One can definitely admire the postal system here – though I had not checked our post racks last night, I have a reply awaiting from Post Box Nine, which got there and back in about four hours flat. As per instructions, I had my remaining rounds in a holdall, forty of them making quite a load. On the way to Main Island, a perfectly ordinary Water-Taxi lady raised her hat and politely asked if I had any deliveries for Post Box Nine – I handed them over, and she wrote me a receipt. Very odd - she hardly looked like a secret agent.

            I had thought that the Authorities might be able to pin this on Mr. Nordstrom, who (presumably) has no right to hand out secret technology such as this.  But as Helen pointed out, the ammunition was delivered in a standard container with no note or letter, and the delivery address typed. So there is no proof who actually sent it, and I very much doubt if they were careless enough to leave incriminating fingerprints.

            After lessons and evening meal, a most surprising piece of news was posted up on the school notice board – Miss Pelton, one of the four founding members of Songmark, is getting married in August! Great surprise all round – one might not have thought any of them quite the domestic sort – “batchelorettes” I would have said. Ah well, one lives and learns. A wedding date in the holidays of course gives the School time to buy and leave Miss Pelton presents, but (Helen points out) not to crowd the Church by actually showing up.

            I have aunts and other relatives who say they always cry at weddings, but some of the girls from Prudence’s dorm look definitely heartbroken, Ada Cronstein in particular. Maria says she thought it very strange, as they have always been loud in our tutor’s praises, and one would think they would be celebrating such a happy occasion. After all, they have an enlarged photograph on their wall of her walloping a smashing hit over the net at a tennis tournament – Maria says one with her in wedding dress should complement it very nicely, even if it shows rather a lot less fur.

            Although I certainly had a loyal admiration for many of the sporting stars back at St. Winifred’s, I never had “crushes” on them – though of course I was quite familiar with the idea. For a change, I could be the one to enlighten Maria – and “Female Bull” or not, she can blush very prettily when the occasion strikes.

9th June, 1935

Another big day for us – we missed our early dance practice, as we certainly needed all the rest we can get – and today being Saturday, we are not bound to our self-defence drills either.  Our initial Passes are written up for the morning at Meeting Island and the dance contest with Meeting Island High School, (generally known as Althing Gate) who have quite a reputation here. Our twelve-hour Unlimited passes are signed off to run starting just afterwards – making a long day out indeed.

            A large box arrived just after breakfast for me – inside was a very nice headdress of traditional local make, decorated with sea shells and marine symbols – the only sign of its sender being an unsigned note “with complements.” I am quite sure that this is from the local Authorities - unlike the last anonymous parcel for us, I have no worries about accepting this one – and indeed wearing it to the dance contest, which we are attending in Costume.

            Molly looked very put-out, admiring the headdress, although I did my best to persuade her to hand over those thirty “hot items” she has left. She says she would rather stick to her guns – an apt way of putting it. The trouble may arrive when she gets asked firmly to hand things over, and cannot! Helen and myself have discussed how much to tell Molly - but how to persuade her to take things seriously enough, without revealing what we know? Missing out on an authentic piece of traditional Costume might be the least of her worries.

            Still, we soon had enough to worry us, with a crowd of about two hundred assembled at the beach, where we were scheduled second on the day’s events.  Quite nerve-wracking, and not the place for one’s grass skirt to part company.  The first dance was a team from our old rivals the S.I.T.H.S, with some familiar faces and tails on show, matched against a Main Village dance troupe. A very fine showing – they danced the Water Wave and the Samoan Swerve, the judges awarding the prize to the S.I.T.H.S. as we cheered them on. I have taken pains to teach Molly, Helen and Maria just what “play up and play the game!” means, but they don’t instinctively respond to it the way they might have, given a proper education.

            We were really up against it, for the first time playing a polished semi-professional team, who perform in public sponsored by the Althing and some local companies (notably a patent medicine manufacturer, whose “Snouto for healthy snouts!” advertising was all over the stands.) At least our Costume was impeccable – and indeed we needed all the confidence we could muster.

