After yesterday’s exertions, a quiet day in class was quite a relief – and happily, the post arrived despite yesterday being a local holiday. A letter from dear old Barsetshire for me – my dear school chum Mabel writing from her hospital bed, where she is making a steady recovery.

For an instant I wished I could have been back to assist at St.Winifreds’, where last week they played an “away” hockey match against that new and already famous school we know as “Saint T’s”. It seemed that they have followed Roedean’s lead in teaching Australian Rules Hockey – but that they neglected to inform us before the match! Whatever sport you play against that school, casualties are sure to be heavy. Their school motto rather gives the game away, being a deceptively elegant Latin epigram, which translates as something like ‘tangling with us and chewing a brick are both good ways to lose teeth’. Mabel writes that the previous week, even the badminton match had been fought to a Somme-like stalemate, despite our new Games mistress Mrs. Von Wewelsburg having instilled our team to play with “studied Frightfulness”.

Molly says that one of her friends is currently a first-year at “Saint T’s”, where she was sent “Till the Heat’s off”. (Another strange Molly saying, considering what she has told me of Chicago winters, where the heat is never ON.) Still, no doubt her friend’s education will benefit considerably from our good old Traditions – if she survives.

As luck would have it, we were in the open air heading back from the workshops when a very impressive aircraft flew over – only the third Royal Air Force aircraft I had seen over here, and an impressive one at that – a Boulton-Paul Overstrand, which I had only read about last month, the prototypes being sent on a world-wide tour to test their reliability in extreme climates. A splendid aircraft indeed, with the front gunner enclosed in a glazed turret that actually rotates – a world “First”, this, and one that might quite possibly be adopted elsewhere. (Maria too had her binoculars out, and claims the turret looks like a glass dustbin with motors. Helen’s comment was an enquiry as to the price of Italian sour grapes.)

Happily, we are permitted to carry our binoculars at all times, those of us who have them. So I could follow the flight perfectly as it circled the airfield and came in to land – a perfect three-point landing right on the centre of the runway, taxiing up towards the hangars – and to our delight another two Overstrands following behind it!

As we had a lesson with Miss Pelton next, we had to hurry away from the splendid sight, so missed the two “support” amphibians landing just off Moon Island. Naturally, one would hardly send out such untried aircraft over the Pacific without rescue flying boats in formation ready to pick up the crew if the worst happened.

Excellent as our advanced biplanes are – the sight of them on the open concrete runway filled me with some unease. Unlike a floatplane base, one bomb that cuts the runway could make the whole squadron quite useless. Not a happy thought! Surely, the best runway is a watery one – sometimes a little rough certainly, but cheaper, of unlimited length and far harder to make a lasting hole in. Before we even reached the classroom, Maria was already comparing the new arrivals to the glorious Italian Air Force seaplanes that are certainly breaking records for long-distance flight. Their Air Marshal Balbo managed to cross the Atlantic with a whole squadron of Capronis some years ago, showing the way forward – in theory, all it would need is a secure island with a sheltered atoll and a resupply ship, and one could set up a Squadron for operations almost anywhere in the world.

Perhaps that is just what the Spontoonies are worried about.

March 3rd , 1935

Quite a day – the first time all term when we have gained Passes to Casino Island – and indeed we all decided to make the most of them. A hasty breakfast and a change into our “respectable” clothes (my green oiled-silk suit is seeing a lot of use this term) and we were off, waving our Passes merrily at Madelene X, whose dorm are currently deep in our tutors’ “black books”.

As usual, we spent the morning at our Dance classes, where we seem to have become minor celebrities. I fear that the newspaper report was rather exaggeratedly “written-up”, but there was no other major Island news that day, and everyone seems to have read it. An interesting difference – Maria positively basks in Publicity, looking quite radiant as she waves to an autograph-hunter – while Molly entered the far side of the Dance School to evade them. Mind you – Molly has told us various tales of her Family wines and spirits trade, where they sold their wares by personal recommendation, without any public advertisement at all – no wonder she is shy of the press.

