A fine day, quite the best we have seen in weeks. Off bright and early after breakfast, having picked up our passes. Having literally all day on Casino Island is a great treat, though it is educational - and indeed, we learned a few things that were not on the timetable.
 First, our usual strenuous dance lesson,  with our instructor really putting us through the wringer as she teaches us some of the more spectacular moves. If this dance is really titled "The Palm Sway", I feel sure its full title must be "The Palm Sways as a typhoon ties its branches in knots." We hardly took a break till lunchtime, and were feeling quite "all-in" by the time we broke for lunch. None of the Hoele'toemis were there, and neither was Mr.Nordstrom,  though we pointed out to Molly that he is due to be dancing tonight.
 The waitress we met last week was not to be seen, but another one was there to replace her - obviously a Native by her fur pattern, and one I am sure I have seen before somewhere. 
 In the afternoon, Helen and I demonstrated our freshly repaired native Costume,  at least the more modest versions. Many of the S.I.T.H.S. were there, and were trying to find fault with our tailoring - but the worst they could come up with, was that we had no right to be wearing it. So, I believe we can put that down as a vote for authenticity!  Molly and Maria are still wearing the first designs we wore last term, over bathing-costumes. Which proved to be a wise move, as Maria's Native dress suffered an "in-flight structural failure" when stepping through one of the more strenuous moves. Proving the advantage of always having a back-up system,  unless one cares little for consequences. 
 Casino Island is definitely what the Spontoonies call "Euro", which is odd as they also use the term to apply to Chinese, Australians and generally anyone not wearing a grass skirt.  Indeed, it is the only spot one expects to see folk in formal dress. We pass the Japanese Embassy on the way to lunch every Saturday, and have often seen folk there in stiff white shirts, black tail-coats and meticulously polished top-hats, looking in the height of fashion (the fashion of 1895, that is.)
 A long afternoon session took us up till four, when we were left with three hours until the dance festival starts. Of course, we could have returned to Songmark, eaten there and returned on a later water-taxi - but having got to Casino Island, we determined to make the most of our chance. It is a pity that Jasbir's dorm had no Passes to stay late - we waved them off from the "Rainbow Bridge"  breakwater, and argued in a friendly way of how to spend the time. Leaving the other three busy at it, I slipped away for two minutes and booked a taxi back. Arriving at midnight to find the docks empty and our allowed time ticking away, would not be a good thing.
 Maria had won the argument when I returned, using a jolly effective arm-lock that Mrs. Fairburn-Sykes taught us all last term.  Having no strong opinions either way, I agreed with her plan to see something of the high-life here. We had packed a respectable-looking coat each, to cover our Songmark uniforms, so we should be able to pass muster in "Euro" society as well as Spontoonian tonight.
 On the southern side of the island, there are a number of famous hotels, cinemas and clubs, "The Coconut Shell" being just the most famous of them. There is the Tiki Hut, the Volcano Club, the Typhoon Tavern and many others - most of them closed at this time of year. Although the locals do use them, there is hardly the demand to make opening and staffing a hundred-capacity dance floor worthwhile, let alone half a dozen of them.
 Maria seemed rather hard to please, so we kept going North until we were in less well-lit streets, before she spotted somewhere she liked the look of, "The Durian Grove". I have seen the ferocious-looking fruits of that name in the markets here, and have passed the stalls rapidly and on the upwind side. I was hoping the tavern would not have the same fragrance as its namesake! In fact, it was a fairly standard-looking place, with a roof of low wooden beams that either came from wrecked ships, or wished they had. (The tavern across the street on the other hand, looked definitely seedy. With a name like The Devil's Reef, and signs proclaiming "Saturday Special - get wrecked for 4 shells!" I was glad Maria did not insist on taking us there.)
 Being rather early, there were only a few folk in the place, mostly nautical types, though looking rather like staid bosuns rather than swaggering sailors out on shore leave. It is a great disappointment - the real sailors one sees are not at all like in the films, and I have yet to see one dance the hornpipe or half a dozen of them break out into song. We ordered a large Nootnops Blue apiece, not having classes or such tomorrow - though it does not leave one with a headache the next morning, the after-effects are quite vivid, and rather disturbing when trying to calculate wind drifts and fuel flows.
 One interesting character did appear, a thin feline with a slightly worse-for-wear safari suit and hat, and a rather fanatical expression not unlike our local Bishop back in Barsetshire. 
He took a look at us four - Maria looked somewhat menacing perhaps, clad in trench-coat and dugout-boots - and instead he latched onto the sailors, and was telling them a tale of misfortune, ruin and horror at least eighteen percent beyond all possible imagination, when the landlord threw him out into the street. One suspects he is well-known here. A pity in a way, as what I overheard of his story sounded quite fascinating, especially the bit about the lobsters. Helen whispered rather disparagingly that even if a lobster was as big as he described, it would hardly have the equipment or the inclination to do THAT to anyone.
