A damp day indeed – pouring with rain as we get up for our two hours early exercise (the dance practice gets us nicely limbered-up for the self-defence classes, which one of our Tutors checks up on now and then.) Despite the weather, we were scheduled for some safety lessons, with the new inflatable life jackets. Our old cork-filled ones are insufferably bulky, and swelteringly hot on the ground, even if they do give some helpful padding against bumps and bruises.

            So, all five dorms of us dripped our way down to the local docks just by Superior Engineering, with Miss Wildford cheerfully reminding us we would be getting wetter shortly. (The Staff seem to have equipped themselves with very effective waterproofs.)  After all the scorching days we have had this week, today would have to be the one without sunshine, as we take turns to jump off the jetty and inflate our life-vests. Which smell very objectionably of new rubber.

            Just when we had taken a dozen drops each, and were ready to head back, Miss Wildford waved us towards the airstrip again and announced an extra “treat” for us. The Rain Island air force had sent over another squadron of their old Barling Bombers with which we had trained on parachuting last term – and this time there were no parachutes!

            One can quite see why they left this part as a surprise – had we been told earlier that we would be shivering wet in the hold of a Barling thundering along forty feet above the waves and expected to jump out, our Tutors might have had one of those class riots that Beryl tells us were a daily event at her old school. As it was, it was too late to do more than complain by the time the old six-engined bomber was rolling down the runway, climbing even more sluggishly than ever with the weight of water on its fabric.

            Quite an experience! To give them credit, our Tutors had us dropped on the lee side of Eastern Island, with four water-taxis booked to stand offshore and pick us up. But forty feet is an awful drop without a ‘chute, and I must have almost touched the sea bottom before I started to rise to the surface. “Flight” magazine has mentioned that proper Air Force issue vests inflate from compressed gas cylinders – next time I must try and get one. Blowing through a stiff rubber tube while trying to keep one’s head above water in a rolling swell, is not the easiest of exercises.

            (Later) Busy translating the local newspapers for Maria, who is about a month behind us in language proficiency. One difference between the Euro and Spontoonie versions of the “Daily ‘Elele” is the huge quantity of domestic details they go into – naturally, the tourists are hardly going to be interested in the price per load of coconuts, which oddly enough seem to be entirely imported.  It seems the session of the Thing that we attended, decided in the end to give some funds for a trial sanitation project. Generator oil is expensive here, and the prospect of being able to kill two birds with one coconut and make fuel gas from wastes appeals to the local rate-payers.

     Actually, I must ask Jirry if I have the translation quite right – what I think it says, is that Superior Engineering had some salvaged ship’s boilers surplus, and a certain Doctor Isaac Maranowski (formerly of Ulm) happened to volunteer his services. It seems the good Doctor has had some successes with his “Bio-gas”, and the unfortunate methane explosion which manured half the gardens (and houses) in Ulm was just a one-off, certain not to happen in a tropical climate.

     Oddly enough, the advertisement right next to the article was for military surplus respirators and heavy-duty umbrellas. 

26th May, 1935

Out after breakfast with an all-day Pass for the four of us, hurrah! We had heard what sounded like what Helen calls a “sure-fire rough-house” from Missy K’s room last night, and at breakfast we discovered why. On having heard about Passes, Beryl got hold of a used one and copied it for herself – without guessing that our Tutors have some central register to check them against. Copying the piece of paper is decidedly not enough – and that dorm will be getting none at all next month, hence Missy K’s fury.

            In fact, it has come out that a similar slip was exactly what brought Beryl here – joining her old school demands a criminal record, but she declares getting caught is a sign of incompetence. Which left her with a problem, till she hit upon the idea of forging her record – and all was well for some years until someone else checked the central files and spotted the discrepancy. Which makes Beryl the only girl to have ever been expelled from Saint T’s, in its whole chequered history – certainly an achievement of a kind.

     Still, it was fine to leave all that behind for a day, as we mingled with the tourist crowd, dressed in our best Songmark shirts and shorts, everything cleanly pressed and with fur well-brushed.  With the odd political system around here, it could be that the Countess Rachorska is the only proper Nobility living on the whole of Spontoon Island – and a luncheon invite is nothing to be taken lightly.

     (Ethyl’s bad-tempered twin Methyl has been grumbling that the Pacific is full of fake “nobility” claiming to be from places nobody can pronounce, let alone find on the map. But she’s just what Molly calls “full of pickles” at not being invited.)

