Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
5 August, 1936 to 10 August, 1936



Sunday August 5th, 1936

A relaxing day, with Saimmi showing us further protective rituals in the morning and our airing our fur on the Western side of the island after lunch. The expedition to Cranium Island is on for this week, and we are doing our best to heal and rest up ready for it. Salt water and fresh air is the best cure, and we are getting plenty of both well away from the concessions stands and the cameras. It would not do to show up on Haio Beach while still bandaged; with all our bandages on show in our Native dress it would look rather alarming and we have learned the Golden Rule is "never upset a tourist", even if they deserve it.

Still, even away from the tourist areas they make their presence felt; we returned past Herr Rassberg's shop where his gramophone was playing George Formless' latest hit "With My Little Ukulele In My Paw." That track was actually banned on the radio in Europe, more for suspected rudeness than for quality as it should be; it is just as well Mr. Formless does not play the organ. On the other paw, that might get him banned entirely, this would be no bad thing. There is something unnerving about folk who can strum, sing and grin at the same time.

Maria was back from church with some interesting and disturbing news; Father Dominicus has applied to found a temporary flying school on Eastern Island, and is recruiting right now from the Spanish exiles. He seems quite well-funded, and is giving out "scholarships" to what he calls suitable candidates. That is something Songmark has never offered, worse luck. We could definitely have used them.

I can see Maria is definitely torn about this; on one paw she is duty bound to support her Church and whatever it decides, but she can see as well as the rest of us what this would mean if it goes ahead. Given the money and permission it would be an easy matter to get fifty students here inside a month just from the ones displaced from Spain, let alone folk who applied to Songmark in the usual run of things and were turned down. Some of those are still on the islands either awaiting ships home or hoping for any last-minute cancellations as approved students suddenly break major bones in bizarre lacrosse accidents, get unexpectedly married or both. As to "suitable candidates", that is fairly obvious; I doubt Jasbir, Saffina or Hanna Meyer would be getting in. Father Dominicus would suddenly have an extremely efficient and loyal power block in his paws responsible only to himself and his superiors, and from what I hear he would not hesitate a heartbeat in using it. Fortunately the Althing knows what Songmark can do, and I expect they will find a reason to sit on the idea before someone lands a much bigger Jesuit version of us on Eastern Island. Although he calls it "Temporary" that will probably be relative to his Church, who think in terms of Eternity.

Helen is still definitely disapproving of Molly and myself, especially me. I can quite see her point as she has been absolutely faithful to Marti since first putting his fur braid on, and although I never plan it that way I have hardly done as well. It is very puzzling. I recall the stories of one of Father's Sappers, who had been promoted to corporal and demoted again for brawling half a dozen times - his response was "it just happened" which was never good enough for his court-martials and certainly not good enough for me.

Still, we will be out of temptation for awhile on Cranium Island. If there was money to be made there I am sure Lars would be there already, but Molly has asked and he says he has never set hoof on the place.


Monday August 6th, 1936

Back to Casino Island with Saffina, shopping! At least, we are getting the final stocks together for Cranium Island; it is just us four along with Saimmi and Saffina once we leave the transports on the beach there and head inland. We are well practiced by now in planning expeditions and do not just fill our packs with tropical chocolate and tins of bully beef the way folk in the adventuring pulps seem to. But then, we have yet to see anyone in the pulps realistically caked to the snout in mud, and the heroines never seem to be able to run across a clearing without twisting an ankle. Then again, they never seem to wear proper footwear - indeed, in her home town, Molly says "your mother wears army boots" is considered a mortal insult. Saffina is used to going bare-pawed at home, she says; her style of being a Princess is rather non-standard but she thinks it odd herself that the Euro royalty do not measure their true wealth in cattle.

