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"Easter Eggs"
(Being the eleventh part of the diary of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, now back at Songmark Aeronautical School for Young Ladies, on Spontoon’s Eastern Island. She now has her official pilot’s licence, and returns after a trip filled with adventure.) Sunday 30th March, 1936 Back again, safe and sound! It was a busy evening last night, when I returned to Songmark and checked in with our Tutors. Miss Devinski knows about my passport problem – I doubt she knows about the other passport I own, but she accepted fairly calmly my explanation that I had difficulty getting through Customs in the usual way. She was in a good mood although I was the last of my class to return – as she handed me a registered package posted from the Gilbert and Sullivan Isles, which contained my "B" License, valid for five years "to fly for hire or reward". Although in different national standards the details vary, my own formal qualifications look good on paper – there was the solo night flight, the solo two hundred mile circuit with two takeoffs and landings, and the navigation across water without any landmarks to assist . It seems everyone has passed, the first time this has happened since Songmark opened in 1930: as the exams are getting noticeably tougher every year, it must reflect well on our Tutors. I am "invited" to explain my delay to her on Monday, though I think I will just stick to the basics of times and places and not disturb her with details that she might take issue with. Our dear Tutor has some fascinating pictures on her office wall, which one generally stares at when being hauled over the coals for stretching the rules. Miss Devinski finished in the top five of the 1929 "Powderpuff Derby" in America, that ladies-only air race that always features so prominently in the newsreels. There is another picture of the first ever class graduating at Songmark; one keen and pretty canine I recognise as Letitia Fosbury-Smythe, now the Air-Pirate Queen of the South China Seas with the rest of her dorm as her trusted lieutenants. It all goes to show, hard work and Songmark qualifications can get you anywhere one wishes to go. Back to my dorm to celebrate with Helen, Molly and Maria! We stayed up late catching up on everything and taking notes; they had a long and rather dull trip, arrived in Manila in the middle of a tropical downpour and spent five days waiting for hour-long gaps in the storms to get the flying sections of their exams done. It was exciting enough – but I preferred my trip, troubles and all. Molly in particular went cross-eyed at even the edited account I gave her of how my day had been – waking up on the deck of the Ruddigore in the starlight with rather fine company, our tails entwined. It is amazing what air travel does, moving me from one very different world to another in a day – certainly as I relaxed on the clean ironed sheets of my Songmark bed, I could hardly imagine a greater contrast with the night before. It is super to be back with my friends, after all – for a few days on Pinafore Island I nearly lost hope of getting back here. Today, I caught up on lost time returning to South Island with Helen and our religious training. It is actually feeling like coming home – there are folk waiting for me here, and shrinesthat need tending. When I thought of "home" in my troubles on New Penzance, it was here more than England I was longing for. Disturbing, in a way. That is the thing about being brought up to an Empire: whole generations of folk are brought up to leave school and head out overseas for their whole careers, only returning to Barsetshire as crusty retired Colonels after forty years of their fur bleaching in the tropical sun, and never again quite getting used to the idea that one does not haggle in the village shops. Anyway, Saimmi was very pleased to see me, and commented I was looking well and my adventures do not seem to have taken much out of me. We tended a shrine on the East side of Mount Tomboabo, looking out over Sacred Island. Next week, she says, we might go over there and she will show us some of the oldest shrines on the island, which by some evidence must be far older than any of the history books would suspect possible. That reminded me of Professor Schiller – I asked after him, almost dreading that Saimmi would tell me he succumbed to food poisoning from a faulty wurst or gone swimming and encountered a fatal undertow. Looking at Sacred Island, I can imagine what might sometimes do the towing. But folk round here try and be more subtle than that, and it seems he has been "Diverted" to study some abandoned settlements on the Mare’s Nest Shoals, a day’s sailing away. It is a great relief; after all, he was only looking for ancient artefacts as he chased around the Mare’s Nest. One can imagine the locals being worried about spies getting the technology of the "Sea Flea", but the Professor’s colleagues are only interested in bringing old cups, spears and caskets back to the museum. On the last newsreel I saw, they had brought another antique to Berlin for the Olympic