 After a meal and another Nootnops Blue apiece, we realised that we would just be in time for the start of the festival, which is being held in "Student's bay" on the Northern side of the island. Although Casino Island is little over a mile across,  actually finding one's way about takes time, especially since the side away from the great tourist hotels is rather poorly lit.  The Spontoonies themselves seem to get around perfectly well by moonlight, and probably fire up the more expensive lights when there are tourists to appreciate (and pay for) them.
 Thinking of lights, we spotted the lights of Student's bay as soon as we rounded the hill, recognisably fire and torch light rather than electrical.  The bay is a sandy bite taken out of the coast, equipped tonight with rows of benches and some large marquee type tents, presumably for refreshments and such.  Just above is the rather large school - not the S.I.T.H.S. but a more junior branch, whose boathouse was sheltering the judges as we arrived. Quite a crowd had already gathered, though folk were still setting up tables and a rather crackly loudspeaker unit.  I spotted Jonni and Marti Hoele'toemi, and we had a fine chat - Jirry and the rest of the family are arriving for the village dance, with some of their neighbours. The schedule was quite crowded, with a large area fenced off where Haio village was to compete, or "strut their stuff" as Helen called it.
 A quite excellent evening followed - almost discouraging, to watch what a top-rate dancer can manage after starting young and practising constantly. But we hardly had time to compare our own poor efforts - the solo shows alone would have made it worth coming to watch,  and indeed Molly was far from the only one to have her tail flagged while watching Mr. Nordstrom perform.  He won third prize in the Main Island competition, which even we could see was awfully hotly fought !
 Around ten, there was a half-hour break, where we met up with the Hoele'toemis and had time to talk. It seems they are quite accustomed to competing for Haio village - and managed to win twice last year, despite it being such a small community.  The whole family were there, including half a dozen cousins from Main Island we were introduced to - Mrs. Hoele'toemi seems to have mentioned me to them, by their reactions - they greeted me almost  as if I was a relative.
 It was quite a sight, two complete village teams facing each other in a close formation dance, lit by the firelight and the rising moon. It must be a real challenge to judge the winner, but as the "heats" played off, Haio village came a very tightly fought second place, only beaten by one of the Philippine villages on Main Island, that must be easily five times the size.  Still, an excellent sight, and as dear Mrs. De Rais our Hockey teacher used to say, "It's how you play, not just how you score that counts." She would then advise us to "nobble" the opposing team's three best strikers in the first two minutes, which rather spoiled the sentiment.
 At last, it was over - the prizes awarded, the band packing up, and half past eleven at night, with a nicely gibbous moon rising above the phosphorescently glowing ruins on the hilltop. A pretty sight indeed, but one we had little time to appreciate. Getting Molly away from Mr. Nordstrom was rather a chore, and Maria seemed to have been partaking of FAR too much Nootnops Blue to understand the need for urgency.
 We headed back as fast as we could, through the very dark streets. Hardly wanting to risk getting lost on top of the island, I judged the fastest route should be around the coast road towards the Eastern side of the island. It seemed much the oldest part with "Euro" buildings,  though the parts around what the map prosaically calls "Number One Dock" and "Number Two Dock" were rather run-down. There were street-lamps, though most of them were dark, rather than the occasional lantern that had lit the more "native" Northern side of Casino Island.
Still - the area was hardly deserted, even so late in the evening.  We had only explored there briefly in daylight, and the view around midnight seemed rather different.  Certainly, the Spontoonies seem to stay up awfully late, as there were quite a few taverns and what looked like small hotels lit up and sounding quite packed. I was about to ask some island ladies who were standing on the street corner, when the bus was due that they seemed to be waiting for - when Helen dragged me away quite urgently. True, we saw no signs of buses on the long jog round to the water taxi docks.
 Happily, my planning had paid off - there was one water taxi waiting, and it was ours. Off home to Songmark, with Miss Pelton awaiting us with a lantern and a stopwatch - and a half dozen third-year girls who seemed greatly relieved not to be sent out to get us.  (We had asked, last term, if they ever actually have to track down the junior years. Indeed they do - one dorm of our current second-years was found an hour after curfew, having bought each other rounds of "Pineapple Krakataus" and been quite carried away with high spirits. Which was the last time they were in high spirits all term, with no more Passes and as many chores as would incite a Penal Regiment to mutiny.)
 A long, but quite excellent day - and we have seen yet more sides of the islands. Molly seemed highly amused, after a brief conversation she had with one of the ladies at a bus queue - at any rate, she was chuckling and murmuring something about "buldaggers" whatever those may be, as she dropped off to sleep. 
 