The local sporting supplies shop has a most excellent line of very practical hock-length adventuring boots, which are rather better than anything armies can afford to issue by the thousands; rather heavy, but with steel toecaps and foot-beds which would be very handy if one steps on nails or other spikes. They look quite impressive on us while they are still clean and without chunks taken out - Maria suggests the five of us should have a name like the "Special Boot Squadron." Molly agrees, and having tested the steel toecaps by smashing a sour coconut with one good kick, announces admiringly that one could really hurt someone with these.

Sometimes one really wonders about Molly. Quite often, actually. Although she has tried hard to learn some social graces to be used where the situation merits it, she has said she has no plans to ever falsely pass herself off as a "good girl" so hardly needs to practice the restraint that involves. Actually that is how Lars describes me, adding that such are very rare in certain places and quite literally priceless -which is nice of him.

On the North coast near our usual dance classes we unexpectedly found the answer to something that has puzzled me -- what happens to the Songmark guard dogs when the place closes for rebuilding and redecorating in the holidays. We met Miss Windlesham on the beach with all six, throwing sticks for them to chase into the waves. After all, she is canine herself and probably has no objections to the scent of wet dogs in her house. She is the Songmark treasurer but I think the funds are quite safe with her; not only are our Tutors famously competent at self-defence in their own right but she has six very devoted and obviously very affectionate bodyguards.

Our dear Tutors do earn their money - even while we are on holiday they are hard at work improving Songmark's resources for the coming term. Miss Windlesham seemed quite pleased to see us, and thanked Molly for her efforts in helping expand the air fleet. I am not sure what she means by that, but Miss Windlesham winked and promised her a surprise at the start of next term.

We mentioned what we had heard about Father Dominicus and his ideas for an alternative flying school here - at which Miss Windlesham quite lost her good mood and wrinkled her snout, while the guard dogs picked up the feeling and growled. She has of course heard all about it, and commented that the Althing never likes turning away money especially for businesses that have turnover in the tourist off-season. A school is the perfect sort of thing, as it can close down in the Summer season and pick up again just as the hotels and such are emptying out. Money is not everything, though -if the scheme went through it would be like Vostok here with its two independent secret police forces, except that on Vostok they are in theory both on the Government's side. Not that Songmark is anything of that sort, as I keep telling people.

Still, that is hardly our problem and indeed we have enough of our own. We said farewell and headed down to the marine chandlers' shop where they had finished some commissions for us. They do more heavy-duty work than regular tailors are equipped for, and have modified some of our hiking shorts to include climbing loops of sturdy one-inch strapping, sewn to take the shock of a fall. This way we plan on never being caught without them handy, and they are very inconspicuous when not tied to a manila rope.

As Saffina commented wonderingly, with compasses hidden in our buttons, fish-hooks in our head-fur, a core of steel string in our bootlaces and climbing loops in our beach wear - there is definitely more to a Songmark girl than meets the eye.


Wednesday August 8th, 1936

A surprise event today - a week ahead of the last schedule he gave us, Professor Schiller announced he is attempting the ascent of Mount Kiribatori tomorrow! We are asked if we would assist - certainly we would, and with Jirry and some of his other friends away the Guides' branch in tourist season is short-pawed.

Today we could relax and head over to watch the first heats of the Schneider Trophy, with the course laid out over the strait between Eastern and Moon Island. There are some famous names racing, from our resident German aviatrix Ilsa Klensch to the senior French pilot, Monsieur Crapaud. We have heard about him from Madelene X, whose family's country estates are just down the river from his. For more than thirty years the "Crapaud of Châteaux Crapaud" has been keeping repair shops and traffic Gendarmes busily employed, first racing around in high-powered cars (which he generally crashed) then after Bleriot crossed the Channel setting France alight with aviation fever, he moved onto aircraft (which he always crashed.) He hardly looks like a typical aviator, being a stout batrachian gentleman who must have more lives than any feline if half the stories of his spectacular crack-ups are true.

Still, he managed to bring his Dewotine 550C back in one piece today much to the astonishment of the French team mechanics, who had a lively bet as to where he would pile in and the size of the biggest piece of recoverable wreckage. I suppose he must have a mix of Adele Beasley's level of bad and good luck - bad in that he crashes often enough to consider it normal, but good in always managing to walk (or swim) away.

