Now we find out why the third-year hinted about needing our logistics skills! Miss Devinski unveiled our latest project – the good news was we were given quite a respectable sum of money. The bad news was, this was the food budget of the third-years for the next two weeks. We are going to have to draw up ration plans and practice our haggling skills in the markets, or we will have five dorms of rather unhappy Seniors to cope with (and they have the power to make our lives Extremely Unhappy, should they wish to.)

                I spotted Beryl’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the money, and she whispered something to Missy K – who slapped her ears flat. One expects that the Recidivist temple Beryl attends would think fresh vegetables a very poor investment.

                Off into a huddle with Helen and Maria, then we went window-shopping with the approval of the Staff. By the end of the morning we had some reasonable ideas of current prices (and currant prices) and could get to work. Madelene X was still arguing with her dorm when we returned, about a proper French style full dinner menu. The expensive roast beef and turtle soup will have to be “off” from the start by our reckoning, or our Seniors will have a decidedly lean second week.

                Helen seems fairly cheerful about this, which surprised me. She had always been very reluctant at the Hoele’toemi household to cook and scrub, though she does both perfectly well.  I had asked her, in a quiet minute, what was worrying so – and she pointed out that I was wearing an apron and carrying a brush, something Helen really avoids. She is braver than me against physical danger, but has a total horror of being “domesticated”, and the sight of me sitting in a grass hut cooking surrounded by crawling kittens, struck a very jarring chord with her. Our current project is perfectly all right for her; she thinks of it as planning and feeding an expedition, something she is very happy with.

                At last, in the afternoon we were back in the cockpit of our dear Tiger Moths, the first time since July that we had been at the controls. My last flight had been in the cockpit of Lars’ Nighthawk, on the escape from Krupmark. I found myself quite wishing I was back in such fine company – which of course is something I cannot do, being Tailfast elsewhere.

                A very pleasant flight, and nothing too hard for our first day back in the air – merely a few circuits round Main Island, while Miss Devinski in the back seat put me through my paces. I noticed a very strange wake on the water below us, something like a flying boat but more so – on the next circuit I spotted it was the new salvage tug, both engines running flat out pulling a tramp steamer off one of the sand banks North of Eastern Island. Quite a sight!

                On our way back to Songmark, there was an awful coincidence - I spotted a familiar profile indeed, for the first time in three weeks, Lars is back! I had to tell him the bad news about Molly – and indeed his tail drooped considerably. He was most solicitous about my health, and confessed he had thought much about me. Indeed, I hardly recall what we said exactly, but half an hour had gone past before he snapped his fingers and gently pointed me back to Songmark. I had to change costume almost on the run, but arrived just in time for the evening meal. (Poi again – though I confess to being in such a turmoil I shovelled it down without complaining.)

                Helen quizzed me rather sharply, and I could tell her that Lars has been under great scrutiny by the Authorities. But he is still in business, and seems in quite marvellous condition, so I assume he must have been acquitted of whatever he was accused of. Helen muttered something darkly about “Rolling all sixes”, which I assume is a Monopoly reference. A splendid game, which is quite sweeping the globe this year – Adele Beasley and Prudence both came back carrying brand new sets this term.

                Back to work on the problems of feeding our Seniors. Hotel-scale catering is a tricky business, unless we put them on regular military rations based on one tin of Maconochie stew per meal with one tin of plum and apple jam per dorm per day, risking a mutiny that would make the French army one of 1917 look like a tea-shop tiff. Beryl has been mentioning we could try to feed them on deliberately overpriced Poi and pocket the difference – but the last time anyone tried that sort of thing it brought about the French Revolution, when the line was “Let them eat cake.” And cake is so much nicer.

Tuesday, 26th September 1935

A shocking day! We were heading out to the Casino Island main market towing trailers, when again we bumped into Lars stepping off a water-taxi. He offered to give us a paw with the trailers, which was very thoughtful (it being a scorching day and quite a steep ramp up to the Market.) Just because I am Tailfast, doesn’t mean I cannot give anyone an appreciative kiss in gratitude. Lars has a very nice scent, and an exceptionally healthy one. I heard Helen and Maria start making embarrassed strangling sounds, but assumed they were just jealous – until I opened my eyes and looked around.

                Dear Diary. Molly is back. After all the time we had waited for her to show up, she definitely picked the wrong half-minute to do so.  In fact, I hardly recognised her for a second – her fur was very bedraggled, and her costume looked like she had scavenged it from a dustbin – but very definitely she is back, though our meeting was rather more embarrassing than joyous – to begin with, at any rate.

