Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
25 February, 1936 to 3 March, 1936

Monday 25th February, 1936
(Written much later)

It is surprising what our Tutors will agree to if one stays in their good books – yesterday we were allowed to spend the whole day on South Island, meeting up with the rest on Main Island at the same time and place as the last two nights. Happily, we hear the crab season is almost over - although that was the last piece of good news we had in quite some time.

We had a shock when we had finished our soup in the morning and were looking forwards to our Songmark beds – Miss Blande appeared in fine spirits (having had a good night’s sleep no doubt) and breezily announced we were joining the annual militia training exercises – so rather than our beds, we went to the equipment stores and were issued with knapsacks full of outdoor kit.

Madelene X complained we were dead on our paws and in what she called “condition de merde” for any adventuring – to which Miss Blande cheerfully agreed, explaining that was rather the idea. Having read many tales of true exploration, it did impress me how many folk managed their feats despite being in desperately poor condition – it looks as if we will discover what that feels like. It is an awful shock to spring on us just when we were winding down and heading for bed.

Prudence has been reading a Japanese field army manual by a Mr. Nanami Togarashi, and whispers they sometimes keep troops up for a week – “they already know how to sleep; they can learn to stay awake.” I thought she was being pessimistic. In fact they may have read the same books.

The local militia turns out this time every year, before the islands get busy planting crops or preparing for tourists. From Father’s tales, most modern battles rarely start off with crisp lines of fresh troops sweeping across a conveniently empty countryside; far more often it involves files of bone-weary and mud-encrusted foot-sloggers scrambling through whatever remains of people’s back gardens and factory yards.

A fleet of water taxis ferried us over to Main Island, landing at a spot just South of the delta where the river comes out from Crater Lake. We went past here last year and noticed what looked like an abandoned village with bamboo groves taking over backyards and the like, but never heard anything about it..Missy K rarely shares any of her local knowledge, but she did today. Maybe we should keep her awake twenty hours with no end in sight more often. The ruins were once Komako Village, a casualty of the Gunboat Wars which was never re-settled but kept as a reminder; more of its inhabitants perished (and not as Molly says “like old rubber bands”) than survived. The ones of us who can read Spontoonie paid homage at a black basalt memorial on the outskirts, listing over forty names.

I suppose it is fitting, that the militia put the place to good use in training to avoid the same kind of thing happening again. There are what looks like longhouses standing still, but they are more like stage props or what Tatiana calls a “Potempkin village”, hurriedly thrown together from discarded materials to give the right size and shape without being actually habitable, and quite without decoration apart from some bullet holes in the posts.

Molly seemed quite cheerful, and asked Miss Blande what we were going to do here – I think she expected to be issued with a “Trench Broom” and half a dozen grenades on the spot and told to storm the place. From what she has said of some of her Father’s Business Associates, they picked up habits in the Great War that proved rather unsettling in civilian life afterwards. Entering a strange room has a certain prescribed etiquette, to be sure, but not usually involving throwing in a grenade first.

I have to admit, it was a relief to see my friend’s ears and tail droop in disappointment – if anyone was going to be doing that sort of thing it is the Militia, not us. Our role is to act as “concerned citizens” searching the area for signs of invasion, and run to alert the defending forces. This way, the militia get extra eyes and noses working for them at no cost.

Though Molly was disappointed, she picked up at once at the sight of the defenders assembling on the road. We were detailed off to watch over two-hundred yards strips of track and jungle, and quite left to our own devices. Of course, we had no idea exactly what to expect or when – which I suppose is the point.

Thursday 28th February, 1936

I now know what “tired” really means. We are back at Songmark after twelve hours sleep, a big evening meal and a bath – and most of us will not be awake at “Lights-out” in an hour’s time.

For four days and nights we have been haunting the jungle trails, trying desperately to stay awake and alert, in what became more like a waking nightmare. We had an awful shock at our first sight of the “Invaders” – not local militia shopkeepers with broom-sticks and armbands, but actual uniformed troops, armed with rifles and definitely not in a holiday mood. I might have broken my track sprint record despite the mud and branches on the way to the nearest field telephone half a mile down the trail.

It turns out that Rain Island and Tillamook have each sent along four companies of their finest, who are determined to “invade” at all costs. Not that I think they are practicing to annexe Hawaii, but if anything unfortunate ever did happen to these islands, they would be the only ones liable to counterattack. So everyone gets a good test, as they see things from different perspectives – the local Militia are occupying forces to the Rain Islanders, and they are the invaders to the Militia. We are just trying to keep awake and pass on what we see without getting caught.

