A wet finish to the tourist season – last night was an excellent dance under the stars, with some of the last loud-shirted tourists finishing off their films ready to take home. Both Helen and myself are now back in our fullest Native guise, our fur oiled and patterned with the appropriate markings. I had my head-fur styled for the night in the same fashion as Moeli, and when side by side we did look quite believable as sisters. She is perfectly recovered, and was bouncing into the dance routines like any gymnast, no doubt having used the exercises her Mother mentioned. I must definitely learn those myself.

            Still, by the time the fire died and we headed back, Mrs. Hoele’toemi mentioned that the weather looked like changing – and indeed she was right, though whether she used traditional Polynesian portents or Radio LONO I could not say. At least, the tourists heading out will have the consolation that they would not be missing much had they stayed – it is quite as torrential as when I arrived last year!

            Some things have certainly changed though – I hardly expected then to be waking in a snug longhouse built for two, listening quite contentedly to the rain landing soft on the thatch and dripping from the eaves. And definitely I was not expecting to have such company – in just over a week I will be back in a Songmark dorm with Helen, Molly and Maria for company, but right now I far prefer things just as they are.

            We had been planning to work on the garden patch, but everything was far too wet, so a very pleasantly domestic morning ensued. The longhouse is of full width, but only one end is fully finished with marvellously carved doorposts and the like. The Hoele’toemi family prefer traditional designs – none of their houses have corrugated iron roofs or window shutters, which are awfully noisy under hammering rain. When I asked Jirry, he explained that the main house structure is meant to be permanent – longhouses are made to be lengthened, expanding to suit growing families.

            This seemed a good time for us to talk: I know I have been an honoured guest of the family for months, sleeping under their roof, sharing their feasts and everything else going. My first year of Songmark is over – in another two years I can imagine various possibilities, some of which leave me feeling rather uncomfortable. I imagined waving farewell and departing for Europe – having taken up Jirry’s time and his family’s resources for three years, and left them with nothing but a few photographs (which do not last long in this climate.) In that time, if not for me he could have found a respectable Polynesian girl and started extending the longhouse.

            Of course, there is the other extreme – I could tell our Tutors to advertise my place as vacant, and walk down the trail this very morning to ask his parents if they would accept me as a daughter-in-law. That would make a lot of people very happy, including me. But then – I have put a lot of work into gaining Songmark qualifications already, and imagined myself wistfully looking up from hoeing the garden every time an aircraft flew overhead. There are lots of feline girls in the islands who are better dancers and better cooks than myself – but if I pass the Songmark course, I will be a far better asset, to myself and for everyone else. A qualified commercial pilot earns a lot more for the family than a breadfruit-picker.

            Jirry was very understanding, and jokingly pointed out that even our tutor Miss Pelton ended up marrying into a Spontoonie family, one very distantly allied to his own. So that’s what she did! But after a career that long, her fiancé would have waited an awfully long time had they met at our age. Actually, I had the impression that Miss Pelton had spent many years shocking everyone except the rather hard-bitten matrons of Songmark – and that she would have taken great delight in crowning everything by managing to shock them too.

            Still – we are very happily Tailfast, and he assures me that his family will never be lying in wait for me with a net and a priestess around some corner. They would not need the wedding head-dress, as I already own one. In fact – he pointed out that unlike myself, most Native girls have some years of deciding who they will even consider being Tailfast to – and should I not wish to formally renew our lockets in December, he would think none the worse of me. Certainly, no Native girl is expected to don her wedding head-dress without knowing exactly her other options would be.

            I was very grateful to hear it – and demonstrated it to him, and then again. I am sure I could not find a better feline to be Tailfast to – and I certainly have no idea of wearing the locket of anyone else’s fur. (The whole morning, I must confess I was wearing nothing else, outwardly at least.) Jirry kissed me most admiringly, and reassured me that no holidaymaking “School ma’am” can possibly compete with me, even if they do spend all year saving up everything for the holiday. He does not just mean their money.

