After our nights’ adventures, I confess that all I wanted to do was relax. But being Sunday, I was stretchered out to the water taxi again, this time under the watchful eye of the staff. We were a little worried that word of our evening had leaked out, but the secret seems to be holding. Indeed, we met Miss Wildford on Casino Island, who mentioned what a fine concert it had been, and seemed concerned that we had missed it. (She looked definitely tired, but very pleased with herself. One wonders if the concert had been her only entertainment, but of course one must think well of our hard-working Staff.)
      I managed only the briefest conversations with Jirry, but heard some interesting news. Next Saturday, the Casino Island dance and hula school is starting its off-season classes. Some of the second and third-years at Songmark have mentioned attending before, so surely we can apply through our Tutors. Native dress seems to be optional – but then, to the Natives it sometimes appears that dress is quite Optional anyway.
      On our return, Miss Devinski called us into her office, and we were sure the game was up – but much to our surprise, she tells us our group is one of the first two to be considered for Passes, for “admirable Teamwork”. A great relief, and we instantly put in our application for joining the dance school next Saturday. Maria seems especially pleased at the idea – it seems she meets nobody of particular Interest on her own Sunday trips to South Island.
      Work on the radios proceeds apace, as we try and wind the wire evenly round the ferrite cores. These “Cat’s Whisker” receivers are very light and handy, save for lead-acid batteries the size and weight of a brick. We have earthed the system to the water pipes, and hope it never “short-circuits” when somebody downstairs wants to take a shower.
      Thinking of which, Molly is regretting having used the permanganate as fur dye, the stuff won’t wash off ! Still, as I told her, it seems to have done her no other injury, and indeed she is quite “in the pink” these days - something I could not resist pointing out. (Happily, I can dodge a large dictionary thrown by her even with my ankle strapped up.)

December 2nd, 1934

     At last, our timetable includes some scheduled flying. We have been sitting in Link trainers till our tails go numb, and tearing apart engines till castor oil seems to be our usual perfume – at long last, we hope to get off the ground. Excellent ! Today we have a refresher on parachute packing – fortunately, the actual flights are not till Friday, and my ankle is recovering on schedule. After all this time, being invalided out of the first flight would be simply Too galling.
      (Evening). Things are simply falling into place this week, it seems. I got my little radio working, and stayed up passing the headphones around as we took turns to listening to Radio LONO, playing news and dance tunes. Of course, the transmitter is in clear sight of us on the hilltop, which helps reception quite a bit. Helen managed to tune in her own receiver before midnight, before we hid the electrical supplies away in my travelling trunk. The Songmark rules definitely ban taking unofficial radios, gramophones etc into the buildings, but make no mention of assembling them from parts !
      Maria mentions having seen components in the Radio shop for transmitters, which might prove useful at some stage. Furthermore, a careful re-reading of the Academy rules makes no mention of them that I can see - happily, I picked up my Morse in the Girl Guides, and have been practising my Morse "fist" till I can hit twenty words a minute in class. 

