Definitely an Autumn day, or at least heading into the rainy season – the cloud was covering the LONO radio masts, which means a flying ceiling of about three hundred feet – well above the reach of my dear Flying Fleas, to be brutally honest. I hope for better performance from the professionally built kit Father is sending me at the end of term.

                A very wet ride over to Casino Island with Helen to hear the Reverend Bingham give Pride a severe mauling. Certainly it comes before a fall (one needs only recall Molly’s family business problem, with an almost immediate descent from high-life to near refugee status) and we were always told at St. Winifred’s that the meek will inherit the earth. Helen whispered that would depend on how good the Meek are at forging wills.

                Though Helen has been attending Church for over a year, I can hardly say she has picked up much actual Religion as yet – though we can always hope. She certainly likes the singing, though can often be heard fitting radically different words to the tunes: as far as I can see she treats the place as an interesting morning out with a social club attached.  At any rate, she has been steering well clear of Molly and Beryl’s Sunday amusements, though there seems to be little religion involved there.

                I must confess it was rather more interesting to spend the rest of the afternoon with Saimmi and Saffina – four assorted feline girls with a common interest in the local customs, looking around South Island. The low cloud stopped us heading up to Mount Tomboabo as Saimmi had hoped: from the summit she says there are various interesting sights if one only knows what to look for.  Still, we visited three fascinating shrines in the deep and dripping jungle, and learned the story behind them. Fascinating!

                Helen has been watching too many Hollywood jungle epics – she quite delicately (for her) managed to enquire if Saffina’s tribe have any unfortunate dietary customs. Saffina laughed it off, and explained that very few tribes actually eat each other, but often whisper it about their neighbours when anthropologists some to call.  She allows there are exceptions, and mentioned having a Congolese classmate at her finishing school who had some rather alarming things on the “Special diet” form she presented to Matron at the start of her first term.

                Saimmi finished up our trip with an interesting diversion to the Eastern end of the island, where some new Tiki sculptures are being installed. She gave Helen and myself quite a meaningful look, and noted Tikis are placed to give guidance and protection to important projects, just as other folk might buy insurance policies. These new ones were quite fierce-looking sculptures, facing seawards with raised claws – and they look over the recently finished section of the “waterworks project” that runs under our paws here. If the editors of “Jane’s All The World’s Fighting Trenches” ever get to hear of the local defences, I think they will need a new category of defence work: divine protection!

                I might think this rather silly, if my Uncle had not showed me pictures of his unit’s Padre “baptising” and naming each of a new batch of Vickers Medium tanks arriving at their squadron. Obviously if a professional Padre in a socially respectable regiment thinks it worthwhile, he must know something that does not appear in the training manuals – at least, the unclassified ones.

                (Later) The rain was absolutely sheeting down outside, so our tennis match against Prudence’s dorm in the compound was a washout. On the way back up to dry our fur in our dorm, a missile just brushed past my ears – to be followed by the first apology I have ever heard from Beryl about anything. She has managed to acquire a dartboard and has set it up at the end of the hall – which probably means somewhere else is wondering where theirs went to. Further, she has been teaching Jasbir how to play Saint T’s rules, which involve standing thirty feet from the board and substituting energy for precision. I suspect her apology was for almost hitting me by accident – Beryl would have no qualms about perforating anybody, but thinks it very poor form to do it accidentally.

                Possibly Mabel at her finishing school in Switzerland might be taught that darts is unladylike – but less so than Cumberland Wrestling, another sport we hear of on the Saint T’s games programme. Actually, we all had quite a fine evening learning the new long-range rules, which is probably a good exercise in co-ordination skills and jolly fun, though a little loud. The only downside is what one could call “collateral damage” to the walls, about tenfold that of a regular darts match. A lively discussion was taking place as to the merits of overarm versus underarm throws and the trick of bouncing the darts in off the ceiling, when Miss Devinski came up to call a halt to the proceedings. Honestly, with the fees we pay for Songmark, one would think we could afford a few new walls when needed!

Monday October 23rd, 1935

Hooray! After a year of watching flying boats taking off and landing in these waters, we finally get to do some of that ourselves. At least my dorm and Madelene X’s did, our Seniors having reserved the Osprey for the afternoon.