            The afternoon was just as interesting, though more public – after a bath in the waterfall pool we rejoined the family and Helen, who seems to be getting used to having cubs using her as a climbing-frame. A postcard had been forwarded to us – not from Post Box Nine but from Songmark. Almost a case of “Talk of the Devil, here he comes” after all our talk about Songmark this morning.

            The card must have known just where to find us, for we were requested to present ourselves that very evening – happily there was no mention of dress requirements. Anyway, strictly speaking we are on our own time until the 18th, and can refuse to go if we feel like it. We will accept the invite, though.

            (Later) An interesting trip! Although the main Songmark compound is locked up with evidence of a lot of decorating work going on inside, we met Miss Devinski there who invited us to Song Sodas. Even without the custom of sixty or so thirsty students, it keeps going all year round. Her eyebrow raised at the sight of our (respectable) Native costume, but she made no comment.

            It seems that we are the only (new) second-years to be found, as Missy K has not been in touch since July and Beryl has vanished again, probably doing something criminal. So we have been given the task of watching for new students arriving, as they are already on their way. I protested that surely the staff have arrival timetables and such – certainly I recall they had met me off the boat last year. But that assumes rather a lot – schedules slip, and impatient folk can upgrade their tickets to faster routes. I know that one of the new German cruise ships, the Norland that we saw visiting in June, has a flying-boat that it can catapult off the deck to speed mail and urgent passengers the last thousand miles.

            We gave in, with (I must confess) rather ill grace, as we both had thought of other plans that did not involve hanging around the airport and docks waiting for straying first-years. I did mention that we had more Official demands on our time in the holidays – at which Miss Devinski nodded and conceded that the two duties need not clash. Well! That definitely clinches things, regarding how close in our Tutors are with the Authorities!

13th September, 1935

Pouring with rain still – which is disheartening enough, but there is worse. We had hoped to stay in Native dress until the night before Term starts, but we are going to be the official welcoming committee and have to be dressed accordingly. So farewell to oiled fur and comfortable Ulául fabric sarongs and an unwelcome (if brief) return to our Songmark official blazers, which have not been worn since church trips before Easter. If there is one thing worse than wearing heavy blazers in semi-tropical heat, it is mixing the heat with one hundred percent humidity! Our fur underneath will be a sorry sight by the end of the day.

            Still, there is some satisfaction – we get to sew a second bar on the official Songmark “Musical note” insignia; a higher denomination note now, one might say. I remember the day Father sewed his General’s rank badges on his uniform, explaining that there are tasks one gives to the tailor and tasks one reserves for oneself.

            To pass the time waiting for aircraft to arrive, we have some world maps and timetables with which we are tracking the various new arrivals’ routes; it is hardly as if there was a dedicated Europe to Spontoon direct service! Even from England one could travel here heading East, West or North if one flies the big Caproni Ca60 triple triplanes over the Pole. Still – we have home addresses and starting times, and are working out who might be the first to arrive.

            At least, we are in good company at the airport. We are not the only ones with holiday jobs, our friend Violobe and her class from the Guide’s School are working here as trainee stewards and stewardesses, keeping track of everyone who pass through. I suppose this time of year, the bottom drops out of the market for tourist Guides. Violobe was showing us how they memorise faces and fur patterns, a more developed version of the native game involving shells and pebbles that we had practised last month with them.

            Looking at the list of home addresses, one definitely gets the idea that Songmark’s fame has spread to some unusual places! Although they will all be classed as “Euros”, that will hardly describe some of our new school chums: Helen had to check the map twice to confirm there really IS a French colony called Ubangi-Chari, and I had only heard of it myself from my brother’s stamp collection. None of our maps mention the Russian town of Ryshynsk, so Miss Tatiana Bryzov could be from anywhere between the East Prussian border and the seaside overlooking Japan. The rest are from a fairly random scatter around Europe and the Americas, apart from one from Japan.