February 3rd, 1935

Alas, they issue no Passes for being excused reveille at Songmark!  Yesterday's six hours of dances, followed by a late evening of the local herbal beverage and a late-night sprint around Casino Island, took rather a toll on us. Getting Maria started in the mornings tends to be difficult at the best of times - it is hard to persuade her to get up when she is holding two pillows over her head and locking her horns in the bed-posts.
 I took a leaf from Uncle Archibald's book, of how he has three teams "Bump-start" his tank battalion's Vickers Mediums when their engines fail - the beds here are firm but really quite bouncy, and we managed to bounce her out, hitting the floor with a very decisive thump. Her "Bump-start" was followed by the other three of us practising the "Bum's rush" Molly has demonstrated in self-defence classes - all the way to the showers. As I pointed out, had we awoken earlier, there might have been some warm water left. 
 Maria can be most unreasonable before breakfast. The two-pound block of soap missed my head by a fair margin, but we will still be expected to pick up the pieces.
 

February 5th, 1935

Dear Diary - I well recall my dear Father's expression when he saw the Songmark Prospectus, and the size of the fees they charge for the course. But after two days of being either Pilot or Observer in our dear Tiger-Moths, zooming around the island exposing hundreds of feet of film (sometimes accidentally - the back plates on the war-surplus cameras have seen better days) it is hardly suprising. Still, Father did say it was money well spent, and that I should try not to be home-sick. This very morning I received his postcard giving me full permission to stay at the Academy over the Easter holidays as well, and promising to wire me a most generous extra allowance if I did. Most touching ! And to think, I had not even got round to asking for his approval!
 Anyway, we have "Recce'd" all of Casino Island, and are making big sketch-maps based on the results.  It is proving quite a lesson - Prudence Akroyd's dorm were almost at civil war with each pair insisting their photos were the only accurate ones - it turned out in the end that one aircraft had always mapped on the North-bound leg of each run, and the other on the South-bound one. Putting the resulting photographs together made a rather odd map, especially on the centre join where the old ruins make a good landmark on top of the hill. Or they would have, but the angles were all wrong.
 At lunch-time, we were just checking our bracing wires and engines, when we had quite a treat - the red lights flashing on the control tower announced an aircraft was arriving, and to clear the runway.  Ten minutes later,  we rushed to our recognition sheets as a very distinctive shape arrived - a brand-new Handley-Page Heyford, the pride of the Fleet Air Arm!  Prudence Akroyd might have cheered louder than I did, but there could scarcely be a broken window's difference of energy in it.
 The Heyford looks a wonderfully futuristic craft - a really radical,  modern biplane bomber, with its fuselage high on the top wing and its  fuel and bombs in what resemble pontoons on the lower wing, where ordinary  lorries can load them without cranes and winches.  Maria looked quite envious - and indeed, in a few years surely all aircraft will look like this. I think everyone who had any film left, took a shot or two of the visitor as it taxiied up to the control tower, and turned towards our biggest hangars.  Still, we are paying for each others' films, and I doubt anyone will object to such a snapshot for their scrap-books.
 We had to wait till after supper to learn more, when we tuned into Radio LONO for the daily news, which lists shipping and aircraft movements. A stirring tale indeed - the Heyford is mapping out emergency fuelling stations, our Fleet having agreed it with the AlThing that rules the island. It had taken off from the Lord Moseley, one of our largest carriers, some eight hundred miles out in the Nimmitz Sea. Even after such a flight, it still carried enough fuel on board to reach Vostok on the far side - which is its destination in a few days' time.
 I must say, it was a splendid sight in the moonlight,  to see the great shape casting its shadow over the runways like a guardian sphinx. Three cheers for the Fleet Air Arm!
 