I must say, it is a world away from the genteel military exercises my cousin takes his Vickers Medium tanks to on Salisbury Plain. There, umpires ride around on horseback and judge the score – “casualties” sit down and relax, and are given a red flag so everyone knows they are out of the game. I saw Missy K and Adele Beasley get captured, at which the captain fired two shots in the air and announced he had executed two spies.

They were released at the next break period, unhurt but looking extremely shocked. I took particular care not to get caught myself, after that. I would have hoped folk would have followed the Geneva Convention (especially as we are civilians), but neither Vostok nor Ioseph Starling’s regime has actually signed it, and I would think they are the “prime suspects” in this sort of setting.

The one improvement over being chased across Vostok at Christmas was that we had plenty to eat. Every lunchtime we would assemble back at the road in Komako Village, and sample the fare of a Field Kitchen that looked distinctly Great War surplus but was very well supplied. Even folk in the trenches got hot food sent up if at all possible, and I have never appreciated it half as much before. I would have been grateful for even lukewarm Maconochie in the circumstances, but folk seem to have filled the five gallon kettles with fine fish stew straight from the Beresby cannery vats, and there was as much as we wanted. I suppose that is just the sort of island institution that would be commandeered in emergencies.

Another welcome sight was our matron, Mrs. Oelabe, who took time to check us over thoroughly every lunch hour. Even as fit as we are, this sort of thing is an awful strain on the system and we are ten times more likely to run into things and fall over things than when we are rested. Apart from patching up various cuts and stings, she passed us all fit for duty and sent us back. Madelene X had been speculating she might get out of it by pretending to have “shell shock”, but Mrs. Oelabe presumably knows the symptoms better than she does, and can diagnose malingering with unerring accuracy. Adele Beasley’s messy scalp wound from a branch had already been treated by Li Han, who is jolly good with a needle and her stitches earned her dorm quite a few points. We all carry our First Aid kits these days, they are like Insurance Policies – when you suddenly need them, you had better have one handy.

After two days, we had got into the swing of things. I found myself separated from Helen in escaping from an ambush, and spent the last day teamed up with Carmen from Prudence’s dorm. We managed to get a  few hours sleep, taking alternate watches. Of course we could have done what Madelene X did and “guarded” a completely dense piece of jungle with no trails, spend a full night comfortably asleep then report nobody had been seen anywhere near. But remembering what happened to our pals, we took it as life-or-death serious and stuck with our task. If any Tillamook trooper got within fifty yards of us without being spotted, it was not because we were asleep at our post.

We did move around a lot, though it was nothing like our chase across Vostok and given a spot with a good view and no likely surprises, there was often time for one of us to relax while the other had the binoculars busy. Of all the people in our year, I suppose Carmen and Belle are the ones I know least. They went straight into Prudence’s dorm, and seem absolutely content there – and all their leisure time is spent away from Songmark on swimming teams and other sports. After a year and a half here I don’t remember actually sitting down on our own and talking to her for more than a minute at a time.

We certainly had the chance to talk, trying to keep each other awake on watch. Of course at night we had to keep quiet and use our ears and noses mostly, but for a day and a half we shared improvised grass bowers and tree-top perches looking out for signs of movement. Carmen definitely prefers Spontoon to Mixtexca, she tells me, as her homeland is decidedly more strait-laced about a lot of her interests. I assume she is not referring to beach volleyball.

Interestingly, she too has been thinking about just how “official” our Tutors are on this island. Carmen mused that there may be reports written on us after this trip that we will never see, but the Althing will. True enough, we have had self-defence classes and survival trips before, but anyone can benefit from those – and we have helped the Authorities with brush fires and emergency landings. This is not the first time as a class that we have actually been helping with the defence of the islands (Molly still recounts the thrill of working a 3.5 inch AA cannon) but it is the only one needing real dedication. I think Beryl dug herself a well-concealed hole and guarded the inside of that all exercise, as she only turned up for meals.

Of course, there is a matter of personal loyalties in this. Madelene X would probably defend the place tooth and claw against an invasion by Ioseph Starling’s forces, but not against the French deciding an extra colony would look good in the stamp albums. Carmen has a more neutral view of all this, Mixtexca not being really equipped to stage overseas invasions even if they wanted to.

