| 2nd June 1935
Off to Casino Island, for more intensive work at the dance classes – our early-morning starts are certainly paying off, though it leaves us particularly hungry (the regular timetable is strenuous enough, and we have two hours a day more than any other dorm.) So our dashes back to Eastern Island after class generally include a stop at a fish stall – I am getting a definite taste for the local Popatohi dish. Molly has a diet counter in the back of her diary, and works out to her amazement that we must be getting through four thousand calories a day, yet our waistlines if anything have reduced. Unlike our shoulders, which would definitely not fit my old St. Winifred uniform any more. Just one more week till our dance challenge against the Althing Gate High School, over on Meeting Island! Our dance teacher is giving us some more advanced lessons – and we are practicing diligently. Maria says we shall “Dominate them with our steel wills and crush their vain hopes as with a fist of iron” but she is always saying things like that. She gets it from her Uncle, I believe. On the way home, we ran into Nuala again, dressed in a very dashing but rather minimal costume – certainly it suited the weather, which was scorching. I asked if she worked at her Mother’s dressmaking business – but she tells me she is in Entertainment. As a singer or dancer, I expect, though Helen and Molly seemed to find it highly amusing. Anyway, whatever her speciality might be, she says it is organised in typical Spontoonie style as a worker’s cooperative, with profit sharing and cooperation for mutual protection amongst all its members. Well! What with Jirry’s family on South Island and the Noenokes at sea, we really seem to be making contacts all over the islands these days. I shall surely miss this when returning home for the summer holidays, just six weeks away. Nuala is exceedingly grateful to us for helping her out, and invited us out to a party tomorrow night – alas, first-years at Songmark do not get Passes for such things. Maria looks quite wistful, as she is accustomed to staying out to all hours, surrounded by high fashion and jollity – although one can scarcely credit it, she claims to have been dancing till dawn on several grand occasions. We mentioned that we would be attending the SIRA exhibition and conference next week – and there is by all accounts a very lively party after that most years, where we might shed our Songmark uniforms and put on the party frocks and such that arrived this morning courtesy of the Countess. Nuala says she will be attending, as she and her friends always do a lot of business with the conference attendees. I assume she means dances and such. I must say, Nuala is really very – exotic in appearance, quite unlike any of the other folk we have met in the islands so far. According to the books, Civet cats are natives of the shores and jungles around the South China Sea, and rarely spread much. In her dress I noticed she has leather patches where she sits – a most curious fashion. She spotted my gaze and laughed, explaining she has musk oil glands there, which would stain fabrics and furnishings through any normal cloth. Fascinating! Not only do most Spontoonies have very manageable clothing bills, but one at least has no need to buy perfume. The Entertainments trade looks like it must be running flat-out this time of year, all the hotels are full to overflowing, and Casino Island seems one great mass of dances and theatres. Nuala mentions having seen the latest Little Shirley Shrine film already, “Good Ship Sherbet Dip”* which she claims is very tolerable if watched for laughs and not as the director intended. I will take her word for it. *[Editor’s note:
pencilled in plain text in the margin is what seems to be a jingle from
the show:
3rd June 1935 Just two days to go to the great Exhibition, hurrah ! We had returned yesterday to find a heavy squareish parcel awaiting Molly, wrapped in olive-green ribbon. I heard her whoop with delight three rooms away, when she unpacked it. Someone had sent Molly a whole box of ammunition, one hundred rounds of 13 mm sized for my T-Gew rifle! Of course, today is the day she practices with it over on Moon Island while the rest of us head out to Church. I rather think I know who sent this – sending Molly flowers would get nowhere with her (the islands are laden with flowers) and chocolates are more a messy hazard than a treat in this weather. (Except of course the “tropical chocolate” we are