Games, a big golden casket carried on two poles like a stretcher. In the same newsreels our own Government has been making much of a certain sword found miraculously intact near Glastonbury where a lake used to be a thousand years ago. Back down to Haio Beach, and a very welcome reunion with Jirry. Although he does not worry too much about me when I am off on my trips, he is always glad to see me back. Actually, he had an interesting story to tell of Helen and Marti, who are more than capable of Adventuring without me. I had been agonizing about Molly’s secret "project" and whether to tell the authorities about it; Helen had no such qualms and enlisted Marti and some of his friends to trace where Molly and Beryl were working. Last Thursday they made a midnight swoop on a building next to the cannery and grabbed samples of the "product" for testing – which revealed rather a surprise. Jirry smiled and told me he had tried some of it himself, and so had his family who had found it quite addictive. As my ears and tail drooped, he laughed and called for Marti to open the icebox. At last I found out just what Molly has come up with, inspired by her family business back in America. It was not quite what I had expected. I was baffled to be handed an ounce or so of pink boneless fish that tasted quite delicately of crab. It seems she had the idea when we were hunting them on Main Island and drinking the soup – the woods are full of tasty but fiddly land crabs, and the seas are full of big Pastefish that are so dull nobody wants to eat them. So she came up with a local version of PAMS – a crab and reconstituted fish version, something original, blandly boneless and tailor-made for Tourist picnic hampers! That was definitely a load off my mind. Further, it seems Beryl has used her local business contacts to persuade the cannery to start a small run, just a few hundred cans using all the available home-made crab sauce she could get in the market. It has been going out as free samples to the hotels who have placed advanced orders for next year when crab-hunting can be put on a more deliberate scale. Selling her rights to the idea and a guaranteed percentage of profits, it looks like Molly has an income at last. I would have said Beryl is turning a new leaf, but of course anything with money in it attracts her even if it is legal. I am not investing in the new enterprise she is fundraising for, the "South Sea Bubble Bath Company", as it sounds like money laundering to me. As we left, Helen reminded me we only have one more week before the holidays – in all the excitement with getting our pilot licenses, I had hardly thought about what was happening afterwards. Time does fly. A most enjoyable evening by the waterfall catching up on things, then we were heading back to Songmark with a full timetable of classes looming ahead of us. (Later) There was one piece of unfinished business to take care of. I took a plain envelope and commercial paper without a watermark, and wrote a letter to a certain black and white furred collie who might still be waiting patiently. To Lionel, I would have simply vanished again, and last time I turned up after a few days; I had to let him know I was alive and well, and he should stop searching New Penzance for me. As I could truthfully tell him, I am "returning home via Spontoon", although I was rather unclear where Home was. That is getting quite near the truth, these days. I think I handled things on Pinafore Island rather nicely, thanks to my Songmark training – there was no frantic dashing around on the run, and I had a thoroughly civilised trip all things considered. A Class B license and the memories of two very fine (and very different) gentlemen are the perfect souvenirs of my trip. Although I am awfully glad to be back, as I stamped and dropped the letter in the post box by the Marine Air Terminal my tail did droop somewhat. Really, one cannot have everything – but to a "real" Kim-Anh, it might be quite nice to be set up in the cool spa town of Wellington Wells, the summer retreat high on Mount Mikado. I had thought quite a lot of Lionel; the only gentleman I have met so far who really would fit in with domestic life back Home under my real name. Of course, since coming out here I fear I might have been rather spoiled in terms of what to expect in gentlemen – and realised the limitations a good girl has back home. Only as his exotic Eurasian mistress could I have an interesting time passing onto him what I have learned since leaving St. Winifred’s. As Amelia Bourne-Phipps – well. Monday 31st March, 1936 One more week to go! This morning, Miss Cardroy came in with a roster of who had elected to stay in the area for Easter. Maria is going home to Italy to report in more detail on our Vostok trip, but a lot of other folk are staying. Songmark do seem to have a lot of local contacts with all sorts of people. Furthermore, they dislike the idea of students actually having relaxing holidays and getting into trouble on Casino Island, so they try and farm us out as hired paws to further our education. One of the options she "suggested" was helping crew a historical sailing