Back to Casino Island for the first dance class of term, though we have been keeping in practice.  In fact, this term we have decided to go for it full-throttle, and get up an hour early every morning for some hard exercise – regardless of whatever else we are doing in the day. Maria grumbles somewhat at the new timetable, but can see the sense in it.

            Interestingly, Maria has announced that she is taking a keener interest in local politics this term. I was quite agreeably surprised in our first term, that she has not turned out a soap-box politician keen to push her Party line on the rest of us. In fact, she has been keeping her eyes and ears open and her mouth generally shut – by now, she is rather surer of her political footing.

            One thing that she mentioned this morning, was that she is raising herself as a “Female Bull”, an odd phrase that I was not too sure translated properly into English.  Helen pressed her for an explanation – it indeed sounds the sort of thing that Prudence’s dorm enjoy, but it actually has quite a different meaning (and indeed, Maria is very interested in gentlemen such as Jirry’s eldest brother).  There is a tradition of her female relatives taking up leading roles – quite natural for some people but nothing we need a separate word for. A Female Bull, she tells me, is not expected to emphasise the more tender aspects of life – they may certainly marry, but are quite liable to be the breadwinner.

            Anyway, Maria is deep in a copy of the “Daily Elele”, looking at the published meeting dates of the local government on Meeting Island, the Althing.  They have a press and public gallery for some meetings, which she is keen on having a look at. Saturdays are our time for shopping, as we can just spare time on the way to the dance school to pick up books and newspapers.

            Hurrah for the Dance School! We had a splendid and strenuous time, happily returning to Authentic local costume, which is far more comfortable in the heat. No separate bathing costumes are needed; after classes the whole group ran straight down across the beach into the surf for a splendidly refreshing swim. This seems to be quite popular with the tourists too – at any rate, I noticed one of the Dance School staff making a brisk trade in very overpriced camera film as we dashed down the hill to the beach, costume rather swinging in the breeze.

            Dear Diary – despite having authentic Costume, I think I will rearrange my head-fur in a more Native style. One never knows who sees pictures tourists send home, and although one grows accustomed to the minimal local dress, having someone recognise me in it could prove – embarrassing.

            On the way back to the docks we fell in with our third-year chums Noota and Daphne, who have been working in the evenings with our old innkeepers the Tanoaho family at their scrap warehouse. We have hardly spoken to them yet, and it seems they have had quite as exciting an Easter as our own, prospecting on Cranium Island. Noota shows some rather bleached fur, a little ruefully, and tells us they are practicing refining some of the ores they brought back, being chemically similar to Radium should they ever find any. The Tanoaho’s warehouse is full of pitchblende ore, and they are refining it into a sort of yellow cake, handy for pottery glaze if nothing else. The metal is far too difficult to extract in pure form, but from all accounts is heavy enough to make very effective novelty paperweights. Unfortunately, Daphne’s films were stored in the cargo hold next to the ore, and seem to have been quite spoilt with fogging.

            The Cranium Island expedition sounds like it was fun, with a two-week jungle trek, an awful lot of exploration and the thrill of discovering several rich seams of various exotic ores.  Perhaps next year we might join a similar expedition – the sort of thing various explorers actively request Songmark girls for. (Although our own Easter was quite profitable enough – we were “paid” in our room and board, fish being far more useful than Uranium any day.)

            Thinking of events in the holidays, I found something unexpected in our letter tray when we returned – a postcard from London (Whitehall postmark, no return address.)  Although it was unsigned, I recognised Soppy Forsythe’s writing – something of a “Wish you were here” card, mentioning she knows how to reward true loyalties, and her Department will see that I get what I deserve. Nice of her to think of us!

13th May 1935
            A whole week back already – and the Summer term seems much pleasanter than I had feared. After returning from Church, Maria sought out Miss Devinski and begged Passes off her for Wednesday evening, and a trip to Meeting Island to see the local Government in action.  Surprisingly, the passes were approved – with the proviso that we hand in a two-page report (each) on what we saw and our thoughts on it.

One reason Maria is consulting me on local politics is our discovery that the Daily Elele prints two editions – there is one printed in the local Spontoonie language, which is not advertised, and seems to be mostly privately delivered. Although it covers the same stories mostly, it puts what I think is a very different slant on matters. For instance, the film section seems to be written not by regular theatre critics but by the locals who work on the films, shooting and developing (there are quite extensive editing studios on Casino Island.)

            I well recall how we happily avoided bumping into Little Shirley Shrine shooting her latest epic two weeks ago – before the studios in California have the final edit in their paws, it is being reviewed here – and rather candidly. The first line I translate as, “When Little Shirley danced and sang in “Stand Up And Yip!”, a nation reeling from the Depression staggered a step closer to utter collapse…”  The rest of the review is somewhat less enthusiastic.