            However, our Tutors were perfectly right about needing someone to watch out – we had set ourselves to watch for likely-looking Euro girls of our age travelling alone, whether or not they had travelled in the specified uniform. How on earth folk get a Songmark pattern blazer tailored in the backwoods of Middle Europe or darkest America, I can hardly imagine. And on the first flight of the day, a rather fine Saunders-Roedeer “Sea Spirit” bearing the Royal Hawaiian Airways livery, we spotted our first one. A canine girl with a mass of curly red head-fur and a new ’08 Pattern knapsack on her back was heading into the Customs shed with a determined stride – certainly a likely candidate. Our first new arrival is Brigit Mulvaney, an Irish lass who was so keen to get here that she actually did fly one of the “Stiff-neck specials” as they call the courier seats in a mail plane to Hawaii.

            Helen took her over to Songmark and left me covering the arrivals lounge. Still, between flights I had time to talk with Violobe, and mentioned something of our Summer adventures. She seemed interested in the most surprising details. Still, she has reason to take an interest, considering that I rescued her from a not dissimilar fate than Phoebe. Getting Violobe or anybody out of a more organised country would be a lot harder – definitely the sort of trip to leave to one’s third year.

            By the end of the day Helen and myself had spotted and escorted another two new arrivals, and were definitely annoyed with having drawn this duty. Helen was grumbling about quitting, heading out with a few days with the fishing fleet and leaving our Tutors to it – as it is they who are paid to look after Songmark, and we are the ones who are (indirectly) paying their wages. Quite true, but we agreed to do the job and I will stick to it, alone if necessary.

            Violobe turned up just as we were ready to leave, and announced that they had a surprise for us – it seems there is a celebration tomorrow night that we are invited to, a “moveable feast” that takes place at about this time every year. She winked, and mentioned that it could be some consolation for our hard work. I could certainly use one after today, and with only days of unexpectedly hard work leading up towards the start of an even harder second year at Songmark!

September 14th, 1935

We are getting to know the Eastern Island passenger terminals very well – being less than a mile apart, we wander between the seaplane and the airstrip terminals as reports came in of passenger flights on final approach. Strictly speaking we could sit on the edge of the runway and watch out the direct way – it takes easily half an hour after landing for anyone to claim unloaded baggage and get through Customs.

            Violobe is a great pal, and helped us get through the long day – she is in much the same job right now. She introduced us to two of her Uncles who work at the airport – she spends her Summers with “Custom” for the tourists, while they are in Customs of a very different sort. I was rather puzzled at what folk would try to smuggle into Spontoon – all the drinks and such are cheaper here than in most tourist’s home nations, and items like Nootnops Blue are wholly accepted here anyway.

            It seems that it is not just the traditional hats packed with choice cigars and folk with twenty watches on their arms that they are concerned with – it mostly concerns people. One of them confided that they had bundled two “Undesirable Aliens” off the island yesterday, who had been run to ground by our classmate Missy Kahaloa and her fiancé. So that is what Missy K has been doing! I expect that Missy K’s dorm will be a lively place this term when Beryl finds out – on enquiry he confirmed that it was indeed her two surviving school chums from Saint T’s that had been deported.

            Anyway, by the end of the day we had intercepted another three first-years and escorted them to Songmark, to join two whom Miss Devinski had met off the boat on Casino Island. That’s a quarter already! A few familiar snouts have appeared, Prudence being spotted with her friend Tahni in Native dress on the beach. Looking at our map, anyone who wants to be back for the start of term must already be on their way.

            We met up with Mrs. Hoele’toemi at the longhouse and with great relief changed back into fullest (in other words, scantiest) Native dress, including my head-dress. Mrs. H-T told us the rest of the family were already heading out; mystified, we followed her to Hotel Bay where a small fleet of water-taxis was waiting for us. Quite a long trip across the central waters to a small flat island marked on the detailed maps as Aha Island, which we have been all round but never set paw on (there is manifestly nothing there.)