                We spent an hour looking over the hull carefully, even donning bathing costumes and a diver’s mask to look underwater for any signs of damage. There are a few small dents and scratches already: even minor pieces of driftwood can pack quite a punch when landing on them at sixty miles an hour. But we all pronounced RI-J458 “Sound in wind and limb” and eagerly threw dice to decide who takes first flight. Madelene X had brought her own dice along, but we wisely used our Tutor’s instead.

                My luck was out today, and I ended up second from last of the two dorms with only Madelene herself waiting and fuming next to me all morning. It was an awful wait, watching everyone take off and splash down: Molly stalled on takeoff, dropping our poor Osprey about ten feet for a rather nasty-looking “belly-flop” that had our dorm bleeding assignment marks, and making us all dive back into the water again to check for damage. I was about to have Words with Molly, but from the look on her face and her blushing ears, I think Miss Wildford already did a far more professional job.

                Still, there was no lasting damage and at last I managed my first takeoff – holding the nose level as we lifted off the step, not pulling the nose up till we had about seventy knots showing. The Osprey is a much heavier aeroplane than anything I have flown before and everything seemed a little sluggish next to our Tiger Moths. Certainly, it would take a very bold pilot to try pulling loops in one – and I never hope to be the passenger or the owner of the machine that tries it. But after twenty minutes of circuits I was smoothly back afloat, taxiing up to Eastern Island docks with a lighter heart and a significant piece of news for my flying logbook.

                There was no time for back-patting and congratulations today – as soon as Madelene had been up and down we scattered off to our Advanced classes; in my case off to Casino Island where we reported to the hospital for the Field Medicine classes, our personal health certificates and our First Aid qualifications ready for inspection. It is a small world, as Doctor Unity Monotega, who gave some of us certain advanced check-ups at the start of Summer term, met us. She smiled and recalled my name, explaining she never forgot a face – though that was definitely not the part of me she checked for soundness last time.

                Only three other Songmark girls are doing this option; Ada Cronstein, Li Han and Jasbir Sind. Of course, our regular first-aid classes are quite advanced as it is, but on this course we are promised a lot of exceedingly practical work, and the chance to do some real medicine. As it turned out, that started rather sooner than we had expected.

                Doctor Monotega had put us together with two seniors from the Technical High School I knew by sight, and warned us that if any of us were allergic to the sight and smell of blood and various other things, the time to leave was right now.  Suitably braced, we donned hospital masks and trainee Nurse gowns and followed her around the wards, with a brace of handsome junior doctors explaining various conditions and treatments as we went.

                It had all been a fascinating afternoon and we were about to hand in our gowns, when a bell went off and we were rushed into the Casualty department – accidents happen, and it was just our luck to be there after a bad one. Furthermore, many of the senior doctors were very busy on a delicate operation elsewhere, leaving the hospital short of staff. A very nasty accident, a goods cart had slipped its parking brake and run down the loading ramp right over one of the market traders – crush injuries and jutting out bones, quite enough to turn one’s stomach. We were drafted in to move the stretcher and get her straight into the operating theatre, there being nobody else on the spot in sterile gowns.

                Though we ended up an hour late back and missed our evening meal, none of us felt particularly hungry. All our first aid so far has been rather theoretical, and this is the first time we have had to scrub blood off our fur. Still, I chose that course – and what I start, I jolly well intend to be good at.

Tuesday October 24th, 1935

Good news and bad news for us: the good news is we have the Osprey all to ourselves until November! The bad news is there will be more work shepherding the first-years around. The reasons for both are the same; our Seniors all head off today for ten days exercises in the Aleutian Islands. Apart from the distance and expense of getting there, by all accounts it is something for nobody to do lightly – the weather is amongst the worst in the world, but a third-year should be able to hold up to anything.  We are expecting some very battered and storm-tossed Seniors to return in two weeks.

                Molly is very cheerful, reminding us that we are now unsupervised except for our tutors, who have their paws full with the first-years (Liberty will learn after enough pummelling that calling people “bourgeois mud on the road to world revolution” will not be well received around here, even if she did mean it in a nice way.) Miss Blande and Miss Windlesham have headed North with our Seniors, so even our tutors are rather thin on the ground. At the weekend, we are certainly planning an evening at Mahanish’s, as soon as we are free of escort duties for our juniors.