December 4th, 1934

     A day or torrential rain - we are looking out at clouds touching the top of the Islands, with all flying totally "socked in" by the weather. All of us are fervently praying for better conditions tomorrow (except for Molly and Helen, who are wishing just as hard, and tuning into our crystal radios for weather reports). 
      Everyone is in a state of nerves - I fear we are not the best of company right now. Our aeronautics lecture turned into something of a slanging match, when we presented our essays on "The Future Of Flight". Maria championed the cause of the Caproni Transaero, a design that has been flying world-wide now since 1920 - the original model crashed, but they are now making transatlantic flights safe and cheap at 140 passengers a trip. Her vision of the Future was something much bigger, with twice as many wings and engines, making non-stop Pacific flights.
      Madelene X came in waving a French aeronautical journal, full of wind-tunnel models and engine testing results from one of her countrymen, a Monsieur Rene LeDuck. Not only do the LeDuck designs have no propeller, they have no moving parts at all ! Alas, even Madelene admitted that their "athodyd" engines only start to work at about four hundred miles an hour, a speed we may (or may not) see achieved in next year's Schneider Trophy flights around Spontoon. Blasting compressed air through a model is hardly a substitute for real flying time, though how a LeDuck is ever going to get off the ground to be tested, is more than any of us can fathom.
      The same publication mentions brave efforts in developing the performance of my favourite aircraft, the "Pou en ciel" as the French confusingly title it. One intrepid aviator managed to acquire some solid-fuel cordite rockets, to assist its admittedly underpowered takeoff. While I can only applaud the sentiment, and admire a speed record claimed for the class, I have to agree that speed records should be claimed by a whole aircraft, and not by measuring the fastest moving fragments… 
      Herr Bussemann seemed to quite enjoy the arguments, having (we discover) some fascinating ideas of his own, which he has been invited back to Europe to discuss at the Volta Aeronautical Conference next year. He has briefly mentioned the models on his desk as being "Arrow wings" - but alas, like Monsieur LeDuck's engines, their advantages will only show up at speeds nobody will ever reach.
      Our Passes have come through, and we have been accepted at the Dance school on Casino Island on Saturday. Fine news indeed - my ankle feels quite recovered, and probably the first lessons will be none too strenuous anyway. Miss Devinski has cautioned us on using the Passes given to us - we are "on parole" to go only where and when they are issued for. (The senior years have hinted that they have more freedom, but are obliged to keep an eye on us - and in emergency, to come and get us if we wander too far. In which case, woe to us and farewell Passes!)
      Looking at the brochure for the Native Dance classes, the four of us are planning what to wear. For the first lesson, it might look silly turning up in flower garlands and such if all we do is sign in and watch demonstrations. But afterwards - in the shower, we started planning the finished costumes. I have noticed the market here sells coconuts, and that some authentic Native girls use them in halves, in lieu of a brassiere. Presumably, Missy K would need to buy the big "Coco de Mer" shells, making it a dear fashion for her to follow.
      One consolation, is that any mistakes we make are going to be short-lived, as the most "natural"  costumes need replacing in a few days, by which time we will have had more practice in crafting them. I fear tailors and dressmakers on the more "ethnic" parts of the Islands have a hard time selling their wares.

December 5th, 1934

      Dear diary - a day long awaited. After a further night of rain, the clouds swept away at breakfast time - with quite a chorus of cheers from our Class. Indeed, we were served a "flight breakfast" of ham and eggs, as if we were a regular Squadron setting out on a Mission - sometimes I suspect our Tutors might be having more fun with us than they admit. Regardless, it was a very welcome change from the quantities of fish, rice and "Poi" that feature large in our diet (Poi being something between mashed potato and flour glue by all appearances - Missy K. eats it by the bucket full, which is no great advertisement to my way of thinking. Give me a good plum duff or treacle pudding any day.)
      At ten o'clock it was time for the long walk to the Airport hangars and our waiting aircraft. Our parachutes seemed awfully heavy, but quite reassuring. Though the schedule only calls for take-off "bumps" and a circuit or two, we were in full flight gear with first-aid kits, Emergency kits etc all packed in the pockets, equipped to fly out over deserted islands. Again, strangely reassuring in its way.
      Well ! I was half expecting the weather to blow in and shut the Islands in - or to fall off the boarding ladders and twist both ankles this time, or a dozen other disasters after waiting so long. But by half past ten I was strapped into the back seat behind Miss Wildford, reading out all the checklists from memory (fuel cocks open, magneto on, flaps down, accumulators charged, radio frequency set and checked.) Then we swung into the Westerly wind, Miss Wildford eased open the throttles smoothly, and up we went! 
       After nearly half a year on the ground, it was definitely a thrill I had been missing. Our circuit was a bare five minutes around to the North of the island, circling around the Radio LONO transmitters, then down to land again while the others took off. Ten minutes of quizzing on air traffic safety, then up again, and when we had levelled out, Miss Wildford switched over the control locks to my cockpit, shouting the magic words, "You have Control". I completed the spell, "I have control", and experienced my first three minutes of free flight over the Spontoon Islands. Three minutes and ten seconds, (I was checking my course and stopwatch quite diligently) then handed the "stick" back to Miss Wildford, who took us in for an uneventful landing.
      Most of us felt too nervous to be hungry, but celebrated with a bottle apiece of the Nootnops Red, while checking our aircraft over and refuelling. After lunch, we started on "Bumps", taking the Tiger Moths taxiing till the tail lifted, before bringing it to a halt. I confess I was quite tempted to push the throttles open and take off, but even Helen resisted the temptation. Ten "bumps", then we called it a day. And what a day indeed !
       Maria has been oddly quiet since the flights. I did ask her if she found it disappointing: she has often described the experience of flying one of her country's Schneider Trophy prototypes, sitting behind some thousand-horsepower monster engine screaming its cylinder heads off (perhaps literally) as it gulps eight gallons a minute of methanol, acetone or something chemically frightful. Next to that, a sedate circuit in a Tiger moth might be expected to pale - but no, she seems quite as enchanted as the rest of us with the day's events. Absence seems to definitely make the heart grow fonder, even of flight at eighty miles an hour.

