Hurrah! For the first time in ages we get over to Moon Island, for some refresher work on the firing range and a look at the newly completed wind tunnel. The teething troubles have mostly been worked out, and the main tunnel no longer booms like an organ pipe when run up to full power.

                In fact, there have been quite a few changes made since we first saw the tunnel – the section behind the test piece has been lined with galvanised steel sheeting, and there are auxiliary electrical fans that can be switched in for truly high performance tests. Molly speculated that as Spontoon was the base for the Schneider Trophy races, it made sense to have testing facilities that can match the fastest aircraft tested here. Certainly, the technician who showed us round the facility explained that Rain Island expected to get its investment back well inside the year, from foreign test programs alone. One wonders what the domestic programs will really include – we have heard the tunnel running late at night,  when the electric fans can use the spare power in the system (or so the technicians claim.) Moon Island being the main military reserve, I would not be surprised if there are “night manoeuvres” around the tunnel compound when those sessions are run.

                Molly can still hardly believe we missed the main Speed Week, even if we did see some of the early trial runs – she has been eagerly questioning Beryl and Missy K, who saw the whole thing. In fact, Molly seems extremely indignant about what we have told her about our Krupmark trip – we rescued an heiress who had a substantial reward out for her return, and still came back a lot poorer than we started. (I am really wondering when I will find the right time to tell her about Lars and myself.)  Still, I dread to think what she would have made of our mission – all the successes came with patience and caution, virtues that I hoped she would have trained in by now. Despite being unusually quiet, Molly is still definitely her old self.

                Still, she cheered up considerably when she got to the firing range and could blaze merrily away at pop-up targets. Imagining them as State tax inspectors put her score right up, she confided to me. If her general fitness has gone down in the holidays, at least her enthusiasm has stayed high for this part of the course.

                I am allowed to practice with my own Webley-Fosbury revolver for part of the time, though naturally our instructors emphasise we should be proficient with any firearm we come across. They frowned somewhat at the ammunition I purchased on Krupmark though, which were sold as “Hunting shells” as it seems they are definitely illegal in military use and indeed make an awful mess of the targets. Molly offered to buy them from me (forgetting for the moment her lack of two pennies to rub together), but I think the world is a safer place with them in Miss Devinski’s safe.

                Alas, we are now tasked with convoying the first-years over for their first lessons and back – not just a matter of counting student snouts on the way out and making sure no “acquired” gun muzzles are poking out of their bags on the return trip. Many have never fired a firearm before – but the red-furred Irish setter Brigit Mulvaney is certainly well practiced and top of her class. It may be a family tradition – though hopefully not in the way Molly uses that phrase.

                On the way back, Madelene X was having a long conversation with our rather odd new lioness Saffina. My grasp of French could not quite follow all of it – but from the tone of it Madelene started off quite friendly and ended up utterly outraged, moving to the far end of the boat and pointedly turning her tail to our new arrivals. We wonder what that was all about.

                (Later) Some interesting developments – on Radio LONO we hear that one of the major Powers is holding fleet exercises in the area, and has requested shore leave and replenishing rights. Our Tutors and the locals we meet  (cooks at Songmark and airport staff) do not seen wholly keen on the idea. Seeing the Soviets demonstrate they can reach here for the sake of it was unnerving enough – we hope this is not part of a new trend.
 

Tuesday, October 3rd 1935

Of all the roles we expected to serve on Spontoon, being official aerial reconnaissance was not one I had expected – at least not so soon. A fairly uneventful timetabled flying morning had finished at lunchtime, when Miss Devinski ordered us all to refuel and head out to the East, keeping in close formation and for Jasbir in the one radio-equipped Moth to report any unusual sightings.

                Well! We had flown right out of sight of land, sixty miles by my estimate, when we spotted a major plume of smoke on the horizon. In a few minutes it resolved itself into a major fleet, two battleships with six cruisers and a dozen destroyers, with a tail of oilers and support vessels some miles behind being shepherded by another two destroyers. For a minute things looked rather worrying for our adopted home – but then I spotted there were no troop transports, landing craft or aircraft carriers in the fleet. Whatever this force intended, they were hardly equipped for land assaults on Spontoon.

