A quiet week for us, but a definitely hectic one for the second-years, as next week will be for the senior year. Then – it will be farewell to Noota, Erica and Conchita, as they start scraping up money for their transport company. As our tutors are busy this week, the third-years have us under their wing much of the time, passing on some skills that are rarely mentioned in the timetable.

            Quite an exercise – a sort of evolved version of “hide and seek”,  with us tracking down an errant Songmark pupil on the island. For the first test Beryl was selected, amongst mouse squeals of outraged innocence (very realistic, and probably well-practiced.) She complained that Missy K would be a better candidate for a “runner”, as she knows the island much better. Considering she is easily twice Beryl’s size, I think our seniors got it right first time.

            I had watched Father’s troops scouting on exercises over many years, but we have to work rather differently. Unlike other organisations we can hardly show up with search warrants, and are discouraged from interrogating passers-by. Discretion and thoroughness are the things we have to remember – and the fact that someone with just the same training may well not want to be found.

            Anyway, Beryl was given ten minute’s head start – after which we split into teams and decided just how to go about it. A “wheeling” line of the twenty of us started out between the compound and the docks, and we swept around the island like the hands of a clock, just as in Maria’s manual (as we thought, it is an Infantry training guide.) Molly was complaining that we were on the outside of the sweep, and had twice as much ground to cover as some – but we are probably twice as fit as the rest, and managed quite happily. As it happened it was Jasbir who found our missing student – sunbathing on the roof of Mahanish’s, invisible from the street below, but not from half way up LONO hill.

            Beryl was very sniffy when she heard Jasbir had spotted her with field-glasses – but nobody had said anything about what equipment we were allowed. The next stage would to have asked our tutors if we could have extra flying lessons, and spot her from the air – even so, had she been bending over an engine crate in mechanic’s overalls we would never have seen her at that range.

            Ada Cronstein was next, as we all heard her running flat out for the gate – a smart move, as it was two hours before we found her still inside the compound reading “Spicy Island Adventures”, having doubled back before we started out after her. An interesting exercise, decidedly improving the wits as well as the stamina. One supposes it is an easy way for our tutors to keep us out of mischief – and it may one day be a very useful skill, knowing how to both find and not be found ourselves.

10th July, 1935

It has been quite a thrilling few days, with the third-years chasing us around the islands – today we were on South Island, with a hide-and-seek in a small patch of jungle – I lasted about ten minutes before being spotted. I had thought I was being careful, with cutting leaves to attach to my costume – but I should have moved well away from the tree I cut them from, which was suddenly a very conspicuous shape and led the searchers right onto me.

            Beryl won the morning’s chase, having managed to dig herself a very rapid trench and cover it over – had Missy K not stepped on her, she might have stayed there all day. Helen had tried the trick one sees in Tarzan films, of submerging in a pond and breathing through a hollow reed – unfortunately, if the pond is calm enough one can hardly help moving the reed enough to make ripples.

            Beryl claims she had not noticed it, but was demonstrating a trick she had learned in her old school swimming pool – hitting the water hard enough within a few yards of a swimmer, is as good as “depth-charging” a submarine. Poor Helen came up spluttering with her paws over her ringing ears, and a spirited mud-throwing duel ensued.

            On the way back, we fell in with some locals who had been doing much the same thing, by the look of the vegetation one still had fixed to his costume (their costume was mostly local vegetation anyway.) The oldest one explained they were junior tourist guides, and were practicing guiding naturalists around without disturbing the wildlife. 

            One certainly learns to concentrate ears and nose when being hunted – that part of South Island was old “ten-yard jungle”, so called by the furthest distance one can see in it. There are patches of “three yard” jungle further in, which are quite disconcerting – it is like being in a leafy room no larger than our bathroom and far more crowded.

            The third-years are certainly more easy-going than our tutors, within limits – we stopped off on the way back to the coastal hotels for an hour’s break. Nootnops Blue all round, which many of them were predicting they could never get at home! Molly notes that it would be a fine product to import, at least until someone discovered what the active ingredients were.

            Beryl seems to have a remarkable tolerance for drinking inflammable beverages, something she says was in full production in her old Home Economics classes – but I think I will take her cookery tales with a grain of salt. However, to use her own phrase she certainly has a “head like teak” to judge by the quantity of locally distilled Arak she got through and still walked in a relatively straight line.

            Noota seems very downhearted at leaving Songmark, despite the interesting plans she and her friends have. I have never seen anyone get through a bottle of wine that fast since Archbishop Crowley came to dinner.