ship, the Liki-Tiki. The ship is due here in two weeks; she sails the Pacific as a mobile film set and tourist cruise ship, and being of entirely authentic design she always needs a lot of fit and agile crew. I hope the ship is not "Leaky" as its name suggests, I worked hard enough on the bilge pumps of the Ruddigore. I was considering volunteering when Molly and Beryl jumped up and volunteered themselves straightaway. I followed suit, as really Molly needs someone responsible looking after her. Helen’s ears went flat at the prospect of another sea voyage – in vain I pointed out that a much bigger ship than the Noenoke’s fishing fleet last year would be a lot more stable. But Helen can practically get seasick in the bath, and refused flat out. I suppose she has a lot to look forward to staying with Marti and the Hoele’toemis, and I can hardly blame her. Now we have our Pilot’s licenses, I had hoped our Tutors might relax before the end of term, and just concentrate on sports and such as they did after exams at St. Winifred’s. No such luck! The good news is, we are heavily booked for flying, as we now try to fill our logbook with experience in as many commercial aircraft as our Tutors can fast-talk their owners into letting us fly. As if we needed it, we spent the morning in a rigorous session of aerobatics. I was allowed to take up Sand Flea 1, and it handles beautifully in the cold air first thing in the morning. How well it might do in full Summer heat, I will find out later. Aerobatics was fun after our examinations, when we all had to keep quiet about how good we were at a "falling-leaf" manoeuvre while piloting passenger aircraft. Maria was allowed to throw her Tiger Moth about the sky to her heart’s content, far more skilfully than she did last year. She knows now that if she strains a bracing-wire she will be the one to fix it, and moves accordingly. On the airfield there was a quite phenomenally ugly French tri-motor, a "Jabiru" that is rented by the advanced party of a film crew. It is actually one I have heard of, that lady director Prudence has mentioned who does such surprising versions of classical tales. The pilot is a familiar face, a very fierce-looking Fillypine mare who I have seen in Mahanish’s always dressed in leather flying gear. Prudence tells me her dorm are trying to persuade the pilot to let them fly the Jabiru, at least round the bay and back. Even a half-hour trip counts in our log-books, and our Tutors have been known to open the purse-strings a little to pay for fuel and costs for this sort of chance. Beryl is up to her old tricks: I returned to find her expounding the "facts" of international trade to some of the first years. Her method is to start with something accurate, then to seamlessly switch into pure invention – true enough, Spontoon gets some Japanese oranges from Satsuma, and we just might get a delivery of coconuts from the Cocos (Keeling) Islands. We do not get our dates from the International Date line! If I had stayed to listen long enough, she would have been telling us the Pacific gets its Easter Eggs from Easter Island. Tuesday, 1st April, 1936 A momentous occasion – by my calculations we are half-way through our Songmark careers, in terms of teaching days (in absolute time, having the Easter Holiday skews it a bit.) Things have certainly changed in the last year and a half. We arrived hardly knowing what we wanted to do (except fly and adventure) but now we are well on the way to becoming sturdy, self-reliant Adventuresses in full control of our futures and with everything planned out. It is a fine feeling to have. A Songmark girl is a girl whose life is not ruled by other people’s unwanted surprises. Miss Devinski accepted my version of my experiences on Pinafore Island, and wryly commented that although I do keep getting into trouble, I at least manage it with style. Actually, she agreed that I managed rather well, considering I got there and back without a valid passport, stood up to investigation and returned home completely unscathed. I would say "without a scratch on me", but the back of my neck would show otherwise and I am perfectly content with it. Our Tutors’ next target is to get us all some commercial flying experience: of course nobody is going to entrust us with a dozen expensive tourists, but an old flying-boat hauling coconuts will do to start with. The first-years have gone from strength to strength without us; today we escorted them to a village festival where their Kilikiti team fought hard and shouted vigorously against a Meeting Island High School team. Saffina is a star player – there does not seem much subtlety involved in swinging five-foot war clubs at a solid rubber ball, and anyone sledgehammering it into the ocean two hundred yards away gets extra cheers. After that match, we stayed to watch the other sports of the day. Some of the locals are of Samoan ancestry, and wrestling is a big thing there. There are some very … impressive wrestlers, and we hardly had to slap any first-year ears flat to keep order while they concentrated on watching. Brigit Mulvaney was almost well-behaved, with a good view and scent