For myself, it was good to get back into the swing of our dance training – the S.I.T.H.S. were rather subdued, despite having given us a jolly close-run contest, with nothing to be ashamed of. Indeed, for the first time they sat with us at rest-break, Molly getting into conversation with Mr. Tabodo, who is certainly one of the most energetic of their dancers. Of course, being of the mink persuasion, he starts with an inbuilt advantage, though he is obviously highly trained and practiced at local dance. Helen has mentioned that Minks have a definite reputation for quite a few athletic abilities, of one kind and another. (Evidently Missy K must have hidden depths, to have won such a fiancé – I had mentioned as much to Molly, who complained that she had the same, but hers were remaining sadly unexplored.) One surprise was the appearance of the tall gentleman with black and white striped fur, whom we had seen with the S.I.T.H.S. as they conducted their fascinating model aircraft tests. He appears to be in charge of the works there – and four of the students left rapidly with him, no doubt to work on another interesting class project.

An excellent luncheon in South Ferry Plaza, as we watched the ships arrive. According to the newspaper, there is a cruise ship due in today – not one of the major ones from the americas that the Casino and such depend on, but the first ship of the year nevertheless. While we watched out for it, we did spot another welcome sight – Jirry and Marti, having got our radio message the night before and made this rendezvous right on time.

By prior arrangement, Molly and Maria left to make a rendezvous back at “The Devil’s Reef”, that somewhat desperate-looking hostelry that we had passed on the night of the big dance festival. Molly had managed to contact Mr. Nordstrom, the dancing champion of her own type, and of course Maria was needed as chaperone. We waved them farewell and wished them luck, as indeed we hoped for ourselves.

Having ordered a large pitcher of Nootnops Blue between ourselves, myself and Helen finished most of it while Jirry and Marti updated us on what had been going on in the islands. One of Marti’s friends had made a grim discovery when out fishing – the body of one of the Soviet embassy staff, a Cultural Attaché, obviously having been caught by the treacherous off-season currents. He had been wearing the official swimming costume of the Soviet NKVD, their Special Police – despite the Soviet embassy proclaiming that there were no NKVD members in the Spontoon islands, or any such official swimming costume, and that their Attaché was too good a swimmer to drown accidentally anyway.

The Hoele’toemi family are indeed versatile – Jirry took us across to one of the hotels where his family have been engaged in modernising and repairing the empty rooms ready for the Season to commence. Naturally, Helen and I had to chaperone each other – there were two bridal suites, from which we could have rushed to each other’s assistance should anything untoward take place. In fact, we enjoyed a very pleasant afternoon – the only casualties being some feather cushions, which became somewhat clawed. I for one would gladly pay for a dozen for every long afternoon like that one – and indeed, we enjoyed some valuable refresher lessons in Native traditions, after almost two months away from them. One looks forward to the holidays – just another month to go!

March 5th , 1935

For a change, although we spent the morning swinging engines into life, we had an enjoyable time while staying firmly on the ground. The Academy maintains four small open-topped lorries (or “Pickup trucks” as Helen insists on calling them despite none having lifting gear) which are often useful for hauling fuel, spare engines and suchlike from the docks. The oldest one has been really too battered and dented to be any sort of advertisement to Songmark – so it has been handed over to us for driving and mechanical lessons. (One expects its remaining days to be few, having seen Maria driving!)

Despite having almost a hundred hours logged flight time and far more unregistered flying at home, it was the first time I had behind a steering wheel rather than a joystick. Far harder than I expected – Flying Fleas do not have gearboxes! And after a few weeks of driving lessons with us at the wheel, neither will the poor old Ford.

Miss Pelton was nominally in charge of our lessons, but our actual instructor was our German chum Erica, who can reputedly drive anything with an engine. Not suprising – her family are all engineers at the big Auto-Union car manufacturers, and they compete in all the races. Unlike at home, the engineers in Germany receive full support from their new Government – Erica tells us her Father has attended rallies at Berlin and Nuremberg, though she has not mentioned who won.