Wednesday October 25th, 1935

Molly’s twentieth birthday, hooray! Jasbir contributed a home-made cake (breadfruit-based) and we all enjoyed a very jolly party, complete with a bottle of Nootnops Blue for the birthday girl. Molly being Molly, the presents list looked more like the contents of a trench raider’s pouches: I had purchased my present for her on Mildendo Island, happily before pledging away all my Allowance. These are emergency matches/ signal flares, guaranteed to light in the middle of a howling gale and torrential rain: about the thickness of fat pencils and securely packed with warning notices, they are not so much Safety Matches as Mortal Danger Matches. They were very well received, and I could see Molly immediately considering what to set fire to first.
 
                For a change, Lars sent a present actually labelled and signed by himself: a genuine M1918 Mauser Pioneer’s special issue bayonet with a most formidable saw-back as featured in many tales of “frightfulness”. Beryl looked exceedingly jealous, and commented that the head of her dorm back in her old school owned the only other one she had seen.  I suppose it will come in handy for Molly’s Field Engineering course.

                Molly whispered that today was a great day for many reasons, as the Matron had finally given her a clean bill of health after all her unfortunate adventures in getting here. It has been a week since our last fleabite, but in her case our Matron was worried about more embarrassing health problems. Still, all is well on that score and Molly is exceedingly keen to celebrate with Lars – something she has obviously not been able to before.

                The weather seemed to join in the celebrations, yesterday’s rain having stopped and the skies as clear as crystal – perfect for a flight in our dear Tiger Moths.  We had Songmark’s whole mini squadron up at once today, practising formation flying – not that we really expect to be in defensive flights, but it is a real test of flying skills to keep in position through whatever aerobatics the lead aircraft decides to go in for. Stunt flying comes only in the third year, despite everything we have read of far less experienced pilots in the Great War. Flying under telegraph poles, looping straight after takeoff and trying to spin the wheels by clipping buildings are stunts we are absolutely forbidden – Miss Devinski has warned us that anyone trying similar tricks will be grounded for a month on kitchen duties and lose chunks off their final marks next year. Maria is quite outraged, and fumes that any real fighter pilot flies under bridges as a matter of principle.

                Thinking of people losing chunks of things, we had handed over our aircraft and were heading in towards the hangars when Molly’s ears went right up and she gleefully yelled “Fight!” before tearing off round the corner. We followed her and discovered she was quite right – Tatiana Bryzov and Liberty Morgenstern were tearing into each other with a most unladylike abandon, hissing insults. Molly was all for placing bets on the outcome, but the pair were ripping fur out at a great rate and looked likely to do each other serious injury. Much to Molly’s disappointment, I waved Maria forward and we practiced our preventative self-defence, grabbing them both in triple hammerlocks (tail and both arms) and using our ju-jitsu chokeholds to good effect. Total time from fighting to flattened first-formers, about fifteen seconds, a very smooth operation though I say it myself.

                We handed the pair and our report over to Miss Wildford to be dealt with – after all, it will hardly do for Songmark ladies to brawl in public like that, and they do not have Beryl’s old school traditions for an excuse. From what we could gather from Liberty’s snarls, it was a political thing – very odd, as they are both Reds. I would have expected Liberty to object more to the “Idle rich daughters of bloated profiteers and plutocrats” as she called the rest of the class last week before Saffina all but twisted her ears off for it. Saffina may not be from the most civilised part of the planet (her hometown is something that sounds like Chockie Biccie) but at least does not go around muttering about whom will be first against the wall when the Revolution comes.

                Anyway, it is hardly our problem – though it does help us keep sharp, and Maria greatly enjoyed putting a full-strength hammerlock on Liberty Morgenstern. Preventative self-defence is a frightfully useful subject to learn – and the more “frightfulness” employed, the more defence one gets.

Thursday 26th October, 1935

A surprising article in the Daily Elele – a local businessman is under lock and key in the Seabear Republic, having been found with a whole bundle of brand new currency that certainly never saw an official mint. I had thought this story was being kept quiet – but Helen pointed out that the Seabear newspapers had probably “spilled the beans” anyway, and it might do more harm than good to try and ignore the tale around here. I seemed to recognise the name, a Mr. Lalaka, and had it confirmed when Beryl came storming in waving a second copy of the paper and cursing most inventively.