            Althing Gate came on in style, six reptile girls all looking rather older than us – Spontoon not having its own University, one assumes they have more senior classes than a regular High School would suggest. We knew we were in for an awful struggle, but we could hardly guess just what we were up against! Fortunately, Miss Aha had turned up on schedule, and again provided a fair account of our contest:

(Editor’s Note: the following scrap was found on the diary, but due to the “Daily Elele” apparently using only the cheapest and most frequently recycled paper, large sections have faded and crumbled away since 1935. It is reproduced here “as found” with no guarantees as to accuracy…)
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Today saw a return to public showdowns for the current Althing Gate champion team, set against the junior Songmark dance troupe of Bourne-Phipps, Duclos, Procyk and Inconnutia. The islanders line up /        / and Misses Taponona, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb in the front line  /          / fortunately NO repeat of their embarrassing incident last time with the banana. Miss Josephine Baker was never like that anyway.

Songmark started with a strong drive out from the base line/         / back flip/          /  with a lemon instead         /        /inadvertent splits, which left her more surprised than hurt, but Procyk carried on regardless.

            /        / second round showed a resurgence of Althing Gate, Taponona leading with a “breaker swirl” that quite got round the opposition and /             / deep into opposing territory, forward pass and /          / triumphant return to own ranks with a fine Maori- inspired victory chant that really had the windows rattling! Songmark drew up into a “Water Wall” formation and came out fighting, picking up the beat with more energy than we have seen them muster so far – not that there was anything lazy about their last public outing and two-one win against the Technical High School. Miss Inconnutia led a 1-2-1 diamond formation, dancing forward with /       / lock-step, pash-dance inspired and /       / hammerlock, double hammerlock, the judges /            / Triumph Of The Will, and other Euro fashions. It seemed to work for her!

            The third round saw both teams coming out of their start lines determined to wear each other down and /          / battle of attrition /      / palm sway /       / Typhoon Strike, in under the defenses and/         / Pataharapo snout to snout face-off with  /       / thirty minutes of gruelling non-stop dance, the fur really flying! Grubb looked half dead on her feet, swaying on her tail-tip more in exhaustion than dance, when the bell rang for the end of the round and they retired to their corners.

            Fourth round began with the band picking up on the spirit of competition themselves and /        / duelling saxophones, fuelled by copious
consumption of /     / an old Chicago jazz-club tradition by all accounts, and half-way through the number the impressively framed Lion “cut” his opponent with a louder, faster and higher performance that had both dance teams frantically struggling to keep up to a pace twice as fast than they ever practiced with! Bourne-Phipps led the comeback, launched herself into a splendid /      /  five times and a finale the like of which this reporter hasn’t seen since the Rain Island main dance band last Summer won by just one point, nine minutes into injury time.

            The judges had to go away and confer for five minutes on this one /        / requested a pair of dice and a coin apiece/          / ouija board or possibly /        / Althing Gate win 53/47 on points, in a contest that even the audience will have to go away and rest after watching!
>>>

Well ! Quite our best performance yet, and no complaints really about the score. I congratulated their team captain, a Miss Pataharapo, on a staggering performance – I was staggering myself by that time, and all her team looked decidedly “danced out” too.

            Rather shockingly, Molly and Maria looked highly annoyed with the result, Maria storming off to the showers. Anyone might think they hadn’t been brought up to know that it’s how you play the game that counts, not just the final score.  I will certainly need a word with Maria sometime.

            Still, we received our share of complements, the S.I.T.H.S. team coming over and congratulating us – Maria having already vanished, though. One would have said she flounced off, but if there’s one thing Maria doesn’t do, it is flounce. One of them recognised my headdress, and was very surprised that I had one – apparently it is a “wave crest” headdress, which was worn by the original inhabitants of what is now Casino Island. Every island had traditional variations in design, but with the original Accounting Island being given over to “Euro” settlement, their particular model stopped being made as a piece of everyday wear, now being only used for ceremonial occasions such as major festivals and weddings.

            I confessed that I felt somewhat odd, catching a glimpse of myself in the changing room mirror – to all outward appearances an Island girl dressed in fully authentic Costume, and wearing a headdress she might put on for her wedding day.

            Maria rudely broke me out of my mood, throwing down her towel and fuming sulfurously in Italian.  I did try and point out to her that all the Althing Gate team are born Spontoonies, and have been brought up on a daily exposure to dance tradition – probably they could all read a hula “story” before they could read a book. One hardly expects to win all the time, let alone against such experienced competition.

