Extracts from a Diary
(Note: the diary in question is that of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, only daughter of the Great War general Sir Archibald Bourne-Phipps. Amelia seems to have been sent off to the Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School For Young Ladies on Spontoon East Island, at rather short notice. The diary is carefully written in the never-popular Lexarc Shorthand system, which very few people ever became proficient in (certainly, none of her family.) Amelia translated this in the 1970’s for the benefit of her granddaughters.)

September 7th,1934
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Dear Diary – well, it took an age and a half, but I’m finally here ! The last five days on a passenger ship, alas - the Imperial Airways Clipper only went as far as Hawaii, after a stormy crossing from Rain Island. Rain ! I’ve hardly seen the sun all trip, so much for sun-drenched tropics. Dear old Barsetshire looks a veritable Desert next to the Spontoon Archipelago right now.
     I am writing on my travelling trunk, surrounded by luggage. Not my own luggage – my roommate Molly, heiress to a well-known Chicago family of wine and spirits importers – she seems to have brought half a boatload of things with her. Still, I heard her complaining to Miss Devinski our tutor, that Customs had seized her Tommy. Not a family pet, I hope !
     Speaking of Miss Devinski – she is one of the five “real” members of staff here. Not many, considering the fourteen arrivals this Term, and the two senior years of lady Aviators housed in the other blocks. But there are a dozen other names listed as staff on the mimeographed sheets I am resting you on, dear Diary – so hopefully they will fit us all in.
      And so to bed. Molly has taken the bed in the far corner – she seems to have a positive aversion to even sitting with her back to the door. What quaint traditions and beliefs they have in this part of the world !

September 8th, 1934.

Dear Diary:  well, our little band is complete. Another American arrived late last night, Helen Ducros. Her people seem to be something in the Texas Oil business, though with her accent it took me half an hour to decide the “wildcats” and “gushers” she spoke of were not the local wildlife.  And at lunchtime, a fascinating SIAI-Marchetti SM.66 double-hulled flying boat went right over us before touching down in the harbour.  Very strange – its sole passenger was Maria Inconnutia – or something of the sort, I will definitely have to keep a notebook with the spelling ! My commonplace book is quite bulging already, with maps and timetables of the Island and the Academy (“Boarding School” may be more correct, but sounds so utterly drab !)
      Miss Devinski tells us that each dorm is more than just accommodation – the four of us are teamed together, will be working and learning on projects together, and take responsibility for each other’s behaviour (except that we pack our own parachutes. Fortunately I possess that handicraft already, thankfully so. Alas for poor Flying Flea #7, why did our ancestors choose to build that church tower right in my flight path ?)

September 9th, 1934

Hard at work ! I confess that having seen the Boarding School’s aircraft constantly in the air yesterday afternoon, I had hoped we might start on flying instruction. No such joy ! From the timetable, we are in for weeks and weeks of instructions before we get near a cockpit. And then, we are to know our machines inside and out before ever we swing a propeller into life.  (Helen Ducros seemed very put out at this, and emitted a string of what I hope were West Texas dialect words, though I seem to recall sailors using similar language.)
      The rain, at least, has abated.  Looking out onto the streets below (we first-years are quartered above the Staff areas) one cannot but notice the … interesting Native costume, or in many cases, lack of it. Certainly, I feel far from dear old Barsetshire. A month has passed since my last flight except as a passenger, a month since Father decided to send me here to continue my Education. I do so miss flying !  Had Flying Flea #8 not suffered that unfortunate landing on Father’s glasshouses, I might have had it shipped out after me. 
      Molly is sitting on the windowsill, loudly chewing gum (a vile habit, I feel!) and evidently watching with interest the more ethnically dressed Natives passing. Oh yes, Dear Diary, the gentlemen here must save a Fortune on tailor’s bills !

