November 10th, 1934

Preparations are underway for the weekend - the weather forecast is good, the moon full, and we four are exercising all the ingenuity we canput together between us. Leaving the dorm without going past the staff areas is the first hurdle - but a rope-ladder is easily constructed from parachute cord braced with bamboo, and the drop from the first storey window to the ground is scarcely fifteen feet. (Molly and Helen insist the ground floor is the "first floor", but this is silly. Where do they suppose the ground floor is ?)
        Covering our departure has been arranged with Jasbir, who has agreed to split her forces and play our records in our room for an hour or so. Next week we shall return the complement if all goes well - and if all goes badly, at least they will have more ideas of the pitfalls ahead. In two more weeks V-Gerat arrive for their concert in the park on Casino Island - getting there illicitly might not be quite as hard as Uncle Cedric's escape to Sweden from Germany in the Great War, but unlike him, we also have to get back undetected.
        The place seems definitely quiet, with the second-years out on Gunboat Island for a safari of their own - a more serious business, as the island is wholly uninhabited and the Staff will only drop by every other day and check on them. One might think their tutors Miss Pelton and Miss Cardroy would be sick with worry imagining what might be happening out there - but they are putting a brave face on it. Molly says she was in the bathroom at six this morning and saw Miss Peltonquietly arriving from the direction of the jetties, carrying an overnight bag - I imagine she had been unable to sleep and gone for an early swim - certainly she looks tired in class.

November 12th, 1934

Well ! Things went swimmingly on our first little excursion - the rope ladder held up adequately, and within twenty seconds of our opening the window we were twenty yards round the corner and heading into cover with the ladder rolled up behind us and stowed. Failing an acquaintance with Jasbir's national Rope Trick, we arranged with her for our window to be manned for a minute on the hour, every hour till our return.
        Clothing had been a thorny problem, as the Academy blazers, though of a suitable dark colour for night manoeuvres, are instantly recognisable. However, an afternoon with the Singer sewing machine sufficed to turn out some costumes from the fabric of a discarded parachute - we looked vaguely like visiting mechanics from some air force with exotic fashion tastes. Not a bad effect, though I say it myself.
        It was a fine, clear night indeed, with the lights of the runway close at hand - though the surrounding streets are unlit, we are familiar with most of Eastern Island by now. For the past three weeks, we have been doing what one might term "Low-level Reconnaissance", one or two of us breaking away from our class on the way to our lectures, making rapid dashes to map out byways and alleyways before rejoining the party. Between us, I doubt there is a building on the island we don't know!
        Helen led this expedition, by common consent (Molly offered to throw dice for the privilege, but the dice are a Family Inheritance from some of her Fathers' Business Associates, and Helen declined to risk it.) Primary target for our little raid was Mahanish's, a well-spoken of dining establishment for pilots just South of the aerodrome control tower. Trusting in our disguises, we managed to enter, get a table and get served. Thrilling!
        All went swimmingly at first, as I noticed several of the (genuine) pilots are little older than ourselves - and Helen was delighted to see they serve something called "Foxtrot Oscar" Chilli - which she translates for me as "Fine Old", and assures me it is a Texan regional speciality. Four bowls were soon in front of us, which seemed to excite some interest from the tables around us, who seemed to be suddenly taking bets.
        Sampling the dish was what one might call a Broadening Experience. Certainly one cannot fault the description, as Chilli seemed to be a major ingredient! Molly and Maria seemed to be in some discomfort, and all eyes then seemed to be watching my progress with interest.