December 6th, 1934

     Off to dancing lessons ! The four of us went straight after breakfast (Poi featuring depressingly largely on the menu, alas) to Miss Devinski, who issued us the long-awaited Passes to us, with a further cautionary note not to abuse them. Each pass states its owner, the route and reason for the trip, and the time to be back on Eastern Island. No need to caution us today, as the passes are for exactly where we most want to go !
      On the water taxi over to Casino Island, we were travelling with our tutor Miss Wildford. From what the Senior years tell us, she is as new to Songmark as we are ourselves, having come here after a Summer of high adventure around the Malay Straits and (reportedly) very perverse Dyucks. We did ask her if Native dress was an option for the course, and she promised to find out for us. I have already been practising my basketwork weaving, and have produced a coir-matting dancing skirt (which itches intolerably, but such things  could explain the rather wriggling walk observed on some of the Natives.)
      The Casino Island Dance School, we found to be a large hall on the Northern side of the island, away from the main hotel section. It has large grounds, where in better weather the classes are held in the open air, with fire pits visible (hopefully for the barbecues we have heard about, and NOT for fire-walking, which I for one am happy to leave to the experts.) Our registrations had been arranged already, and so with a minimum of paperwork, we were engaged in our first lessons. Fascinating ! I had not realised how these dances tell stories, but once it is explained, one soon picks up the rudiments. I doubt it would go down well back home in Barsetshire, where the original Medieval laws against mimeshows are still enforced with authentic Medieval severity.
      Our first lessons were quite like a ballet class, though with somewhat different moves - pirouettes and such replaced by the exotic swaying and such of the Polynesian dances - which looks perfectly easy until one tries to do it, especially in formation ! Maria at least has the hips to look good in such a dance, and her horns could support one of the more extreme head-dresses we have seen in films (though not actually worn on the Islands. I presume the really extravagant costumes, piled high and topped with fruit and such, are kept for Sunday best.)
      Two hours of instruction proved quite exhausting, even compared with our self-defence classes. Indeed, some of the non-natives enrolled in them were definitely flagging - including half a dozen I recognised as members of the Spontoon Island Technical High School. Helen seemed quite amused by it all, though she has definite athletic advantages. 
      (Memo to myself - we should do more swimming and general fitness training, given the chance. Helen's ideas on "We'll dance they folk into the ground" seem a jolly fine notion.)
      At lunchtime, we moved over to a restaurant across the street, which seemed to be entirely filled by the Dance School instructors and students. At last, we meet up with the whole Hoele’toemi clan, including two sisters, Oiaroani and Moeli - naturally, none of them are in our Introductory classes. Indeed, we had a most pleasant lunch, the only time we have had to talk at any leisure (usually, the fifteen minutes or so on the water taxi is all the time available.)
       It seems that the actual Native "costume" is far plainer than the films would lead one to think - which comes as a great relief, as we hardly have the resources to build Carmen Miranda style headpieces. Oiaroani showed me how to tie a sarong properly, while Molly regaled us with lively tales of her family's Import business. I had scarcely realised how competitive being in Trade could be - indeed, it sounded much like my Father's tales of being on Campaign, but with better pay.
      Surrounded by pieces of film set and adequately Exotic scenery, I was prompted to ask Jirry what sort of film the Islanders actually watch - as any time they want to see the scenes filmed here by overseas studios, they can do so without the price of a cinema ticket. To my surprise and delight, he too is a keen follower of stark and brooding German Expressionist films (We all were at St.Winifreds, and my dear chum Mabel had memorised every scene of Fritz Lang's "Metropolis".) Although on reflection, knowing he liked V-Gerat should have been a clear pointer to such good taste in other things. If we ever get Passes to go to the Cinema, I think I will give the idyllic island epics a miss myself.
       Indeed, Jirry is proving a Very - Interesting gentleman, the more so the better we become acquainted. More than charming, he has a sparkling wit and a lively imagination (Maria points out that he has a fine taste in Costume, which leaves little to the imagination. Mind you, she seems quite taken with Jonni, the eldest Brother of the set, who is similarly dressed, if dressed is the word.) The timetable for the dance school includes various social events, including a "luau" or such, on the last week of our term here, and definitely we are looking forward to it.
      At last we have met the whole Hoele'toemi family, comprising Jonni, Oiaroani, Saimmi, Tomma, Moeli, Jirry and young Henery.  An interesting collection of names, the sisters being the only ones not of European descent, though indeed all are Island "Flavoured". 
       The break seemed all too short, and then we were hard at work again, learning the basic dance steps and suchlike movements. I'm not sure what this "Bump and Grind" is that Molly compares it to, but I'm sure it is quite good fun and healthy exercise. Certainly, the dance classes promise to get us in fine shape for the more physical side of our courses - or visa versa, it hardly matters which. 
       At last, the dance leader, Mrs. Mahoabe, called the day's classes to a close, and we crowded off towards the showers - very necessary, though I suppose in warmer seasons a dip in the ocean would be traditional. Exhausting indeed, despite the gentle appearance - I hardly recall aching so much since that hockey grudge match last year against the penal squad of St. Attila's reform school. 
       Retrieving our passes from our bags, we discovered to our alarm that the day had slipped away far quicker than we expected - and in half an hour we had to be back at Songmark. A very hasty farewell - then a mad dash across the North side of the island, legs feeling distinctly like jelly after the day's exertions. Luck was with us, in the shape of a water taxi just about to pull away for Eastern Island - and with three minutes to spare we presented ourselves back at Miss Devinski, who was awaiting us stopwatch in hand. 
       Another much-needed shower, then to bed, glad not to be doing this in the Summer heat. Somebody should invent a "frequent use" fur shampoo, as we are definitely in need of it out here !