            There was certainly something there tonight! There must have been five hundred Native Spontoonies, by far the biggest crowd entirely in Costume I have ever seen in any one place. There was something else, towering in the trees against the sunset – a gigantic figure that for a second or two had me wondering if there was more to Ethyl’s “Weird Tails” than I had believed.

            Actually, Mrs. H-T explained it to us – tonight is the local festival of “Hoopi Jaloopi”, to celebrate the official end of the tourist season. Since it takes place on the first fine night after the last tour boat leaves, the exact date varies – presumably why we have never seen it mentioned on any calendar. The giant palm-leaf  figure was of a rotund character in a deafeningly loud shirt of painted sacking, with a “camera” slung round his ample waist made of a tea-chest with the bottoms of gallon glass flagons as lenses. Quite a painfully accurate character study, made by folk who have had their fill of the originals by this time of year.

            An excellent evening, with dances and bonfires and many barrels of palm wine drunk around the fire. Almost all the conversation was in Spontoonie – which was just as well, as the main topic was anecdotes of outrageous Tourist behaviour this season. Our Spontoonie language is now getting practised enough to understand jokes and slang, though the “Satirical Hula” had a few bits we could not quite interpret. Mrs. H-T was laughing till the tears rolled down her cheeks, and gave us a running translation of the Missionary’s Daughter and the Canoe Crew, which had our ears blushing (though I could quite believe the story, except the bit about the Tiki statue.)

            One supposes the locals sometimes think of catering to huge numbers of tourists rather like doing a full shift down a mine – it brings in the cash you need, but at the end of the shift it is SO good to stop for awhile. Within reason, anyone with a grass skirt in a “Custom” area has to get used to being an unpaid photographic subject, and the occasional wandering paws are treated with a laugh and a light word. I doubt the Tourist Board would really thank us for losing our tempers with valuable sightseers and practising that “Cheltenham Death Grip” that Beryl taught us. No, not even the Roedean Nerve Pinch!

            Jirry and the rest of his clan were all there, and we joined in the dances till the moon came out. It was really a very familiar sight; apart from the costumes and the dance steps it was just like the traditional country festivals in the remoter villages of Barsetshire. There was even the giant wicker man set up on the village green (or close equivalent) for us all to grab a torch at the signal from the presiding priest and set light to. Molly would have loved this. The Spontoonie wicker man did not have quite the refinements of fine old villages such as Goatswood back home, but the traditions here are young still.

            A splendid evening, with some spectacular dances – and dancers. There was one who was missing – I had found myself looking around to see if Lars was there, but there was no sign of him. It was a relief in a way – I hardly know what I would do if I met both him and Jirry, but it would be awfully embarrassing. I hope he has not got into trouble with the Authorities after all he did for us – and even on Krupmark he behaved as honestly as the situation allowed. I even recall him dropping a roll of money in the bedside drawer as we left that room at The Beach; after all, we did use their room all evening, and he is not the sort to cheat on any sort of Hotel bill.

            Back after midnight, a fine walk under the moonlight down the trail from Hotel Village to our longhouse. I noticed Missy K on the other side of the fire – in fact I noticed her fiancé first, as Missy K was hard to recognise in Native dress (which I have NEVER seen her in) and minus about twenty pounds. I doubt she will ever be exactly slim, as she is solid in that Polynesian way, but she has certainly fined down considerably even since July. One can imagine her running down the renegades from Saint T’s, whereas a year ago her best tactic would have been to lie in wait and drop on them like Billy Mitchell sinking a battleship.

            We have another four days, but plan to use them as best we can. It was very fine to return to our longhouse, hang up the lantern and close up the blinds against the night moths. A very well built structure, with roof timbers planned to last and carved as heirlooms – except that sturdy but plain back wall, which I sometimes find myself looking at with a most peculiar sensation. After all, there are only two basic choices – somebody in the Hoele’toemi family is going to need to expand the back wall one day – either I become a part of that, or I never do. Not the sort of thing we discussed on the debating team back at St. Winifred’s!

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