Well! For the third time, we are packing our knapsacks, machetes and first-aid kits in preparation to head out into the wilds tomorrow. After so long cooped up in hangars and classrooms, while the second and third-years get the lion's share of the flying time, we are definitely in need of some fresh air. Molly is taking it seriously, I am glad to say, though her expression as she sharpens her machete is a little unnerving.

 (Memo to myself - my blood is Type O, as Is Helen's. Molly's is AB positive, and Maria's is AB Negative. Just in case anyone needs to know it in a hurry, I have stencilled it on our first-aid box.)

 As we are not allowed to take more than a standard food ration, we are stocked-up for a midnight feast,  rather more appetising than anything one expects to find in the jungle. Breadfruit and plantain are very fine when prepared in a kitchen, but a liberal mixture of grit and wood-ash serve very poorly as seasoning, whatever they may add to the diet in minerals. My old Nurse used to say "Tha must eat a peck o' dirt before tha' dies" - which can hardly be true around here, as in the Jungle one would eat more than that before even reaching marriageable age.  Possibly the dirt over here is cleaner than in Barsetshire.

 Hopefully, this trip will not start with a two hundred yard swim ashore like the last one, though one never knows - and the third-years claim the course varies wildly  to prevent the staff getting bored. After all, none of our Tutors exactly chose a career in teaching - and Helen has muttered various appreciative things about them making an excellent model for an improved modern "School-Ma'am".

 Happily, Molly has managed to sneak in a bottle of Nootnops Blue, enough for one glass apiece. This is strictly against regulations, but for the past week she managed to conceal it under the floorboards. Not of our own room, of course, but of the bathroom, where anyone might have put it there. There is a whole section in the pull-out supplement to "True Crimes Illustrated" on avoiding incriminating evidence - having practised, I know I can lob the empty bottle out of our window into the collecting box in the yard from thirty feet away - and there will be no fingerprints on it when I do. Certainly, the curriculum here has more on it than meets the eye.
 

February 25th, 1935

At last, we return to civilisation! Having made up for five days' worth of hot showers and wolfed down a very generous meal, we still had to sit through and give a "de-briefing" to our Tutors quite as exacting as any reconnaissance pilot returning from a mission.

 On Wednesday the 20th,  we were roused exceedingly early, dawn hardly breaking when we assembled and filed out, before breakfast even. Not till we arrived at the ferry dock did we find out there would BE no breakfast - a good plan to get us out so early, as had we been more wide-awake some of us would have mutinied - as many of us looked quite ready to anyway. Still, we had little time to argue - as out of the dawn mists we heard engines, and thrilled at the sight of a big Lockheed Lamprey flying-boat, taxiing over from Moon Island where we had seen it the day before. (The Lamprey quite resembles its fishy namesake, having a very bluff, almost chopped-off appearance to the nose which holds the cargo doors).

 From what I gathered, we had been scheduled to visit the far Northwest part of the island, around Crater Lake, when the Lamprey dropped in, piloted and part-owned by an old friend of Miss Wildford's. He had just delivered cargo, and would be heading back empty to Tillamook for more, when she suggested dropping us off on the way at Gunboat Atoll. It seems that the island has been deserted for more than twenty years,  since the sole fishing village there was gratuitously shelled flat. (Memo to myself - should Molly be taking on more bets, remember that thatched roofs have very poor chances against 10-inch Cruiser shells.)

 We all managed to find seats amongst the cargo straps in the nose - the front-loading doors are quite an innovation, though Heaven help the crew if they ever blow open on landing, the aeroplane would sink like a bucket thrown in open-end first. Alas, being cargo and not passenger space, there was a quite minimal view out, and Madelene X grabbed that the instant she saw the chink of light at the inspection hatch. So twenty-three of us were mostly sardined into the hold, while Miss Wildford, Miss Blande and the crew of three sat up in the dawn sunshine on the flight deck for the hour-long trip, a hundred miles almost due North.  The weather out over the open ocean turned decidedly gusty, and our lack of breakfasts might have been an advantage for some of us (especially Sophie D'Artagnan, whose stout heart is sadly not matched by her stomach.)

