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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
11 May, 1936 to 17 May, 1936

Topical Heatwave

(Being the twelfth part of the diary of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, at the Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies on Spontoon’s Eastern Island. Having survived a severe illness, she is back in class eager to make up lost time …)


Monday 11th May, 1936

Back to the grindstone! Molly and I have two weeks lost time to catch up, and there is no “easing into” term at Songmark. Everything is coming as rather a sudden shock, and not just our classwork. When we left for Easter the islands were still in the off-season, and now they are a hive of activity getting ready for the tourist tidal wave. The first ripples of that are already visible, with a crowd of new faces arriving on Eastern Island, mostly workers and entertainers bound for the Casino Island to prepare for the hordes to follow.

Still, first things first – we were back in class for the first time in five weeks, our first one being aerodynamics with Herr Bussmann who is leaving us to return to Germany at the end of this term. He has been teaching off and on since Songmark was founded, but his main job is with the Schneider Trophy teams where he is a rather valued consultant. We have only another eight weeks of his wise (if sometimes rather irritable) advice, and then he is saying farewell to these shores for an even better position with the recently expanding firm of Junkers.

Herr Bussmann admits he will miss the climate here, but as consolation he will be seeing the whole Olympic Games before starting his new job. One day we may see mail-planes and passenger aircraft landing on the Eastern Island strip bearing his distinctive design hallmarks of “arrow wings”. It would be a good time to sell my shares in companies making struts and bracing wires, if I had any.

Although that is one sad farewell we will be making, there is news of a happy arrival – our ex-tutor Mrs. Voboele (nee Pelton) who married to everyone’s surprise last August, has a new daughter! The whole family are doing well on Main Island, and we must send a congratulatory card to our only Tutor who has given up being a “bachelorette”. Our remaining Tutors announced it at breakfast, some of them looking distinctly strained – I assume they had been celebrating the news last night and are feeling under the weather. Mind you, there may be other explanations.

I feared Molly was her rash old self today, when in our talk with Miss Devinski she asked as a hypothetical question just what would happen if despite all our Precautions a Songmark girl did discover her family tree was going to have a quite unexpected new bud. Of course, Miss Devinski can spot a leading question like that one. As my cousin says admiringly of his tank crew’s gunner, she is sharp enough to spot targets “hull down in cover a thousand yards down-range”. Our Tutor looked her in the eye with a distinctly steely gaze and marched her straight off to see our Matron, who we had been due to meet today anyway after our convalescence.

Hurrah for Molly! I was quite wrong about it being an unwise move on her part. As she explained when she returned an hour later, she had decided to “draw off some fire” from me, guessing I might be going to ask that myself after today’s glad news. Our Matron Mrs. Oelabe was most exceedingly … thorough in Molly’s check-up, and I fear would have spotted things had she been as rigorous with me. Miss Devinski had told Molly in no uncertain terms that after all the work she and her colleagues had put in to training us to be independent and self-supporting Adventuresses, they would not be pleased at all – and there would very shortly be a vacancy in class. The world is full of girls to whom things “Just Happen” and Songmark does not need any of those. An Infantry sergeant would be just as displeased if a recruit asked if “accidentally” shooting oneself in the foot would get one out of a dangerous assault.

Oh well. There were no surprises there, I suppose. After all, Songmark must keep its reputation as a safe place for families to entrust their more venturesome daughters, and our Tutors are “in loco parentis” as they say, looking after us and keeping us as safe as reasonably possible. I passed my own more cursory health check with flying colours, and am cleared to fly again. Mrs. Oelabe was quite relieved, as one of the 1931 class was the first to be sent home without graduating, on health grounds – an ear infection after bathing off the rather dirty Pebble Beach turned very nasty and permanently ruined her sense of balance. * That would be awful, having one’s flying career over before it had even started – no wonder our Tutors are so fanatical about us staying in top condition.

