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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
18 July, 1936 to 26 July, 1936

"Summer Daze"

(Being the 13th part of the diaries of Amelia Bourne-Phipps at Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies on Eastern Island, Spontoon. Amelia is in her second and last Summer holiday, and is keen on having an exciting time of it...)

Saturday 18th July, 1936

Holidays at last! It was quite a party last night, starting at Bow Thai where even the first-years were invited.  This is the first time I think that all three years have sat down to dine together outside Songmark, and indeed we took every table in the place. Even Liberty Morgenstern showed up, though she insisted on helping the staff serve the food as a "comradely gesture striking at the heart of capitalistic subservience and worker's oppression." Oh well.

Beryl was on her best behaviour, and indeed was on top form as ten minutes scribbling on the back of her menu produced a "Politically Approved New Haven Phrasebook". It consists of three lists of the distinctive words Liberty generally uses once per sentence, and as with the Bow Thai menu one simply selects one from each column. So having passed the chart around we could mutter knowledgeably about "positive dialectic enfranchisement" or "revolutionary proletarian dynamism" whenever a certain coyote girl passed. It took her half the evening to tumble what was going on; at least someone who harps on constantly about the greatest good for the greatest number cannot complain too much when all Songmark (except her) enjoyed the joke.

The party broke up at about ten with various folk heading on to other venues; Prudence and her dorm were heading over to the Double Lotus, taking the similarly inclined dorm headed by Florence Farmington with them. Florence herself does not seem to share their interests; happily that bar is not at all pushy about things, and she is perfectly safe there by all accounts. I have never been there late at night, and hear it is rather livelier than I have seen so far: if nothing worse Florence will have her education expanded.

Prudence has mentioned that folk there have been investigating on their own account what happened to Molly last year aboard the Three Castles and have come up with a name; Captain Granite is definitely marked if she returns to Spontoon, and the denizens of the Double Lotus say they will bring Molly in if there is anything left to do by the time they find her. One gets the impression they have enough folk prejudiced against them without villainesses such as Captain Granite doing further harm to their image.

From the few things we hear, Prudence's dorm are involved in a lot of behind-the-scenes adventures, perhaps as much as we are ourselves. I remember Madelene X officiously asking just what they had been up to last term when they vanished for the whole weekend; Prudence obligingly filled her in with details of exactly what she and Tahni had been doing. I am sure Madelene will never ask again - and Prudence might have been telling the exact truth although other weekends are more serious.

Farewell to our third-years at last; folk such as Conchita have been a fixture since we first arrived and it is hard to imagine Songmark without them to look up to (and occasionally dodge). We can sew that third bar on our musical note collar badges any time we wish - from now on, we are it. As Molly says (having been brought up reading Film Frolics) whatever else you may have, the key thing for a star to have is "IT" by the tonne. Personally I think of coal and sand as the sort of things one buys by the tonne; valuable commodities are measured in carats and troy ounces.

Strictly speaking the third-years are still here, in that they have a final week rather like departing soldiers being "de-mobilised" before heading out into the uncertain world without the uniform or guaranteed rations. But as we are heading out to South Island tomorrow we are hardly likely to see them again, so I made sure to quiz Conchita on her trip to Cranium Island a year and a half ago. Happily she keeps a diary too, and as we sat in Song Sodas I treated her to a Mixtecan style chocolate and habanero soda while she translated it from her local Quechca dialect. I tried her drink but far prefer a strawberry phosphate.

One thing she pointed out was the Tanoahos who organised the expedition seemed to know the island quite well, as they severely warned the party off various harmless-seeming areas and mentioned having arranged safe passage with the locals for the areas they prospected in. Now, the Tanoaho family are someone I hopefully might see on South Island, in fact we are none too distant neighbours. It will be interesting to discover how their scrap metal business is doing; every now and then one sees an article in the Daily Elele where they have pulled off some major coup in (say) managing to sell some thousands of tonnes of scrap iron to the Japanese. I wonder what they want with all that rusty metal.

Conchita did mention that the party had been troubled by mysterious noises off in the jungle, which were not cries of any sort of animal known to the rather cosmopolitan adventuring party. They had also found some very odd marks on the ground; one might call them pawprints except they did not seem to be made by anything one could really describe as paws. When I asked for details she rather evasively said I would have no trouble in recognising them when I saw them. Conchita was very helpful but did say Cranium Island is somewhere she definitely will not be returning to, for any money.