downwind of two huge polar bears throwing each other around the ring. Of course, bears are canine like her or near enough, as the speed of her tail thrashing quite demonstrated. Wo Shin may be married, but red pandas are roughly canine too and it seems she has not sworn off appreciating a pleasant view. Back to Eastern Island after lunch, and I diverted to Superior Engineering to see if any interesting aircraft need spare pilots. I know just where to look; the section where low-priority repairs are handled and their cash-starved owners might appreciate us buying flying time. Alas, those low-cost slipways were empty today, but looking through the book that ancient Junkers F13 is due for a service this week. I am always surprised to see it holding together – in another two years it would be old enough to attend Songmark itself as a pupil. It would be more useful for me to get my paws on a nice new Douglas DC-2 that would impress a future employer – but of course nobody would want to entrust those to student pilots with the ink on their qualifications barely dry. I have not seen that big lioness Andrace or her Scottish wildcat boss for months; they are probably off Adventuring. The only person in tartan I have seen here is that odd fellow in a kilt and Arab headdress who I am told runs The Devil’s Reef tavern, and calls himself "Abdul ben Nevis". I have seen Professor Schiller, who does not look particularly drowned but rather dispirited; it seems his chase around the Mares’ Nest Shoals has not been too rewarding. Still, by his accounts he has searched for King Solomon’s Mines for years – patience is a virtue in his job as with many others. His job might be easier if he did not have to make the facts fit the theory: he has explained that his research grants for that project depend on proving that all the wandering Tribes of Israel were in fact Teutonic and had wandered in from the Black Forest despite common belief to the contrary. I doubt our pal Hannah Meyer would be easily persuaded: "Agreeing would be difficult" as the Japanese say when they are too polite to say "No." Thursday 3rd April, 1936 Our ship’s crew applications have been accepted, hurrah – so six of us are practicing our knots and brushing up our flag recognition for a berth on the Liki-Tiki. Beryl has been seen practicing quick-draw moves with a sharpened marlinspike, which we hope will not be necessary. Madelene X is coming along, worse luck, and has been boring us with tales of her seafaring ancestors, who (she says) were the finest in the Napoleonic French Navy. This might explain why they rarely won. I confess to leaving a large illustrated book on the Battle of Trafalgar in her desk, which did not improve her mood although it cheered the rest of us considerably. Then, she is always telling us about her ancestors, claiming to go back two thousand years to some warrior called Asterisk or something like it who fought the Romans. She certainly has inherited a lot of gall from somewhere. Ada Cronstein and Carmen are the other two booked for the trip: both of them swim like fishes and can climb as fast as I can which should be handy in the rigging. As the only feline volunteering from Songmark, I suppose I might get the honorary role of ship’s cat – Ada reads far too many "Spicy Pacific Adventure Tales" of a certain nature and dreamily commented she would do well as a Cabin-girl with the right lady passengers – there are quite a few cabins she wants to visit. I think she means cabins on the Ark, not necessarily aboard the Liki-Tiki. It was a very good thing Molly was not around to hear that – she would either have done Ada a severe injury or vanished to a dark corner for an hour, and neither are good news. I fear she might never be quite the same again, deep down. She still loves blazing away on the self-defence courses and setting things on fire on her Field Engineering tests, but sometimes looks a little hollow round the eyes when she thinks nobody is watching. And she always takes elaborate detours around the Double Lotus, even though it is a perfectly safe and respectable place as far as I know. From what she has let slip, she actually did jump off that tramp steamer as soon as land was a mile away, trusting herself to unknown currents and sharks rather than stay onboard a minute longer. It is a pity she cares nothing for religion, as the Spontoonie rituals do settle the mind wonderfully. Maria says her own Church is most consoling – like paying off an overdraft at a bank, once she confesses and makes penance her account and conscience is cleared with nothing more said about the issues. Even our wild first-years seem to have plenty of faith – at least, Brigit Mulvaney once let slip she had been about to go into a "Magdalene", some sort of Irish convent I think, when she got away to Songmark instead. On the way to taking the first-years rock climbing, we stopped to look at Eastern Island’s latest industrial site. Really, it is very odd for a place like Spontoon where most native huts do not even have chimneys; a whole factory making steel chimneys, cowlings and chimney-pots. I suppose it is a useful piece of light engineering for folk who have practiced on aircraft repairs and fabrication, and the product is hardly going to spoil in transit if its market is half way across the Pacific. Most of the designs are similar, roughly the size and shape of a five-gallon milk churn, built in what looks like stainless steel. A sensible choice of material out here, as the combination of smoke, heat and sea spray would rust holes in ordinary metal sheeting long before a standard Native hut even needed its first re-thatching.  