issued with for the aircraft survival kits, which is more like compressed cocoa powder). Thinking about it, a certain stag seems to have hit upon the perfect gift for Molly, as if he needed anything more to gain her affections. I have almost given up on trying to convince her about him – and only hope she does not find out the truth the hard way. Molly very generously gave me half her present, pointing out it is of course my rifle. I accepted with good grace, though I would have been happier had it come from another source. Still, I left her looking more cheerful than I had seen her for some time, showing off her new present to Beryl, who had been trying to upstage her with a new subscription of “Practical Trench Knife Weekly”, which had arrived yesterday. One hopes our Tutors might mention something about unladylike behaviour, I am getting tired of trying to civilise Molly myself! Some folk seem to not have been brought up so much as dredged up. Off out to Church, keen to see what sermon the Reverend Bingham has for our edification. Indeed, we were not disappointed – the Parable of the Fisherman and the Steam-Shovel was really quite a story. One sees a few Spontoonies in the congregation, but I fear they only come in on the same terms as Nuala admits to watching Little Shirley Shrine. Spontoon seems a very poor prospect for any ambitious clergy trying to claw their way up to become a Very Reverend based on numbers of conversions. Saimmi was waiting outside for us, and showed us some more fascinating folk rituals. She hinted that the large statues are more than they seem, on a number of levels, and that the truth about what is commonly referred to as the Tiki God, would astound the world. There are Tikis all over the island, some of which are just tourist props and some of which are definitely not – and already I am learning to spot the difference. Apart from the religious side of things, Saimmi has many fascinating tales of plain folklore. Some of it is definitely based on fact, such as the one night of the year when all the coral in the reef “blooms” at once. The Natives never go swimming that night, as it is Taboo across the whole Pacific. Helen murmured something about even coral polyps needing some privacy, which is less unbelievable than the tale Saimmi followed up with, about the fate of a vain fisher girl who broke the taboo. That pulp magazine “Weird Tails” that Ethyl reads has some local rivals in the art of strange stories, to be sure. I very much doubt it would be biologically possible, anyway. (Later) It could be called “Looking a gift horse in the mouth”, but looking carefully at the new ammunition, it struck me as very oddly made indeed .The bullets are much lighter than my old ones, and an unusual silvery-grey in colour. Helen and I investigated in the machine shops, taking one of them apart. Quite a head-scratcher, this puzzle – most of the bullet seems to be magnesium, but the core is a rod of dense, hard steel that our hacksaw hardly scratched. The proof of the pudding is in the eating they say, and it should be interesting to see what these do on the firing range this Thursday. Molly is grinning ear to ear, having tried a dozen rounds, but only revealing they are “hot stuff”, and that we are in for a surprise when we next visit the ranges for self-defence classes. Although one hesitates to agree with the girl we knew as Soppy Forsythe, she was right about one thing - Molly’s idea of self-defence starting at a mile range might be just a little excessive. 5th June, 1935 A big day, indeed – the first time we have ever been given Passes letting us off class. True, the class was a swimming exercise which we are hardly in need of – and the SIRA conference is just once a year, and very exclusive. Miss Devinski had us in for inspection, and did everything but run us over with a fine comb looking for faults. Happily I had prepared us, remembering old McCardle’s high standards back home – and very reluctantly our Tutor passed us as being neatly dressed and well-groomed representatives of Songmark. With our cameras and notebooks in our bags and our precious trade fair tickets, we headed out to Meeting Island, where the Althing have cleared out their big assembly rooms for a few days of profitable trading. The senior girls tell me that although the Spontoon Islands Racing Association organise this event, in fact it covers a wide range of aeronautical and other technical matters. One technology can be put to many uses – even peaceful nations