* Editor’s note: Penicillin will not be available until the early 1940’s, and even Sulphanilamide is experimental in 1936! How much of either gets out to Spontoon, and when, is another story …

Wednesday 13th May, 1936

Two hard days of catching up were followed by our first Escort duties of the term, shepherding the first-years out to watch the sports on Main Island. By the end of the month the Olympic teams will be leaving for Germany, and they are having final training heats before they go.

Of course, an island chain this small can hardly put a team into every event in the Olympics – sending teams all that way is awfully expensive, and the Althing have sensibly decided to limit it only to a half dozen sports we have a chance at doing well in. It would be more of an embarrassment than an advertisement to come last in every event in the Winter Olympics – Saffina’s homeland of Ubangi-Chari in tropical Africa would probably beat us paws-down just by having a population a hundred times bigger to draw on. Actually, Saffina has been griping that France never lets anyone from its colonies compete – they would rather lose to European teams from Monaco or Luxembourg than have their top runner come from Senegal, even though they might stand more chances of getting the gold.

Everyone is pinning their hopes on the swimming and rowing teams, as Samoan Cricket and Satirical Hula have not yet found favour as events with the Olympic organisers. Pity. The bobsled team have scraped up enough shells to send themselves to compete – it seems folk were impressed with their suicidal bravery and hard work of constructing a two hundred yard mostly vertical track through the jungles of Main Island. According to our chum Violobe who has seen it, half way down that run they probably break the world land speed record for an unpowered vehicle running on perambulator wheels – when they hit the bottom she is amazed they avoid breaking everything else.

One of the events they do here is, surprisingly, cycling – but then, the trails of Main Island are mostly cycleways, some of them simply taken over where the old narrow-gage railways used to run. The usual Spontoon bicycle is a sturdy affair without gears, wide tyres and (generally) big panniers of fruit or fish hung off it anywhere that will not get tangled with the chain. Having all the workshops on Eastern Island specialising in light aircraft construction, does mean though that there is plenty of machinery and experience in light tube structures to build racing cycles.

Madelene X has told us interminably about the Tour de France race which she watched almost every year before coming here, and I have to admit she does know her stuff. Today we saw what one might call the “Tour de Main Village”, actually a marked route over the top to Beresby and back. Some call it Vikingstown, mostly the tourist brochures. The Olympic team have certainly been putting in plenty of practice by all accounts – although Madelene never exactly praises anything around here, she admitted they should be a worthy challenge for her countryfolk. One can generally spot the Beresby inhabitants by their costume, unless of course they are in Euro mode or getting the sun on their fur in Polynesian native mode. They also have a distinctive traditional cuisine, some of which is conspicuous quite a distance downwind – there is a dish of fermented trout that I would have thought better as a material for the “Bio-reaktors” than a food, though Prudence says it is her friend Tahni’s favourite snack. She is a hyena, after all.

Someone who we keep seeing about the place is that skunk gentleman who seems to be some Althing official in charge of engineering works – he has a paw in everything from those odd Leduck flying model engines to the chimney factory, quite a range of industries. I overheard him mentioning that if the locally built racing cycles do well in the Olympics, they are thinking of opening a factory on Eastern Island. Certainly the Spontoon Isles have more ways of earning money these days than just nice beaches!

Friday 15th May, 1936

A scorching day, with the amusing sight of watching some of our first-years discovering just how much runway a fully loaded Tiger Moth needs in this heat. Only about five of them got it right first time, the rest bounced and hopped as their pilots frantically tried to unstick. Not surprisingly, as a local, Wo Shin judged it nicely, as did Saffina. Ubangi-Chari is much nearer the equator than Spontoon, and about a thousand miles further from the nearest cooling sea breeze.

The first-years are under the same flight restrictions we were, and had to land before a scheduled flight entered the area. Although our impressions of film crews have been rather soured recently, this was one flight we certainly wanted to keep out of trouble – the Barx Brothers arriving to shoot their new comedy, “Parrot Hooves”. All four brothers are in on this one, Wino, Blotto and Dipso, plus the less zany but very dashing Stinko.

