16th July 1935 The last Monday of term! By all accounts our Tutors are at their absolutely busiest – after all, this is the last chance the third-years get, and they are sparing no effort. Furthermore, as the second-years are still wandering around looking dazed after last week or vanished on “exploring trips” with native company, we are quite left to our own devices. Prudence’s dorm vanished after breakfast to South Island, where they have all-day Passes for a Netball championship match – anyway, there is Netball advertised today and they may indeed play a quick match, but I rather think they and their friends may have other plans for the day. At least, when Jasbir offered to come along and cheer, they hurriedly vanished towards the docks leaving “no forwarding address” as the old song has it. We decided to head out for a swim, and watch the Schneider Trophy amateur races, their course running from a loop around Meeting Island to some tall poles specially set up on the northern tip of Eastern Island. Molly was rather scratching her head as she asked why they are not racing round the LONO towers which are already there – until Helen pointed out the contestants will head as close to the towers as they can to tighten the turn, and especially in the amateur events they are not quite guaranteed to miss. A scorching afternoon, half of it spent in the water between races and half relaxing on the beach with our field glasses watching the competitors. Two very fine civilian Ecorsairs won the first round, and an M-4 “Hammerhead” the second, its wingtip almost brushing the marker pole as it went by not a hundred feet above us. I found myself wondering when I would see those “Sea Fleas” in action – they cannot quite turn square corners in the air, but come closer than any other aircraft I have seen. While Molly amused herself setting fire to driftwood with a binocular lens, Helen and I decided on what to do next week as a backup plan. Even if Mr. Sapohatan has some work for us, it is hardly likely to be a full timetable such as Songmark’s, and there is no guessing as to when we will be contacted. We have a standing invitation to stay with the Hoele’toemi family on South Island, which should certainly be fun. For the first time we will be really on our own, our Tutors and the senior years not around to bale us out in emergencies – having Jirry’s family about should make things much easier. A fascinating sight off the West-facing coast, what looked like someone surfing on the almost flat waters! With the binoculars I recognised Daphne, who seemed to be balanced on a log but somehow making about twelve knots through the water. We shook the sand out of our fur and trotted down to the little beach just North of Superior Engineering – to see Daphne riding in to shore, where Erica and some of her class stood by with welding gas cylinders and a fuel bowser. It seems that even in the final week the third-years get an afternoon off – and are putting it to good use. Most inspiring - a good example to us of how to make the most of one’s time.
One lives and learns – if one “borrows” a practice torpedo from the Naval base and empties the sand from the dummy warhead, it rides nose-up and quite buoyant enough to support a (very skilled) surfer. I assume Daphne has a friend or two over there who are not too bothered about her taking a last chance to borrow their inventory so long as it comes back with the oxygen and petrol tanks as full as when she started. Molly insisted on having a try, but anyone could have told her a flat board rather than a smooth metal tube would be better for a first lesson. Falling off is what I would call predictable – indeed, Helen comments that the phrase “easy as falling off a log” could use some modernisation. (Later) Molly and I received our last passes as first-years from a rather harried-looking Miss Devinski, who waved us off and dived back into a pile of marking. Of course, we were in our pressed and cleaned Songmark uniforms, notebooks and cameras very much in evidence – which we then dropped off at the dorm before heading out carrying our dresses and accessories in somewhat larger bags, heading for the water taxis. Meeting Island was as packed as I have seen it, as this is a semi-public event with all the racing teams, their support crews and anyone else who could argue a ticket to talk to the intrepid aviators and aviatrixes. We were introduced to the owners of the Ecorsair that had won the afternoon’s race so handily – and to the owner of that fascinating home-built “Spirit Of Yucaipa III” that had flown the course at about twelve feet above the waves, sticking to “ground effect” all the way. This time round, I had made up my mind to match Molly style for style, as best I could. We dashed into the powder room and emerged ten minutes later looking very different – having looked at her new dress, I felt almost jealous. Of course, I could afford one quite like it tomorrow; although certainly it would cost about three weeks’ allowance, there has really been very little I need to buy at Songmark. Molly is as well provided – as she says, it would be one thing for Lars to make such a present to a poor girl, but quite another to choose it for her. It is the thought than counts this way, not the price. I had wondered why her new Rachorska was in oiled silk, unlike my plain one – until someone jogged an elbow and spilled wine over Molly. The oiled fabric does not show staining or dampness at all, and is very sheer. It is very plain indeed that there is nothing under it but Molly. A most splendid evening – Lars turned up “fashionably late” as they say, and had the first three dances with Molly – who seemed quite entranced, more so than usual. To judge from her scent it is just as well the dress fabric is oiled. Indeed, to save embarrassment (mine, not hers) we stepped out into the cooler air of an arbour looking across to the lights of Casino Island. Even so, there were various snouts twitching at the trail of perfume she was leaving, a scent she definitely did not buy from any shop. Lars is a wonderful dancer, and makes one feel as if there is nobody else in the room with you. I