are starting to build fast mail-planes that can carry two tonnes of cargo to distant destinations despite night and bad weather. Maria says there are German and Italian representatives at most of these meetings – and indeed, we saw the company flags of Heinkel and Cant amongst the exhibitors as we arrived. Some of the fast mail-planes are actually speedier than most nations’ biplane fighters in front-line service, definitely an example of beating swords with ploughshares. Quite a show! We were there six hours, getting through three notebooks apiece, trying to record everything we could – our bags positively groaned under the weight of sales brochures, and between us we must have heard enough polished sales talk to sell a bomber squadron to a Quaker congregation. Airframes, engines, radios and all sorts of instruments were on display, some of them ready to sell and some “in development.” Indeed, I spotted Maria looking up transfixed at a working model of a 36 cylinder Isotta racing engine that must have been ten feet long, destined for next year’s Schneider Trophy no doubt. Helen had murmured that the Italian concept of engine testing was to take a pair of engines and put bigger superchargers on one of them until the engine exploded – then build the other of the pair with the boost turned down half a notch. Maria nodded vigorously, and seemed puzzled that we found anything odd about the idea. Not just aircraft were on show – an awful lot of military hardware was on display, at least in terms of booths with brochures and representatives. Quite a few interesting vehicles, and not all military – there was a big display of peaceful German tracked “Land tractors” that can go over any terrain (handy for logging and off-road transports). There was even a poster for a splendid idea by Vickers for a lightweight “Police Tank” *, shown chasing a rioting mob with smoke grenades and tear-gas dispensers launching out of drainpipe-sized side tubes, enforcing law and order. Molly looked quite furious at the sight, claiming that it was plain unfair and unsporting. But progress is progress, and indeed I noticed a Japanese delegation eagerly scooping up brochures. It was interesting to spot what was not on display – though I looked carefully, there was no mention of the very aerobatic “Sea Fleas” I had seen in such odd circumstances this Easter, nor anything about Spontoon developing the LeDuck propeller-less engines. One might have thought there would be mock-ups, such as the Italians have of their fascinating Camprini aircraft, with the props inside the fuselage. Possibly the Spontoonies (and by extension Rain Island) are keeping them for a special publicity launch. The Rain Island Naval Reserve had their own area with eager salesmen swarming around it most of the time. Only when the crowds had thinned towards the end of the afternoon did I notice who was there – in his guise as an Importer and Exporter, a certain stag who I well know is into profitable exports of various sorts. He bowed very politely, and was as charming to me as one could wish – and indeed I had to grit my teeth and thank him for the tickets. Evidently, of his various enterprises, some of them are highly useful to the local Government – which is probably why they are reluctant to act against him without absolutely hard evidence. One can be a (presumably) loyal Spontoonie and a villain at the same time, it appears. Indeed, he extended our invite to the informal evening meetings, in the same building – where sales brochures are definitely banned, although most of the actual deals are sealed over coconut cocktails and rum punches. Molly and Maria instantly jumped at the chance, pointing out that our Passes actually are valid “until the official meeting ends”, and the evening session is indeed sponsored by the official organisers. I could hardly argue with that – and as they were determined to go regardless, I had to go too. So – straight back on the first water-taxi to Eastern Island, a dash into Songmark to dump the brochures and notebooks, a very rapid shower and groom and then – on with our best clothes, the Rachorska dresses! Inside an hour we were back on Meeting Island, feeling very different and looking quite unrecognisable. Of course, Miss Devinski’s initial inspection was for the regular show – we would look quite out of place dressed in our official blazers and dress shorts, for the fashionable evening session. Besides, we hated to bother our dear Tutor twice a day for the same duty.