                Radio LONO was quite right, a fleet is coming to play – the American one, this time round. One of the battleships dipped its pennant politely at the sight of us, which was nice. I suppose they heard our radio callsigns before we took off, and felt rather less worried than if a squadron of torpedo-armed Ospreys had sortied to see who was calling. It would be no consolation to imagine the awful scandal and newspaper headlines if their Navy got trigger-happy and shot one of us down – especially if the one downed in the Pacific was oneself.

                Of course, our Tutors would never put us in harm’s way like that. Neither would the local Authorities, even if they did have any influence with them. Certainly not.

                Anyway, after one circuit of the fleet we headed back to base,  Jasbir leading the flight and hitting land right on course for the airfield. Interestingly, while circling in to land I noticed two flights of Ospreys sitting in sheltered waters well away from their bases, one in the lagoon of Sacred Island and one south of Haio Beach on South Island. It must have been some pre-arranged exercise, as I noticed one of them furiously working to load off a resupply vessel we have usually seen moored at the docks on Moon Island. Moon Island looked quite empty, with no sign of most of the official boats, not even that oddly named Rain Island submarine, “Sailor’s Collective 54” or whatever they call it.

                A fascinating diversion, and the first time we have flown over any capital ships. As long as they greet us with dipped pennants and not ranging shots, I am definitely keen to take another look tomorrow.

Wednesday October 4th, 1935

Just when the locals thought Tourist season was over, a lot of them are having to dust off their head-dresses and grass skirts for another wave – it seems the Althing gritted its collective teeth, thought hard about the money and granted shore leave for three hundred sailors. That is, shifts of three hundred at a time – Casino Island hurriedly brought back out the souvenir and hot Tiki punch stalls for the sudden boom, and the local police are very nonchalantly walking around with their ears perked up for trouble.

                We saw nothing of it ourselves, being hard at work in the engine-sheds all morning and sweating over our telegraph keys in the afternoon. An interesting exercise indeed – practising “telegraphese”,  or the art of saying as much as possible in as few words as possible. A very handy skill, whether in saving money with a commercial wire or managing to get a vital message out over a wireless in a few seconds. Prudence Akroyd won handsomely; explaining folk are thrifty in her part of the world and have been developing the skill for three generations already. “When in doubt, say nowt” is her motto, and it certainly encourages her to be sparing with her words at any time.

                The only place we went was the airport, escorting our first-years to take a look at the hangars – for trips on Eastern Island our tutors evidently trust us already, which is encouraging. Beryl wants to design a special “Escort” uniform with glossy peaked police-type cap and official Songmark night-stick, just to persuade our juniors we mean business – though I doubt our Tutors would approve. Surprisingly, Molly backed her up on this one, adding that it would be a thrill to be on the handing-out side of the Law rather than the receiving end for once. Personally, I would not be keen on living anywhere that thought Molly was an ideal Police recruit; though she has mentioned some innovative ideas on extracting confessions. I just hope Beryl does not give her TOO many bright ideas on those lines.

                One thing we did see was the new flying boat, the “skinny” model Osprey, taking off from the dock moorings and flying overhead. From the timetable, our third-years will get the most use out of it – rather galling for us to have been surrounded all year by seaplanes and flying boats but never managing a single water takeoff or landing. It looks a most elegant design, and everyone’s paws are itching to get at the controls.

                On the way back, I managed to talk with Saffina, a most friendly girl. Her English is basic, but she knows the flying vocabulary by heart, and seems definitely well qualified to be here. I had vaguely heard of the new emerald discoveries in her home colony of Ubangi-Chari, but it was news to me that the organisation is almost entirely supported by air. Roads there are very basic and distances huge, with a lot of desert, swamp and river to cross – and unlike most mining, gemstones are eminently suitable to be airfreighted out to the coast.