definitely remember we had a most delightful time, and it feels like we
danced till dawn – though the clock only read eleven when we returned to
Songmark, to find Helen waiting up for us with a worried expression. Helen
took one sniff at Molly and frog-marched her off to the showers, and to
my surprise suggested I follow her. Still, it was a decidedly warm evening
for dancing. 18th July, 1935 A day of great surprises, not entirely welcome ones for many people. The land-based aircraft races were scheduled for just after breakfast (Racing aircraft tend to be poor at getting off the ground in full afternoon heat) and most of our year were sitting on the slopes of LONO hill looking out over the runway. I had my radio with me, now disguised as a parasol, with the battery concealed in my hand-grip (Beryl’s idea, as she pointed out a lead and acid-filled handbag can be put to a variety of uses.) The radio announcer was running through the contestants, and mentioning there was a Russian team scheduled who had not turned up – when we might have been the first to spot his error. Prudence was the first to point out an unexpected dot on the North-Western horizon – she had been looking out over Main Island to Tahni’s village, discussing with her dorm what to buy for her friend’s birthday tomorrow (what do you give the girl who has Everything?). I saw her tail twitch, and heard her give a yelp of surprise – not the only one from our group as everyone with binoculars trained them that direction. All we saw at first were four dots, heading almost straight for us – in three minutes they seemed little bigger. Another five minutes resolved them into two large flying boats, and two aircraft we have seen before – the unmistakably huge Kalinin K-7s, one of which just stretched the last of its fuel and a following typhoon tailwind to get here in our first term. Everyone was wondering how they had got here – when Madelene X spotted something very strange. One of the flying boats was flying about a wingspan above and ahead of the giant 7-engined bomber, linked to it by a hose pipe that looked thread-thin from that distance – and we remembered the story of how the K-7 which arrived last year was going to attempt to return home using mid-air refuelling. As if that was not enough, as the formation approached we could see there were more aircraft in the group than we had thought. Under the each wing the K-7s carried a sleek-looking fighter of a model that had us flicking through our recognition manuals in vain – four in all, which as they wheeled and separated over the central lagoon, the carrier K-7s dropped into free flight. It may be an unorthodox way of arriving, but the Soviets have definitely studied the rules. Each fighter made a “touch and go” on the runway, then flew the course at what looked like record speed, before climbing to rejoin their flying aircraft-carriers! The rules only say that the flight must start and finish on the runway, as nobody had been thinking of this approach. Looking at the four main aircraft, one can imagine how the Soviets probably did it – position flying-boats along the route with a fuel tanker ship to provision them, and meet up with the Kalinin flying overhead. Which gets round a lot of problems, certainly – assuming they can refuel reliably. It would be awfully embarrassing to get the hose knotted or suchlike half way over the Pacific, though of course the flying-boat crew would at least be on hand for rescue. The Kalinins have what look like long lances protruding from the wing outboard of the outermost engines, presumably linked to their fuel tanks. Not an easy exercise one would have thought, and the prospects of getting a trailing fuel-filled hose caught in one’s propeller must make even their boldest pilots pause for thought. This
could quite change things – putting most of the Pacific within range, however
tenuously. The radio announcer seemed definitely impressed and shocked
at the same time – much as Father told me everyone was when Bleriot flew
across the English Channel for the first time. The difference being, Bleriot
was not flying the world’s largest bomber under the orders of the Red Bird,
Ioseph Starling. The notion of a bomber force that can not only reach
here but also bring its own fighters along for the ride must be a very
uncomfortable thought for anyone underneath it. “Good fences make good
neighbours” as the saying goes, and I expect a lot of folk in these islands
will be wishing the Pacific was a bit wider. 19th July, 1935 Our Tutors are certainly keeping us busy, in a remote-control sort of way – our class returned to Superior Engineering, taking “exams” in various aeronautical crafts and skills. They have four vacancies left to fill – and with their reputation they have to be exceedingly careful to keep high standards in quality and materials. Luxury indeed – a fully equipped workshop, with electric welding torches and every tool known to aeronautics – we all got in some practice on metal scraps and offcuts. A very different experience than my own efforts back home – I thought at the time that there had to be a better fastening for Flying Flea #1’s main spar than cow-heel glue and sixpenny nails. Although one of the Schneider trophy entries was on the slipway having a float repaired after hitting some driftwood, no part-time apprentices will be working on such a prestigious project. It seems there is another price class of repair – guaranteed quality but not guaranteed delivery time. We were shown an old Junkers F13 that was in for the economy service – it was decidedly battered, and someone had added insult to injury by applying a paint scheme that is simply painful