(Memo to myself: the Archbishop seemed to be used to it, and could keep it down perfectly well, as well as the bottle after it. On the choppy seas heading back to Eastern Island, Noota did NOT. I should continue to avoid mixing wine and Nootnops, it gets very messy.)

11th July, 1935

An interesting excursion, though we did not have too far to travel – over to Superior Engineering, where some of the third-years have taken part-time jobs they are now finishing with.  Although we have been there many times before, this time there is something new - there are half a dozen vacancies available to help with the wind-tunnel they are building on Moon Island.

            Although I have of course seen pictures in books, this was my first sight of a real tunnel – about the size of a small longhouse, with the working section about four feet across by ten long. Most of the rest is ducting and a huge radial engine that came from a crashed French seaplane – after being salvaged from the bottom of the lagoon it will never be certified airworthy again, but should find a useful second career firmly bolted to the ground.

            Quite a project! I suppose the tunnel can run tenth-scale models of most common aircraft (the only bigger ones such as the Caproni Ca60 and the Dornier X are already hugely successful and need no improvement). The specialist instrumentation is ordered and on its way, mostly from Switzerland, to Irma Bundt’s great joy. Our Swiss Miss rarely sees much from her home, as unlike most of Europe, Switzerland has very few colonies in the Pacific. Even Zara from the second-year sees the occasional flight passing through to her countryfolk in the Albanian South Indies.

            Erica has worked quite a bit at Superior, which is a fine way of getting in practical experience and even getting paid for it. She pointed out the owner and his sons; a fine family business if ever there was one. It is a good place to make contacts, she tells me – all sorts of aircraft and boats pull in for repairs, and in a year of even part-time work there might be a hundred or more people floating or flying round the Pacific grateful that your structural welding is still holding up.

            Out with passes to another organisation we have heard a lot about from Erica, the Friends Of German Opera. It is an interesting experience, after seeing so much of the Spontoonie dancing and entertainment – a room full of “Hula Junkers” and such folk earnestly discussing ancient folklore tales of the Rheinland and the Black Forest. To judge from the pictures, there is a lot of interest in “Rhine Maidens”, who seem to have an awful lot in common with certain Natives the guide books do not mention. An interesting notion – were there once Natives Of No Riverbank?

            Erica introduced me to Doctor Kubelsberg, who is not only a keen opera supporter but a very famous archaeologist; according to Erica they met up on the canine-only Yap Island last summer. The Doctor (or more accurately “Herr Doktor”) has been working in the atolls around Spontoon, where he says there are fascinating remains of unknown civilisations that will surprise the world when his great book is finished.

            From what I had heard of the Krupmark Islands, they are certainly an interesting place – being full of smugglers and suspected pirates, they feature as a setting in many of the more lurid works of fiction on the shelves. Any actual films supposed to be set there are shot in Spontoon, where the film crews are less liable to be robbed to their fur or held to ransom.

            Erica whispered that Songmark’s most successful team have been known to pass through the Krupmark group, although they will not be invited back to give us lectures on how they achieved their success. Not that they have to, there was an article on the ‘Air Pyrate Queen of the South China Seas’ in last month’s issue of Molly’s ‘True Crimes Illustrated’ which had a full business plan for interested amateurs to look at.

            Still, those islands seem a good place to avoid – unlike Doktor Kubelberg I have no reason to go there, for which I am quite grateful! Spontoon is exciting enough to explore, despite the hordes of tourists taking miles of (doubtless badly exposed) film of everything than moves, then starting on everything that cannot dodge.
 

13th July, 1935

A busy day indeed – we are no longer on our term timetable, having indeed finished with the exams – but we seem to be listed on someone’s timetable for useful voluntary work (for which read, free labour.)  The whole first and third year worked on the SIRA project today, helping survey the new course. Aircraft speeds are improving, and the old layout had too many twists and turns to give a chance for them to show their full-throttle performance. 

            Anyway, we were busy with surveying gear making sure the measured miles really are measured miles – it would be awfully embarrassing for someone to set a world record and then have to cancel it for the sake of a ten-yard error! Maria was looking rather wistful at the distant Schneider Trophy entrants, commenting that at least I should get to see them race even if I do not manage a flight in one.

            Helen is definitely worried as to what we can do in the holidays, as we have really one week to decide. The third-years have their exams and in theory finish up next Friday, their certificates could be sent on to them afterwards although all are staying till the farewell party on the Monday after. After that – we fly off the edge of the map, one might say.

            Actually, I took a deep breath and paid out ten cowries for a postcard – Mr. Sapohatan did say he might have some jobs for us, and it would be better to be on their side than wondering what we might stumble onto next. So Post Box Nine received our “application form” today, and we await the reply with interest. 

