Dear diary – a day of hard work, and much racking of brains over how to help poor Molly out. The exercise came first, as we woke to the thundering of hail on the roof, the nearest thing to a snowstorm these islands ever see by all accounts. Certainly, one can see why the tourist season only begins properly in May – our first task this morning was to help out at the airport, clearing three inches of hailstones off the parked aircraft and runway.

            Quite a heartbreaking sight! Although our cherished Tiger Moths are safely stored in the new hangar, some of the private aircraft parked outside had been sadly damaged by the weight of hail falling on them. Wooden and metal airframes had survived, but one ex-military Fairey Flycatcher had the cockpit floor ruptured, a three-foot pile of melting hail underneath showing where the hailstones had bounced off the wings, funnelled in and flooded the open cockpit.  We are getting to know the airport staff quite well, and this morning they are having to telephone around with some sad news for aircraft owners.

            Our new hangar is mercifully secure, and has kept the Songmark aircraft safe – despite a cracked window or so where hailstones the size of cricket balls hammered the place.  Just in time, our Tutors had decided to have Superior Engineering build and fit out a building entirely our own. The second-years tell us that last year they had all sorts of trouble, part-renting one of the smaller hangars on the far side of the runway – tools and fuel being stolen, and the airport staff never being handy with the keys when needed.

            Molly is really quite hopeless these days, mooning around and unable to concentrate. If we cannot arrange something for her, our Dorm will definitely start to slide down the lists again. Telling her to pull herself together and keep the side up, did surprisingly little good – but then, one must remember that she has been raised without the benefits of public-school Tradition.  Even a trip over to Moon Island for a self-defence class yesterday left her with her ears drooping, even though we were practising self-defence with some jolly powerful big-game rifles. Our third-year chum Erica says they are Mauser “T-Gew” rifles, left over from the Great War, basically a standard rifle design scaled up to 13 millimetre calibre.  They are quite a handful to fire – even with a bipod, muzzle brake and ear protectors they almost rattle one’s fillings out! Still, one can see why the local militia obtained the large stock of them, as they can provide effective self-defence up to two thousand yards away with the tube sight. (We are told that no telescopic sight survived the firing of more than a dozen shots, in testing.)

            When Soppy Forsythe complained about the Mausers hardly being self-defence items, Miss Blande explained that in fact they have far better peace-keeping potential than the standard pistol that might fit in one’s handbag. Being easily as tall as I am, they can be clearly spotted by a potential miscreant in time for him to reconsider any criminal acts – and prevention is surely better than cure.

            Molly perked up somewhat at this, adding that the best form of defence is attack, and the best form of attack is surprise – and proceeded to put in a quite respectable grouping into the furthest range target at twelve hundred yards.  Only Erica managed to score higher, but naturally she has an inbuilt understanding of all her nation’s hardware.

            Erica, I must say, has been a real brick, and told us a lot about Songmark that we would have taken ages to learn on our own. Though by birth and education she is of course what Father would term a “dastardly Boche”, in person she is hardly dastardly at all. One supposes that is why she was sent over here, being regarded as under-par by her Family.

March 16th, 1935

Quite alarming news on Radio LONO late last night – there is a rather nasty “Papeete Influenza” sweeping over this part of the Pacific, laying thousands flat on all the islands on its way. Everyone is talking about it today – almost everyone recovers inside a week, but one is quite prostrated for a few days. No doubt three hundred years ago, it would have taken years to spread amongst these islands – but nowadays it is not only the post that can arrive in a few days by air from anywhere in the world.

            Jasbir rather pooh-poohs the “forty-eight hour Flu”, her home province having been stricken with what she calls a “forty-eight hour cholera” a few years ago – with that, she tells us, someone feeling perfectly well on Friday would be buried on Monday.  One supposes that it could be worse – at least, the Papeete Flu is not catching the Spontoon islands at the height of the tourist season.

            Our letters are of course being fumigated, including parcels. Madelene X was quite speechless with rage when she received her latest food parcel, everything except the tins somewhat reeking of Lysol disinfectant. Having seen what she normally receives in them, one wonders why she bothers – she has to make do with various “pates”, as in France they seem to be rather short of plain standard meat paste.

            Molly generously offered to donate a dozen tins of her family product, PAMS, to help our comrade out (her Father having sent over a whole case last month) – and Madelene X became quite animated at the prospect, almost foaming at the mouth. At least, I hardly recognised most of the words, despite having taken the language for three years at St.Winifreds, and having once been on a day-trip to Le Treport aerodrome.

            Helen seemed very impressed (she speaks French, some of her relatives being from New Orleans, unlike Madelene whose Father’s factory is near the proper one) and noted that she had never thought of someone doing that with pressed meat before. One assumes she refers to a recipe. 

March 19th, 1935 

Alas! The radio reports the first cases of Papeete Flu, over on Main Island – and by all accounts, it is so ferociously contagious that there is little point in trying to quarantine the islands. Miss Devinski called us together and gave us a briefing: most of us can expect to be more or less stricken in the next few weeks. All field trips are postponed, and off-island travel is banned. (Happily, it is three weeks till the end of term, and this should be over by then.)