September 10th, 1934

A day of unrelieved classroom work, on basic aerodynamics and air navigation. The aerodynamics class was given by Herr Bussemann, who evidently has far more advanced ideas on aircraft than the biplanes he describes for us. His desk has some very odd-looking model monoplanes, looking more like paper darts than proper aircraft. I trust he will have time to finish them soon, every model is still lacking its propeller.
      Miss Devinski tells us we can look forward to a break in classroom work next week, when we are to take a Field Trip. Some healthy exercise would be a welcome relief, after all this theory. (But at least I know now why Flying Flea #2 came to such a premature end. I did suspect even then, that the plywood from tea chests was a little flimsy for the main wing spar...)

September 11th, 1934

Finally, I manage to have a long talk with Maria – Molly and Helen were on the balcony at the far end of the corridor after classes, “watching the Talent go past.” I’m sure I didn’t hear there was a Talent show outside.  But as for Maria – my old classmates at St. Winifreds school would be thrilled to learn I’m sharing a room with near-royalty !  More exactly, she is one of the (many) nieces of Il Puce, the Italian “Purple Emperor”, sent here in what she considers Exile. I couldn’t quite follow her story, but it involved rope-ladders, motor-boats, midnight flying and an accidentally released torpedo – released by whom and towards whom, someday I may discover.

September 18th, 1934

Dear Diary: Sorry for the long silence – I am fresh from the first hot, fresh bath in 4 nights! I was told to “Expect The Unexpected” and indeed I got it. The “Field Trip” turned out to be a safari on the main Island, viewing the native villages and great tracts of jungle. Now I can add “Crab cooked in Coconut” to my recipe book, though I doubt Cook at home would appreciate the “kitchen” I prepared it in (an open fire on the beach, with only Boy-Scout knives for cutlery. And the crab was caught with my own hands – though oddly  enough, the coconuts we brought with us.) 
      Miss Devinski was absent from this trip, having handed us over to Mrs. Haiotoroa, a Native lady of enormous proportions and an unceasing flow of conversation, some of which I even understood.  (Helen claims she saw Miss Devinski heading towards the Casino Island water taxi, wearing a most daring party frock and a relieved expression.) Our Native guide and chaperone was careful to point out the edible foodstuffs in the jungle, and hinted that we would in a few weeks time need to remember them. I have heard the senior classes mention something about this, usually involving quicksands, mosquitoes and leeches. 
       I am making real progress, I believe ! In our leisure hours on the beach (the bamboo and woven leaf huts the Natives make on their travels proving not too hard to assemble for someone with my raffia-weaving skills. Hurrah for St. Winifreds formation Raffia team!) Molly taught us an interesting game like lawn-darts, using the Boy-Scout knives we are provided with. At twenty paces, she can turn and hit a five-inch log nine times out of ten. I asked her if this was a Native Custom amongst her people, and she told me her Father’s employees had taught it her. (The family seems an unusually prosperous one, by her accounts, despite only starting in the retail wines and spirits business in 1920.)
      Anyway, it has been a thrilling few days – back to class tomorrow, thankful for a bed after four nights in a hammock. If nothing else, a hammock in a gusty sea breeze should accustom one against airsickness …

September 20th, 1934

Well ! I confess to being quite flabbergasted when we were told that each dorm must choose a spokesperson for the rest of the term – before I could even suggest how to vote for the post, Molly, Helen and Maria instantly elected me! 
     As Molly put it later, when we were alone in the engine shed, “See, doll, Helen and me ain’t the type to sit and take orders. We’d scratch each other’s eyes out, first time one of us gotten riled. Maria, she don’t take orders nohow, that’s what got her here. But you’re a sweet kid, see, and we none of us reckon you’ll throw your weight around for the hell of it. See ?”
     I blush ! 