There was one surprise entry, a Tillamook team of one aircraft with its owner and three mechanics who came second in a very home-built effort. It had a pair of large Lamblin pattern radiators under the engine, which on its final run looked as if they had suffered a nasty accident - on the home straight the aircraft suddenly left a huge plume of steam behind, although it seemed to accelerate quite markedly for a few seconds. I noticed a lot of binoculars were trained on the aircraft, whose owners call it the "Lorinson".

This is definitely the life, warm sunshine and hot aircraft! We can only look on with envy, as there seems little chance of getting our paws on one. Maria has flown similar aircraft; she is not ashamed to use her political "pull" at home, but surprisingly has not tried it with the Italian team here. She says the prospects of bending an aircraft are too awful to think about - testing prototypes on the factory fields are one thing, but she does not want to get in the books as the one who spoiled Italy's chances for the year. Her Uncle would not be too pleased, and she has only half-jokingly predicted her next public flights would be making a troop supply run between sniper-infested mud strips in Abyssinia, forever.


Thursday August 9th, 1936

A hard day for us, but some folk had a much harder one. We started off from South Island while it was still dark, and had arranged with one of Jirry's friends to ferry us to Main Island where we met up with the rest of the guides and Professor Schiller who had camped at the foot of Mount Kiribatori. The Prof greeted us warmly, and then we helped carry the ropes and tackle up to the foot of the climb. G-U-U were limbering up, dressed in very neat black polo-necked shirts that set off their fur very nicely. Though they are about the least vain folk we have met, it is rather like a Vicar taking care of his costume not for personal pride but in what he represents. They certainly earned their ticket here, and on a mountain (unlike in a career such as Archbishop Crowley's) they cannot bluff their way all the way to the top.

By the time the sky was getting light over Eastern Island they were already on the route; to get to the foot of the main face is quite a scramble, nearly eight hundred feet of minor cliffs and boulder slopes from where they had camped. It was a very good thing we are all exceedingly fit, and our cuts and bruises from the Wakalenga adventure had mostly healed.

I am not sure just how much the Prof is paying for the license to make the attempt, but the island is doing very well in guide's fees. While some folk stayed at the base of the cliff (and for the first few hundred feet prepared hot coffee and such to be pulled up the ropes) we headed out on the long route to the top, heading right over the main ridge of the island and climbing up the steep trail from the West. When we stopped to look back we could see small bursts of light at our camp - it looked quite alarming until Helen got the binoculars out and announced the flashes were not grenades but flashbulbs; the Press had arrived and were busy making up for lost time.

Of course, G-U-U and the Prof cannot carry the weight of twelve hundred feet of strong manila rope plus everything else up the rock face - so after about two hundred feet they hauled the rope up to use on the next pitch and from then on were quite on their own, moving steadily up the route they had picked out from our photos. When we turned round the shoulder of the mountain they were out of view, and we could take our time heading for the top. It was an hour and a half along the trail, quite wearing enough for us. At least we could console ourselves that we had the easy bit, and imagined the Prof snout-jamming and tail-belaying his way up the almost vertical face below us. Molly's comment was that there is nothing so good as hard work, which is something she can stand and watch all day.

I was asking some of the other guides how the Prof and his team have been getting on since we last carried for them; they certainly are putting in a lot of hard work on the minor faces. While most tourists are still getting dressed they are usually to be found half way up a crag, hammering pegs in; some folk sneer rather at the style of "dangle and whack" as they call it but half-way up Mount Kiribatori a climbing team needs all the help they can get, artificial or otherwise!

Still, they have made a quite favourable impression, and though Maria expected them to have "missionary" objectives seem to only demonstrate by example rather than preaching (unlike say Liberty Morgenstern, who has got nowhere.) I have heard the Prof shrugging off the fact that Germany did no better in this year's Olympics than the previous Berlin ones in 1904; he pointed out that it is of course the same stock competing, and people only ask a race-horse its pedigree and performance rather than its politics.