     Anyway, we found the address easily enough, 137 Aloha Avenue being high up on the hill next to Tower Hill park – a very prestigious site, with a wonderful view over South Island.  The Countess opened the door herself – presumably her maids were busy shopping, this being Saturday.

     A very elegant place, certainly! If the story Ethyl tells us is true, the Countess has certainly improved her lot by her own hard work – starting in a decidedly unenviable position. After luncheon she invited us in to see her design shops – adding that we could choose any items we wished for ourselves, in gratitude for helping her daughter.

     Oh my. Noota was right. The Rachorska Boutique certainly produces items that movie stars might wear, though not visible to the cameras.  I fear my ears must have been blushing,  even though in actual area of exposed fur I have worn less myself, in Native mode (and Helen and Molly more so.) I definitely believe that showgirls might get their costumes here – for one thing, many of the costumes one would not overheat while dancing in.

     Molly and Maria went into agonies of indecision – though Maria requested a catalogue, and I imagine her cheque-book will be getting some exercise soon enough.  Helen rather blushed around the ears herself, as neither of us have exactly been brought up with practice in sophisticated fashions (Helen is happiest in a flight suit, and until today the only silk garment she owned was a flying scarf.)

     Still, I chose an evening dress, though I rather wonder where I will wear it. Native costume seems perfectly acceptable by now, but wearing such Euro clothing feels a decidedly strange idea. It is quite acceptable to wear a few pawfulls of woven reeds in the jungle or on a fishing boat, but the Rachorska fashions are things of Home, with entirely different associations for me.

     The Countess promises to have everything made up to our measurements and posted over by next week – with this much (or little) silk, certainly the postage should be inexpensive!

27th May 1935

Sunday, hurrah! Out again to Easter Island, with the rain fairly hammering down, and the Church crammed with definitely sodden tourists who seem to be dressed entirely for the sunny beaches that appear on the local stamps and postcards. There is a Native umbrella seller just outside the door who is happily boosting the local economy.

            After the Reverend Bingham’s address and sermon (the parable of the three soldiers and the chorus girl) I met Saimmi outside, decorously dressed in straw cape and hat, and protected further by a palm-leaf parasol. She had a spare apiece for Helen and myself – indeed, Helen has decided to join me in investigating the local beliefs. Though not religious normally, she is thinking of having more to talk about with Marti when they meet.

            An interesting trip – only a few hundred yards, over to the Park where we saw the New Year celebrations. Saimmi pointed out the very impressive, indeed cyclopean masonry, and gave us a guided tour of what the fascinating ancient carvings mean. In places there are damaged areas where over-zealous early missionaries tried to remove the more outré designs, but it is still quite a fascinating sort of comic-strip of staggeringly descriptive pictographs.

            The local religion is quite a naturalistic one – geared more towards gratitude towards the bounty of their lands and waters, than any complex heavenly hierarchy (Jasbir Sind has been telling us of her own Native religion, but there are hundreds of deities and they all have exceedingly complex lives involving thousands of years. Presumably one achieves Enlightenment the minute one works out the plot.)

            Saimmi demonstrated some of her prayers and rituals, but did not suggest we copy her. Still – I have written some of it down in my other notebook, and may yet put it to good use.

[Editor’s Note: - the “Other” Notebook is still believed to exist, but was never translated from Amelia’s (very strange and proprietary) Lexarc Shorthand!]

29th May, 1935

Sunshine at last! Out to Main Island, this time with ropes and spikes to scale some of the smaller basalt cliffs of the North Coast.  A very fine morning of swarming up ropes and practicing our knots – knowing that one’s life depends on tying the right knot, is a great incentive to Molly, who has a hard time telling a “reef” from a “granny”.  We managed to scale a very rough-looking crag, sixty feet or more – safely tied in to the top ropes secured by our Tutors.

            By lunch-time, the sun was quite scorching, and we were all glad of the break, especially as there is a cliff-diving contest just a mile down the coast. Happily, we saw the whole thing – most impressive.  Miss Pelton has mentioned that she has competed herself before now, though she declined Beryl’s suggestion to demonstrate and take a running jump. (Beryl is always getting demerits and kitchen duties – even Missy K is  having an awful time keeping her in line, and their dorm is on the bottom of the league right now.)