                Saffina mentions she is the Chief’s daughter, which is what I might expect given the cost of a Songmark education. I really don’t know what Madelene X has against her, she gets along relatively well with the other non-euros here (in the geographical sense, not the rather odd Spontoonie usage. To the Spontoonies, even Jasbir and Li Han are Euros.) Considering many of Madelene’s people are Missionaries, one should hardly expect her to dislike folk of foreign parts on principle – indeed, there is hardly a “lost valley” gets discovered these days than all the nearest Missionaries converge on it like flies on honey. (Actually, when Molly used the phrase, honey was not the target. She can be awfully crude sometimes despite my best efforts.)

Thursday October 5th, 1935

Back to Casino Island, dodging the attentions of assorted sailors who seemed to think anything in a skirt (grass or otherwise) was provided for them by the Tourist Board. Beryl quite liked the attention, but I found myself thinking that her idea of the official Songmark riot-club could occasionally be handy - as long as neither Molly nor Beryl gets one. Still, even if I liked her ideas for the uniform, there is no reason to copy her behaviour. As I keep telling Maria, just because our Governments have the same sort of dress sense in boots and saluting styles, they do not necessarily get along with each other.

     Our final shopping run for the third-year supplies started off as fairly uneventful, though we saw our friend Nuala apparently waiting for a bus on the North end of the market. She looked decidedly tired – evidently being in Entertainments right now involves a lot of dances or whatever she does. I must ask her some time just what theatre she does work in, as I would love to see her perform! Oddly enough, when I mentioned it to Helen her ears blushed quite markedly, and she seemed exceedingly doubtful that I really would enjoy the show.

     We were just hauling our trailer back towards the docks when a familiar ferret stepped out of the shadows and hailed us – Mr. Sapohatan, looking sharp as ever, and courteously asking if Helen and myself would like a word. We all went down to the floating dock and helped load the trailers onto one of the cargo water-taxis with the drop sides and ramps, and waved Molly and Maria off while taking a different water taxi via a roundabout route, far from prying ears. For some reason, even Mr. Sapohatan seems not to worry what water taxi folk overhear.

     Mr. Sapohatan began by complementing us on our successes at Krupmark, which he has been checking up on since the start of term. He looked rather annoyed when he mentioned that Lars had apparently done nothing illegal in the Spontoon jurisdiction, and had indeed volunteered to help the Authorities in another delicate matter closer to home. Furthermore, Lars had suggested asking if we would be interested in helping out, as we had worked together so well before.

     Helen rolled her eyes somewhat at the suggestion, but agreed through gritted teeth, provided our Tutors had no objection. I suggested bringing in Molly and Maria, but Mr. Sapohatan politely declined the offer. At any rate, now we have another Mission, hurrah! Time will tell just what everyone has planned for us.

Friday October 6th, 1935

A filthy wet morning, with flying on the timetable. We were sure our flight would be scrubbed with the bad weather, but Miss Wildford swept in breezily and announced we were going anyway. So on with oilskins and a damp shuffle over to the airfield, the windsock hanging limp and the official forecast eight-tenths cloud cover at about a thousand feet.

     I suppose that is the difference with being a second-year – we can already fly quite well in good conditions, now we need to practice everything in the bad ones. The runway is very well drained, but still our props were throwing up great sheets of spray as we taxiied out from the hangars and took off into the murk. Not a day for sightseeing. The rain was absolutely painful in the slipstream, going through one’s exposed fur like a fusillade of marbles – I could feel the whole aircraft shivering as the rain hammered against it at ninety miles an hour.

     Our trip today was certainly not one we would have been allowed as first-years: climbing up through the clouds till we emerged at five thousand feet into sudden brilliant sunshine. The only landmark was the tip of Mount Kiribatori on Main Island, which fortunately points its main cliffs straight towards Eastern Island, giving us a good nav fix. In the slipstream and bright sun we were almost dried out by the time Miss Wildford signalled us to return and find Eastern Island.