November 17th, 1934

After our adventures, naturally we slept like tops - barely waking in time for Breakfast call. Fortunately, being Sunday, we had a little extra time before the various Church expeditions assemble at the water taxi jetties. Molly has amended her student details, changing Religion on the form from "None" to "Agnostic Fundamentalist", in the hope it will gain her some concessions. (Much good may it do her! Trying to "pull a fast one" as she would say, on our Tutors, would be like trying it on old MacCardle, Father's butler and retired Regimental Sergeant-Major of five campaigns' experience.)
        Maria objects to this levity with Religion, and hinted darkly that Ill Would Come Of It. She seemed to be immediately vindicated when Molly started yelling for the Matron from the bathroom - that or for ice-packs. But Five minutes later, Maria was in much the same case herself, though happily I could reassure them that far from being a Burning Issue, the Matron was hardly needed.
        (Memo to myself - the "Fine Old Chilli" at Mahanish's, has just the same effect as dear old Mrs. Chaunapal's Tindaloo curry. Suffice it to say that one gets a strong Reminder of its effects, just when one least expects it.)
        Suitably chastened, we breakfasted and headed out for the various Churches. An interesting trip ! In our water-taxi, we shared the voyage out with five young Native gentlemen, dressed in their ethnic best, and wearing distinctive white shirts for Church. Considering they are fellow church-goers, I thought it perfectly proper to strike up a polite conversation (Helen was too busy going "bug-eyed" as she puts it, looking them up and down like a schoolboy outside a sweet shop.) The next-to-youngest brother, Jirry Hoele'toemi, seems a most charming young gentleman indeed, and happy to answer all my questions.
        It appears that some of the Spontoonian families are of considerable age, four or five generations by now, but despite being outwardly "Native", may keep various traditions alive and well. Hence the Hoele'toemi family trace their Great-Great Grandparents not to some native settlement on a lost isle but to darkest Herefordshire!
        By the time we arrived at the Church, I fear Helen seemed to have lost her interest in the Rev. Bingham, a man of the cloth. Jonni Hoele'toemi, the eldest of the five brothers, is a man of quite similar physique with far less cloth to cover it. The family had been "working Customs" on South Island at one of the tourist Villages, and only now returned to their winter quarters. I must ask sometime, just why so many natives seem to earn their wages in Customs - surely smuggling is not so huge a problem?
        The sermon seemed to drag somewhat, then we managed to "fall in" again with the Hoele'toemi family on the way back to the dock. I mentioned the Concert in a fortnight, and to our delight found they had tickets already! This promises to be interesting. Though unhappily Miss Devinski was already on an almost-full water taxi and waved only us Songmark students aboard, I did manage to let Jirry know that we hope to attend. A further attraction, as if one were needed !

November 20th, 1934

Off to Moon Island, for our first "flying" experience since we arrived all those weeks ago. Sadly, the altitude gained was about three feet, as we climbed into the Link Trainer, an ingenious little fairground-ride aeroplane, which nevertheless is wired to move as a real one with full sized stick, rudder and throttle. Miss Devinski brushed aside various loud claims (Helen's amongst them) that people had scores of hours in their logbooks already - it seems that at Songmark, folk with bad flying habits are worse off than complete novices, having much to unlearn. I confess that having ailerons to think about, put me off my stride considerably, the Flying Flea having no such complications. (True, this prevents banking in a turn, but I always managed perfectly well except when the landscape unexpectedly got in the way).
        A suprisingly fine little device, the Link Trainer - this one owned by the Rain Island Naval Syndicate, who have the seaplane base here. Madelene X managed to put hers in a spin - simulated or not, she was looking distinctly green and giddy by the time she hit the simulated ground. Bottom of the class for her dorm, I think. I had little trouble myself, except getting used to ailerons - an unnecessary refinement, in my view, which will never catch on.
        Again, we met the Spontoon Island Technical High School crowd, who live and work on this island ("within torpedo range", as Maria would say.) They were quite impatiently awaiting us to finish, to use the Link trainer themselves - and Madelene X's crash put them in fine spirits. In fact, some of the girls there were most - Provoking. I realise Songmark is a Select place, but the SITHS seem to be making too much of a point in being - Unfussy about who they admit!