Not surprisingly, those are not quite the names on their birth certificates. It seems that whenever someone makes a name for themselves in that industry, the name is a faked one. I suppose I can hardly complain after my exploits “in character” as Kim-Anh, but I had little choice about that. It would be a very unfortunate real family name to make someone want to change it, as did the marvellously witty writer and playwright the world knows as Noel Hero.

Our third-years are starting to look grim and haggard with the strain of their final term, but they were allowed the afternoon off to help with the Casino Island party for our new arrivals. The Althing always put on a fine show for visiting film stars and producers; evidently it pays off as every season more keep coming! Our seniors are not expected back tonight, so we are on gate watch for the weekend.

As Helen pointed out, we are practically third-years ourselves now – a frightening thought. But our seniors are far too busy now to do much looking after the rest of us, which leaves my year very much in the pilot’s seat and looking round rather nervously. I suppose it is like being an officer in wartime: after just concentrating on surviving and staying on top of things, one day you realise there is nobody senior left in the area and you are running the Regiment. Hardly a matter of career planning, more “last one standing”.

(Later) Gate duty is definitely not the most exciting job in the world. I was on till midnight with Molly, who our Tutors barred from carrying heavy artillery but “acquired” a Kilikiti bat as soon as they had left. She was very keen at first waiting for the first marauder to come over the fence – but after a few hours realised it was hardly likely to happen. Anyway, with the bigdogs trotting round the inside of the fence we hardly have to watch every foot of the wire all the time.

I pointed out that on military bases all over the world there must be tens of thousands of sentries kicking the mud or snow off their boots as they watch fences, and we can hardly complain about a few nights of it. Her response was that they are at least equipped to shoot on sight, which would help to relieve the boredom.

It would be a rather strange desperado who came over the Songmark fence in the middle of the night, considering the school’s reputation. Anyone we want to meet, we can meet outside, and unwelcome visitors intent on robbery or worse would sorely regret it. The only story I know of someone making the attempt was that quite impossible horror tale of Beryl’s with the canine lady burglar – I still don’t like to think of that one. It is a fact that three of the guard dogs ARE remarkably intelligent, and sometimes look at one in a quite unnerving way.

From one end of the compound we can just see the lights of Casino Island through the trees: not the big displays of the hotels round the Casino, but the street lights of the less expensive side of town. It was a quiet night; the wind tunnel on Moon Island has not been running night experiments since before Easter. I wonder if they have given up on their project, whatever it was, or have succeeded and no longer need tests? The last sign of activity outside hours I saw was a delivery from that firm making steel chimneys and chimney-pots, who of course need a high-speed wind tunnel to see how well they hold up in typhoons. Some of those chimney pots are rather excessive, I should have thought, being almost four foot long and over a foot across. Apart from the power station on Casino Island, I can hardly see much demand for them around here. It is surprising what the Althing ends up sponsoring – although Spontoon has the very furthest thing imaginable from the “properly planned central economy” that Tatiana and Liberty keep telling us about, they do seem to get what they want developed. Hardly a Command Economy, more a Quiet Suggestion Economy – but it works.

Saturday 16th May, 1936

A scorching day again, and a very fine start for my first real dance class in ages. We are outside in the sun for our Interpretive Hula lessons, which are really very interesting. There is so much meaning in the dance that one wonders if some of the newsreels sent out to distant parts of the world are all that they seem. I briefly had visions of Government back rooms full of folk looking for secret codes in the sound track or the film can labels, not realising the meaning is in the dance itself.

We have quite an audience, with a party from a small tour boat dropping by to stare wide-eyed at our costumes and uncostumed places. The “Native Guides” do not just escort intrepid visitors into the wilder parts of South Island, but around the wilder parts of Casino, and we seem to be on their route today.