It was good to realise this is the last time this term we will be acting as escorts for our juniors, even though for once Liberty Morgenstern and co. were fairly well-behaved. Knowing you can "accidentally" kick loose a brick-sized rock on your roommate’s head below, seems to be moderated by knowing next time up the rock face they can freely return the complement. Actually, I think Tatiana and Liberty have called each other every combination of political heretic they can think of by now, and have settled down to an armed truce. Someone who did get in the way of a spare rock was Adele – she was just walking towards the rock face when Saffina slipped and an apple-sized rock bounced off Adele’s muzzle. She was more hurt than surprised, but bore up stoically as we had Saffina, Maria and Irma Bundt carry her off to out Matron to be looked over again. That is the strangest thing about poor Adele – our Tutors have spent days with her just trying to work out what she is doing wrong, and returned shaking their heads in bafflement. I fear she will find insurance policies expensive. Friday 4th April, 1936 Our last day! Our Tutors were merciful, and as we had all passed our Piloting first time, they took the Songmark cheque book and treated my whole year to a feast at Bow Thai. It was a wonderful evening, more so as Maria could attend (she leaves tomorrow morning) and for once we were allowed to order whatever we like. It was very strange being able to order Nootnops Blue in front of Miss Wildford (who was having the same, but even so.) Term technically finished at five and the meal started at seven; we are on holidays now and if our dear staff wants to treat us we are hardly going to refuse. As Miss Devinski pointed out from behind a flaming Tiki punch bowl, we are all Pilots now, and the first stage of our education is complete. In theory, we could get jobs tomorrow – but in practice we would stand no chance at all interviewed against a qualified three-year Songmark graduate. Nobody was dropping out, as if they would ever want to. We have so much adventuring to look forward to; I can hardly wait to see what develops for me this Summer. Although most of the waiters were Spontoonies, I did see in the kitchen one feline who was as authentic as the (most excellent) food, a Siamese cat who made me look definitely squat and clumsy in comparison. It was a shame she was busy in the back room juggling pans over roaring gas jets, as I would have liked to chat. Ada followed my gaze and winked at me; I expect she had the same idea, but with rather different reasons. A late evening, with some folk not returning to Songmark at all – Missy K vanishing home to Main Island right after the dessert, as did Prudence and Tahni who was already waiting at the restaurant when we arrived. She is a fine organizer, is Prudence Akroyd. I heard Ada whisper the rest of their dorm was moving on elsewhere, and I think I know where to. Maria has to be up at six to catch a trans-Pacific Dornier X that just stops long enough to refuel and pick up passengers, but she urged us not to get up just to say goodbye – her bags are packed and she only needs to slip into her travel costume and trot the quarter mile with them down to the Marine Air Terminal. So we said farewell in the dorm, with one last toast in smuggled Nootnops Blue; a fine end to a fine term! Saturday 5th April, 1936 It was very strange to wake up in the quiet, in our dorm – normally Maria is still snoring by the time the rest of us are half dressed, and we have to resort to drastic measures to get her up. She had managed to get herself up and out without waking us today though – and ten minutes later the confident roar of ten Jupiter engines made the windows shiver as the Dornier X headed over the island. They will be in the French territory of Clipperton Island by tomorrow morning, then stopping at Scottish Darien near Panama before heading over towards Europe. I must say, Nootnops Blue is much nicer the morning after than ordinary drinks. Molly often laments there is none in America, even though in the first years of Prohibition it would actually have been legal to sell on the streets, while beer was not! The laws have caught up with it now, she tells me, just when her family moved out of the import-export business; unfortunate timing for them. Whether it is the Nootnops or the fact of it being the holidays, I felt quite excellent and almost bounced out of the dorm, already making plans for the day. Songmark closes on Sunday morning for three weeks: we have all the instructions to rendezvous with the Liki-Tiki on the 10th of the month, and are totally free till