                From Beryl’s account, Mr. Lalaka is one of the various associates of the Van Hoogstraaten family she is such chums with – she is furious at the idea of common police having caught him, and stormed off swearing he was far too good to get caught unless there was double-crossing involved. Still, that is one local villain the less, and another bundle of funny money taken out of circulation. Whoever is behind this trade has piles of freshly printed shells, sterling and shekels, but a distinct shortage of scruples.

                Molly is still in high spirits, though as far as I know she has yet to set anything on fire with her birthday present. Her ears drooped somewhat yesterday when she tried to match Lars’ present to my rifle, which it decidedly was not designed for. However – some careful measurements and two hours hard effort in the workshops produced a perfectly working adapter and she immediately posed grinning for the camera with the complete ensemble.

                A year ago, I might have wasted an evening and spoiled both our tempers trying to convince her why a bayonet on a thirty-five pound tank rifle is a very impractical idea indeed – but we have learned more at Songmark than features on the timetable. I had a brief flash of premonition, Molly cherishing the photographs next year of herself posing shamelessly in the tropical sun with heavy artillery, looking back on it as the peak of a Songmark career cut mercilessly short. With the spectre of her funds running out and a humbling farewell, right now she needs all the encouragement she can get.

                We were drafted again to escort the first-years over to Superior Engineering, where I have been working on marine engines two days a week – solid, useful, uneventful stuff. Having Songmark first-years to look after is never uneventful, especially with our three Reds along. Brigit Mulvaney is red by fur colour rather than politics, but just as much trouble as the other two.

                Actually, Tatiana has a surprisingly good singing voice, and generally lets rip with a marching song between classes. She has translated some old Civil War songs into English; one of which went to a tune that seemed familiar:

                “Hurrah! Hurrah! The Proletariat
                 Hurrah! Hurrah! Now hunt the Tsarist rat
                 Let’s sing it as we used to sing it, every hound and cat
                 As we were marching through Azerbaijan…”

One feels that it definitely loses something in translation.

Friday 27th October, 1935

A good weekend for us; the first-years are off till Wednesday on their first survival trip, where they will discover the delights of the native leeches and gain practical experience of what to do in a quicksand. This means we are pretty much on our own, and very keen to see what fun we can have without folk riding guard on us. Molly suggests dressing up in our best Native costume and wander past the first-year camp to see if they see through the disguise, while muttering dire things about plague burials on the spot and vengeful spirits, to throw some interest into their long dark evenings in the jungle. She is quite welcome to try – personally I can think of better things to do with our first totally free weekend since the start of term.

                Our radios are up and running in our new room, with some improvements – we have managed to tap into the electric mains, so no more brick-sized batteries to try and conceal, which were always prone to running out at just the wrong time. Still, the radios do need concealing – Madelene X is fuming at the confiscation of her short-wave set, which she left out in plain sight for ten minutes while taking a bath. Our Tutors are still very strict on the letter of the regulations, which forbid that sort of thing for second-years. This term Maria has brought along a very handy folding gramophone that disguises itself as a medicine-chest – but can only use it when nobody else is playing the single official one of our dorm, or it would rather give the game away. We still have to work hard for our fun.

                Thinking of which, I contacted Jirry and arranged a meeting on Casino Island after our dance classes – sheer bliss, being able to stay out till ten without worrying about Passes. And with the first and third-years out of our hair, we will not be grabbed and sent off in search of them even if Tatiana and Liberty decide to go for “pistols at dawn”. Right now, it is happily not our problem.

                (Later) A most surprising turn of events – we had agreed to help Mr. Sapohatan and Lars, but were under the impression the real action would be much later, possibly even in the holidays. Not so: a postcard was delivered by hand, calling us all up on immediate notice! Ten minutes later, Miss Devinski arrived, announcing we were being sent on an official offshore seabird survey over the weekend. Our hearts sank into our sandals – until she looked at us levelly and told us we had company waiting at the docks in half an hour. One gets the impression the “seabird survey” is just something that nobody in the other dorms would complain about missing out on when asked where we are going for the weekend. Only time to grab our small packs and head out!

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