Unlike last year we are not expecting to be spending our Summer mostly in grass skirts, so the afternoon was taken up deciding what to leave in storage and what to take to South Island. Grass skirts are very comfortable but our adventuring suits are more practical in terms of pockets and insect-proofing. There is a local saying we have heard about being able to tell a Songmark girl from her X-ray photos; fish-hooks and lock-picks hidden in the head fur and assorted hardware concealed all over. It is not all exaggeration; certainly our pockets bulge when we go out adventuring, and although our packs may be full of useful food and equipment we have trained to make do on far less. On field trips our Tutors sometimes gratuitously announce that we just lost our main pack and have to carry on with what is in our pockets and what we can find around us - even though we are still actually lugging the pack on our backs to add injury to insult.

Molly received a surprise present last week but only just told us; a complete German sniping rifle and all the accessories! It is very unlike her to keep quiet about this sort of thing, and I rather wonder where she got it from. If Lars had contributed, she would definitely be loud in his praises as usual. For a change, I will be bringing my own T-Gew along, as there may be things out there that merit it. I may have to cut down on the food and bedroll weight myself, as the cartridges are about half a pound each and if I need any I am liable to need plenty. Plus a little matter of forty pounds for the rifle and case itself. Molly has offered to carry the saw-backed bayonet, and if it cheers her up I shall let her.

(Later) Our bags are packed and we are saying farewell to our dorm, as when we next unpack in Songmark it will be in the third-year rooms. One more year and then - who knows? The world is full of opportunities as well as dangers - and not all of them can be dealt with using a 13 mm anti-tank rifle. Molly grudgingly agrees, but insists that is the default approach.
 

Sunday 19th July, 1936

This is more like a real holiday! Last night we hauled our cases over from Songmark, and have already packed our "euro" clothes in them for the season, as we are happily established in the Hoele'toemi household on Haio Beach. Saffina is staying in the village with some of Moeli's friends and we showed her this morning how to properly oil fur in the local style. She says she is quite comfortable with Native dress, as in Ubangi-Chari the traditional costume is just as scanty. Her part of Africa still follows the religions they had thousands of years ago, and has been fending off missionaries of all persuasions very effectively.

Helen gets the guesthouse, as is her right being Tailfast, and indeed by her smile and bitten ear this morning seems to have started the holiday as she means to go on. The rest of us are in the village unmarried women's hut, and a very fine bunch the rest of the villagers are. We are speaking nothing but Spontoonie now, even Maria (who says it sounds more sympathetic to her Italian ears than English, which in turn is much better than German or Russian.)

Thinking of Germans, Professor Schiller is on the islands still and some of Jirry's guide friends are helping him around Main Island. One expects he is being watched rather carefully. But despite having received various mysterious crates of metallic hardware from Germany it really is what he claims, the latest in climbing equipment. This Summer he has applied to the Althing for permission to attempt the main face of Mount Kiribatori, which is twelve hundred feet of sheer rock and one of the biggest "walls" in the Pacific.

Of course, one can imagine folk debating whether to let him try; it is proudly listed as "unclimbable" in all the tourist brochures and postcards, and apart from a few minor routes such as we climbed its reputation has always looked quite safe. But technology and skill keeps advancing, and we have heard stirring tales of hardships and triumphs on the Alpine peaks. Maria has seen the Eiger, and assures me that anyone used to climbing that in the snow would jump at the chance to try an equally impressive face in the far less uncomfortable conditions here. Possibly it will be worth rewriting brochures for next year, given a newsworthy enough ascent (or a newsworthy enough catastrophe as Molly says; a lot of the folk who did attempt the North wall of the Eiger never came home. Some folk would love to see him fall off.)