I recognised one young equine gentleman from Violobe’s class in the Guide School, and managed to wave without changing the meaning of the hula too scandalously. He is very distinctive, being that rarest of types, a mule. In most places that is a socially unthinkable idea, but by his age he must have been born in the aftermath of the Gunboat Wars, when things were socially more confused. To judge from the raptly attentive gazes of some of his tour group, he is proving a distinctly popular Guide. Molly always thinks long ears are very handsome; she whispered something about him being a perfectly safe escort for any respectable girl; though I doubt she means it in quite the way one would at a finishing school.

Although I was definitely flagging by the end of the afternoon, I can feel my fitness returning – and I was perfectly keen on the traditional dash across the beach to cool off in the waves. I fear the tourists must have got only blurred streaks on their souvenir films, as some of my dance class are hoping to be picked for the athletics in Berlin and look as if they have a very reasonable chance!

On the way back we passed the two “Bio-Reaktors” as Professor Kurt describes his industrial compost plant. There was a notice outside detailing the new works for Main Island to be built this autumn, which makes the pilot plant here look like a tin bucket. The workforce have become enthusiastic converts to the idea, and are often to be found spreading the word as well as the compost. In fact, Professor Kurt is proving quite an ambassador for his country, especially since nobody has heard him mention politics in the slightest – he works hard, never smokes, drinks or gambles, and is promoting fascinating things such as the World Spirit and Folk Spirit, that sound not unlike some of the local religions. Maria grumbles about it a lot, but her family has a hereditary distrust of any Germans, and thinks her Uncle did not go far enough the year we joined Songmark when he “dissuaded” Germany from annexing Austria. *

One can hardly blame the Spontoonies for having something of a double standard, as the economy mostly relies on getting as many visitors to drink, smoke and gamble as possible! A good Visitor and a good Citizen are rather different creatures entirely, around here.

Still, despite the joys of Casino Island we had to return to Songmark for the evening meal; even if we are currently in good odour with our Tutors, second-year Passes only go so far. Back to gate guard duty – this time in the small hours. Farewell sleep.

*(Editor’s note: one of the unfashionable truths of History, was Mussolini saving Austria from Hitler in 1934, moving troops up ready on the Brenner Pass. It’s a fact, look it up.)

Sunday 17th May, 1936

It is amazing how much a postcard can change things! Molly very rarely gets any post these days, and had not checked our racks till breakfast time today. There was a card I had thought was for Maria, as I had noticed it was Italian. Not so. It was a picture card of the port of Fiume on the Adriatic near Venice, but addressed to Molly – from Lars. Definitely it was giving no secrets away, but it did say he was returning home with souvenirs.

Well – that was a surprise. It is six months since we last saw him, and nobody ever mentioned Italy. We quizzed Maria about Fiume, and by her account it is a rather odd place. Until they lost it after the Great War, it was one of the main ports of Austro-Hungary, and a major naval base. Nobody really thinks of Austria and Hungary having a navy, but until 1918 they definitely did, and some of it on quite innovative lines. When Italy took it over they already had much better harbours in better locations so the place slipped into rather a decline, with surplus battleships rusting at the dockside and warehouses full of supplies and spare parts for them nobody needed.

Thinking about it, that does seem rather the sort of place that an unscrupulous Importer and Exporter might pick to go shopping in – and although six months is a long time, some transactions Molly says take ages to set up, if one is not buying goods off the shelf but tunnelling into the warehouse one dark night. Anyway, we will find out when he returns. Beryl’s large ears heard the news as soon as Molly started enthusing; she has heard a lot about Lars and does seem to be interested. She has even heard what Helen has to say about him, without being put off in the slightest.