            Maria is attempting to draw up charts of the local government, who seem to be rather highly organised for an anarcho-syndicalist “State”. She seems rather puzzled how the place actually works, in that they have well-publicised elections but no actual political parties.  Indeed, she is trying to make sense of it relative to her Uncle’s way of governing, which is heading to the purer version of “One Citizen one Vote” – he being the Citizen. I rather doubt the two systems are really talking in the same language.

            It feels very strange to be defending the local system against Maria, I must say. After all,  Spontoon being an ally of the Rain Island State, which broke away from our Empire in such bizarre circumstances,  one should morally disapprove of it.  Still – unexpected benefits may spring from unlikely sources – back home, had Lord M not been assassinated by Anarchists in the street, his party might well have lost the election.

            One wonders just how stable an Anarchist government is; the local one seems to have been more or less in its present form for forty years, but the world outside is changing, including presumably the Althing. All things come to an end in time.

            Early to bed, having checked our timetables and spotted some very strenuous lessons tomorrow. By the sound of bodies slammed against walls, enraged mouse squeals and Missy K’s Spontoonie oaths from across the corridor, they are having a leadership contest of their own.

            Maria was much amused, and recounted tales that her Uncle has told of one of his friends – whose political Party keeps getting pestered with candidates wanting promotions. Apparently they write into headquarters saying things like “I would make a much better local leader than the present one, and the men are all behind me.” To which the reply is always “So what are you asking us for? If you’re the best and the men are with you, TAKE control – and let us know when you have.” Definitely a case of Social Darwinism in action, saving the fuss of electioneering.
 

14th May 1935

A rather – unusual start to the week.  We were all booked for medical check-ups in the morning, and indeed our Tutors have to be assured that we are all sound in wind and limb before taking us out for the summer term timetable (I noticed both Beryl and Missy K were looking definitely the worse for wear, though neither were reporting any bones broken.)  Apart from our usual Matron Mrs. Oelabe, there was a lady doctor over from Casino Island, whom I had not met before.

            Miss Devinski called me over discreetly to her office, and asked if I would be interested in having a rather fuller check-up than usual this time. She passed over a note that she had received from Jirry’s mother, asking if I was in the fullest of health – and Miss Devinski rather candidly elaborated what one of the Native phrases meant. Oh my. I remember Jirry’s Mother being highly approving of me, and then there was that little misunderstanding in the Christmas holidays as to my adding to the Hoele’toemi family.  Mrs. Hoele’toemi seems to have quite got it into her head that sooner or later I will be presenting her with grandchildren.

            I fear my ears blushed somewhat brightly. But though I assured my Tutor (much to her relief) that I had no plans in that direction, it would be nice to be assured that I could if I wanted to. Miss Devinski mentioned that three of our Third years and one of my year would be doing the same, though she named no names.

            However – I was not surprised to hear Missy K in our Matron’s office ahead of me – she has a somewhat loud voice when emotional, and although she spoke in Spontoonie, I could not miss her mentioning having a longhouse all ready if needed.  I recall seeing her fiancé at the Dance class, and blushed at Helen’s description of the finer qualities of such mink gentlemen.  Further, in answering some question that I did not quite catch, Missy K retorted that she and her fiancé were Tailfast already – “Tailfast” being the literal translation. Then the door slammed open and my classmate stormed out, though not before I noticed her tucking into her bag what looked like a ring made of braided fur in two contrasting colours. Fascinating!

            Actually, things were less embarrassing than I had feared; I seem to be in good shape for all eventualities – and the doctor, Mrs. Unity Monotega, put me quite at my ease.  I found time to ask some questions that had been puzzling me for some time,  since I noticed what the Native girls on the fishing boat carried in their travel bags. Although by necessity they travelled light, most of them packed a dense soft sponge and a small tub of what looked like toothpaste, but I was told was finely ground lime.

            Doctor Monotega explained in rather comprehensive detail, that it was a Traditional method of taking Precautions, but not one that I should rely on alone – and gave me some rather graphic advice should I feel inclined to follow that Tradition. She showed me some fascinating medical pamphlets, noted that the technique will do with feline gentlemen but not certain other types, and described why. Amazing what one learns! Thinking of new information, I felt like asking about Missy K’s braided ring of fur, but naturally she might not discuss another patient with me.

            After luncheon,  we walked round the mile and more to the North end of the island, with the Radio LONO transmitters towering above us on the hilltop. There is a band of low inland cliffs that hardly features on the map – more like a quarry bank, scarcely twenty feet high at most but well over a hundred yards long. We spent the day climbing, starting on the smaller boulders, Miss Wildford and Miss Pelton coaching us and sympathising very slightly when we fell off.

            Although I am quite good at tree climbing, this was rather different, and decidedly fun! Missy K was on the rock next to me,  but despite being powerfully built, she is quite the wrong shape to press close to a rock face. Li Han and Sophie D’artagnan fairly ran up everything in sight,  much to our tutors’ applause. We will be getting on to ropes and such later on, but are starting with the basics - one cannot rely on equipment to stay out of trouble, wits and technique are things you are sure to be always carrying when needed.