Saimmi arrived just after breakfast, and Helen and Saffina joined us as we headed up Mount Tomboabo to look at one of the shrines there. Certainly Maria's church has no view like this, a thousand feet above the beach and the whole island chain spread out below us. Saimmi took us through more religious xercises, which she says should protect us to an extent against what we find on Cranium Island. She is still rather worried about Molly and Maria going, but points out that it is a very rare combination to find any qualified Adventuress who are remotely suitable and interested in being a Priestess. Finding three of us at Songmark at the same time is the one thing that has made this trip possible, she says, and if they waited another ten years it is hardly likely she can find a more qualified team. Even so, with some of the party spiritually unprotected it might end up as in that ironic song from the Great War:

"They're warning us, they're warning us /
 one respirator for the four of us
Thank your lucky stars that three of us can run /
 and one of us can use it all alone."

The trouble is, it is hardly likely that running away will be an option - after all, the fragment is the very thing we are going there expressly to find! On scale it is like Father's sapper teams being called in to make safe an unexploded bomb - one never knows exactly what its condition will be. It might have smashed open on impact with the detonators already lying harmless in the duck pond, or be intact with the fuze ready to start ticking again at the slightest touch. Given this is Cranium Island we are thinking of, the worst possibility is some of the locals have already been trying to salvage pieces for their own purposes and set the timer running.

On the way back we stopped at the Spontari Guest House where we stayed for our first Songmark holiday; unfortunately the staff tell us the owners are away on Vostok this month talking about magnesium with a Count Vorishov who owns extensive metal refineries and mills there. So we will probably have to go with the information we already have; I just hope it is enough.

An excellent luncheon of fresh fish and breadfruit followed at the Hoele'toemi household, with a big dish of home-made Poi for some of the other family members. This is quite a ritual all across the Pacific, in that the Poi pot is said to embody the Family spirit, and when it is opened all quarrels must be put aside. Saffina is certainly happy to eat it; which is just as well as if she insisted on the usual diet for her species that would be the family's usual meat delivery for the week gone at a sitting! Then again, if one reads the pulp magazines one would hardly expect a hereditary priestess of "Voudon" to be a chatty and friendly girl one would trust with the family cubs. It is not all howling rituals and blood sacrifices, doubtless much to the disgust of the film industry.

Thinking of pulps, Molly has a pile of them she bought on Casino Island yesterday, as life on South Island can be rather quiet. Some of them are just as strange as any Jane Ferry has mentioned her family printing; there is even one that claims to be written by and for ventriloquist's dummies! A more believable publication is at least full of cautionary tales, and plenty of adverts for adventuring equipment "used once, owner no longer requires". Being an international adventurer has its pitfalls, as every page of "Soldier of Misfortune" vividly shows us with thrilling tales of woe and disaster. Some of the pitfalls have sharpened stakes or collections of venomous animals waiting at the bottom, and I can see the use of that cumbersome ten-foot pole we carried on Albert Island when hunting the Sturdey Boys.

Beryl is staying on Casino Island and hopefully keeping out of trouble. Sadly her notion of a trouble-free holiday probably involves pulling off the Perfect Crime leaving the Police forever baffled. At least she is not coming to Cranium Island, which is a great relief for all but the Casino staff. She is very handy in self-defence true enough; like most of us she is prepared to fight for what she believes in, which in her case is an unshakable belief in money.

We were very glad to forget our troubles for an afternoon and head down to the beach in full Native costume, having briefed Saffina on what the tourists are like. She is a Princess after all in her own country, even if the traditional job of the eldest daughter involves looking after the royal cattle. I fear that many of the Hawaiian-shirted visitors seeing us in our Native dress look on us as part of the "facilities" laid on for their use like the beaches and swimming pools; although Saffina is perfectly friendly I have visions of her handing some over-eager tourist his head or indeed other body parts.  Still, Saffina being mostly a lioness by descent, few folk really want to risk their hides irritating her.

It is a good thing we have practiced our costume building, as traditionally the Polynesians do not wear them in the water and swim bare-furred. Our reinforced grass skirts held up well, and certainly dry out a lot faster than the stretch woollen bathing costumes of the "euro" tourists. One poor fennec girl must have been trying on a scanty yellow polka-dot bathing suit that she wore for the first time today- only to discover it is a make of cotton that goes almost transparent when wet! We spotted her distress and gathered round (she was afraid to come out of the water, she was as nervous as she could be) as we shielded her from over-eager eyes back to her beach blanket. Some tourists are perfectly nice and most at least inoffensive - but as Helen says, "the squeaky wheel's the one you notice."