then. It was good to see Molly in a cheerful mood: at four o’clock yesterday afternoon she returned from the bank and presented our Tutors with a bonded cheque for her Summer term’s fees. It seems the fish and crab "product" has been judged a success by some Tourist Board committee who plan to develop the idea next year, and at last she has a source of money our Tutors will not suspiciously wrinkle their snouts at. So until July she has nothing to worry about – and she should honestly be earning money till then as a percentage of every can sold. Nobody has yet decided what to call it, though as it can be prized out in a solid pinkish cylinder "Fish Log" has been suggested. That might be too prosaic for the tourist trade. I expect an exotic name will probably chosen giving it an expensive image but with an escape clause such as "Nimitz Sea Caviar" which has its own Beluga Caveat. By lunch we had packed our books and Songmark uniforms away for the holidays, and had just our knapsacks ready for the trip to South Island. Helen hardly needed that; she plans on being in oiled fur and Native costume from today onwards, and is decidedly travelling light. She declared that all she needs bring is herself – there is everything else she wants already on South Island. I know how she feels. One thing was rather odd – I was passing the dining hall when I scented the usual Saturday dinner and felt distinctly hungry. Our kitchens turn out some quite fine meals, but hardly ever on a weekend, when the usual meal is Poi. Very nutritious, as everyone keeps telling me, but gruesome stuff to my tastes – I would rather have plain mashed potato. Helen was amazed, as I was myself, as I emptied a large plateful of the sludgy stuff. It seemed somehow satisfying. Helen did cautiously try a spoonful, but declared it was just the same as ever, as far as she could tell. Beryl’s comment was it was an old prison superstition – folk who do not finish their plateful of porridge on the last day of their sentence will be back for some more. I agreed with her, but of course returning for another session is definitely what I want to do. Still, it saved the expense of Popatohi, which Helen and Molly lunched on as we waited for a water taxi. We did see Belle and Ada returning from the direction of Casino Island, looking rather the worse for wear. Ada confided that they had got their flights in the Jabiru, and had earned them. She warned me the pilot Nikki is definitely not someone she will be asking any more favours from. I think that is the fierce Fillipine mare who always wears such tough costumes, and filed the fact away in my fairly short list of things to avoid at all costs; I would have thought it takes a lot to quench an enthusiasm like Ada’s. Of course we are not the only folk going on holiday, and we shared a water taxi over with Wo Shin who is also bound for South Island. She tells us Liberty Morgenstern has already vanished, back via odd routes to New Haven (few airlines like to go there as they refuse to pay anyone in money, believing it perpetuates the Plutocratic World Conspiracy.) Shin does look very keen, and says she will be seeing her husband and family; although her husband has a house near the resort hotels it is only rented. The Althing has very strict laws about actually buying property, and only full citizens can do that. Molly complains this is awfully unfair, and points out islands such as Cuba are doing very well by selling estates to folk with plenty of ready cash; she mentions her Father’s old colleagues "Knuckles" Maldonado and "Mad Frankie" Frazetti now have a stake in the island. Well, yes. I think that is rather the sort of citizen Spontoon is trying not to import. By all accounts it used to be a lot easier to settle on these islands as long as one had a needed skill; the Countess Rachorska confided that she demonstrated her talent with a needle before she was given her papers. I always thought it odd that a full Countess should be so handy with a sewing machine; possibly they used to do things differently in Russia. They certainly used to in Spontoon, as after five years of working and staying out of legal trouble she became a full Citizen. I know they stopped doing that after the tourist trade took off – about a month’s supply of big cruise boats could bring enough people in to double the island’s population. Anyway, we parted from Shin on the beach and headed down to Haio Beach for a welcome reunion with the Hoele’toemis. They have finished with the Public Works project for tourist season, and the whole family are busy tending their garden plots. We hung up our respectable Songmark outfits and joined them, the first time Molly has worn Native costume this year except for our dance lessons. She does look good in the sunshine, and it is a real shame there is nobody to appreciate her as she deserves. I often wonder what happened to Lars – but in his line of work, I expect a lot of folk "disappear" and the ones who know why will not be telling the Daily Elele the circumstances. It is a great pity, as he is a fine match for her in so many ways. A hard but very satisfying day on the taro patch