                When she had calmed down a little, we began to get her story as we hunted for bulk bargains around the market. As our Tutor had mentioned, the Government seized her family business for tax reasons (or rather, no-tax reasons) and her Father fled to Cuba, leaving Molly rather thrown on her own devices. With the small sums of money she could lay paws on, there was no hope of getting her usual airline ticket, and she had to travel the hard way – after six transfers she arrived on the tramp steamer we saw being towed off the sands yesterday.

                She would have been here last night, but had been travelling light – so light it had not included much in the way of documents, and Customs had detained her until she could be vouched for. Interestingly, she mentioned Mr. Sapohatan had turned up half an hour ago and liberated her, kindly advancing her enough small change to get the water taxi to Songmark.

                Poor Molly! Literally poor now, though she mentions her Father’s cheque for the term’s fees had been cashed about an hour before his bank account was impounded. So she has a one-term reprieve at least, explaining why our Tutors kept her bed made and ready for her. They are very supportive of their students, but Songmark is a competitive business and not a charity – I recall how fast Soppy Forsythe’s place vanished from the notice boards and dinner table when she “resigned”.

                (Later) It was quite something to be together again, as after delivering our shopping to Prudence’s team, we welcomed Molly back. A very urgent shower and disposal of her rags was the first priority, as I had heard of what steerage passage on a tramp steamer is like, but never quite grasped the full extent of the hardships. Once washed and groomed and back in uniform (complete with two bars on her Songmark badge) she looked very presentable, and felt up to seeing our Tutors and our Matron. For some reason, she kept insisting she needed to see Mrs. Oelabe right away, and was pacing quite distractedly until Maria returned and announced she had found her in the compound – at which Molly vanished as if her tail was alight.

                In fact, she only reappeared just before “lights out” – we were wondering if she had vanished again, or (horrors) not been allowed to stay without any prospects of paying her remaining fees. But she did return, looking relieved though extremely chastened, and only commenting that Mrs. Oelabe was far more sympathetic and less of a dragon than she had remembered.

                Whatever the circumstances – we are back together again. Hooray!

Friday, 29th September 1935

A busy week indeed – Molly was excused our Senior-feeding project this week until our Tutors brought her up to speed on the regular work. She has been very keen to hear of our Summer, though I am waiting for the right time to tell her some of the details. On her part, she has been very quiet about her adventures, though Maria was very keen on the adventure and romance of working one’s way across the planet on a tramp steamer from one unknown tropical port to the next. Molly’s ears went right down at that suggestion.

                There is one souvenir of her trip that we wish she could have left behind; the other dorms are avoiding us, as we all have to shower three times a day with awful-smelling derris-root shampoo. Molly says she hopes that fleas were the only things she had picked up on her trip, as it could have been a lot worse. She tells us never, ever be a stowaway on a tramp freighter, and darkly hints it may cost more than one could possibly imagine.

                Still, our projects are proving quite successful. Every day we go out to the markets and haggle over yams and fruits, counting out our cowries very carefully. I was quite right about the price of a Euro style roast meat dinner last holiday – that really can feed our whole dorm for the day, with a bottle of Nootnops Red thrown in. We have managed to keep Poi off the menu, though it is definitely the cheapest starch of its kind.

                Unlike classes, the project carries on all weekend, so we have to share out the duties. Several days of bickering had boiled down to who gets the choice break times being decided by Monopoly games. Molly and Beryl brought their own dice along, which the rest of us promptly confiscated and Missy K  securely sat on for the duration. Madelene X won, much to our surprise – but she has been spending part of her Summer at Monte Carlo, and hints that she was playing for higher stakes than who gets Saturday afternoon off. I suspect we should have carefully checked her dice too.

                While not actually cheating, we then played our trump card, pointing out we are booked to go to Dance Classes regardless, and the Songmark rules also protect our church-going time. Molly felt quite put out, and says she is considering joining Beryl’s “Church”, but of course that will not be in time for this weekend. I imagine she had other things in mind than taro peeling as she struggled half way across the globe to get here.

Saturday, 30th September 1935

Not a relaxing weekend – busy shopping and cooking all morning, then a quick-change routine and out to dance classes! Molly struggled rather, not having had such a strenuous Summer as the rest of us and being somewhat out of shape to dance at our new level. Still, an excellent time was had by all, finishing in the traditional dash down the beach to cool off after the dancing. It will be warm enough for at least a month on fine days, but the leaves are certainly changing and we are getting back into the swing of things as we get used to the hard work of term-time.