(Later) Despite what some visitors might think, life in a longhouse is really perfectly respectable, and the unmarried women's hut is almost as much so as the Songmark compound. Of course, unlike Songmark in term time we are not obliged to stay there. The nights are very warm now and in oiled fur one needs no insect protection for a night under the stars: a pandanus palm mat is quite enough to keep the sand out of the fur. Definitely a fine evening to take a stroll.


Monday 20th July, 1936

After all this time I should have known; just as I get settled in for an enjoyable break somebody invokes our call-up papers and recruits us for an Adventure. When Jirry and I returned at breakfast time my ears drooped as we saw Mr. Sapohatan happily chatting with the family over a shared bowl of breadfruit mash. I have no idea what he has of a social life, but he has never paid us a purely social call yet.

It is one thing to be excused a navigation test in term time for this kind of thing, but after a very fine evening and having made plans of more to follow, I must confess my heart was not really in it for a minute as he beckoned Helen and myself aside to brief us. Still, nobody will ever call a Songmark girl a slacker, especially when there is something like this to be tackled. Mr. Sapohatan told us a family house on one of the smaller Kanim Isles had been burgled, which is nothing very alarming - except it has three daughters who were meant to be there on their own but changed their plans at the last minute. Night fishers in the area heard the sound of a seaplane taking off, which is a risky thing to do in fitful moonlight; putting two and two together it looks rather as if the raiders are back.

Of course, what gives this some urgency is they were unsuccessful and can be expected to try again. He mentions having other teams in the area, but asks if we are interested. We can hardly refuse, can we? Our holiday plans are suddenly very tentative as we are put on call to head off at short notice for points unknown, either in Native or Euro costume. He pointed out that only Native areas have been raided; one can see why as any kidnappers making off with rich tourists would have half the world's navies after them, but the sorry fact is nobody will be sending any non-local gunboats if a few folk vanish from the Kanim Islands. Most of the world would probably just dismiss it as an inter-tribal rivalry or something of the sort.

In the meantime, we are still heading out tomorrow with Jirry and his friends testing our "Native" disguises against Professor Schiller, who only knows us in Songmark uniform. It hardly matters if he does recognise us; if worst comes to worst we can just plead poverty and say our Songmark suits have to last us another year and we are improvising in the holidays. Grass skirts are famously economical in dressmakers' and laundry bills.

Molly asked Mr. Sapohatan about Professor Schiller, as she has heard many things about the "Ahnenerbe" he works for and their surprising adventures in distant lands. Unlike (say) Kansas Smith they are willing to buy strange artefacts if the locals can prove ownership, and I would not be amazed if she has hopes of selling them some factory-made tourist Tiki as a genuine Lemurian artwork. I have heard other things of him from Saimmi and Huakava, who calls him a "Knight of the Great Wyrm" though she has not yet explained what that means.

The ferret gentleman nodded pleasantly and explained that the Prof has wide interests; apart from climbing rock faces (which he has been sold an expensive licence to attempt) and collecting antiques, he is very interested in spotting ancient Native traits, as part of his grand historical "Out of Thule" theory. Though everyone knows the Spontoonies came from all over and are about as mixed as citizens of Molly's Chicago home town, there are quite a few folk of more ancient Polynesian stock whose ancestors were living on Spontoon before the accident with the Great Ritual rendered the place uninhabitable. According to tradition and the surviving statues the first Spontoonies seem to have been reptile folk but those from other islands were not, and have various unusual features Euros tend not to have. Mr. Sapohatan suggested we ask just why the particular interest, as it is something that could be useful to know.

Having briefed us, Mr. Sapohatan bowed and left us to it. There is no telephone in the Hoele'toemi household, but I am sure he can contact us at short notice when he needs to. Until then - on with the holiday!


Thursday 23rd July, 1936

Two rather idyllic days were more than I had expected to get, and indeed we all made the most of them. Helping out with the household, bathing on Haio Beach and the less touristy West coast of the island, and domestic life with Jirry in oiled fur and not much else - it has been very fine.

All good things come to an end, at least for awhile. Today Helen and I joined Jirry, Marti and three of their friends on Main Island where they are supporting a reconnaissance climb of Professor Schiller and his team on the slopes of Mount Kiribatori. We met the party on Casino Island to escort them over; Main Island as ever is restricted access to Euros and qualified Guides are needed for every trip. He saw through my disguise in a heartbeat, explaining that costume and fur pattern can be changed, but he never forgets a skull shape. It is just as well I did not dye my fur as Kim-Anh, or her cover would have definitely been blown.