February 7th, 1935

Definitely, one can see signs of spring here, with the first flowers of the season coming out. A warm day - and after a very hard lesson in rigging biplanes, we are thinking about the weekend. Though not with Passes - Helen for one votes that we break out and re-visit Mahanish's Pilot's Bar. Of course, we pass it every time we fly our Tiger Moths, but that is hardly the same thing.
 Molly has been collecting "True Crimes Illustrated" since last term, and is building up a handy reference collection. Each issue has a "Handy hints and Tips"  supplement written by professionals, which compiles into a jolly useful book - for serious reference use only, I need hardly add. There is a section on cat-burglary that we can put to legitimate use - stealing away from our dorms, without the staff underneath our rooms noticing. 
 Helen has been looking through the section on lock-picking, which has templates and cutting jigs printed in the magazine for the requisite tools, which we can quietly make in the workshops.  Again, it is quite legitimate - after all, one might lose one's keys, and be locked out. (Molly's preferred solution is one we have been warned against in self-defence classes, as shooting off a lock tends to send metal bouncing in all directions, and may wake the neighbours.)
 Our dance practising goes very well, and indeed we need more than one day a week to practice what we learn on Saturdays. Our Tutors are quite supportive, and both our dorm and Jasbir's are excused chores on condition we work hard. Miss Wildford drops by occasionally to check we are not shirking, and indeed she has shown us a few fine moves herself. (Having seen her in something like a Native costume, one understands why she is said to be called "Checkers", as her fur pattern really is very oddly symmetrical. One might think it dyed, even.)
 Alas, Li Han sprained her ankle quite badly on the parachuting, and even two weeks later is not really up to a long dance routine. Which is a shame, but she is eager to try a break-out on Saturday. After all, with their help we all managed to get to the "V-Gerat" concert, even when I could hardly walk - and no doubt we can get her across the island to Mahanish's. But as my Uncle Gerald said, of the times he spent looking through the wire of the German prison-camp - "Two hundred miles to Sweden wasn't so bad - the  first twenty yards are the hardest part."
 As our two dorms have a good excuse to have the sewing-machines out to make our dancing costumes, we are taking the chance to put some more disguises together, having seen more of what is actually worn on the islands. Eight easily concealable extra costumes are made and hidden for what Erica calls "Der Tag", and we are looking forward to pitting our wits against our tutors' precautions.
 Oddly enough, Erica and Noota, being third-years, comment that it is just as hard for them to break curfew as it is for us. Which would either mean they have never improved their techniques (improbable, to say the least) or that our Tutors deliberately make it harder, like raising the bar at a high-jump contest.  Very strange - if the latter case was true, Miss Devinski could keep us within bounds as securely as the Tower of London, using the vigilance she applies to the third-years. And yet, if we exert ourselves to the utmost, we have a fair chance of getting away with it.
 Interestingly, Missy K's dorm have not "broken out" once, and the only time Madelene X tried it, she was caught with her dorm and marched back in despair. Only Prudence Akroyd's bunch have had any success apart from us - and they are making it on their own, which is all to their credit. I get along very well with Jasbir, whose Family are of course Maharajahs, and send their other children to Eaton or Roedean. (Jasbir has shown me a snapshot of her sister Meera at Roedean, happily charging into a hockey melee with stick whistling above her head. Always an innovative school, it seems to  have adopted Australian Rules hockey, where using the sticks as quarterstaffs is not only legal but gains points.)
 One would suppose that Missy K has very little reason to risk her dorm's reputation on breakouts and such stunts, when she can go anywhere she chooses in the holidays. Being our only native "Spontoonie", she is perfectly free to go wherever she wishes without the restrictions Helen and I were under, merely returning to her village. Plus there is the fact that she is hardly suited to swinging down improvised ropes or through tunnels - and unlike the rest of the dorms, there are only two others in with her. She may not outvote Ada Cronstein and Soppy Fosdyke, but her vote (like most things) carries a lot of weight.