was followed by our helping Mrs. Hoele’toemi prepare us a special welcome meal. She joked that with one of her daughters off at sea and the other busy with tending shrines it was good that she can find some more to do the work. Helen gets the spare family longhouse this trip, and quite right too; Molly and I am quartered in the village women’s hut but that is no real hardship. An excellent evening, with a dip in the waterfall and Mrs. H helping to oil our fur and apply the proper patterning- Helen as Tailfast to her family, myself as a close family friend, and Molly as a guest. I have been practicing this myself, but it is hard for even a feline to reach between her own shoulder blades. I helped Helen settle into her snug hut, where everything is kept ready for guests. Mrs H tells us the family built it for Moeli, not expecting she would get a husband and cub who have no need of any land dwelling. Saimmi is very busy with the local religion, though she has mentioned she was Tailfast once. I got the impression of a tragedy there. Certainly Helen looked as happy as I have seen her, with a month of real holiday to look forward to – helping run a household and work on the family farm might not be everyone’s idea of a holiday, but it depends on the company. She murmured that it is a good thing the holiday did not start last week, or her calendar might rather restrict things with Marti – but as it is, she should have no worries. It was luckily getting too dark for her to notice my whiskers droop as I steeled myself to admit I DO have something to worry about that way. Helen and I share the same timings on such things, or at least we did . Dear Diary: I have been counting and re-counting the days myself all this week, rather thoroughly re-checking and accounting for the fact the previous full month started in February . Oh dear. Sunday 6th April, 1936 One of the things they teach you at Songmark is to face facts – to find out exactly where you stand and make a definite plan from there. It was a wonderful Spring day, and Jirry was free all morning – I suggested we take a walk up Mount Tomboabo and take a picnic lunch with us. Sitting on the mountain top, I broke the news to him, both welcome and what I thought would be devastatingly unwelcome. Jirry Hoele’toemi is even better than I thought he was, which is saying a lot. He kissed me most affectionately, and declared I was worrying needlessly – these things sometimes jump generations, and he is confident he can "discover" a Siamese in his ancestry if anyone asks questions later on. He can count days just as well, and is familiar with my calendar. I knew the Native girls were sometimes "flexible" about things, but I was amazed, and showed him just how much I appreciated him. There is an old Polynesian belief in ancestry not being an absolute thing, but more like "proportional representation" in politics that Maria rather sneers at. Even though as a textbook fact the Polynesians know otherwise these days, they still think theirs is a nicer idea. Indeed, he joked his family would be very pleased for me – whether I wanted to be Amelia Hoele’toemi or not. A perfect "Wahini" can prove all her accomplishments, and this is one they think highly of. At least now I know I can provide kittens for our longhouse, whatever their fur pattern. Helen has decided she can contribute tiger-stripes to the family, and Jirry says he does like the grace of Siamese. We had a very pleasant afternoon – and indeed, for the first time ever there was one thing I had no further need to worry about with him. Returning paw in paw down the hill, I started to count my blessings – I had feared I would be returning alone. But of course that is only the start of it – I can see an awfully rocky road ahead, even if his family are pleased to welcome a new kitten. What our Tutors and my family back home will say about matters, is another thing entirely. I remember Miss Devinski’s comment the first month we were in Songmark, about the place never having unexpectedly lost or gained in numbers – well, there is a first time for everything but I had not planned on being a test case. Anyway, for the minute I could relax and enjoy my holiday. It is already warm enough to sunbathe and swim comfortably, although the waves were rather high. Some of the locals had brought out those odd Hawaiian "surfing boards", solid wood and quite a bit heavier than a canvas canoe of the same length – although any portable exploring canoe would be crushed like an eggshell under the waves hitting Haio Beach today! Jirry borrowed a friend’s board and spent the rest of the day teaching me how to stay on it; a wild ride guaranteed, ending up with me exceedingly wet. On the way we stopped at the waterfall to wash the salt out of our fur, although with oiled fur it is far less of a problem. It will always be a magic place for me, that waterfall – and now more than ever. Back to the Hoele’toemi household, to find Molly being taught domestic skills not generally practiced by Chicago bootleggers. At least she has a lot of useful skills; she does like lighting fires, and now is doing it entirely without petrol. next |