            Still, we had a whole afternoon’s flying to keep our minds off the prospect, and to keep up our skills. It is starting to get decidedly warm in the cockpits on the ground, with the woollen-lined gabardine flying suits and fleecy-lined boots almost baking us as we stand on the runway to receive our flight briefings. And yet one soon feels the need for them, the air at five thousand feet still being jolly chilly with the air-blast of the prop in the open cockpit.

            It was quite a treat, to fly out over Main Island, passing over the North coast jungles around Crater Lake, which we had taken days to get through on foot. Following Miss Pelton’s lead, the four of us swooped down to follow the edge of the cliffs in formation, keeping half a mile away from the rock faces and downdrafts. An impressive sight – and we spotted what looked like another of Mr. Tikitavi’s sculptures in the making, on the far North-east coast near the Icelandic village of Beresby. At least, it looked very similar, a curved wall looking out to sea and another one just up the slope from it, a veritable array of sculptured geometrical planes staring out over the shipping lanes.

            At last, we reached our hundred-hour mark in our Songmark flying logbooks! It has taken long enough – I had hoped on first arriving that we might have achieved as much in our first term. And indeed, the second and third-years have easily that much flying time every term: sometimes our little squadron is gone for days on end while they shuttle around the local island chains. It is a pity that we have only the land versions of the Tiger Moth, as many of the more fascinating islands are quite destitute of runways.

            Miss Pelton assures us that she is carefully considering leasing at least one float-plane for the senior years to practice on. Alas, this would mean another hangar to buy or rent down by the docks, and even steeper fees. (Fortunately most of us here are from quite well-heeled families, and indeed in his latest letter my dear Father told me that he is prepared to spend almost any reasonable fee to keep me over here. How thoughtful! Especially as he has selflessly  sacrificed most of our lawns and paddocks for the Royal Engineers to practice building anti-invasion obstacles that even my dear Flying Flea would find impossible to land on.)

March 20th, 1935

Dear Diary – the ‘flu has arrived, with one of our native cooks being taken ill, as well as four of the third-years, in the same morning.  Our actual kitchen is a separate building, some way off from the dining hall with big ventilated doors to let the steam escape. Molly has spent a lot of time working there as a conscientious Objector while the rest of us are out at church – so she is convinced she will be the next one to be stricken.

            Poor Molly! She has been in touch with Mr. Nordstrom on our wireless, and had planned a meeting in two nights time at Mahanish’s bar, with of course the rest of us to chaperone her (at least in part.) It looks as if that will have to be postponed, perhaps even till the holidays at this rate. Molly is sitting on the edge of her bed as I write, gloomily sharpening a trench-knife which she received for Christmas from one of her Father’s associates. Still, she is at least using her energies creatively, keeping all her equipment spick and span: the brass knuckles on the hilt would surely pass muster even with old MacCardle, my Father’s butler and retired Regimental Sergeant-Major.

            Helen and I managed to meet Jirry and Marti with their family after church last Sunday, so at least we are in touch, and planning some adventures for the coming holiday. His sister Moeli is looking very obviously round by now – she is in excellent spirits, and hugged me most affectionately. I had asked earlier when her wedding would be, something which seemed to greatly amuse her.

            Marti, on the other hand, seemed rather disturbed at the news of Molly and his countryman – whom he says has been in trouble with the local law before. Still, Mr. Nordstrom is at least of the right type for Molly, as none of the Hoele’toemi family have antlers. (At least, not that I have noticed – they are all felines, though Moeli has hinted that her child will be “Rather Different”.)

March 21st, 1935

An alarming day – and little enough time to write, half of the Academy starting to show symptoms. Miss Devinski retired to bed with an ice pack, having issued strict instructions on our looking after each other. Jasbir is already stricken next door, and all of Madelene X’s dorm are running high fevers.

            Helen, still cheerful, raided the classrooms where a set of marine signalling flags is kept. Madelene X’s door is now covered with both the quarantine symbol and the “Yellow Jack” of Yellow Fever – as she explained, without a separate Influenza flag, one must make do with the next best thing.

            All four of us are healthy still (touch wood) but rushed off our feet serving hot tea and soup to the sufferers, of which there are more by the hour. Help!

March 22nd, 1935

Busy indeed – both Helen and Maria are confined to bed, with raging fevers and sore heads – and it might be easier to list who has so far escaped at Songmark, than who has not. All of our Tutors are down, leaving overall command with a dozen or so of the third-years. The radio reports most of the island as being effectively closed, with only food shops remaining open, and giving advice to sufferers. Not entirely useful advice, on the lines of “keep drinking and sweat it out, you’ll be better next week.”