February 8th, 1935

Our First Aid classes certainly took an advanced form today - as we headed out to Casino Island, to look at the hospital there. Of course, our Matron  Mrs. Oelabe is fully qualified in the usual remedies, having by  all accounts set Noota's broken arm last year after an engine slipped its mountings - but we spent all morning being shown round by local professionals who are skilled in the Island's more special problems. 
 It is a good thing indeed that most of the tourists keep to their resorts and beaches - as we were introduced to some rather nasty denizens of the jungle (safely pickled in alcohol.) Although mostly rare except on Main Island, there are scorpions and spiders, and one adorably fuzzy-looking millipede that one would bitterly regret stroking. We also saw photographs of the afflicted patients - and all swore to be very careful to check our boots and flying helmets carefully in the morning when we next get into the jungles. 
 The main hospital is quite high up on the side of the island looking over Tower Park, where we would have passed last Saturday night if we had taken the shortest and not the safest route back from Student Bay. Although the sign outside says "Casino Island General", inside there is a plaque in the local language. Missy K tells us it says "Joseph Munrotoapu Memorial Hospital", and is named after a medical hero of the Gunboat Wars. For a change, Missy K was quite useful to have around, and recounted the tale. 
 It seems that during the landings on the eastern end of Main Island, Doctor Munrotoapu was captured when his village was cut off by advancing soldiery from the troop ship "Whitmore" - he refused to leave his hospital and patients, but treated casualties on all sides. After two days, the occupying troops had been scouring the jungles looking for native sharpshooters and "Franc-tireurs" who had been causing them steady losses. Finding very few, they became frustrated enough to hold the village for ransom, and demanded that all partisans must turn themselves in, with their weapons, or the village would be shelled flat. (There is a picture of the scene in the hospital, one can see the huge dynamite-gun of the "Vesuvius" floating in the eastern channel, ready to bombard the islands again.)
 Alas for both sides, the commander had quite underestimated the resolve of the Spontoonies. They had been laying in hundreds of one-shot "Bamboo mortars" in the thickets, and having laid them in lit the fuses and commenced a barrage of their own, just as the troops were drawn up in the market square ready to move into the interior. The main officers being killed or wounded, the surviving troops commenced what in the Great War one heard of as "a campaign of general Frightfulness" and set the village alight with most of its inhabitants in it.  The hospital was not spared - Doctor Munrotoapu personally dragged twelve of his helpless patients out to safety, but was lost when the burning roof collapsed as he was going back for the last ones.
 Definitely, these are tales that do not feature on the postcards - especially so considering many of the tourists these days come from the nations who were involved in the whole sorry mess. Still, a generation ago things were very different - one can hardly imagine these days a Native militia holding out in the jungle against a modern army with all its artillery and air power to call on. Bamboo spikes and booby-traps are really something we shall see only in the historical dramas, which is just as well.