16th May 1935

Quite an evening – after a morning of strenuous navigation exercises and an afternoon of swimming, we headed out, with Passes in hand to Meeting Island. Only our second real trip there since we met Jirry’s aunt at the sanatorium and learned the facts about the Gunboat Wars that are not written in the tourist brochures.

            Meeting Island is something like twice the area of Casino Island, but far less built-up. The top of the island seems flat, as only from the air one can spot the ancient volcanic crater where the hospital and its strange annex are hidden in the trees.  The headquarters of the Althing is a modern-looking stone building, built in the proportions of a native longhouse, its doors guarded by two huge Tiki sculptures frowning down on visitors.

            Actually, it is quite pleasant inside, with a press and public gallery looking over the main debating chamber. The meeting’s subjects are printed in the Spontoonie edition of the Daily Elele, as well as being posted on the wall – alas, tonight we only had the thrilling subject of Casino Island’s growing sanitation problem, and how it affects the beaches in Tourist season.

            Helen has mentioned attending meetings at local Government buildings back in Texas (her Father being called on to testify on committees on oilfield safety) and recounts how they always start by singing the National Anthem. I confess I have not noticed Spontoon having one – and suggested “Althings Bright and Beautiful”.

            Although the minutes of the meetings are posted in the corridors outside, the actual discussions were all in the local language – it was rather tricky to give Maria any sort of running commentary, as there was no time to look any of the words up. I still have Soppy’s phrasebook, as she left it with us and seems unlikely to need it again.  I listened hard for details of the “Waterworks Project” – but of course there are ways of talking about such things in public view, that I would have to be far more fluent to spot.  And anyway, I am decidedly NOT going to be telling Maria what I know about the South Islands works.

We were almost the only folk in Euro clothing in the viewing gallery, with just a couple of reporters including the one who did such a highly coloured account of our Dance contest. She spotted us and was over in a flash, notebook in hand, eager for a follow-up. Alas, we had little to tell Miss Aha, except that we have been challenged by a team from South Island – friends of the Netball team that Prudence Akroyd and her dorm are on such good terms with. Not the hottest news story, but on an island chain this size one supposes there is little local news to be had some days.

Back to Songmark just before the gates closed, and on to write up our reports – the price of passes, alas. Our short-wave radios keep us in touch with the rest of the world, despite the time difference – the actually European “Euros” here must wait till nearly midnight to catch the lunchtime news from Home, with the sounds of Big Ben and that nice Mister Joyce reading the BBC news from London. I have been trying to help Helen with her accent by having her repeat what she hears exactly (she has noticed folk can spot her West Texas drawl in two seconds flat, which might be a giveaway in some situations). Alas – just as our instructors in the metalwork shops tell us, alloying two very different ingredients can have very surprising results. Helen trying to speak polite English, comes out as something almost but not quite – Australian!
 

18th May 1935

Hooray! After our afternoon swim,  who should drop by but Jirry and some of his friends – an occasion for a visit to Song Sodas, under the watchful eye of the staff.  I had definitely missed him – and now with the tourist season and the Summer term in full swing, there is little enough free time for either of us.

            By his account, the local members of the film team have been really earning their pay, with Little Shirley Shrine throwing temper tantrums at every possible moment – except when there is a camera around, when she looks angelic as her film posters.  Still, she is from a show business family, and the film crew are assured that her first word was not “Mama” but “Agent!”

            Relaxing with dear Jirry for the first time in two weeks, I could not help but think of the Native families I had met on South Island – the pups and kittens of Little Shirley’s age being certainly loud and energetic, but almost uniformly cheerful and good-natured.  Even more impressive, the various … adopted members of the tribe, whose fur patterns proclaim them to have been unexpected souvenirs from Euro visitors, seem to have exactly the same disposition.

            To be honest – Little Shirley might not have her name in lights had she joined them, but I think she would have a much happier existence.  Having fame and fortune is very nice, but from all accounts she has absolutely nothing else.

            I asked Jirry about the braided tail fur that Missy K had been displaying proudly while claiming to be “Tailfast” with her fiancé. Jirry thought it over for awhile, and explained it to me in rather a low voice. It is one of the Traditions that the Spontoonies picked up from the original Pacific islanders, and do not mention in public guides. It is something like an engagement ring, but not permanent – renewed twice a year, it signifies love and the social acceptance of the bond. So her fiancé’s family accepts Missy K, even without any obligation that the two will marry someday.

            Despite the occasional glance cast our way by one of the staff, I hugged him rather tightly, having guessed the basics. I might have wished for a more romantic setting, but asked there and then if he would consent to be “Tailfast” with me, at least for a trial.  Considering it is on six monthly renewals, it is not as if we were getting Engaged, which would of course change everything (and need some probably rather embarrassing letters written Home.)

            Jirry looked rather stricken at the thought – and his whiskers decidedly drooped. He told me that he would very much like to – but there is a problem. To be official, it takes place at one of the twice-yearly main ceremonies of the Native religion – and my attendance record at the Reverend Bingham’s church is sadly NOT transferable.

            Oh dear.

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