            Alas – Molly backed her up, with her “no second place winners” argument that I have tried to talk her out of before. I was under the impression, personally, that we were competing for sport – and nobody likes to play with a bad loser. I compete on the rifle ranges as a sport just the same (there is nothing unladylike about target shooting, my grandmother took the Women’s Rifle Cup at Bisley in ’94) whereas Molly’s idea is to blow the biggest holes in the targets as fast as possible. The staff on the Moon Islands range have learned to frisk Molly for mercury-cored rounds, pointing out it is a sporting range and not an Unsporting one.

            Maria is now going around fuming that our fitness levels are obviously not enough – hopefully this should incite her to get out of bed a little less reluctantly in the mornings. One supposes that being brought up on family rhetoric of crushing all obstacles by inherent superiority and a will of indomitable steel is just a little fragile – on the occasions where one loses.

            A far less strenuous afternoon, where by great good luck both Jirry and his brother Marti are free, in the height of tourist season. It seems they are booked to meet a tour boat that has been delayed by quarantine in the Latvian East Indies, and will be arriving tomorrow.  The Spontoon Guides’ Association is very strict on their members working the hours agreed, it seems – so Jirry gets paid regardless, but is forbidden from doing any other guide work today.

            Jirry pointed out the various guides working “freelance”, meeting tourists off the boats and trying to persuade them to head out on expensive day-trips. Not all of them are entirely honest by all accounts, but they are required to take examinations in Island navigation and history – rather like taxi drivers, they have to know the tourist trails even in the dark.

            To the cinema, with a fine and exceptionally Stark German “film noir” that had us quite gripping our seats in suspense. Jirry says it is a great relief, after working with Little Shirley for most of last month. I confess that I was most exceptionally pleased to see him – and very grateful to have a wholly free afternoon. The newsreel afterwards was interesting as ever, with news from Home as well as Europe. There was a feature on those very modern, updated sort of national Scouts the Germans have – they looked most dashing filmed on one of their mass rallies.  Quite some distances they march, too – it looks like they could march all across Europe if they put their minds to it!

            Afterwards – a half-hour boat ride across to South Island, to the remoter West-facing coast to catch up on things. Really, it is most surprising – the more hard work we get through, the more energetic I feel – and Jirry remarked that he would have to put in some more exercises himself, to keep up. Quite a complement, indeed!  A most pleasant afternoon, and I must confess that Molly was right about one thing – the Precautions the local girls use are FAR more agreeable.

10th June, 1935

Maria is showing a lot of the “Will of Iron” this morning, though I could wish she was practicing it on someone else! She roused us at four, and chivvied us around the inside track of the compound for two hours – after which she insisted we go through our self-defence drills – on a Sunday, no less. Molly commented she can be expecting little good of her church congregation, if this is how she prepares on a Sunday morning.

            Beryl was up early and joined us for a fivesome – self-defence of two against three, in various combinations. She was very keen on the idea, and says she truly misses some aspects of her old school. We had to lay down some ground rules about biting, clawing, gouging and various “low blows” but otherwise she proved very happy to practice with us, and promises she will teach us the “Roedean nerve pinch”.

            Definitely not a relaxing Sunday. The weather had been scorchingly hot and dry for a week, with steady baking winds from right across the subtropics, the tropics and (Beryl claims) the supertropics.  Someone gave the alarm just as we were finishing breakfast – a brush fire on the island, out on the Northern tip! 
            It was impressive to see how fast the second and third-years turned out, heading out of the compound towards the depot at the airfield, where the fire truck was already heading out along the coast. The locals were passing out fire brooms and beaters, this being a fairly common event in high summer, Spontoon being full of relaxed (for which read careless) tourists who are far too busy having fun to worry about where their cigar butts and picnic bottles end up.

            Our Tutors called for volunteers – and indeed they got them, all of us. Songmark itself has enough fire-fighting equipment to handle small blazes (we have all heard about the cookhouse inferno last summer, when Noota tried to demonstrate how to deep-fry a thresher shark) and we have had basic training as to using them.

            As we trotted North with a beater apiece, Molly was commenting that with her luck, the fun would be over before she got a sniff of it. Definitely tempting providence to claim that, I thought – and indeed I was right. I do so hate being right sometimes.

            We were assigned to the Western coast, the fire on the East being tackled already – and we cheered as one of the converted Osprey water-bombers flew overhead, dropping its rainstorm on the main blaze. All looked quite under control – until the wind gusted and changed direction,  showering us with sparks!