February 9th, 1935

A complex day indeed, Dear Diary - but quite a lot to show for it! We started with our usual Saturday trip over to the Casino Island Dance School, where our instructor noted our practising had paid off. Maria especially is proving popular by all comments - although the films naturally show island heroines with classical "film-star" looks, in fact the Spontoonies seem to prefer a more generous, and decidedly powerful figure. Still, one can see the studios' point - Maria is hardly the type to swoon and need rescuing from being cast into a volcano, even if the script demands it. Having seen her throw even Missy K like a sandbag in our self-defence class, one had better risk the wrath of an unfed volcano.
 Alas, of Jirry's family, only Moeli dropped by at lunchtime - though she did whisper that Jirry and Marti would be passing Mahanish's Pilot's Bar tonight. Her fur is looking definitely glossy and glowing, though hardly smelling of tulupas oil at all. And her figure is certainly attracting complements - though I blush to think why.
 We have almost mastered "The Palm Sway", and are learning how to read the "story" of traditional hula dances.  Our teachers are certainly of the fun-loving type, and mentioned a cautionary tale of an island girl slipping in the middle of one story routine, and inadvertently proposing marriage to the audience. As with the natives' fur patterning, we shall wait until we know what they say, before saying it in public.
 After all this exercising, indeed I have had to let my clothes out - especially around the shoulders, where all our heavy work in the engineering sheds is making its mark.  What with our  improving physique from dance practice, self-defence classes and everything, one can see that by the second or third-years, our Tutors can afford to be more relaxed about letting us out of their sight. It is also proving very handy, as we can get through dance routines that would have us left panting on the floor, this time last term.
 The Spontoon Technical High School crowd were proving as irritating as ever - Helen had challenged them before Xmas to a dance contest, and now they "invited" us to name the day. Well! The First of March is a local holiday, which our timetables are allowing us to join in - and I hope our Tutors will give their approval. After all, we will be upholding the name of our School, and giving the S.I.T.H.S. a severely tweaked nose if we win (if we lose, Molly says she will claim an unfair advantage of their having a lifetimes' exposure to the style, as against a single term's hard practice for us.)
 On returning to Songmark, a bath and a fine meal (fish and sweet potatoes. No Poi.) were all we needed to quite restore our energies - which is another benefit of our growing fitness.  Fortunately, being a Saturday we have no set work for the evening - the much-coveted gramophone was filling our corridor from Prudence Akroyd's room, something from Mr. Thornton Throbby by the sound of it. 
 By half-past six it was quite dark, and we bundled up our costumes - and put our plan into effect.  Leaving our radios on,  we hooked up pulleys to a belay around a roof support, well padded to leave no telltale marks on the paintwork. And then out of the window from Jasbir's dorm, which is above the kitchen rather than the staff living areas - leaving our rope behind us for our return. Of course, having an open window and a dangling rope would really not do - so we used the second part of the plan. We had climbed down a double bight of the rope - but each end was fixed to a much longer silk thread unpicked from a frayed parachute, making a closed loop. Pulling it round the pulley left only the thin silk on the outside of the building, quite invisible in the dark.  A quick check that there was nobody around to see, and we were off, heading out into the dark along a footpath away from the roadway, which we had marked with white papers tied to bushes an hour before sunset.
 Ten minutes' cautious work got us to the "village" at the end of the airfield - mostly hangars and repair shops now closed and dark,  but with three small hotels well lit for incoming aircrew, and Mahanish's Pilot's Bar. We changed into our costumes behind Sara's Air Repair, and strolled nonchalantly into Mahanish's, trying to look and feel unworried. (Molly has had experience with people getting through Customs and other troublesome barriers, and has given us some tips. One husband and wife team employed by her Father, were always in the middle of a carefully rehearsed tearing argument when they  passed the Officials - and were rarely questioned, probably since no "real" smuggler would conceivably draw attention to themselves. Besides, most folk secretly love to watch a good argument, and would think it impolite to interrupt.)
 The place was suprisingly full, with the crews of three transport planes, nice Armstrong-Whitworth Argosies, and a flying-boat crew who it seems were berthed off Moon Island but sleeping over here. Mahanishes is famous for its food across this part of the Pacific, not only for its chilli but for "Popatohi", a variant of a native Spontoonie dish that a generation of adapting to tourists has tamed from its original pungency. I had wondered what the odd aroma was, on my last trip here - but very soon after, an encounter with the local chilli had put my nose quite "hors de combat" for the evening. 
 Eight large bowls of Popatohi were the first things on the menu - with a large pitcher of Nootnops Blue for each of our two tables. The local dish was definitely - Distinctive, consisting of a local fish something like anchovies but more so - cooked with garlic and a Native plant served like pickled cabbage, but FAR more so.  Not a dish to have one's co-pilot eating before a long flight, unless one had dined on it as well! 
 Sophie D'artagnan and Li Han were in the best of spirits, and compared the dish very favourably to similar ones from their homeland - Sophie to "Bouillabaisse", and Li to "Kim Chee", which I have heard of as prepared by pickling cabbage and spices in a pot and burying all winter before exhuming in Spring (or from other reports,  it is far better left buried indefinitely.)
 The rest of the company was very lively, one of the crews of the Argosies singing at the table next to us. From what I heard, the crew had all flown together at the end of the Great War, and were getting quite nostalgic about their experiences. Though from what they were recounting it is hard to imagine why,  as witnessed the song they sang in a quite tolerable close harmony:

 "When you're a mile over the trenches
 You're dodging both side's shot and shell
 And keep one eye watching your tailplane
 For Huns on the warpath as well

 They'll sneak up from under your blind spot
 They'll drop on you out of the sun
 So watch out for Fokkers behind you
 Or Pfaltzes you just can't outrun

 When you're out alone and surrounded
 Your Lewis-gun's jammed tight as well
 You can't even jump with your 'brolly
 For 'chutes are expensive as hell!