            Asking around, Helen and myself are not the only first-years who are staying in the area – Beryl is too, having engaged a room in what she says is a rather nice hotel on Casino Island. At least, she says it suits her right to the ground – which should be a sight worth seeing.

14th July, 1935

A piece of good news for Jirry and the rest of the locals in the film trade – Molly received her copy of “Film Frolics” today, and the next Little Shirley Shrine film * is not being shot on Spontoon.  Molly is still downcast, as it is to be filmed in Cuba, where she will be passing through in ten day’s time. Still, it is a big island and one doubts Little Shirley’s agents and managers will be setting it anywhere Molly would want to visit.

            Despite everything, Molly continues to be cynical about the honesty of the world at large. After we unwisely exposed ourselves to the first Spontoon screening of “Good Ship Sherbet Dip” she declared the film was not really about sweets at all. Although she has sworn to stay well clear of what she claims it advertises, she needed two bottles of Nootnops Blue to make her stop twitching after unprotected exposure to two hours of film.

            A reply from Post Box Nine! Ironically, the very same design of postcard I sent yesterday, with just the message “Employment accepted – will be in touch” and nothing else.

            Molly is in excellent mood, having also received another two tickets to a SIRA function on Monday – a more informal one after the first amateur races. She asked for and received passes for the both of us – Miss Devinski commenting that we should stick together, and unless we returned together there would be trouble. Certainly, Molly cannot trot around the place without a chaperone, especially not wearing that dress.

            Dance classes were fine as ever, though Beryl did drop in and heckle somewhat. Our dance teacher Mrs. Motorabho is certainly very vocal, though referring to her as “Mrs. Motormouth” is definitely not respectful. Maria and Irma Bundt offered to teach Beryl some dance moves involving compressing a mouse into a ball and using her for Netball practice – at which she very wisely quieted down.

         *Editor’s Note: pasted in the diary is a faded clipping, identified as a review from Film Frolics. The reviewer notes – “Having danced and sang in exotic locations such as Eastern Siberia (The Little Commissar) and the Spontoon Isles (The Good Ship Sherbet Dip) the hopefully inimitable moppet is set to wreak havoc with the hearts and minds of Cuba with her latest project (Baby, take a dive). Sadly this is not a cliff-diving epic according to the studio’s pre-release notes, but “a heart-warming tale set in the illegal sporting underworld of bare-knuckle playground prize-fighters.””

15th July, 1935

Just the kind of day they leave out of the tourist brochures – yesterday I overheard two tourists who Helen said were from California marvelling at how green everything was in high summer – presumably they now know how it stays that way. (Radio LONO was reporting an inch of rain before lunchtime, and after that it got really damp.) 

            The sermon was dull to the equivalent of Schneider-trophy level quality, and I almost nodded off myself, although I reminded myself that Helen needed waking up lest we miss our second religious lessons with Saimmi. She is always on time – and congratulated us that we were staying over for the summer. News travels fast around here, at least to some people – we had not discussed our plans with our Tutors, even! I feel sure Saimmi receives some of her news via Post Box Nine, though I hardly like to ask her about it.

            We are learning quite a bit, indeed – I had left my second notebook with Saimmi last week, for her to check through my drawings and see if I have missed anything (the pictographs are really quite descriptive, and Saimmi notes that if one can read a hula one can get the general idea of these.)

            (Later) Ada Cronstein seems to have just heard about our going to two “churches” on our Sundays, and is decidedly shocked at the idea. A somewhat flaming argument ensued, which ended fairly abruptly when I remembered last month she had sent off for one of those improved high-speed electric ouija boards one sees advertised in the back pages of “Unscientific American”. Not that I am qualified to judge, but I should have thought that counted as an incompatible second belief system just as much as ours.  Besides, a lot of the Spontoonie religion seems to be perfectly innocent and respectable folklore – that, or there is an awful lot going on we have not seen as yet. We had asked about Crater Lake, but Saimmi merely smiled and told us that its secret was a very different one than Sacred Island.

            The wind was blowing from Moon Island, and we could hear the booming of the wind tunnel on test – unfortunately the tunnel turns out to resonate like a giant organ-pipe. G flat in major key, I believe. Our tutor Herr Bussmann is packing his notebooks and gleefully rubbing his paws at the prospect of doing some real research on vibrations – before the more practically minded engineers at Superior start experimenting with the outlet tube by cutting bits off.

            Irma Bundt is cocking a bovine ear wistfully at the sound, reminded she says of the folk music of her homeland. An inspiring thought, though carrying an instrument that size must make life difficult for street musicians.

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