December 7th, 1934

      Dear Diary - whether it is all the exercise we are getting or whatever, we are definitely sleeping like logs. Alas, Maria snores like a radial engine with one cylinder mis-firing, but in the past weeks we have been far too tired to notice. Barely up and dressed in time for breakfast, but at least it is good practice should there be classes in "quick change" costume variety acts. 
       Missy K and her cohorts seem quite green with jealousy, that we were the first with Passes. Helen was perhaps a little Too sarcastic, when Missy K was promising to show us how a dance should be done - and Helen started reading out the earthquake survival notice on the wall. (I am sure Missy K can dance - since seeing Uncle Reginald's company of Vickers Medium tanks playing "Tank Polo" on Salisbury Plain, I have kept an open mind about anything being declared "Impossible". But Tank Polo and Missy K dancing gracefully seem equally practical.)
       Off to Casino Island again, this time without passes (but under the gaze of two parties from the Senior Year.) It seems that Songmark is fairly self-policing, and quite economical of effort. Anything we might do to misbehave (should we wish to), the senior years have thought of already, and are ready to intercept. At least, we did get the chance to chat with Jirry and his brothers - it seems their sisters are far more "native" than they are, and never attend the European churches. A fascinating notion occurs - to ask for Passes to take a look at the Native Culture ! Jirry quite agrees, though points out that there are few water taxis to South Island where the Temples are, this time of year. It will have to be an all-day trip, evidently…
        Church was interesting as ever, with the Reverend Bingham in creative mood. At least, I rather doubt there is a purely Scriptural "Parable of the lifeboat and the three wise engine mechanics", but he gets his points over very well. Helen seemed definitely interested, and there might be hope of getting Molly to attend at this rate. But not MUCH hope - the Reverend B. could definitely chalk up one Miracle if that happens any time soon!
        On the way back, we noticed the first Christmas decorations going up outside the Marylebone Hotel, one of the few big hotels open this time of year. Seeing Father Christmas depicted as arriving on a catamaran, is certainly a novelty.