            Molly and myself have been spending most of our time in the kitchens, which are definitely sweltering already even with all the doors and windows propped open. A mercy that the Papeete flu picked March and not July, as we are down to rather scanty “native” dress in the heat. This would of course be quite against school rules, but there is nobody to complain, and we are quite hot enough as it is, filling vacuum flasks with coffee and soup for our friends.

            Ada Cronstein is stricken, but wrote out her family recipe for chicken soup, which we are following. Both her parents are Doctors, so one hopes it is a more effective mix than usual. Molly speculates that as medical science advances, in a century or so it should be possible to make specific chicken soups effective against all diseases.

            I do hope the poor girl is not going down with it herself – she is sounding definitely light-headed, though perhaps little more than normal.

March 23rd, 1935

Well ! After nursing half of our class (only Molly, Li Han, Irma Bundt and Sophie D’Artagnan are still wholly well in our year) I am hoping that I might come through this with no more than a mild cold. The radio reports that about a tenth of the “Euros” are unaffected, mostly those who already had the November Lurgy of ’28 (which never reached the Pacific.) The islands are almost closed down, with very few water-taxis running, and indeed little enough trade for them. Still, the earliest cases are getting better now, so the worst should be past by the end of the week.

            And about time too! The five of us are quite run off our feet, looking after all the rest. Poor Helen says she feels like a wrung-out dish rag – if she tried to get up, she is convinced that she would just collapse on the floor like an empty fur coat. Maria has been praying quite a lot out loud, but mercifully stopped when her headache got worse – “pounding like a radial engine with two cylinders shot away”, as she picturesquely described it.

            It is a good thing indeed that we have been keeping extremely fit, as we are taking shifts just keeping up with supplying food and fresh bedding to the rest of our class. At least, we are not having to support our Tutors as well; although it would be Miss Pelton’s turn to stay downstairs in the staff “duty” rooms, she is in her bungalow outside the compound being looked after by Erica and some of the third-years. One hardly envies the sufferers, but at the end of twelve hours dashing around between the swelteringly hot kitchen and the laundry, the idea of a day in bed for whatever reason seems very sweet.

            Our radios are hardly switched on right now – but tonight, Molly came in looking quite radiant, telling me Mr. Nordstrom is perfectly well and on this island, even. I had to admit, Molly has been working flat-out like the good egg she is (despite her lack of a respectable school).

            Of Jirry and his family there is, alas, no word – one assumes that they are far too busy to keep radio watch for me, and perfectly understandable too. One day, radios may be small enough to carry around in one’s pocket – but I doubt it. At any rate, Molly’s idea of a “cure-all” chicken soup will probably come first.

Listening to the unfamiliar voices presumably filling in for the regular announcers, it was not all reassuring news. Despite Spontoon’s carefully cultivated image as a safe, friendly island, there were some unpleasant rumours flying around, of unscrupulous folk taking advantage of all the closed shops and businesses, and engaging in wholesale robbery. One supposes that the Police force on the islands will be as hard-hit as Songmark. And indeed – “when the cat’s away, the mice will play” – though I have not noticed any unusual number of feline Police officers here.

March 24th, 1935

Hurrah! Things are showing signs of definitely improving. Jasbir has been up and around since last night, her fever having broken, and some of the second-years have joined us on kitchen duty. By all reports, our tutors have been hit hardest, as have older folk all across the islands.

            Having a little free time, Molly and myself took insulated mule panniers out to Song Sodas, just outside the compound. Just in time, as it turned out – there had been no ice deliveries in two days, and the stock of ice-cream was already beginning to melt. In two trips, we salvaged what we could and managed to hand it out to our patients. Much appreciated, by all accounts.

            A surprise encounter, outside the compound as we returned to clean up Song Sodas (there being quite a lot of melted ice-cream to hose away before the flies and such arrive.) I heard Molly give a gasp, and by the time I turned round, she was hugging Mr. Nordstrom very affectionately – indeed, our Tutors would never have approved, especially as Molly is in her Native dress. He seems in excellent health, having (one presumes) sweated through the Lurgy of ’28 somewhere nearer Europe.

            I decided to exercise discretion, and busied myself with cleaning up our ice-cream parlour, finding indeed a small stock left in a private ice-box under the staff counter. It would certainly have melted by the time the Academy gets back to operation, and so I decided to find it an appreciative home. Certainly, after the past few days of living on hastily opened tins from the stores, a small treat would scarcely be excessive.

            Molly joined me half an hour later, looking positively glowing – and indeed, helped me finish off the ice-cream. She asks if I could help her tonight, and get the breakout to Mahanish’s “on” again. Of course, right now it is less of a breakout than a stroll through the empty gates, as the tutors are still “hors de combat” and the senior years hard at work.  A tricky proposition though – I can scarcely let her go un-chaperoned, and we are both needed at Songmark. Plus, we have been asked not to leave except on essential business, which I think a social evening hardly counts as.

            Still, Molly has worked exceedingly hard, and deserves a break. After surviving the Papeete flu, with this much luck on our side surely there is little that can go wrong.

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