can see in your neighbors' backyards from up here."

My opinion of this suddenly feisty and capable lady was improving quickly. When we had finished skimming over a large part of the city, I convinced Margaret to climb a couple of thousand feet. Once there, I demonstrated how to fly using the instruments as the only reference. She practised some basic manoeuvers without looking out of the window. She was good. We progressed quickly through the lesson.

About 45 minutes later, we heard Glenn call the Circus Control Tower asking for a clearance to re-enter the control zone. We headed back to the airport. Margaret set up a high-speed descent down to the approach altitude of 1,000 feet above the ground. She called the tower. We were cleared to the downwind leg to follow the other Cherokee. Margaret avidly watched the houses below as we flew over the city. When he had us in sight, the controller said we were number two for landing.

This little old lady from Circus completed a rapid-fire pre-landing check but continued to fly at good speed at 1,000 feet. We were soon too high and tight to the runway for a normal approach to landing. I didn't say anything. I could see the other Cherokee touching down. On the base leg of our approach, 90 degrees to the runway, Margaret cut the engine power. Then she applied full right rudder and most of the left aileron, dumping us into one almighty crossed-control slipping turn to the left. We dropped like a rock. Her smile grew bigger. She straightened the airplane out on the final leg for the runway about a half kilometre back. The controller cleared us to land. We were no longer too high but we were flying at 120 mph.

I stayed silent. I was curious to see how Margaret was going to land the airplane at its top speed. When we crossed the approach lights to Runway 24, the airplane had slowed to the maximum flap extension speed of 110 mph. Margaret hauled on the lever between the seats and extended full flaps. She nicely anticipated the resulting pitch up. We crossed the end of the runway doing 95 mph.

The next manoeuver was nearly impossible to do without porpoising down the runway. Margaret eased the Cherokee's nosewheel onto the centreline and held it there perfectly. The main wheels were still in the air. As the speed continued to bleed off, the main wheels settled onto the asphalt. When our speed had dropped below 75 mph, she squeezed the toe brakes without locking up the tires. The airplane was slowed down to a walk by the first taxiway. We turned off.

Illustration by Francois Bougie

"Glenn hates it when I fly like that," she said, beaming. "Thank you, I enjoyed it."

"You had me on the edge of my seat," I replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. My previous instructor usually fell asleep by the time we got back to the airport."

"Don't worry about me," I replied. "You fly the airplane very well."

"Thank you."

Margaret shut down the Cherokee on the ramp behind the other airplane. We joined Henry and Glenn in the office.

"I learned a lot today," Glenn was saying as Margaret and I walked in. "I appreciate your taking us up right away. I don't speak for Margaret but I'd like to book another lesson."

Henry was standing behind our small flight desk looking at the empty booking sheets. "Sure, anytime," he said calmly.

"Can we fly again Wednesday afternoon around two o'clock?" Glenn asked

"Yes," Henry said. "How about you, Mrs. Hathaway?"

"Margaret," she replied, "please call me Margaret and Wednesday will be fine."

"Okay, we'll fly with you both again on Wednesday at 14:00 for another hour and a half."

While Henry was making the bookings, Glenn pulled out his cheque book.

"Don't bother making us out a bill," Glenn said, writing out a cheque. "Here's $2,000. Put it on an account for us. Keep track of our lessons and let us know when we're running out."

He handed Henry the cheque. My partner didn't know what to say. Neither did I.

"And starting today," Glenn continued, "we'd like to start paying monthly hangar rent for a Piper Archer. On Wednesday I'll bring you a deposit and an order for the airplane."

Henry's mouth dropped open. Margaret nodded her agreement. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.

Henry recovered quickly. "I'll have the order form drawn up for Wednesday," he said, "but you don't have to pay hangar rent until the aircraft is delivered."

"That may be true," Glenn replied, "but I enjoy seeing energetic people starting in business. It reminds me of when Margaret and I opened our first hardware store. Charge our hangar rent starting now and I can brag that we are your first customers."

"Thank you very much," Henry said.

"You're welcome," Glenn replied, and then he added with a smile, "You should do fine here but see if you can teach your partner how to make a decent cup of coffee."

"I'll work on it," Henry replied.