            All the heavy equipment and the trained crews were off at the main fire site on the Eastern side of the island – the island road goes round the coast one way to the North through the burning area, and to the South one must skirt LONO hill and the airfield to get back to our side, easily two miles.  So it was just what Helen calls the “Little league” cut off  with just our fire brooms and sparks raining down around us.  A hectic time ensued – us first-year Songmark girls and some of the staff,  beating out each flare-up as it took light, and making sure that our retreat to the beach was kept open.

            One can definitely have too much excitement for a Sunday morning. The first water-bomber made another two passes, then a second one appeared (finding a pilot awake early on a Sunday is generally a problem) but it was another three hours before the last embers were being damped down. The fire truck had been busy spraying the buildings and (partly wooden) transmitter masts of the radio station on the hilltop – we had been definitely alarmed to see the transmitters wreathed in spirals of flames and smoke from the scrub alight on the slopes below.

            It was well past noon before we could troop back down the hill, and hand our brooms in. The fire truck provided us a welcome shower – such a collection of singed fur and smoke-rimmed eyes I have never seen. Beryl says it reminds her of her old school, where they have progressive chemistry teachers who seem to teach more about explosives, incendiary mixes and phosphorus than might be really wise.

            Maria was quite disconsolate about missing her church service, the only time since October she has failed to attend, apart from the week of the Papeete Influenza epidemic. Molly pointed out that she could regard this as a scripture practical, as she gets to climb a mount and witness a burning bush at first hand – several of them, in fact.

            One should remember how seriously Maria takes her religion – fortunately, our self-defence courses are building up very sharp reflexes. Maria is stronger, but Molly is extremely quick – we found energy to laugh as they found energy to vanish down the road, Maria in rather slow-motion pursuit with her beater swinging menacingly round her head. (With any luck, today should dampen down Molly’s unfortunate enthusiasm for setting things on fire,  having seen the results.)

            A pleasant reward for our efforts – our cooks had been fighting the fires alongside us, so there was no lunch ready. But down by the airfield, Mahanish’s bar and restaurant had thrown its doors open in gratitude – for anyone smelling of smoke and burned fur, luncheon was “on the house”.

     Our Tutors are a practical lot, and rarely refuse the offer of feeding us for free. I hate to think what the Songmark food bill comes to – possibly it explains why they serve us so much locally grown Poi. Happily, Mahanish’s had a rather better menu, though everything but the chilli was “off” by the time we were served.  Maria complained she had come near enough today to being burned up externally, let alone internally – but I noticed she still had seconds.

     A quiet afternoon on the beach, washing some of the smoke out of our fur.  As our Tutors were along, this was a semi-official trip and Songmark bathing costumes were the order of the day – very smart to be sure, but this time yesterday I think I looked rather better in minimal Native costume. Plus – for certain reasons, it would have been rather embarrassing to have worn an official Songmark costume yesterday and hand it in to our laundry.

            Despite all our good meals, we seem to be “reducing” rather rapidly, with all this exercise in the hot weather. One sees many of the more
impressive native gentlemen of “Euro” stock with quite strikingly well-defined muscles – and it looks like we are heading the same way. I hope things do not progress too far, as I now quite adore my Rachorska dress, and want to fit in it awhile longer.

            (Evening). Tonight I had a sharp lesson in what Father calls the Responsibilities of Command. I had been having such a very pleasant time yesterday that it quite slipped my memory to check what the rest of my dorm had been doing. Helen and Maria I can trust (that is to say, I can trust Maria as much as a block of dynamite – quite safe in normal handling.) But Molly had been out distinctly unchaperoned, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with a certain stag of most shady repute. I really do not know what I can do about Molly; she takes no care of her reputation!

            Molly was quite gleeful about her and Lars, who she says is “sophisticated” – though I pointed out she can hardly fault the Spontoonies on that score either, at least the ones who watch stark German Film Noir.  I should have probably kept my mouth closed, as she detailed how “sophisticated” he was with her, something she seems to be greatly enjoying. Oh my!

13th June 1935

More climbing practice – we are moving onto trees and buildings next week, but today we finished this part of the course with a definitely memorable climb. An early start (cold breakfast at six) and onto specially ordered water taxis to the southern villages of Main Island. Of course, one is overlooked by the great main face of Mount Kiribatori – easily three thousand feet of naked rock rising from the jungle and plantations, the last thousand of them perfectly sheer.  Maria has seen the Matterhorn, and says that it only needs snow to make it a very passable twin.