It was certainly something to think about. Unless some major threat actually turns up in the next year and a half it will stay quite theoretical for us, but certainly we are an air unit with better training than most air forces manage even in peacetime. I can see why some folk assume we are one of the “secret schools” that are rumoured to exist; as one can hardly hide the sight of us flying all the time it would be possible to hide the “real” explanation. As for our being mostly from overseas, France does very well with its Foreign Legion and given its small population Spontoon might want to do the same – a day’s work on our Tiger Moths could fit them with torpedoes, and a week’s practice could give even our year some chance of hitting an invading troopship, let alone the third-years.

If there really are “secret schools”, all I can say is they must be extremely good at being secret, as we have never bumped into any. Possibly people see groups such as the Guide School that Violobe attends, and jump to conclusions. They do practice being inconspicuous, but that is to help with observing wildlife, as Violobe told me herself and she should know.

At last, at eight this morning we heard the foghorns playing the signal to come home at the end of the exercise. The pair of us almost held each other up as we staggered in to where the camp kitchens had about twenty gallons of Camp Coffee steaming in an invitation our noses picked up three hundred yards away; though I think the bottled Camp Coffee concentrate is awful stuff, Carmen has been known to drink it neat and lick the bottle clean. Being an anteater, she certainly has the right tongue for the job, though it is quite unnerving to see her plunge it into a tight-necked clear bottle and watch her enjoy cleaning it out.

Having about an hour and a half of sleep a day is certainly better than none, although I can now believe Father’s stories of furs who have slept standing up or even marching. We had little time to arrange comfortable camps as we were constantly on the move, and only had a single blanket and a mackintosh sheet as shelter in our packs. Fires were definitely out, so the only warm and comfortable thing to rest our heads on was each other. Interesting facts one learns – when an anteater dreams, her tongue curls in and out like one of those party squeakers. Fascinating!

Friday 1st March, 1936

The first day of spring – not that any of us were up to see the sunrise, having seen the previous six will do for awhile. While we were away the Songmark post room received my pilot’s examination details for the end of the month, as did Beryl and Prudence. One excellent piece of news is that the trip is included in the Songmark fees, since it is a necessary part of the course. So I will not have to cast around for tramp steamers to drop me offshore away from the Customs posts this time, which is an improvement on our Krupmark trip, but most things are.

We escorted the first-years over to Moon Island, the first time this year we have been on the Link Trainer. Miss Wildford was in charge of the trip overall, and told us some alarming tales of pilots who insisted in flying while in poor shape – sick or tired or whatever. She cautioned all of us against it, and took special care to impress on us that flying with a hangover was a very bad idea.

Beryl whispered that she has heard some exceedingly interesting stories of our dear tutor from before she joined Songmark, and that Miss Wildford can definitely speak from personal experience. She was starting to tell a very risqué tale about her and the Duck tribe, when we were called away to break up a scuffle between Liberty Morgenstern and Rumiko, our Japanese girl. Rumiko is a good patriotic girl, and when Liberty carried on as usual about “Liquidating all Capitalist-Imperialists and their running-dog lackeys” she naturally took offence (and a fence post, which she broke over the orator in rather fine “kendo” style. Liberty has a very solid head, solid all the way through as many say.)

One day, the Daily Elele will run fifty-point banner headlines declaring “Liberty Morgenstern gets through whole day without insulting or irritating anyone”, but I shall not hold my breath waiting for it. Having her in medical quarantine with diphtheria and unable to speak, is about the only way I can see it happening.

Actually, both Liberty and Rumiko did jolly well on the trainer, while all our responses were way off still. A valuable lesson for all of us, as I would have said we had entirely recovered our form. This time yesterday I do vaguely remember not being able to hold anything for a minute without spilling or dropping it; we must have been in such poor shape we could not even feel it properly. A lot of our course these days is like that, learning where our limits lie; generally a lot further off than we expected. A year ago, things like the rock faces on Main Island I would have regarded as quite impossible, but now I know it is all a matter of hard work and the right equipment (or no equipment and an awful lot more hard work).

The link trainer is equipped for “blind flying” which consists of a canvas hood sealed tight while the controller throws the model cockpit into difficult situations. I am not looking forward to ever being upside-down and spinning in the middle of a dense cloud, but at least I have survived it in theory. Risking a real test in the one Songmark Tiger Moth with full night instruments is something we will do in our Third year.