September 22nd,  1934

At last, Helen “spills the beans” as she so quaintly puts it, on her family background. It seems the Texas oil wells are most vexingly inflammable things – and once alight, take rather more than the village pump engine to extinguish. Her late Father was “Lucky” Ducros, one of the most famous fire-fighters in the business – alas, a hazardous task involving what sounds like gratuitously large quantities of dynamite to “snuff out” thousands of gallons of blazing oil. His services, when needed, were always wanted urgently, giving him the need (and resources) for his own aeroplane. Helen was trained from a most tender age as a mechanic, and later as a pilot.  All this “book-learning” is proving vexing for the poor girl !
      Three weeks have passed since we arrived at Songmark, and they have simply flown by ! Alas, that has been all the flying any of us have done. Helen is suggesting we “exercise some Initiative” at the weekend, and slip out to see the sights for a few hours. True, I might welcome a break, but surely after our curfew hour, it will be pitch dark and no scenery visible?
       One might think that our Tutors have seen all this before.  Only yesterday, I overheard Miss Devinski and Miss Nordlingen in the corridor, discussing bringing some classes forward. According to Miss Nordlingen, my class are “a lively bunch – I’d rather discuss Precautions a week too soon than a night too late.” True, we are scheduled for some basic and advanced First Aid courses this term … and it is almost a school motto, that graduates of Songmark are trained to look after themselves no matter where they end up…

September 24th, 1934

At last ! Our first close sight of an aircraft, since the week we arrived! Starting this week, after finishing our lessons in the morning, we may work in the hangars. Stripping radial engines down is scarcely glamorous work, and Maria complains the overalls are most Unflattering in cut. She arrived in rather daring red flying leathers, with pistol holsters on each hip – no wonder this seems to be a poor substitute.  But as I took pains to tell her, at the end of this, she will at least be able to spot which bits of an engine are missing…
     I am getting quite good at ducking things Maria throws at me.

September 26th, 1934

Dear Diary: 
    Oh My. 

September 27th, 1934

Dear Diary: I should explain the brief entry of yesterday – when I wrote it, I was seized with doubt as to whether to even confide in you. But Lexarc Shorthand is as rare a language to see written as the Ancient Assyrian my Uncle Harry studies, and surely safe enough…
     Oh My, indeed. We have had the extra classes, and learned some things not exactly listed on the prospectus. Miss Devinski began by pointing out that Songmark Boarding School had an excellent safety record, and (to date) had neither unexpectedly lost nor gained in numbers. An odd way of putting things,  I thought at the time.
      Briefly – in a morning, we now know what sort of adventures we should NOT write home about, should we choose to make the most of our Opportunities out here. Furthermore, as Miss Devinski put it, “In aircraft, we won’t let you fly unless we’re happy you’ll stay in the air. We’ll teach you not to get lost, we’ll teach you how far you can expect your fuel to last. Socially, we’ll advise you on the same kinds of things. This, basically, is how things work.” And in quite sufficient details, she told us.

 (Dear Diary – I don’t think I’ll forget this lesson in a hurry! I know the Matron at St.Winifreds supposedly gave a friendly chat to leavers, with general advice. On scale, that would be a general description of what an aero-engine is for, against a full workshop manual with parts lists. Including what you might call a lot of Preventative Maintenance.)

     Helen seemed very little surprised at any of it, but Maria and Molly were taking detailed notes throughout.  One suspects that in some respects, Molly has had a sheltered life – from what she tells of her Father, he seems a Quite formidable person.

September 30th, 1934

Hurrah! The four of us have won the month’s prize for our studies – the one official gramophone in our block. Maria has obtained a record of “V-Gerat”, a fascinating German futurist band, who all play supercharged Koch & Sterzel AG Theramins - from the record cover, they look a most Severe band – definitely not for ballrooms and teahouses, I fear. Further, she tells me they were last reported as touring the Pacific islands…

 (Excuse the ink smudge, Dear Diary. We have just repelled a frontal assault from Missy Kahaloa’s bunch in the next dorm. Being awarded our gramophone for the month, is no guarantee that we get to keep it! The sound of mighty Theramins is now triumphantly howling out at full throttle, drowning out the screams for mercy from next door.)