 At last, we landed in a lagoon fringed by quite fiercely roaring surf on the reef outside. One can see why the island never became re-settled in modern times, as only a Native canoe with very skilled handling stands much chance of getting over the reef on most days.  Still, the island looks very attractive, with a dense wood of palm trees covering the whole centre except for one steep black crag that towers above the treetops.

 Not ten minutes after we landed, we received our "Marching-Orders" - basically, to shift for ourselves until Monday, when we were to reassemble on the beach. Miss Wildford and her friend would be camped there, but disturbing them for anything but dire emergency would lose spectacular portions of points for the individual or team responsible.  As to whether we worked as teams, all together or as individuals - that was entirely up to us.
 By mutual agreement, we all went round the corner and had a "Chinese Parliament", or general large-scale argument, until the details were hammered out. We have what amounts to a Treaty with Jasbir's dorm, and a Non-aggression pact with Prudence Akroyd's,  who in any case tend to go their own way. (While we attend dance classes on a Saturday, they have found a netball team on South Island to play against.) So we bunched up as Us and Jasbir, Madelene X and Missy K, and Prudence heading out first happily waving her Machete. Molly might have a rival in that style of thing, and I was intrigued as to whether all her dorm would reappear with a full complement of ears and tails.

 With Jasbir, I heartily agreed that breakfast, or at least lunch, should come before any major exploration. As Missy K went off clockwise round the island, we headed around the other way, to where a stream left the jungle to vanish into the sand. An easy landmark on an otherwise rather featureless beach and forest edge - and we further split, Jasbir to explore the beach and lagoon while we headed in up the stream banks.

 Two hours of hard foraging produced an arm-load of salad apiece, but little else. Bamboo shoots were in season,  much to Molly's delight,  but apart from a few palm-hearts there was hardly anything filling. (Bamboo shoots are certainly filling, but only in the same respect as sawdust.) Happily, when we returned to the beach, we found Jasbir was willing to trade for rather more substantial food - mostly courtesy of Sophie D'Artagnan, who as an otter was well qualified to raid out into the lagoon. Crab and shellfish made an excellent salad with our contributions, though we had to draw a blank on coconuts for dessert. There are definite coconut palms all over this island and abundant rotting shells on the forest floor - but no ripe and edible ones in February, alas.

 We set up camp just inside the forest, handy to the stream and with an easy route inland through the definitely pathless forest.  By nightfall we had a snug shelter and a fire going with a good supply of fallen timber - rather too good a shelter as it turned out, as by the time we had finished it was getting too dark to gather any more food. A more basic "lean-to" for the first night and another hour's foraging time would have been a better plan, we all agreed as we sat around the fire, looking at our emergency tins. 
 One suspects our Tutors have more of a sense of humour than they are letting on.  One might have expected Army "Bully Beef" or "Maconochie" stew in the tins, but our selection is a rather superior collection of some dishes we have not seen on the Songmark menu before. Sophie has a French tin of mussel and eel stew, Maria a very hefty tin of Beef Carbonade with pasta, and with my own selection there is a big suet pudding with raisins, of the kind I used to imagine eating when confronted with more of the noxious "Poi".

 All this would be very considerate of our Tutors but for one twist - we are NOT supposed to eat them!  Miss Blande has an exact list of what we are issued with, and will be counting them on Monday, ready to knock off points for any "Missing in Action." It may be coincidence that all the labels are very fine examples of the advertisers' art, but I for one doubt it.

 A suprisingly restful night followed, with no rain to test our shelter's waterproofing.  It is a good spot, we decided between us, and the Island is not so large that we cannot return at night no matter where we might explore in the day.  Molly took a little persuading not to sleep with unsheathed machete in hand - she is a great believer in being prepared, but we are liable to roll on each other in cramped conditions, and Maria's horns are hazards enough.