to look at. Possibly an anarchist painter decorated it, at any rate it is a riot of colour. Helen was all for showing our keenness and cleaning it thoroughly with a sand-blaster, but alas the owner had specified the decor was to stay as it is. Instead, we were invited to look around the old airframe, maybe 15 years old – mercifully all aluminium, or it would surely have succumbed to rust and rot by now – and suggest what we would do for it. (Molly’s suggestion was not too helpful, although I would like to see Superior’s new aluminium smelting furnace in action myself.) I pointed out various stress cracks and dents, and marked where I thought of drilling “crack-stop” holes – that or fabricate new parts entirely. A fine lunch in Raving Jake’s Bistro, on the waterfront. Prudence was greatly cheered by hearing her favourite singer being played on the victrola, the ukulele-torturing George Formless. His latest record is all the rage back home, which makes staying here on Spontoon more palatable. “I’m looking for a lamp-post on the corner of the street, in case a certain little lady comes by” is of course a song that appeals to canines (especially ones such as Prudence) though she hints that the original music-hall lyrics were rather cruder. Everyone else was talking of their trip home, indeed many are heading out on Saturday. Quite a few were wishing they could stay onSpontoon, especially Carmen and Belle from Prudence’s dorm. Carmen hails from Mixtexca (chief exports, raw rubber and pickled chillies) and Belle is from the American Bible Belt (chief exports, belts and bibles) and by their accounts neither of them have exactly fitted in with polite Society back there. I recall Belle walking around somewhat dazed in our first week having seen the minimal fashions sported by some of the native girls – at the time I assumed it was just culture shock, before I spotted her tail hardly stopped thrashing all day. Beryl
is very quiet as to her plans for the holidays – evidently we will find
out all in good time – though preferably not in the newspaper headlines.
I have no idea what she will do, except she has been expounding various
“sure-fire” strategies folk at her old school had worked out for blackjack
and “chemin-de-fer”. Which translates as “Railway” in my French
phrasebook – most mysterious, as I am told there have been none working
on these islands in the past ten years. 20th July, 1935 The last day of term! Strictly speaking we are officially here tomorrow, but the third-years are the only ones staying through the weekend – they are all holding a major celebration as they graduate, whereas some of our own class are leaving on evening flights tonight. A splendid last day, with absolutely scorching weather tempered by a brisk breeze from the West. We had a surprising aeronautical encounter that was not listed on the Schneider Trophy timetable – in about half an hour a dozen two-meter size silk balloons touched down on Eastern Island, and a couple could be seen floating in the bay. Jasbir swam out to get one, and discovered it had carried commercial confectionery samples all the way from Japan, including a worldwide reply-paid postcard to let its senders know how well they had aimed it. Quite an achievement, to reach these islands with only an altimeter and release timer, although I am sure several missed completely. The samples were a type of oriental pickled plum that I sampled myself, and hurriedly donated to Li Han who dotes on them. (Later) Our Tutors were decidedly busy on marking and discussing the third-year’s final scores, and only a few second-years were to be seen running Song Sodas. Missy K already has her name down for that job next year, though I fear she will leave little ice cream for any customers. Still, it is a pleasantly cool spot at this time of year, and one quite pleasantly scented, unless someone orders the locally produced Durian Ripple. I can generally spot when Prudence and Tahni are in the place, as the Hyena girl is a great fan of extra-ripe Durians. I was taking shelter in the cool shade by the ice boxes just scenting the wares – when I scented something, or rather someone very familiar. Of course, Lars had come to say farewell to Molly – what could be more natural? Still, she could hardly go out unchaperoned – something neither objected to, which always surprises Maria. The southern tip of this island is most scenic, with a small farm and plantations of sugar cane hiding the beaches from the main settled area, and a pleasant view out over towards Sacred Island. Molly was quite keen to make sure Lars did not forget her before September, though she had whispered to me earlier to keep an eye on him if I could. It is most odd, looking back through the past terms and seeing how I have quite changed my mind about Lars – who certainly has an explanation for everything. Molly admiringly says he could sell ice in the middle of a Chicago blizzard, but Molly is always using sordid commercial sayings. If he was as guilty as I once thought him, we two would be absolutely the last folk he would want to spend time with – it would be like a burglar setting up house next to a Police station. * Of course, I would have to see him together with his ne’er-do-well brother before I could quite clear him – at least, I have a strong impression it was a brother he mentioned, though the details seem most curiously vague. The more he explains things to me, the less clear they seem to be – a most unusual state off affairs. Still, either one is innocent till proven guilty. An excellent evening, all back for the final meal of term – roast chicken all round and not a speck of Poi to be seen! * Editor’s note – Amelia has evidently not read the back issues of Molly’s “True Crimes Illustrated”, or she might have heard about the 19th Century master burglar Charlie Peace and his choice of address. next
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