                Jasbir’s dorm has joined us in the Intermediate level classes, and is really doing very well. Of course, as a Maharaja’s daughter she has been brought up on live dance tradition, and says that though the dances are different a lot of the basics are much the same. Li Han and Sophie D’artagnan are extremely agile gymnasts, better than I am, and though Irma Bundt looks far too solid for the faster dances, she really moves very well. Like Missy K these days, although she certainly has a lot of weight it is “all engine and no spare baggage”.

                We are racking our brains to find ways of  helping them with their cherished dream of getting into a public dance troupe – our tutors naturally do not approve, though they can hardly compare the behaviour of dancers here with what Molly has mentioned about chorus-girls. At least, they have not said yes as yet, but they have often pointed out what good planning and hard work can do against any opposition. One supposes they have Songmark’s reputation to defend, and they can hardly be blamed if we creatively bend the rules they give us.

                Beryl and Missy K turned up to watch the contests, much to our surprise: we had never thought of  them as dance fans. Actually, Beryl was here to cheer on the male dancers and heckle the rest. It was a chilling piece of what alienists call “deja-vu” to hear the old Saint T chants on Spontoon – I recall from many a fiercely fought hockey match hearing that song “Wouldn’t it be fun, if they gave the Ref a gun?” whenever her side lost a point.

                Happily, Beryl takes her lumps without much malice. Though not dressed for swimming, she performed quite creditably after Irma and Maria threw her off the boat pier.

Sunday, October 1st, 1935

October already! We all put in a hard four hours work cleaning the kitchens and getting the third-years’ Sunday lunch in the oven (roasted sweet potato and fish stew) before waving farewell to see Molly vanishing behind a delivery of breadfruit. It really is quite an eye-opener, how much food a Songmark student gets through in the course of a week, especially as vegetables make such a bulky diet. An exceedingly healthy one, though – we have a modern diet book to refer to by Messrs. Sellers and Yateman, who quote various eminent doctors as saying “It’s roughage, roughage ALL the way”, and “There is more food value in one black beret than a hundredweight of blackberries”. *

                The chance to sit down for two hours in Church was very welcome, with Reverend Bingham in slightly more conventional mode – it was the first time we had hear him preaching on the traditional Seven Deadly Sins. I can happily report we are in no danger of today’s target, as Sloth is nowhere on our timetable. As Beryl says, the chance would be a fine thing – and we can hardly gain credit for resisting temptations we never face. Still, some of the long-standing congregation seemed to welcome the change in tactics, one of them after the sermon marvelling that before our current Vicar arrived folk hardly knew what Sin was. (I think I would have a harder time getting Helen to attend if our Reverend was an elderly warthog or suchlike,  as she was murmuring something about practical demonstrations.)

                It is fascinating to see all the religions we have between us in such a small group as Songmark,  brought together from all around the world by our common love of flying. Just yesterday our ex-Senior Erica sent a postcard from the shores of the Baltic, where she is taking a well-earned holiday. By her account, there was a super torchlight procession culminating in the re-consecrating of the Holy Wotan stone at Memel, a place of veneration for thousands of years. I doubt our dear Reverend would approve, though.

                We had a polite word with the doe we had seen last week, Miss Fawnsworthy – she says she will be attending Church here when she can, though there is no guarantee how long that will be. Most odd – she was carrying a rather heavy handbag with what we recognised as a military quick-pull catch (albeit with a nice bow on it) and both Helen and myself agree it smelled decidedly of gun oil. Not the usual perfume one expects to take to the sermon.

                Back to more hard work in the kitchens – to find Molly and Ada Cronstein all alone and surrounded by piles of washing up. Most other folk were in Church, though of course Ada had hers yesterday. They should have had Adele Beasley helping them, but she had been unlucky with a filleting knife this morning, to the tune of seven stitches, and is excused food preparation work for a few days.

                It is nice so be appreciated – our Senior friend Conchita dropped in to congratulate us on our organisation and cooking skills – admitting that this time last year they had spent the two week budget after ten days, trying to feed their own seniors rather better than the regular cooks do. Which was fine while the money lasted – but our Tutors really do have access to large stocks of ex-military Maconochie stew, and doled out one can a day to tide each of the Seniors over till the end of the week. Conchita did not say how Erica, Noota and their pals took vengeance on her year, but warns us to keep our cowries well counted. She has had a year to think of refinements to whatever was done to her, so we will definitely take her advice.

 *“And Now All This”, © Sellers And Yateman, 1935

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