November 22nd, 1934

A strenuous afternoon, Dear Diary - after a morning in the classroom and an unexpectedly light lunch, our "sports day" turned out to be a somewhat radical self-defence course, which I see from the timetable we will be carrying on with all through the term.
        Our instructors, Mr. and Mrs. Fairburn-Sykes, are on Eastern Island for some months on some form of military liaison mission from His Majesty's Forces (237th London Glaswegian Regt.) - heavens knows how the Academy persuaded them to train us. But train us they did - the
gymnasium floor was covered in thick mats, where we first learned to fall without getting the wind (quite) knocked out of us. Then two hours of dodging rushes, throwing each other and suchlike. Rather unladylike perhaps, but fairly - exhilarating!

November 23rd, 1934

Hurrah ! An early start, waking at dawn and then out to Church - Helen having spent rather a long time grooming, we just made it in time ( I confess that I spent rather longer than usual myself with the combs today). As we hoped, the entire Hoele'toemi family turned up, and we had a Very lively conversation. It seems that Jirry works in the Tourist season escorting visitors around the islands, showing them the various festivals, dances and such that feature on the postcards. (Alas, we've seen far more of the insides of engine cowlings than the insides of native cultures so far!)
        Whatever the job may involve (and Jirry mentions that it involves a lot of fishing and diving, plus long treks carrying baggage) it definitely seems to be a Healthy one, to look at the family physique. I recall Miss Wildford mentioning hula dances going on for hours, and by all appearances the Hoele'toemi family are qualified to last the course.
        I did ask about their Summer home on South Island - it seems a rather basic thatched affair, with old-fashioned matting doors and shutters, and no modern conveniences. A poor place to spend the rainy season, and indeed every year it needs an extensive overhaul to make ready for the first visitors. But it sounds fascinating to live in, given some decent weather !
        From hints that Jirry dropped, I gained the impression that our Academy is fairly famous throughout the islands - at least, he said it had a definite Reputation. I'll do my very best to live up to it, when I find out just what it is!

November 24th, 1934

A fitting addition to our timetables ! After receiving various bumps and bruises in the self-defence class on Saturday, we commence our training in First Aid. The course, it seems, is one that even the Third Years are still learning till the week they leave. There is a copy of the "Daily 'Elele" on the wall from two years back, with one of Songmark's firstgraduates having saved her companions' lives after a crash landing with nothing but her pocket kit and improvised dressings and materials from the jungles around. (All the more remarkable since we have been warned how much attention one must pay to wound treatment in the jungle - old Peterson the gardener at home lost his arm in the Leeward Isles after a very minor-looking cut went bad.)
        Our "Matron", Mrs. Oeloabe, is a most formidable personage - it seems she served as a nurse on Spontoon during the Gunboat Wars, and has been patching up Eastern Islanders ever since. It seems to be one of her principles to be firm but strict - we are sure that somewhere she has a heart of gold (though Madelene X claims she pawned it years ago).Madelene made the mistake of trying to bluff an afternoon off claiming a stomach complaint - a trick she won't be trying again. Mrs. Oeloabe's default treatment for malingerers seems to be based on castor oil, quinine and a large dose of "Jallup's Rouser Salts" which have a drastic, and perhaps even therapeutic effect. It might not cure much sickness, but it is a strong encouragement to stay out of the Sick Bay!
        Prudence did ask our Matron about the Gunboat Wars, of which we have heard much and little - nobody seems to discuss any details, but memorials and such seem to be all over the islands in unexpected places. Mrs. Oeloabe was no exception, and "clammed up" completely about the
subject. Most odd, as most of my relatives who have been in military action (Great Uncle George "Kill all the blighters, let God sort 'em out!" Grytpipe-Thynne springs to mind) talk of it unceasingly.
        During the first afternoon, we learned some basics, in terms of not moving casualties except out of urgent danger (leaking fuel tanks etc.) and how to use compresses and tourniquets for all parts (necks excepted.) On the other wall is a map of the Archipelago, with various facilities marked - it adds urgency to our lessons, spotting how far from a doctor a flyer can get in an hour.
        Molly was sent out to the shops to buy some extra medical supplies - and came back with some extra supplies of her own, a pound of permanganate of potash as temporary fur dye for the weekend. Her fur pattern is rather distinctive, and she can use all the disguise she can get.