With him were three young silver wolves, Gunter, Uwe and Ulric, who have come over with their Schneider Trophy team. They are very striking even when put next to Jirry and his guide friends, and though they are not brothers they certainly look like it. Professor Schiller explains they are experienced climbers, as climbing is something they do a lot in that new German boy-scout sort of organisation their Chancellor sponsors. They are quiet but extremely keen, and indeed they seem very well-chosen ambassadors of their country. We have heard all sorts of tales of the decadent times of the Weimaraner Republic of ten years ago, and things have indeed moved on.

It is quite a contrast to leave the bustle and noise of Casino Island and head into the cooler greenery of Main Island, passing up near the waterfalls to the foot of the main face of Mount Kiribatori. For once the guides do not have to slow down to wait for their customers, as even the Prof is quite athletic and Gunter, Uwe and Ulric (I am calling them G-U-U for short, as it is hard to tell them apart) look as if they are fresh from the Olympics.

This was only a trial and survey trip, but an awful lot of climbing was done - exploring the start of the route, getting a feel for the conditions and photographing the way ahead. Although they have a lot of steel pegs they only used them on practice routes they will not be taking on the day; the Prof explained that would be cheating, as otherwise one could claim to have conquered in a single climb while taking a month to hammer spikes in no faster than a railway. G-U-U are amazing on the rock and make us look like tourists; there is something quite terrible and intrepid with the way they scale terrifying rock walls on the tiniest of claw-holds.

It was a jolly strenuous day carrying the camera gear and ropes; we went up the rock-falls around the base trying to get the right angle on the main face. Still Professor Schiller was not quite satisfied, and asked if there was any way of getting closer shots of the top pitches. Of course, we have assets that a normal Guide party do not - four Songmark aviatrixes and my Sand Flea!


Friday 24th July, 1936

Not the sort of day I had expected had you asked last week -instead of beaches and grass skirts, runways and flying goggles. We fly every day in term time now (weather permitting) but I had lovingly put my Sand Flea into hangar storage last Friday not expecting to see her till September. Until my finances are sorted out I can only fly her when someone else is paying the fuel bills - normally our Tutors but today Professor Schiller.

It was a long day, with Molly, Helen and Maria back over to Eastern Island to help fit the cameras onboard and rig up cable releases. Once they had done their share in the workshops I could get away and in eight minutes was over the coast of South Island, spiralling up half a mile from the rock face. Alas, my Sand Flea is hardly an altitude record-breaker, and three thousand was as high as I could go with the weight of the cameras and the usual full fuel tank - so I fired off the film and managed to glide most of the way back, the engine just ticking over.

While Maria dashed off to develop the film we planned the next flight, removing all but one camera and only filling the fuel tank to a quarter. It was a scorching hot day and we decided to wait till after lunch in the hope of catching a thermal. It was Molly's turn next, so we wished her good luck and waved her off, Helen following her progress with the binoculars while I helped Maria finish and dry the prints. Although they only covered the lower part of the rock face, they turned out sharp and gave a good angle. It is awfully important when half-way up a cliff to know what you are heading for is a real crack and not just a fault on the film.

Molly was back in twenty minutes, having reached four thousand feet on a good thermal; she fired off the one roll of colour film we have and says the route looks fine all the way to the top. Of course we have no facilities for developing colour over here, so she volunteered to make the trip to Casino Island and took enough shells to get it handled as priority. One day, it is possible most tourists will be firing colour film and hardly thinking twice about it.

While she was gone I serviced my dear Sand Flea and read through one of the pulp fiction magazines in the pilot's lounge, "Dial M for Monster." The back cover proudly proclaims, "Same low price! Now 20% more lurid!" and indeed the author and illustrators are trying hard to please. I suppose it is all good acclimatisation for Cranium Island, though hopefully we will not have quite the same experiences as the heroines on the front covers. That series should be titled "Scantily clad ladies in peril for no believable reason but to sell this magazine".