By lunchtime we were nearly on the top of Kiribatori, on that short grassy shelf that had Helen and me exchanging glances as we recalled the last time we were there with the Hoele'toemi brothers. Though today there was very good company, we definitely miss Jirry and Marti. On the other paw, we are here today to work and it might be embarrassing if matters proceeded as last time and the climbing team came over the top unexpectedly early.

None of the Press had made it all the way to the top with us, which was a shame in that we had to keep a close watch with our cameras ready to snap the party coming over the final rocks. At least that was the plan

- though by lunchtime they had been out of sight from us for six hours and we had no idea where they were. Having portable radios would be nice, as we could keep in touch with the folk at the base of the cliff who are watching with binoculars. Unfortunately even the latest military two-way radios are the size of a largeknapsack and the weight of one filled with bricks - and getting up here is quite hard enough as it is. By three o'clock we were not exactly worrying, but it would have been useful to know what was happening. Maria shouted down over the edge at half-past (the top part of the cliff slopes at about twenty degrees so we cannot see much of the steeper bits below) and was rewarded by a distant yodelling. Unfortunately the yodel was in a different Alpine dialect than she ululates in, but it was some comfort to know folk had not all fallen off.

We were taking it in turns to look over the edge, securely belayed to a large boulder; it was Helen's shift when she shouted that Gunter was in sight, and to pass her the cameras. A few minutes later I saw her tail bottle out completely in shock - she gave a yelp that they were climbing it without any sort of belays, and if one of them slipped it was curtains for the whole team!

It was a tense quarter of an hour while the rest approached the top of the cliff, Gunter leading, then Ulric, followed by the Prof and Uwe. They had been climbing non-stop for ten hours, and the Prof was looking definitely grey-faced by the time he came over the edge and sank breathlessly on the grass while we fired up the primus stove for about half a gallon of strong black coffee.

As we earned our shells being good support guides and passed around the coffee and cakes, we heard the full story. There was a good reason why they had been climbing the last half of the face without using their pitons - Gunter demonstrated as he pulled out one from his pocket, put it on a rock and hit it with a hammer - at which the steel peg broke like glass. The whole batch was like it - except for the ones they had brought out themselves, which had been used up at the start of the route. Had they fallen while belayed on any of the brittle pegs, the whole team would surely have perished and nobody would ever have known why.

Maria looked down at the broken pieces, scratched her ear and commented that she thought Ruhr Valley steel was better than that. The Prof nodded slowly, and assured her it is - when it leaves the factory. He asked us to bear witness, and gave two of the Spontoonie guides a peg apiece requesting they take them to Superior Engineering to be officially checked as soon as they could manage it; definitely it looks as if someone was determined that Mount Kiribatori was not going to be climbed today.

Still, it was a more impressive achievement getting up without so much artificial help. We gathered up what equipment there remained, packed up our camp and set off down the long trail back to camp. The Prof was in rather a bad way, as ten hours on a rock face is hard on the nerves as well as the paws even when nobody is trying to sabotage the trip. We took another four hours getting him back to the tents, where the remaining guides had a meal ready. Certainly nobody can accuse G-U-U of extravagant living; most folk would have broken out the champagne in celebration but they contented themselves with heroic portions of spring water, pickled fish and the sort of tar-black densified pumpernickel I so enjoyed on Vostok.

Back to South Island and the Hoele'toemi compound by dark, with our interesting news for everybody. The main face of Mount Kiribatori has been conquered, and although it will not be our names in the books, we helped put the record there. And although Spontoonie huts are rarely equipped with champagne, palm wine is perfectly good enough for us to celebrate with.


Friday August 10th, 1936

Time moves on - while we were busy on South Island yesterday, Saimmi was making the final transport arrangements as to our Cranium Island trip. All our equipment is ready and packed up, including a wheeled golf bag for my T-Gew and Molly's KAR-98. They do not look quite like golf clubs in their travel cases, but this way are less liable to cause alarm when we take them past the hotels on Resort Bay.