Actually, Beryl has a postcard of her own she is looking rather happy about – her tendency to stretch the truth is well-known, but she can put it to good use. She has mentioned the Head Girl at her old school of Saint T’s is an aristocratic Chinese girl of a famous criminal (some say patriotic) family, Miss Manchu – which is something Wo Shin has flatly refused to believe. Something on the scale of Maria being told the school has the Pope as divinity teacher. Anyway, Beryl has a bet of ten shells and a postcard half of which is written in tiny but quite exquisitely executed Chinese calligraphy, which she says will “blow Shin’s socks off” when she returns from seeing her husband on South Island tonight. It is equally disturbing when Beryl is fibbing and otherwise.

We headed over to South Island, waved Maria farewell as she turned right to the Church of the Sacred Heart, passed the Pie Shop of the Sacred Steak and Kidney, and were in Haio Beach inside ten minutes. Definitely the tourists are here – there were a dozen souvenir stands visible on the beach and about fifty tourists busily making money for the film developing industry.

Although it is often a source of pride to have a well-travelled hotel trunk with souvenirs of previous exotic trips, folk should really not bring souvenir hats and such back from the year before. I noticed two large tourists wearing the style popularly sold to deserving customers two years ago with “Quaint Native writing” on them. I doubt either of them would go into a tailor’s in their home town and order anything proclaiming “skirt lifter” or “cheats bar bills” if they knew what the inscriptions said! Then again, where ignorance is bliss, we have a lot of happy tourists.

As ever, it was wonderful to just spend a few hours with the family, helping Mrs. H prepare the food and the like. Two years ago I was still doing Home Economics classes at St. Winifred’s – in another two years time I might be helping with a new longhouse, possibly exploring the delights of the nineteen types of Poi. Mrs H is a very fine teacher, as indeed cookery on a native hearth is rather different than in a “euro” kitchen. Still, having the fruit picked off the trees outside and the fish brought in straight from the boat makes it a rather different business in another respect – with ingredients like that a cook can hardly go wrong.

I am sure our Tutors know quite as much as they want to about our visits here – if anyone did ever ask how this helps my Adventuring experiences I can certainly say I have learned to cook for a whole party, Adventuring or otherwise. There were twelve of us sitting down to dinner, including two of the cousins from Main Island and two kittens – I lost track of exactly whose was whom, they moved around too much.

I think Saimmi spotted my ears and tail drooping slightly as I served mashed fish and breadfruit to the kittens – at least, in the afternoon she took us out to the Eastern tip looking out towards Sacred Island, where a small row of very ancient Tikis face out over the waters. They are barely knee-high, and one could walk within twenty yards of them without suspecting they are anything but natural boulders. There is no inscription on these, not even in the local language, but Saimmi tells me these are dedicated to the spirits of those who were expected and never came home – sailors and fishermen lost at sea are one category, but there are others.

We learned the proper ceremony for these, and returned to the family longhouse feeling somehow rather better. I asked Saimmi if she would be at the Solstice ceremony to see Jirry and me being made Tailfast again – she assures me she would not miss it for anything. I hope our Tutors give us the time off again on “cultural studies” – if not, we will grimly accept whatever points they charge us and go over the fence regardless.

Back to Songmark, our home from home which increasingly seems a very different world from our Sunday explorations. Maria had put her afternoon to good use, and practiced in the darkrooms making huge enlargements of her Easter photographs. Lampedusa is not much more than a rock in the Mediterranean, but Maria’s Uncle has been doing a lot of extensive redecorating (I liked the aircraft hangars dug into the cliff faces.) We are not likely to see these pictures in “Flight” or “International Geographic”, as anyone but Maria taking these would get into extreme trouble with the Police, secret and otherwise!

Adele dropped in to see us, looking distinctly worried and asking if Wo Shin had returned. Rather odd, as that is the last person I thought Adele would want to see. She was in too much of a hurry to even look through Maria’s fine shots – I asked her if she had any photos of her Easter holiday, at which her tail went rigid in shock and she said she certainly hoped not. Very odd.


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