December 9th, 1934

       Back in the cockpit ! Another morning of refresher circuits, and at last I make my first takeoff. All went very well, and the Tiger Moth actually climbed quite boldly. (As opposed to poor Flying Flea #3, I fear I built it somewhat underpowered. That lawn-mower never worked again after I salvaged the engine from the wreckage, either.)
       Anyway, a fine day, the wind streaming through my hair, the engine purring smoothly, and a clear view out over the whole Spontoon island group. With Miss Blande in the rear seat ready to take control at need, we did two circuits of Eastern Island, and a loop out to the South, to near a very wild-looking island seemingly quite innocent of buildings, jetties etc. 
       Getting down again proved somewhat "Hairy", as the wind had changed in the twenty minutes since takeoff, and the windsock was pointing right across the airstrip. Yes, dear Diary, I can now see there is a use for Ailerons, as they make banking and other fancy manoeuvres possible. Miss Blande proved quite forgiving as we bounced twice on landing - though had I dented a wingtip or (heaven help us) splintered the prop, I doubt I would get away from the repair workshop all week ! 
      (Sophie D'Artagnan dug a wingtip in, poor girl. She'll be seeing a LOT of the repair shop.)

December 10th, 1934

      Quite a boating tour today, on a navigation exercise around the islands. Miss Pelton handed us over to Captain Ryalsov, an Off-White Russian from the island of Vostok. His ship was a "forty-footer", equipped with a covered deck big enough for us to use map tables out of the wind and spray. Given our position, it was fascinating to try and plot a course, which we then called up to the helmsman - and ten minutes later, went up on deck to see where our course had actually taken us. Not a few blushes amongst us ! At least, all my courses were "approved", and none were halted by the ringing of the ship's bell announcing we were heading to run aground on a reef.
       Over the day, we went right round the islands, stopping off for lunch at Meeting Island, where the regional "Government" meets. How quaint ! It seems that after the islands were (unwisely) abandoned by the Empire forty years ago, the Natives adopted Icelandic traditions and called their local council a "Thing." According to the newspapers, the council worked quite adequately in the early years, but there is increasing call for various reforms as commercial and diplomatic pressures from the Great Powers increase all the time.
        As Crumley, our family's Cockney chauffeur, would almost certainly say - "Things ain't wot they used to be."
        On the homeward run, we looped back past Eastern Island, waving at Songmark's Senior years practising formation flying above us. Alas, Helen's navigational plotting had us piling up on the beach at full speed, had the Helmsman actually followed the course - a few black marks for our group.
       Interestingly, we toured around the deserted island to the South of us, which is not named on our air charts (Eastern Island is about a half-inch across on that scale, its only features being the airstrip, radio towers and summit altitude.) Captain Ryalsov could not enlighten us, never having landed there - suprisingly, Missy K chose to tell us something useful for a change. It appears that it is a "Sacred" island, with no constructions allowed there, not even a grass hut - but that various of the islanders and their curious "shamans" visit at certain times of the year. (A shaman seems to be a sort of local vicar, many said to be quite mad, but surely not as extreme as our The Very Rev. Ezekiel "Looney" Pontephright, back home.)
        Having visited Meeting Island, we have now set foot on all the main islands in the group except this one - which even Missy K admits not having visited. Looking at our timetables, next term we will be doing some work with reconnaissance cameras, and given a choice, I think I know where I shall be pointing ours !
        Miss Pelton was awaiting us at the dockside, ready to escort us back. In conversation, it seems that it is a small world (again), as her parents were Missionaries who came out from my very own Barsetshire when Spontoon was still part of the Empire. I would never have guessed it - her fur patterns are most unusual for Home, though indeed I have seen quite a few like them in these Islands. (I assume they share descent from some of the settlers who came out from Home, like Jirry and his family.)

© 2002 Simon Barber