November 26th, 1934

Quite a day! We have moved on to electrical work in the engineering shed, and the less cautions ones among us are smelling of scorched fur already. (Now we know which parts of a live magneto NOT to stick ones paw into, a valuable lesson.)

November 27th, 1934

Prudence Akroyd has stolen a lead on us, her dorm having won the Gramophone for the month. But we are hard at work in our spare time, Maria having quietly bought batteries, crystals and such from the radio shop on South Island - we might not be guaranteed a gramophone, but we have the plans and materials for "cat's whisker" radios now. Looking around our room for suitable aerial sites, I discovered a fine wire leading out to vanish in a crack between the roof beams. Evidently, we are not the first Songmark class to have the idea.

November 29th, 1934

Disaster ! All had gone splendidly in preparation for our "excursion" tomorrow evening - the costumes made, the tickets purchased and all our plans laid - when at the end of our self-defence lesson, Missy Kahaloa threw me clear off the mat. I did my best to break the fall, but turned my ankle as I landed - right now (lunchtime) it is swathed in cold compresses, and our Matron suggests four days strict rest. The best-laid plans of Mice and Cats go oft astray, as the Bard said. It would be difficult enough to get to Casino Island given official sanction - I fear this completely "puts the kibosh" on my plans for the concert. Maybe V-Gerat will return next year.

        (Early evening). Helen, Molly and Maria were in a huddle for half an hour, while I was laid up with an ice pack and (I fear) a bad temper. Molly vanished off to confer down the corridor, and returned some little time later, looking pleased. On my enquiry, they claimed they had a surprise for me tomorrow - which is very kind of them, but I doubt it will quite equal the concert I shall be missing.

November 30th, 1934

(Pencilled in, in plain text - "V-Gerat play Casino Island Luakinikia Park, 20:00, tickets 5 shells)

        A very different day to the one I had resigned myself to, Dear Diary - very different indeed. To start with, I was quite downhearted, as my comrades leave me to rest my ankle - and dash off at dawn, without telling me where they are going. I thought it bad enough to have to stay behind, let alone to be left out of their plans. The morning passed, with a visit from Mrs. Oeloabe checking on my condition - then I was left to my own devices, with only the sound of a plaintive air from a radio across the street in the second-years block.

        After teatime, though - Helen, Maria and Molly crept in, motioning silence - carrying one of the emergency stretchers we have seen in the aircraft Large Kits, and all three of them dressed in the uniforms of the islands Civil Defence force ! Or more accurately, I recognised the costumes we wore two weeks ago, re-dyed and altered, but quite convincingly across the room. And crowding behind them, Jasbir with her own team similarly attired, grinning "fit to bust" as Helen would say.
        Well ! I scarcely had time to say a word, before Maria swathes me in rolls of bandages and I find myself strapped firmly in the stretcher, being lowered out of the window with six of them at the top lowering the ropes and Molly and Maria on the ground outside making sure nothing bumps too loudly. Half a minute later we are round the corner at a trot, on a "mercy dash" towards the water taxis. It would take a very suspicious watcher to call our bluff, and Molly's fur is quite transformed by the permanganate dye. (I hope it will wash out, though there is nothing against fur dye in Songmark's rules that I've noticed.)
        Even while waiting for the taxi to arrive, we were looking keenly over to Casino Island, where signs of festivities were obvious - the park at the top of the hill was brilliantly lit, with four searchlights playing on the clouds. Maria pointed out a very exotic flying-boat, entirely polished aluminium with German civilian markings, that we recognised from one of the V-Gerat album covers. A thrilling prospect, to know the band had arrived.
        Once clear of the jetty, the buildings of Casino Island loomed up around us, most of the hotels seeming to be deserted, with most of the noise coming from the park ahead. Scarcely ten minutes after landing, we were handing over our tickets and finding seats, with barely two minutes to spare.