     One thing we did see under the clouds was the American fleet leaving, drawn up in full formation off the Beresby coast (no doubt a little heavier in the water with the weight of genuine Polynesian sculptures and anything else the Spontoonies could sell them). I can well imagine the locals get worried at the sight of that sort of formation suddenly appearing in their waters, “requesting” to buy supplies and entertainment. The crew of the two battleships alone probably outnumbers the whole Spontoon militia, so within reason it seems to be a good idea not to argue with them. From what we heard the Gunboat Wars started in much the same manner, as the invaders (by some accounts) would have been happy to pay for supplies and peacefully occupy the islands. Spontoonies seem willing to sell anything to anybody, except their independence.

     It is fascinating what one can see from the air, even on such a dismal day; only a few miles away near Sacred island we saw a long grey shadow in the water – presumably the Rain Island submarine that had made itself scarce when the new visitors arrived. After all, the central waters are rather crowded for a fleet to manoeuvre in, and getting the submarines and aircraft dispersed to outlying parts saves the risk of collisions. Interestingly, it looked as if the submarine was lying in the gap in the reef, with white water breaking all around that part of the coast – from the books I have dipped into, I should have thought that would have played havoc with anyone’s sound detectors.

                Landing in the driving rain with a very wet and heavy aircraft was quite a challenge – our Tiger Moths do not have wheel brakes, which in any case would probably flip us over on the nose if we used them. As it was, I finished with about twenty yards of runway to spare, and poor Molly ran right onto the grass! No damage was done except to her ears, which were surely burning when Miss Wildford had finished telling her off about it. Considering we have watched thirty tonnes of strategic Soviet bomber land here in very similar weather, I found it depressingly easy to agree with our dear Tutor. Molly has by her accounts been flying from the Law recently, but not in aircraft.

                (Later) We served our final meal (fish with lime and mashed yams) to the third-years, having exactly sixteen cowries to spare – about enough to buy a cup of coffee. Our Tutors and the heads of their dorms went into a huddle with their notebooks, while we breathlessly awaited the results. An hour later Miss Devinski pinned up an announcement on the notice board – tomorrow night our whole year is being treated to a meal at Bow Thai, that oriental restaurant on Casino Island. I rather think we passed this part of the course.

Saturday October 7th, 1935

After two weeks, a nice change to lie in bed till seven and not have to head straight down to the kitchens to start preparing someone else’s breakfast. Maria was initially quite indignant at the project, pointing out we are being used as servants AND paying large sums to do their work. She seems rather more settled now, and (I hope) more appreciative of having food put on the table after two weeks of putting it there for other folk.

                Just as we were making plans for a fine morning on Casino Island, Miss Windlesham breezed in and took volunteers to show the first-years around Radio LONO. Actually, she volunteered us in traditional military style – “you, you, you and you volunteer.” Much gritting of teeth and tearing up of plans ensued, but we obeyed and presented ourselves outside wearing our regulation shorts and blazers, while Beryl heckled us from the window.

                Actually it was quite a fine trip, just a mile along the edge of the airstrip and heading towards the low complex of studios and offices at the foot of LONO hill (Putakahala Hill on the maps, but nobody calls it that.) Now the Tourist season is well and truly over, the local musicians and entertainers are suddenly without an audience – tourists do not stay in any one place long enough to be bored to the back teeth with forty-minute ukulele solos, but the locals would make their opinions decisively plain after awhile. Having a spot on Radio LONO reaches a less jaded audience and is good free advertising for the bands, often leading to a better venue in the next tourist season.
     I remember seeing the radio ventriloquists lining up for auditions last year – if we thought that was odd, this year the contest is to find the island’s best radio juggler. The radio magazines are making much of that Scottish ursine inventor Mr. Logie Bear, whose “Tele-vision” system is already being trialed around London and a few major capitals. If it takes off as rapidly as Radio did, cubs the age of Moeli’s might grow up on a diet of several hours of Tele-vision juggling and ventriloquism every day.

     Although our own Senior years had little to do with us at first, I am determined we should try and be a good influence on this next batch – for a start, I am memorising all their names and backgrounds. Our Tutors are notoriously close-mouthed about letting out any private student details, (it took us a term before we discovered what Madelene X’s actual name was, and it came as quite a surprise) so I am having to gather the information myself.