Certainly, if Casino Island is a small place, Moon Island is a smaller one by far on which to meet people. Coming out of the Naval Syndicate buildings, I saw two familiar folk in obvious heated debate, waving rolls of plans – Mr. Tikitavi the sculptor, and that skunk gentleman in charge of the testing works. Very odd. I would not have thought someone who test fires model Leduck aircraft would really need an artist. Still, a lot of folk here have Tiki sculptures in their houses, and he might want one himself.

We had seen the original for his biggest sculpture, the “listening wall” on Orpington Island. That looks as if it was part of a smooth lava tube cut lengthways by a rock fault to give a curved wall with fascinating echo effects. Mr. Tikitavi’s monumental work looking out over the Main Island’s northern sea approaches is a much more finished design, it is only a pity it is in such an isolated spot with few folk to appreciate it. I suppose suitable sites are not easily found, and he had to use what he had available.

Saturday 2nd March, 1936

A great relief to be back on Casino Island at our dance lessons. Jasbir’s dorm is coming on very well with their practicing, and indeed both she and Li Han are better than any of us. Jasbir has natural advantages that way being a mongoose – but still, species is not everything. Bovines are not usually known for their grace and poise, but both Maria and Irma have beaten competitors of all shapes and sizes.

As it turned out, we did not have to wait to see Namoeta again to learn Orpington Island dances – our instructor Mrs. Motorabe did ask us if we had any requests, and we learned their “Aloe Hula”. A rather less fluid dance than most of the Spontoon styles, but aloe is a definitely spiky plant and covers a lot of Orpington’s dry plateau. Some of it is the valuable “Aloe Vera”, but most is the cheaper “Aloe Fraudulata.”

Beryl dropped in just to watch, as we have persuaded her that heckling our opponents is not something we really appreciate (Irma was quite definite on the subject last month, I was amazed how far into the ocean a mouse can be shot-putted.) She is quite a fine dancer herself but sticks to “Euro” styles, having (she says) seen more money circulating in cocktail parties than luaus.

We had a surprise when Beryl offered to buy us lunch, despite the fact she has more money to throw around than most of us. Helen looked quite suspicious, but accepted her offer of roast meat rather than the usual fish. Beryl is currently on top in her rather odd friendship with Piet van Hoogstraaten Junior, having gained his renewed affections and “robbed him blind” at the same time. The sport is the thing, and the money is just a way of keeping score, she claims.

The mystery deepened when she chatted with Molly about some money-making scheme they had evidently been discussing earlier – Beryl mentioned the first test batches had been fine, and a pilot plant had been designed, if they can work out how to market “the product”. Oh dear. Given Molly’s background, I fear she has something illegal in mind. Nootnops Blue is the national drink here and we have seen Italian absinthe and “Vin Mariani” for discreet sale, so anything stronger than those is probably a very bad idea.

I saw Helen’s tail droop, and she pointed out rather forcefully that we have to keep our noses clean with the Authorities here – especially those of us with nowhere else to go. Molly looked quite innocent, but admitted she had picked up the ideas from her Father’s business schemes. She refused to go into any more details, insisting it was a surprise.

Well! We have not given Molly the lion’s share of our funds for her to be deported for the sake of one of Beryl’s crooked enterprises. Maria was furious with Beryl and not surprisingly, promising she will either get the truth or a pair of mouse-ear gloves out of her.

Beryl just smiled innocently and pointed out she is a graduate of Saint T’s, and has been threatened by experts. Besides, she explained she had invested a fair sum of her cash and Molly’s in it, and has high hopes of a good return.

I don’t know if my jaw hung open, but Helen’s and Maria’s certainly did. The only funds Molly possesses are the ones we set aside to pay her Songmark bills at the end of term. We are about half-way there – or at least, we were. Maria lost her temper quite explosively, initially in Italian (she has not done that in a long time) before switching seamlessly to English to tell Beryl what she thinks of her schemes.

Molly was obviously distressed but kept her snout resolutely shut, leaving it to Beryl to ride the storm. Not a good day for dorm solidarity, I think – she could at least have told us.

Maria stormed out, declaring that Beryl could pay for Molly’s fee if Molly no longer trusted us to, and Helen joined her looking rather grim. I felt like following them – but one does not abandon one’s friends, even if they have been jolly silly. Beryl winked, and promised me a sample of the first production batch they cook up, which I hastily declined. I have already picked up some interests on these islands that folk back home would not approve of, but I want to stick to healthy ones.