 Thursday was a day of foraging, and exploration. After another raid on the lagoon and into the surrounding forest for Breakfast, we followed the stream in towards the heart of the island. The jungle was quite oppressive for most of the route, and even when walking along the stream-bed our machetes came in very handy against low branches and lianas. About three hundred yards in, the trees thinned out, with a large squareish patch of shrubs and saplings, which we explored eagerly. Jasbir was the first to notice that many of the plants were cultivated ones - cassava, Taro and Kava were running riot, and soon we were all cutting ourselves digging-sticks and rooting for tubers. (When issued with our equipment, we had been sternly warned that apart from in emergencies, machetes are NOT to be used for digging, or we will be spending days with grindstones trying to repair the edge.)

 In the far corner of the clearing, we found other evidence of bygone settlement. There was a stone well head still poking above the weeds, and some strips of short grass yielded to our digging to show crushed coral paths underneath, as the Spontoon roads still use. The reason for its abandonment I spotted - surveying the lie of the land, I noticed half a dozen broad, shallow bowls in the otherwise flat village site. Craters left by the shells of a cruiser, unless I misremember the spotting guide in "Jane's All The World's Fighting Trenches" - and from their spacing, there would have been little left of the village afterwards to rebuild.

 The rest of the morning we steadily gathered roots, hauling them over to the stream for washing and storing.  Unfortunately there was nothing immediately edible - no fruits this time of year, and cassava is actually poisonous raw! I had not seen the "Kava" tubers that Jasbir pointed out before, but she assures me they are eaten in the South Seas by shamans and medicine-men. It sounds perfectly respectable, if the local vicars and doctors specialise in them, after all.

Around noon we saw the first sign of our fellow-students - half a mile away above the jungle, we could make out some figures ascending the central crag of black rock that rears above the rest of the island. Probably Prudence's dorm, as we could only see four of them, unless indeed the other team have had a civil war already.  It was tempting to head up there and see the sights - indeed, Maria was all for carving a path towards them there and then. But I managed to persuade her that food came first - so we had a rather dull, but very fruitful afternoon of digging up more roots and tubers, Jasbir's team heading back two hours before dark with the first load to get the cooking-fire going and the meal underway.

A much merrier meal than the night before followed, with about as much roasted tuber as anyone cared to eat. Definitely a filling diet, if not exactly exciting. One can deduce that dishes such as Popatohi were intended to liven up large quantities of basic starch, and only with "Euro" eating habits did they become meals in their own right. Indeed, by the end of the meal we were putting aside some for the next day - when we would be hungry enough to face some more. Hunger may be the finest sauce, but I could certainly have drunk a bottle of anchovy essence straight down.

Friday and Saturday were really more of the same - when one gets into the swing of Jungle life, it really revolves into foraging and cooking - with a garden patch rather than a mostly inedible jungle, it is indeed a relaxing lifestyle. On the Saturday, Jasbir showed us how to prepare the Kava roots, having read an article in their use on Vanuatu Island in "International Geographic".  The taste was quite awful, but not as bad as poi. One wonders if the Natives used it for medicine rather than food, as its effects were really quite - surrealist.  Not the kind of ration one wants as part of a flying breakfast, even less so than Nootnops Blue.

On Sunday, once the scenery had ceased to drip with crawling colours, we looked over our stockpile of food, and decided we could "afford" to explore the island for the day. So out with the machetes and across the abandoned village site, finding what was once a track heading up towards the centre of the island and its crag, rising into the blue Pacific skies like one of the dear old black monoliths of Barsetshire.  We had not seen a sign of Missy K or Madelene X's dorm, despite being on the same three-mile island!

The main crag had a rather fascinating feature - the trail approaching it seemed to be not quite disused, and half-way up Helen spotted one of the same shrines that we had seen on South Island, with carven pillars and an offering of food inside. The food was coconuts - evidently some months old, but from last year rather than twenty years ago. Molly and Maria were quite intrigued by the shrine, not having seen one before - and indeed, it is one of the many features of Island life that keep getting omitted from the tourist brochures.