                I must say, it is a poor show that of the twenty new applicants, not one of them is from Home. I noticed on the brief details we had that Brigit Mulvaney was born in Kingstown, Ireland – but she fiercely corrected me and insisted it was Dun Laoghaire and always “really” had been. I will show her some proper maps and try to explain things to her. Just as our Russian arrival Tatiana mentions St. Petersburg is now Leningrad – it had just got used to being Petrograd, when evidently the locals decided that was still too “retrograd”. Tatiana boasts that it will now be Leningrad for the rest of history, which may prove depressingly true with the way Reds are cropping up everywhere.
                I hardly need to ask about Tatiana, as she rarely stops talking. Most of the Russians one sees around here are off-white Russian exiles such as Countess Rachorska, but Tatiana is as “Bolshie” as they make them (much to Maria’s disgust).  More than that, she is part of some very odd Bolshevist sect, the “Otzovists” who seem to be radically religious reds. Not a combination that I would expect to work.

                Well – I was hoping to find some kindred spirits, but it seems Songmark’s international reputation is not an undiluted benefit. I think I will have some trouble with little Miss Mulvaney, while Maria is polishing up her horns at Tatiana (her Uncle always charges when he sees Red) and Helen has spotted another Red from the ex-American province of New Haven. Although Helen dislikes all Bolsheviks, meeting Miss Liberty Morgenstern from (formerly) her own country really irks her – as they taught us in Religious Education years ago, it is far easier to tolerate a heathen than a Heretic. All it takes now is for one of the first-years to reveal they have Detectives as parents and a membership in the Junior G-men League to irritate Molly, and our dorm will have a matching set of opponents.

                All in all, it was a relief to hand our charges back to our tutors, grab our dance costumes and dash out to Casino Island, very eager to forget our new irritations and dance our cares away. A very strenuous routine, with our tutor Mrs. Motorabho really putting us through our paces. Jasbir and her friends spent most of the lesson dancing as a unit with us – it is really quite difficult getting in step with eight dancers where one was used to manoeuvring with half as many. Certainly, Li Han and Jasbir are easy to work with, having a natural dance rhythm and an awful amount of practice this holiday. Jasbir mentions she has had her Father’s court dancers teach her three hours a day, every day, all through the Summer.

                For a change we did not have to dash back to Eastern Island to eat after the dance class: as soon as we were showered and changed, it was hardly three hundred yards across the top of the island to Bow Thai where we met up with the rest of our year. Quite a meal! Very different indeed from the standard Foreign meals they have around here, and happily short on large native tubers. The rice was very well done, one can certainly imagine they have practiced with that cuisine for quite awhile. (Memo to myself: when a Thai dish says it uses hot chillies, believe it. Tiny chillies are not mild junior versions of big strong ones.)

     A great surprise was to see our tutor Mrs. Voboele (nee Pelton) there waiting for us, with her new husband. I got the impression that everyone was extremely surprised that our dear Tutor ended up getting married like any village girl, after a life of incredible adventure. Possibly that was the attraction. At any rate, nobody at Songmark recognised her husband from Orpington Island; a dark horse in more ways than one.

                (Later) A postcard for us – a local stamp and five-cowry landscape view card without return address or signature, but we are fairly sure we know who sent it. Anyway, we should know more tomorrow when we meet after church – time to draw another deep breath, as here we go again. I must say, it is gratifying to be able to help out like this – something like being a Special Constable. And it is hardly as if we were working for an unfriendly Major Power – the style is quite different. According to all the films, a real Intelligence Service is a dashing band of slinky “Femme fatales”, Rogue Males, unstable geniuses, technical prima donnas and all sorts of “loose cannon”. Spontoon surely has nothing like that, it would be awfully hard to hide.

                Helen says the same sorts of films show Test Pilots as spending all day and every day taking up untried aircraft to maximum height, power-diving them to maximum possible speed and then pulling up at sea level as hard as possible, to see if the wings stay on. Possibly Hollywood exaggerates aircraft films more than spy dramas.

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