Maria was next up - she needs the logged flight time this month and Professor Schiller wants as many photographs as possible, so we could have spent all day in the air at his expense. Still, by the time Maria returned with another roll to develop we had quite a coverage, some taken from less than a hundred foot range. Having some more flight time in our logbooks is always a bonus on the Songmark course.

Farewell again to my dear Sand Flea for awhile - until I receive another flying commission or come into some serious money. The airport staff looks after it very well and charge Songmark students a minimal storage fee, which is just as well. In exactly a year's time we will be on our last day at Songmark, and all the privileges and protections will vanish like the morning dew the next day. Hopefully we will no longer need it all by then.

Today is the day new applicants hear whether or not they have been successful; the telegraph office does a roaring trade in worldwide confirmations, which must make Western Onion very happy. Of course, some folk might not get to hear about it till later, such as Saffina who was two days travel from the nearest telegraph post at the time. This must be a difficult year for our Tutors, what with that Spanish equivalent closed by the war and so many folk wanting to carry on at any price. Maria wanted to go there initially, but her Uncle decided Spontoon was a better place for her. Possibly because there are plenty of Italians in Spain already, and possibly because it is on the far side of the planet. At any rate, Maria decided in her first term here that a four year course under the strict rule of Jesuit tutors would probably be too much of a good thing.

Some folk have heard already - on the way back to South Island we met a very downcast pair of sisters, Peggy and Ruth who sailed out starting Easter time from the English coast in an improbably small yacht which they had restored themselves. It is an awful shame, as they look jolly decent types who I would trade in a heartbeat for some students I could mention - but they have been turned down for this year. I suppose our Tutors have a trying time weighing up everyone's merits, and would rather turn away ten perfectly good students than let one in who would not make the running. We still have not heard which of our third-years failed to qualify.


Saturday 25th July, 1936

A complete washout of a day - the cloud was covering the bottom of the climb and lashing rain was making things awfully unpleasant, so we were quite pleased to hear the next trip is postponed. Still, we were invited over to Casino Island for an official thank-you by the Prof who is staying next to Lingenthal's and has no great distance to go for his coffee and cakes. As we had to see him anyway to hand over the films, we decided to make a day of it.

Quite a party! We put our respectable Euro costumes on for the occasion, as did Jirry and Marti Hoele'toemi. It is rather a shock to remember this is how we first saw them nearly two years ago in their church-going best - something we rarely see nowadays having quite different religious ceremonies on Sundays.

Lingenthal's was quite crowded as the Schneider Trophy teams were grounded by the weather and were taking the chance to relax. There were mostly Germans but Maria was happy to spot several of her countryfolk in there, and a few Spontoonies who I recognise as being part of the racing committee. I know Mr. Sapohatan did say last year that this place is rather more than it seems and we should not make a habit of coming here, but on the other paw he is interested in Professor Schiller and this is where we find him.

Some of the mechanics and such pilots as are not on flying duty tomorrow seemed to be very keen on drinking the place dry; the "German" beer comes from Tsingtau in China, and somehow makes its way out even though the Japanese have closed that area to European trade "for protection of the local industries" as they put it. As usual I contented myself with a glass of white wine, though Molly seemed quite in her element and had a whole bottle. At least it was not that "Vin Marinara" that some of the Italians had brought along; Lingenthal's is a respectable place and does not sell such.

One of the waitresses is a Spontoonie from Main Island we have met  at the dance classes, a verystriking girl of mostly Polynesian stock. The standard costume is rather revealing on her but she hardly seems to mind - you might say that if two-piece bathing costumes ever get into common fashion she will need a six-piece version. We have met a few like her, such as that Crew Chief Edy Lodis on Moon Island, who doubles as a Moon Priestess in tourist time. Noticing Professor Schiller's more than expected interest, Molly managed to ask him about it more discreetly than I had hoped.

It is always fascinating to hear from someone who truly believes in his work. When Professor Schiller is not busy measuring skull shapes and tail lengths, he is plotting their distribution across the world and drawing up surprising conclusions. He tells us that some of the most ancient European pottery figurines from cave excavations have much the same features as some of the Polynesian girls - there is the famous "Venus of Ludendorff" that was discovered fifty years ago but never publicly displayed to avoid shocking the sensibilities of the time. His "Out of Thule Theory" has some sides to it that would read well in "Weird Tails" magazine but he is collecting real evidence for it in these islands. He has mentioned rather sadly that his Superiors read pulp magazines, link unrelated facts and send him out to "prove" them; just because there are Lamas in Tibet and Llamas in Peru does not necessarily mean the two were once linked.