The after-show reception was upstairs, where the sales folk and minor diplomats had changed into evening wear. Quite a glittering crowd, of all nationalities, and indeed representatives of most of the major aircraft companies were there. Some famous faces I recognised from back issues of the Daily Elele and the Island Birdwatcher – there was that black-furred German aviatrix wolf who scooped so many of last year’s prizes, talking with the Spanish hamster who pilots the orange floatplane GeeBee racer. To my embarrassment I could not remember their names, only what the ground crew call their aircraft – one being the “Blitz Eagle” and the other the “Spinning Incinerator”. Certainly, a good aircraft deserves a good name. I recall my uncle telling me of his flying in the first days of the Great War, when he was equipped with the fearsome (to all concerned especially the pilot) B.E.8 “Bognor Bloater”. Even now, children’s comics are full of lurid pictures of trenches crammed with fleeing Huns all shouting “Achtung Bloater!” A most pleasant evening indeed, though I was hard-put to keep an eye on Molly and Maria, especially as there were Spontoonie waiters circulating with ever-full trays of drinks. I essayed one of the “Summer Lightning” rum cocktails – which were very relevant to this event, being surely powerful enough to fill a racing aircraft’s fuel tank! One was quite sufficient – and I could only hope the rest agreed with me. Molly vanished for ten minutes – but much to my relief, reappeared, though looking somewhat dishevelled. She whispered that the Precautions used by the Native girls seem to be far more – agreeable to use, always supposing they work. I restrained from slapping her silly ears flat, but not without great effort. An immediate retreat to the powder-room to take what additional steps we could – not something I had intended to be doing tonight, but I hardly liked to haul her back to Songmark and explain to Matron. We
had only just rejoined the party when the stag responsible reappeared,
with hardly a hair out of place. I felt safe enough talking to him
A quick check of the time had us heading out as fast as our party dresses would allow – aircraft are not the only things with a “Do not exceed” speed limit. Back to the Songmark just in time, luckily it was Noota and Conchita on gate duty, and indeed we were within the letter if not quite the spirit of our Passes still. A tiring day, and full of surprises! * [Editor’s Note: The Vickers Police tank was an actual 1930’s project, and the poster was just as Amelia describes. Which just goes to showhow some ideas are only a little ahead of their time…] 6th June 1935 (Written late at night, Maria cursing me to put the light out and let
her get to sleep)
Hurrah for Jasbir and her dorm – they volunteered to do our kitchen duties today, for which they get the second copy of our reports after the Staff. Hard at work with typewriter and mimeograph, some ten hours non-stop work by all of us, somehow wrapped around our usual full timetable! Amazing what one can do in a tight spot. Indeed, we had our report ready as an “Evening Edition” – we handed it straight off the mimeograph to Miss Devinski when she made her tour at lights-out. As soon as our copy was in, we collectively collapsed, having been up and working without a pause for seventeen furious hours. Molly says that having seen how hard they work, she will never throw rocks at reporters again (some of them have written what she thinks are prejudiced reports on her Family and their Business Associates.)
7th June, 1935 (Re: yesterday)
Molly set up the long-arm range along with the duty officer, from whom she had procured some rusty but sound sheets of forty-pound steel, * possibly salvaged from a Gunboat wars wreck. She seemed in quite a mischievous mood, and I found out why. This new ammunition is certainly “hot stuff” as she said! On firing, the recoil was no different than normal (i.e. even with the bipod, it almost took my shoulder off) but there is a bright “tracer” streak as the magnesium ignites, and the target lit up like a flash-bulb! The plate was decidedly punched through. Molly was jubilant, and the Range Officer was looking highly dubious. He vanished off towards the office as soon as we had finished, and I could spot him urgently telephoning someone. Most worrying – as it is, we can hardly risk getting incriminated in any more secret dealings. (Today)
Still, a quite splendid flight, all six Tiger Moths in the air as we practice formation flying – two “V’s” led by Miss Pelton and Miss Wildford. The sun was absolutely scorching – it was a relief to reach five thousand feet, with cooler air going past at eighty miles an hour. A whole hour’s exhilarating flight, though awfully hard work keeping tight enough formation in the thermals rising off Main Island. Then back to watch the other dorms trying it, Helen and Molly giving what they call “Bronx Cheers” at Beryl’s attempts to stay in position. She may have inherited some skills at evading pursuers in the air, but not with sticking together in company. (Later) Hard work pays off – after Dinner, Miss Devinski calls us up in front of the whole school and commends us for our report on the Trade Show, which she has copied and sent to SIRA themselves for comment. Passes all round, a coveted twelve-hour Unlimited pass for next Saturday! An Unlimited one has no restraints about where we go and why – the first time we have managed to get such a treat. Much seething from Beryl and from Prudence’s dorm, commenting that we get all the luck – we not only go to the trade show, but are rewarded again for having done it. Had we turned in a shoddy report, things would have been very different – something like a week on kitchen duty in the roasting heat, and no Passes for a month. Our Tutors certainly know how to get the most out of us – though Helen comments she knows how an orange must feel after a patent orange-press has done much the same. [Editor’s note: under standard Naval terminology, forty pounds of armour steel to the square foot works out at about an inch thick. It appears Amelia has been reading “Jane’s Naval Annual” again.] |