 They've handed you out a new airplane
 All signed for and guaranteed sound
 So the Powers That Be say "Stick with it!"
 And you'll stick it right into the ground

 The recovery teams come to get you
 They'll pick the bits out of the hole
 Though pilots are cheap, not so airplanes
 No bets on which one they want whole!

 Take out the cam-shaft from my backbone
 Pull the piston rods out of my brain
 Untangle the pump from my pelvis
 And assemble the engine again! "
 

 Just as we were finishing our meal, we spotted to our joy Jirry and Marti arriving, with three of their neighbours - evidently they had brought additional company along, having heard that our two dorms were "busting out" together. And a fine evening it was - though both Maria and Irma made the mistake of adding Palm Wine to Nootnops Blue, the two of which complement each other in a quite alarming way.
 I might have been the only one to have been watching the clock - or to notice at ten that Helen was missing, as indeed had Marti been for some time. Molly volunteered that she had headed out to the "restroom" twenty minutes before - which curious phrase took me a few seconds to translate, real Rest Rooms having comfy chairs and couches, unlike any privvies I have ever found. Someone had to be the first to break up the party - though as I kissed Jirry a fond good-night and steeled myself to having to hunt Helen down outside, Helen and Marti returned, looking slightly out-of-breath.
 The Hoele'toemis offered to return with us, to "draw fire" by perhaps some loud singing in the opposite direction to where we would be scaling the wall - but Jasbir and I had to decline, not wanting any extra eyes looking out of the Songmark windows for any reason. So we parted at the end of the runway, changed costumes by the furthest runway light, and made a quiet retreat towards our Dorm building.
 And then - horrors! The silk cord that should have been drifting invisibly was quite invisible indeed - our window was slightly ajar, but twelve feet off the ground! We searched for any sign of the cord for ten minutes, growing increasingly desperate.  Maria suggested setting off a fire-alarm and pretending we had been the first to get out when the rest of Songmark joined us outside - but I doubt that would fool our Tutors for a second (and one close sniff of Maria would reveal the distinctive fragrance of Nootnops, or Popatohi on the rest of us. Popatohi is not on the menu at Songmark, being rather a Bold dish for most tastes.)
 At last, I hit upon a scheme that I had once seen in a circus act. There being eight of us, and knowing Maria, Irma Bundt and Sophie D'artagnan are built on sturdy lines, I arranged them on the ground, bracing themselves against the wall. Helen and Molly went up on their shoulders, while I climbed up between them, my fingertips just grasping the window-ledge,  but too precariously to pull myself up. Li Han climbed up our whole edifice, being by far the lightest and most agile despite her sore ankle- and though her claws scratched me somewhat, she managed to wriggle past me and up into the room. A worried minute followed, before the main rope was let down again - and I was the first one to climb it. 

 We were all up inside a minute, Jasbir being the last as she diligently scuffed out any footprints on the ground below. There was no sign of any disturbance in the room - none of the neatly penned "See me in the morning" notes that our Tutors leave - and yet Li had found our rope neatly pulled up and coiled on the floor.  We hastily removed the evidence and bade goodnight to Jasbir, returning "home" to our next dorm, to puzzle over the fate of the rope. Had anyone such as Missy K pulled it up out of spite, surely she would have also closed the window, leaving us to our certain fate. Very odd!
 The worry and exercise seemed to have sobered Maria up considerably, and indeed to have put her in rather an irritable mood. She asked Helen what she was looking so pleased with herself for - and when Helen told her, in somewhat excessive detail, I doubt it improved matters. 
 Still, a daring "raid" out and an exciting evening all round, especially for Helen. Next time, we will have to do better than a rope left outside the window - unless of course Jasbir can get the Rope Trick of her countrymen up and working.  One lives in hope!

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