            On the way back we stopped at Chiklooha, where we had such adventures around Easter – there were fishing boats out on the horizon, quite possibly the Noenoke family and their friends. Helen must have followed my gaze, as she whispered that given the chance she would be out there in a heartbeat.

            Of course, that is the problem – although our Tutors would not actually be after us with the compound dogs should we choose to vanish over the horizon, we would lose huge chunks of marks off our permanent record. By repute the local schools such as the S.I.T.H.S. have folk who can “cut class” as Helen says with no particular punishment as long as they make up the work later – but I remember the rather severe forms we had to sign before Songmark would let us in.  We did promise to stick faithfully to whatever was given to us in the course, if we wanted to graduate – it would be an awful thing to go through three years of hard work and fail the course for bad behaviour!

            Still – Helen is planning some more unauthorised excursions, and I am decidedly keen on the idea myself. The short nights are something of a problem, but the four of us are sure to  think of something.

            (Later) Spontoon Island is getting quite famous, in all sorts of ways. Songmark subscribes to a wide range of technical magazines, which are eagerly passed around the students as soon as the air freight gets them here. We subscribe to “Wireless World” as well as its older telegraph based sister publication “Wiry World” – and there is a major article on Radio LONO, with its new direction-finding aerials. We have seen their setup with the new masts past Crater Lake – it seems there is a scheme to put another set on South Island to give all-direction homing. What with the air traffic increasing by the year, a definite improvement.

31st May, 1935

Oh dear. A deer is back, whom I hoped we had seen the last of.  We had finished our afternoon’s sport and exercises for the day, rock-climbing on the cliffs of Main Island, and were awaiting the water-taxi at Main Village docks when we heard a familiar hail – and I spotted a very familiar horned silhouette in the crowd. I somewhat stiffened, but Molly did quite the opposite – and practically flew into his arms.

            I noticed Beryl looking on, rather interestedly – and briefed her in a few words of what I knew of him. Certainly, I had to warn her to stay clear, it is bad enough with Molly not believing a word of what I know against him.

            He certainly looked perfectly at ease, hardly suspicious or hunted – as he introduced himself to Miss Pelton, who noted she had seen him dance in the public competitions.  Mr. Lars Nordstrom is exceedingly charming when he wishes to be. In fact, he very gallantly handed Molly five tickets to a “Trade Show” next week, and politely asked our Tutor if we could go.

            Molly handed me one of the tickets – and my heart definitely raced, it is the SIRA aeronautical and military trade convention,  that the Daily Elele is talking so much about – the general public are excluded, but delegates and guests from all over the world are converging here. Money would not get this.

            Miss Pelton waved me over, and whispered that we could get Passes on condition we came back with complete and comprehensive reports – hard work and observation, not sight-seeing.  None of our Tutors have tickets – I noticed Beryl looking on amazed that Miss Pelton did not simply take one as her share of the deal.

            I fear my tail rather drooped despite the prospect of a super show – had anyone else provided the tickets, I would have been happier. It is what Molly calls “an offer we can’t refuse”, and Mr. Nordstrom certainly knows it.

            Anyway – in half an hour we were on the way back to Eastern Island, all the other girls either congratulating us or seething in envy at our good luck.

            (Later) Tonight is one of the main Festivals of the Native religion, according to Saimmi. I had asked Missy K about it, but she is in a filthy mood these days since getting stuck with our new arrival, and is no help in getting us out. The sun sets this time of year at nearly half-past seven – and with Jasbir and co. covering us like the good eggs they are, Helen and myself slipped out. Maria wants nothing to do with these particular local customs, and Molly seems just too dreamy-eyed to talk sensibly, let alone plan any serious breakout.

            Although Eastern Island is rather “Euro” in most parts, the rather secluded North-Eastern coast is quite hidden from the busy dockside and airport areas, and the lights of Casino Island are on the far side of the hilltop that some folk are calling LONO hill after the aerials that crown it. We followed the instructions Saimmi had given us on Sunday, and soon found the festival and shrine, within sight of the low cliffs we practice not falling off three days a week. Fascinating! About fifty locals were there, and we were allowed to watch the festival and take part in some of it. It is just like the merry folk festivals back Home, except the thing they dance round is not a maypole.

            Back before Midnight, having seen something that the tourists decidedly do not. Quite a sight!

[Editor’s Note: - we can assume the exact details are in the second Notebook. Anyone proficient in deciphering extinct Shorthand systems, please contact our Agents!]

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