            Fortunately, we were not expected to do the whole thing, and in fact the main face is still famous for being unclimbed (“unclimbable” as the guides say to tourists). Miss Pelton pointed out our route, an obvious crack angled across the lower slopes heading towards a green spur with a footpath down marked on the map.

            I managed to take a peek over Miss Pelton’s shoulder at her map – it is very different from any of the others we have seen, being far more detailed with networks of trails we have never seen before. One wonders where she got it, and who else might have them – certainly, there is nothing remotely similar in the shops.

            Our tutors led the climb – that is, Miss Wildford went on ahead to secure the safety rope, and Miss Pelton followed up the rear.  Our five dorms were each on a “rope” climbing separately, without any further instruction – and just our luck, we were picked to go first.

            Dear Diary – I know I complained about the fire being rather too exciting a way to spend a Sunday morning, but scrambling across a rock face with a drop of five hundred feet below one’s tail, is probably too exciting for any day of the week.

            At least, we showed our tutors how well we had learned our lessons – there was a particularly tricky piece of vertical rock chimney that I could wriggle up, but Maria had to head-jam her way along. Her horns proved useful, and happily she has the neck muscles to match – especially recently. Twenty yards of extremely “exposed” paw and snout-jamming followed, with some admittedly spectacular views (a lot of empty air, especially straight down. None of us at Songmark suffer from vertigo, but I personally would have preferred the view with an aircraft under me.)

            It was two and a half hours of definitely hard work, made harder by the wear on the nerves. I think we all slipped at least twice, though nobody actually fell on our rope. Madelene X took a tumble of about five feet before being held by the rope – dangling over enough space to use a parachute certainly makes one careful about the quality of the knots and rope involved. One wonders how Missy K managed to fit through the narrow part – presumably the way toothpaste fits through the hole in the tube. But by noon we were all up on the knoll, ruefully comparing scrapes and bruises.

      A very welcome hour for lunch, lying flat on the short grass looking out over Casino Island with the tour boats and water-taxis looking like water-insects far below us. Molly is ruefully rubbing some parts of her anatomy and speculating that our Tutors may be getting handouts and sponsorship from local medical companies such as “Snouto, the patent snout reviver”.

     One supposes it is a fine character-building exercise, after all – back home Archbishop Crowley was famous for scaling the nine hundred feet of loose chalk face of Beachy Head solo, even before reaching his current post of leadership. Everyone knows how he carried out so many and so radical Church reforms, more than anyone did.

            Amazingly, even on today’s trip Beryl carried her perpetual deck of cards. I have been taking instruction from Molly and Helen, who have been trying to bring me up to scratch on poker, acey-deucey and three-card stud (back at St. Winifred’s, we only played snap and Happy Families.) Beryl is a very accomplished player, and her winning streak even had Molly fuming. According to Molly, cheating is a recognised technique, and half the skill is in not being detected. It seems Beryl has acquired some very definite skills at her old school - if  she was as sharp elsewhere as she is with cards, you could cut glass with her.

            A brisk slide and scramble down to Lukapa, the Polynesian village on the coast, where we awaited the water taxi home – and witnessed an interesting side to local life. In the market square, we noticed a smartly dressed gentleman in Euro clothes haranguing the passing natives, although he was without the traditional soapbox to stand on. We spotted that he was a Missionary – a stridently fundamentalist Unitarian one,clearly over from Casino Island to make converts. It was quite interesting to hear his vision of the future: without anyone changing their existing religion he predicts the whole population will be converted to Unitarianism too, forcibly if needs be.

            Although all sorts of churches and temples are on Casino Island, everyone knows that Main Island is strictly off-limits to theological press-gangs, though we had not seen the (highly unofficial) rule being put to the test before. After twenty minutes a local constable came over and had a quiet word with him. He left, though vowing to be back – much to Molly’s disgust, as she had picked out a box full of spoiled fruit she was preparing to throw as soon as any of the locals started it.

            Beryl had if anything a larger collection, and was just filling discarded fruit rinds with rocks when the constable chivvied her target away. She seemed very disappointed, and commented “the things you see when you haven’t got your croquet mallet.”

            I have examined that croquet mallet – the head appears to be ordinary wood, but is in fact four pounds of steel painted with wood-grain. Whatever else you may say about Beryl, she is loyally carrying on her old school traditions.

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