The Prof seems to have been quite well received by the Althing, and indeed he says he has been invited to give a public lecture next week on Meeting Island. We shall certainly attend if we can, this "Geo-politics" seems a fascinating idea and it will be interesting to get his point of view.

G-U-U were at the party and danced wonderfully though Gunter explains they do not drink alcohol or smoke, in emulation of their leader. I doubt he chews gum either. If they were omnivores rather than wolves they would probably be vegetarians by choice, which to my view is taking things rather too far. Rather like Violet in our first-year who insists on half an hour a day of breathing exercises, wearing special fibre undergarments of natural reticulated jute and only eating her family's ethically approved brand of breakfast cereal ("Pummelled Wheat (tm)").

Maria did seem rather on edge, as the foreign newspapers have made much of Italy falling behind and her Uncle's failings. He has actually said in public "It is a good thing our folk are hardy and not accustomed to eating more than once a day" which is hardly wonderful peacetime propaganda. She has often complained that the Germans have just copied her Uncle's ideas, and it must be galling that they are doing it better; "guns not butter" pleases nobody when neither actually gets made in usable qualities. Unless Italy does well in the Schneider Trophy this year there will be no living with her.

Certainly the Italian pilots seemed very confident and dashing; if flair and élan could win the trophy there would be no stopping them. It is interesting to see how they react to her - though she has been away from home two years folk seem to know her by sight, and indeed she was definitely in her element surrounded by admiring company. She has told us something of the months before she was sent to Songmark, and it seems to have been one escapade after another. Perhaps that is why her Uncle preferred to send her somewhere she cannot fly home to Italy from at weekends.

An excellent party and one that was still going strong at sundown, when folk started bringing out the 100% schnapps and we made our excuses as soon as the rain stopped. Their gramophone was (briefly) playing the German equivalent of George Formless, a certain Ernst Straintz who has a vibrato style suggestive of driving tractors crossways across ploughed fields. Fortunately that record was taken out and "disposed of" as Molly puts it, and the assembled company started back on traditional tunes before we left.

I recalled the last time we left here singing jolly folk-songs when Helen reminded us we ran into that Doctor Maranowski who has never spoken to us since; I replied at least that could do us no further harm. "Auf die Lunenberge Heide" is a perfectly innocent hiking song that I am sure folk were singing fifty years ago, and it has (I am told) not a political word in it.

Oh dear. Life is full of surprises. Major Hawkins happened to be in the coffee-house just across the road with a good view across the exits, and he greeted us respectfully - though said he was surprised at my choice of company. Molly rather ill-advisedly retorted that Professor Schiller is our employer these days, which is perfectly true and no secret, but perhaps rather the wrong thing to say to him. At any rate, the Major raised an eyebrow and thanked her for clearing some points up that had been puzzling him for some time.

This will not improve my chances of getting my name cleared in London.


Sunday 26th July, 1936

Weather definitely improving, but no climbing today as the Prof is busy studying our photos and deciding a route. It would be most galling to be three quarters up the face and run into a dead end or featureless section, and he is using all the thoroughness his nation is famous for in planning his next move.

Helen, Saffina and myself went over to Main Island to look at some of the shrines near the waterfall; there is a nice little glen near there where the water used to flow that someone has built a hut in since we were there last; a Japanese "Euro" as Saimmi says. Generally the Spontoonies keep this part an untouched-looking (though actually carefully tended) wilderness, so it was surprising anyone had been allowed to build here. Euros are very restricted on Main Island, and I thought they would definitely not have been permitted.

Saimmi explained that the waterfall shrines are amongst the oldest on the island, and indeed Mount Kiribatori is the main landmark one sees when approaching from the South. They have been given a guardian for the time being; all the more vital as Saimmi will be away from the islands awhile. From the way she said it, one would think Saimmi is taking out insurance against not getting back from Cranium Island.