        The stage was a ten yard square block of Cyclopean Masonry on top of the hill, one of the Elder Ruins on the island according to the guidebook. As we arrived, the stage lights and the big searchlights at each corner were put out, leaving the park in darkness under the light of a gibbous moon. The crowd was hushed, as we saw faint signs of movement on stage - and then the concert began.
        There was a long, drawn-out note from the darkness, a cold, high, almost austere sound seeming to come down from the stars - swelling into a rushing, pulsing wave of sound like a squadron of railway trains charging towards us. And the lights snapped on - focussed on all four members of the band, strikingly outfitted in absolutely black one-piece overalls, the spotlights brilliantly picking out their silvery fur, hands lit red from the glow of the valves on their Theramins.
        What a concert, indeed ! I quite forgot about my ankle and such as I watched and listened, one song after another just seeming to roll over us like surf on a beach. It was an eerie, chilling, but incredibly impressive experience, even in the first half, leaving us feeling quite exhausted by the time the lights snapped off again for the break.
        I managed to spot the five Hoele'toemi brothers, and we all met up, Maria and Molly meeting them for the first time (Molly whispering to me that she had been sure I was exaggerating). Having purchased large pitchers of that fine soft drink Nootnops Blue, we had quarter of an hour to chat and compare notes on the concert. Jirry was most concerned about my ankle - but seemed relieved that it would not prevent me getting to Church tomorrow, though I might be still carried in a stretcher in more Official circumstances.
        Oddly enough, the Hoele'toemis were drinking a red version of the same Nootnops, and seemed surprised at the quantity of the Blue that we were getting through (though in all fairness it had been a long way to carry me on the stretcher in haste, even with all of us taking turns). Still, they confirmed that it was quite non-alcoholic, so surely there is nothing wrong with it.
        The second part of the concert was quite as exciting as the first - the searchlights snapped on, their carbon-arcs sizzling as a background that blended marvellously with the music, great soaring streams of sound and light going up into the night. Song followed song, as the four Direwolves on the stage worked their supercharged Theramins till the valves glowed brilliant orange - and then came the last track.
        I had noticed four small platforms on the ground in front of the stage, cordoned off - they looked like shower cubicles with the walls removed, with just a tall aerial rising to above head-height. One after the other, the band (Horst, Florian, Gunter and Ralph) jumped down off the main stage, their instruments idling as they danced with the crowd.
        Not until the last one was down amongst the audience dancing, did I realise the music was still going on, as they stood on the platforms - Helen nudged me, realising now what a "Terpsephone" is at last - the full-body version of their instrument, that one plays not just with gesture, but with dance!  Using my stretcher as a discreet battering ram, we managed to get up very close to the band and dance ourselves, a rewarding experience indeed. (At least, most of us danced.)
        At last, all was over, the concert climaxing in a great ascending spire of sound and light. Molly swears the lights across the entire island dimmed, but that might just have been in contrast. Pitch darkness and silence fell, before normal light revealed an empty stage. V-Gerat, alas, are famous for NOT doing encores.
        Having said a lingering farewell to the Hoele'toemis and promised to look for each other tomorrow, we had a brief fright - leaving the park, we almost bumped into Miss Wildford, accompanied by a tall equine gentleman. Fortunately she seemed too busy to notice us, though Helen swears she spotted us clearly and winked - hardly likely, I should have thought.
        The trip back was subdued, all of us reflecting on our evening, and painfully aware that we still had to get past the vigilance of the Staff. But all went well - I was hauled up to our room, the cold compresses restored to my ankle, and by midnight every trace of our little expedition was safely hidden away. Jasbir Sind has turned out to be an absolute brick, and as for Helen, Maria and Molly -Hurrah for such splendid friends !

© 2002 Simon Barber