From the summit we had quite an excellent view of the island - which is roughly egg-shaped, the narrow end towards the East, and completely given over to jungle. Two wisps of smoke rising out of the trees showed where presumably Prudence and Missy K were camped - of Miss Wildford and her friend there was no sign. Presumably they are busy surveying, or something of the sort. (Helen disagrees, but refuses to elaborate on her own theory.)

One more night, finishing up our harvested roots except the Kava which we respectfully re-planted, and Monday arrived exactly on time. A very different expedition to the first one - whereas then we were learning how to stay alive in the jungle, now we have managed to make ourselves quite comfortable.  Even Maria was admitting she was not looking forward to returning to classes, and she is usually quite fastidious about her living quarters (when someone else cleans them, that is.) Molly is becoming quite keen on several aspects of outdoor life - she is becoming skilled and very enthusiastic about setting light to anything that can possibly burn. Her claim that setting things on fire is a Constitutional Right, is something I must check on, as Helen seems to disagree sharply. Given her Father's career, one is hardly surprised.

It was quite a wrench, to dismantle our snug little hut and pack all our gear away. Certainly, one can quite see how useful this sort of "education" could be in a generally adventurous career: after a little instruction, there is nothing that encourages one to learn skills as much as having to use them to keep fed and dry. (Next time we must pack more fishing-kit, even if we have to conceal line and hooks in our head-fur as the books recommend). A half-hour's walk along the beach took us back to Miss Wildford's tent, where we were the first to arrive. I had expected to be immediately "grilled" as to how we had managed, but our dear Tutor seemed really quite relaxed and "laid-back". I whispered as much to Molly, who seemed rather fascinated by her companion, a very striking dark equine gentleman. Molly whispered something about "Back, forward and sideways too". Very strange. Another entry for the ongoing "Strange sayings of Molly, Volume four."

Around lunchtime, Missy K arrived with Soppy Fosdyke and Ada Cronstein - having split with Madelene X's dorm on the third day. Madelene X brought her team in an hour later, and the two ex-allies stood glaring at each other for the best part of the afternoon.  Only towards evening did we hear the aircraft arriving, much to our relief - and just as it touched down in the lagoon, Prudence's dorm arrived, stepping out of the forest edge dressed in quite staggeringly good "Native" dress, down to the plaiting of their grass skirts! We were quite astonished - but then, Prudence is notoriously close-mouthed about her plans. "When in doubt, say nowt" is her motto, and she certainly pulled a surprise on the rest of us.

A tight crowding into the cargo bay of the Lamprey and a stuffy hour's flight took us back to Eastern Island - and very pleased we were to be home, despite the attractions of the jungles.  Scarcely had we finished unpacking, "signing-in" our equipment and using up most of Eastern Island's supply of soap, when it was lights-out time - and an end to a fascinating trip!

February 26th, 1935

I should have known better, thinking that we would escape a rigorous "examination" on our five days on Gunboat Atoll! All four tutors grilled us, in groups and alone, as to exactly what we had done, and why we had decided to do it that particular way. The whole morning was taken up with grilling us - after which, we were sent off to write it all up, in detail. I think we all wished we were back diving for shellfish and digging tubers - hard work, but not involving writer's cramp.

 Still, I believe that we managed rather well, with Jasbir's help. Better than Madelene X managed, as her team arrived definitely hungry at the end of the trip. At dinner time today, we were allowed to cook for ourselves the emergency tins we had been carrying around for the trip - at least, some of us did. Madelene X's team seemed reluctant to open theirs, while our tutors watched - when Miss Blande insisted, we found out why. They had taken off the labels, opened the tins along the seams, eaten the contents and re-sealed the labels, having weighted the empty tins with mud! Helen says there is a dish called "Mississippi Mud Pie", but I presume it uses a more appetising mud.

 At least, after all the roasted tubers, we could sit down to a hearty meal. Tinned meat-pudding and a suet pudding with raisins for myself - with enough to give Madelene X a share. It was good to see her appreciate it, at least it brought tears of joy to her eyes to eat it. I must look up what "Cette Cuisine Anglais debecter" means, if I can find a French cookery book.

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