Still, we learned some more of the rituals and indeed I seem to be making progress. There is one rather fascinating one of closing the eyes and trying to see without them - it is vague but I could swear I could somehow "feel" where folk were, like the heat from a bonfire. It only works well when near a shrine though, rather like those infra-red films one reads about that need a special lamp to get a good picture. Saimmi seems definitely the "brightest" if I could use the word, but Saffina is not far off. It is something we are going to have to practice, Saimmi tells us, adding that some priestesses do not need to be near a shrine to use it.

On the way back to the beach we passed the site where folk are building a huge Ferro concrete statue some four storeys tall: a slender and "realistic" portrayal of the Rain Goddess holding up her bowl benevolently towards the central waters of Spontoon. It is rather odd, in that all the other Tikis holding bowls are rather squat affairs with their bowls facing out onto the open ocean; we asked Saimmi but she just laughed and said this was the one done the way the artist wanted in the first place. I thought Mr. Tikitavi designed them all anyway?

There are plans I hear for one of the squat and less artistic bowls to go on the South-west corner of the island, on a rocky shelf looking out over to the West. That will make five big sculptures on the same model; it is quite impressive the way the Spontoonies invest their public funds in artistic endeavours.

Back to South Island and a jolly fine luncheon at the Hoele'toemi household.Molly and Maria seem to have settled in rather well; Maria at least has got over her phobia about doing housework (it has only taken her a year and a half.) She has always complained it is her sisters who are "good little home-makers" who make their family proud, and she never had the slightest interest in emulating them. She rarely writes home except to her Uncle, and most of that is in code. It is such a pity that Maria, the only one of us four with a full complement of parents, is so uncomplimentary about them.

Maria had a lot to say about her morning where Father Dominicus had been making some impassioned speeches to his flock about preserving the South Island chapel. He has been given "carte blanche" by the Vatican to protect the interests of his Church, and waving his authorities has pulled in Father Mulcathy and all the others to his side regardless of their own opinions. The local clergy are used to dealing with Spontoonies and adopt a definitely low-key approach which gains them few native converts, but keeps them out of controversy. From what Maria says, their high command in Rome has decided that is no longer good enough and has sent a firebrand to heat things up in the area. Of course the trouble with a firebrand is that it can set the rest of the neighbourhood alight.

She also mentioned having seen a dozen new faces in the congregation, Spanish-speaking girls of our age who are definitely not Mixtecan tourists. They look hard and weather-beaten she says, and if Spain had lady soldiers they would look like that. I can guess who those are, the refugees from Aero-Iberian who have been pleading their case to our Tutors. They had a long chat with Father Dominicus and were still at it when she left the chapel; one hopes this will not be the start of anything troublesome. A Vatican envoy sent here with carte blanche and a sudden surge of (probably) unemployed Jesuit-trained aviatrixes available and (probably) irritated about not getting into Songmark ... I can see some worrying possibilities. Anyone determined enough to cross the planet knowing how hard it is to enter Songmark at the best of times, is liable to be interested in other adventures.

Still, the rest of the day passed very happily helping out on Haio Beach. Although I kept in Native costume and spoke Spontoonie, I was tempted to blow my cover and talk to the British Schneider Trophy team who turned up for a relaxing sunbathe and swim in rather warmer waters that they get at home. I recognise some of the faces from last year's newspapers and such; quite a few have other claims to fame being distinguished sportsmen, tennis and cricket players mostly. It is a very well-established tradition, and when the Royal Flying Corps was founded folk looked not so much for mechanics but for sporting gentlemen with the correct "cavalry mentality" as anyone who can handle a skittish horse should have been a natural in an aircraft. At least that was the theory.*

The Spontoonies do still play proper cricket as well as Kilikiti, and I spotted our famous and controversial Mr. Stubshaw who did so well last year against the Australians; he is the sort who achieves fame and posterity with his portrait on collectable cards the cigarette manufacturers print. He is one of the new "bodyline" bowlers who tend to aim at hitting the opposing batsman rather than the stumps, unsporting as some folk say but quite effective.

Of course, when I mentioned it to Beryl last year she was singularly unimpressed. At Saint T's, she tells me, they have been "bodyline" shot-putting and javelin throwing for years.
 

* (Editor's Note: in 1914 and 1915, the casualty rate in Royal Flying Corps training far exceeded anything the enemy managed to inflict. Alas for the Cavalry Mentality.)


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