The cinema was a welcome relief for all of us, and I can afford the ten cowries apiece they charge off-season. We missed the Little Shirley Shrine film “Animal Snackers” last week, which was rather a relief. Molly whispered the only way she’d miss was if the rifle sights were skewed, which is unkind but very understandable. There was a quite amazing feature instead, a full-length cartoon in colour – “Poodle White and the Seven Runts”, which is a world first. Very impressive, but I am sure cartoon feature films will never really catch on.

Sunday 3rd March, 1936

Pouring with rain again all morning, so a damp day on South Island. Like our lessons, the shrines need to be attended to rain or shine, but at least it is getting slightly warmer now.

We have two more weeks before departing for our exams, Maria having decided to follow Helen, Molly, Belle and Ada off to Manila for her license papers. She is very confident, claiming the American exams are sure to be easy. True enough, there are things that folk would definitely lose their license for elsewhere (such as flying under bridges with a loaded passenger aircraft) that she says are essential parts of the Italian exam. She points out that there are no old and bold pilots – but as old ones are due to be retired anyway and no further use, one may as well concentrate on encouraging the bold ones. Her idea is that it is the records pilots make that count, not how long their careers last – fine perhaps for the Great War, but I hope she keeps quiet about it to her safety instructor in Manila.

Helen is still quite upset at Molly and we did not invite her along today. This is probably a mistake, as she headed out instead with Beryl to the Temple of Continual Reward, which from what I have heard is rather like the “Hellfire Club” that my great-grandmother used to go to along with the rest of the Regency bucks. Though none of the family portraits show anything but feline features on the Phipps side that may say more about her precautions than experiences.

Every time Molly mentions her “Temple” one can see our Tutors’ snouts wrinkle and ears dip, even though Beryl boasts that some of the richest folk on the island are members, and often invite world-famous visitors to join them – at least, Molly claims they are world famous, but I do not read the International Police Gazette.  I doubt they made their fortunes selling postcards, at least not ones that would be allowed through the post.

We did notice on the Southern beach road of the island some cement lorries and a steam shovel heading Eastwards round the corner. Although we have tried not to look at the Waterworks Project this year (and have hardly had the chance anyway) it looks as if the excavations have already come right round to this end of the island. By this time next year they may have finished it, and South Island will have a ring of invisible road and fortifications a lot less conspicuous than the Maginot Line. Hopefully more secret as well – it is easy to needle Madelene X about the French government putting contracts out to the cheapest tender and discovering too late that though the building firms have well-chosen French names they have head offices in Berlin. Rather adding insult to injury, I should have thought – finding out you are paying to give away your own secrets.

Indeed, all the Hoele’toemi family except Mrs. Hoele’toemi are away today working on the project, so we had a pleasant day with her at the family longhouse. She thanked us for helping clear her niece’s name, and mentioned that trade is often complex in these islands. Smugglers may bring in perfectly legal goods sometimes as a cover, or official businesses make use of smugglers for particular projects. Her husband is in the import-export trade, so she should know.

Helen is rather down in the dumps, having taken it rather hard with Molly’s mysterious but doubtless shady “business deal”. She is usually so confident, but worried that if she had a bad Pilot’s exam she will be left with nothing. Her own budget is calculated to see her through the rest of Songmark, but after that she will have very little remaining. Certainly, anyone who fails this exam will be in real trouble, as re-taking it would mean reapplying from scratch and returning to the test centre tears a hole in the timetable later on this year. I am not even sure if Songmark would pay for the second attempt – definitely we must enquire, though I hope none of us need two tries.

My ears blushed a little when our hostess pointed out that even without our flying talents we both have everything she would look for in a daughter-in law; we can keep house, we can fish, we can farm, and we can keep her sons extremely happy (she elaborated somewhat, and it seems Spontoonie gentlemen tell their mothers more than I think their Euro counterparts ever do.) Mrs. Hoele’toemi hugged her, tousled Helen’s head-fur and told her quite firmly not to fuss.

Back to Songmark to find Maria slightly happier, having a bundle of illustrated newspapers arrive for her less than a week old. There is a large article on her Uncle opening a new alpine sports resort, not dressed in his uniform for a change but showing wholly bare chest-fur as he toboggans rather expertly in the brilliant sunshine. At least, Maria says the article said he was expert, and there are no photographs of him falling off. What that may say about his skills or the freedom of the local press, I can hardly comment.

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