As a matter of fact, there are very few vehicles on Eastern Island – as it is scarcely twenty minutes walk across, only the limited freight which is carried the few hundred yards from the docks to the airfield really needs motorised transport. Maria has often recounted her driving experiences quite wistfully - it seems that she has often “borrowed” Bugattis and other high-powered racers and sometimes even returned them. Or at least, returned significant fractions of them – she has often boasted that there are no drivers like Italian drivers, and having seen her in action, one hopes she is right.

Alas, being in the junior year here, often means that we get called upon to do the menial tasks. While the second and third-years get most of the flying time and such, we repair and maintain the vehicles. Half the afternoon was spent in clearing out the garages – there is a collection of old batteries and suchlike that are far beyond repair, that we had to carry out of the Songmark compound and stack outside. Oddly, the “rag and bone men” here are all Japanese –a very helpful and cheery bunch they are too, always keen to give the best prices for scrap metals. One wonders if they forsee a famine of old lead batteries and gunmetal in their homeland?

Molly is looking decidedly happier – all yesterday she was walking around in something of a blissful haze. Having quizzed Maria, one gets the impression that she had a decidedly adventurous Saturday afternoon – though possibly Maria might have skimped on her duty as chaperone. Still – despite the various head-shakings from Marti when Mr. Nordstrom’s name is mentioned (one gathers that he has a certain Reputation) our chum is now looking decidedly “in the pink”. We are certainly keeping up our fitness, one way or another – it would have done credit to my old gymnastics teacher to see us tossing twenty-pound batteries around as we piled them up by the gate. I have rarely seen Molly looking more contented – there was a selection of rusted iron castings in the garage that needed breaking down, and she went to work with a will and a sledgehammer.

Indeed, even after hauling so much metal, we volunteered to help the repair party repairing the Songmark compound where a tree had fallen on the fencing. Our tutors are naturally concerned for our safety, not to mention the everyday menace of burglars, Bolshevists and suchlike ill-wishers who might decide to pay our Boarding School a visit. The accommodation blocks and such are surrounded by a high chain-link fence, and at night are patrolled by guard dogs – who must be very economic for the Tutors to feed, as everyone slipping out of the fence tends to slip them something to eat as a tip. (The gates have combination locks on them, which we have not officially been told the codes to.)

Hurrah! After our hard work, Miss Pelton wrote us a note for a free slap-up feed at the Old Compound – across the road a hundred yards towards the docks, where one of the oldest buildings on Eastern Island houses four classrooms and the official Songmark administration. For reasons nobody has ever explained, there is an ice-cream parlour and tea-shop (which Molly calls a “soda-fountain”, though there are no fountains of soda to be seen) on the ground floor, which is open to the general public.

One imagines that our Tutors decided to keep “Song Sodas” going as a handy safety valve, giving us somewhere to meet under their occasionally watchful eye. And indeed, when we arrived we found Prudence Akroyd’s dorm already there, with four Native girls whom we were introduced to as being from the volleyball team they play every weekend on South Island. At last, we can see how Prudence managed to model her Native costume so accurately, for all their guests were in “respectable” costume, of the type one could send a postcard of back home. After all our efforts in the garage, an ice-cream was certainly welcome – and being entirely supplied with local products, there were flavours not generally available at home. Two of Prudence’s guests had ordered the Mango and Durian ice-cream – a most alarming concoction, but the girls were of the Hyena persuasion, and their ancestors presumably ate worse dishes.

I noticed Miss Devinski keeping an eye on the proceedings, with a somewhat amused expression. She is in charge of assigning our dorms and working groups, and seems highly skilled in putting the most compatible teams together from the assorted students that Songmark attracts. Indeed, Helen, Molly and Maria last week elected me something like “dorm president for life”, a tenure which Maria comments even her Uncle, Il Puce, does not possess. (Whatever Reds such as Madelene X may say, Il Puce WAS elected as fairly as anyone in Italy ever is.) A scorching day, indeed – and Maria, who is very conscious of her figure, claims we could burn off the calories of ice-cream faster than we could eat it, with our hard labour in the garage. Alas, we had a free note for only one round of ice-creams apiece – and though Maria never travels without her cheque book these days – there is a prominent notice behind the counter:
“We have a friendly agreement with the bank.
They don’t sell sodas – we don’t handle cheques!”
 

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