It feels like the last day of the school holidays with everything packed in the hallway, ready to pick up and go in the morning with only the farewells to say. We have everything arranged, right down to the pickup details - the Lockheed Lamprey with its pilot and mechanic will be based in a safe village in the Ventura Isles some fifty miles South and from there it is due to fly past our landing beach at noon every day and look for our signal. Having a small party camped waiting for us with the aircraft on the open beach would on Cranium Island be a very bad idea.

Our own plans have to remain definitely sketchy, as we have very little idea about the conditions over there. But the basics are to keep moving, find and deal with the fragment at best speed and then straight out as quickly and quietly as we can. It is just our luck that the Tanoaho family who might tell us more are only expected back on South Island next week, by which time we might (all being well) be heading back ourselves.

There was no point in sitting around worrying ourselves sick about the probable dangers ahead - we have spent two years training for this sort of thing, and with any reasonable luck will get away with our ears and tails still on. One thing we will certainly not find over there is crowds and entertainment, so I suggested taking a brief "pre-embarkation leave" and we headed off to Casino Island for the day.

I must say, the Daily Elele and the other newspapers were jolly hot off the mark - they must have been working all night to get the front page story about the Prof and the boys climbing Mount Kiribatori. To judge from the angle and the close-ups in the paper, the "Mirror" reporter must have used a telephoto lens that could take good shots of the volcanoes on the moon, or the canal towpaths of Mars. Helen speculates he has a ten-inch Cassegraine, which is not as rude as it sounds.

We were mentioned, though not exactly by name, as Songmark girls lending a paw to the support team, but there was no mention of the sabotaged pitons (assuming they really were sabotaged, and did not just slip through Quality Control back in Essen). It would be an easy enough job to spoil the heat treatment of the pitons just by heating them red-hot then rapidly quenching in cold water; although the Prof has not visibly lost his temper the steel certainly would but just as invisibly. I know what Liberty or Tatiana would say if he started accusing anyone. Actually, they would say the same about him whatever he did; really, some folk are quite prejudiced.

There was one dissenting article on page two about the loss of the "inviolate summit" but that hardly holds water, we have been to the summit itself which is not that hard to get to and no doubt the first Spontoonies struggled up there a thousand years ago. True, the folk in charge of printing postcards and guidebooks will have to do some revision, but it is August already and they cannot have too many of this year's editions left. I have seen one postcard already expensively hand-stamped "First Ascent of Kiribatori Main Face commemorative special limited issue" that in fifty years will probably be worth a few shillings to collectors.

There was still nothing in the papers about our adventures on Wakalenga Island and afterwards - it was rather odd to see the Marleybone Hotel standing proudly in the sunshine, a great block of respectability and luxury filled with happy and indulged guests. Not the sort of place one imagines rooftop chases and fights to the finish with slaver gangs. I found my ears blushing as I recalled the finish of that adventure, and reminded myself that the baths are no doubt sized to suit one extremely large tourist such as a hippo to wallow in rather than being intended for mixed company. That surely never happens. I could see Molly's tail twitching as she followed my gaze, and indeed she had a thoroughly good time there as well - in some respects more than would suit me.

Looking around at the bustling crowds, it is still hard to believe that chase in the small hours where apart from the hunted and the quarry there seemed to be nobody on the island. Molly finished the paper and commented that it looked as if Lars was right about the whole business being kept quiet - certainly the Tourist Board do not want to know about folk having to be shovelled off the pavement outside the most prestigious hotels they have! That could quite put breakfast-time tourists off their corned-beef hash and scrambled eggs.

There was another article about Father Dominicus and his attempts to found a rival flying school, with a debate being held by the Althing next week. If they say no, we will definitely breathe a sigh of relief, as that will be that. Helen's phrase is "you can't fight City Hall", which Liberty Morgenstern has repeatedly argued with. Liberty seems quite proud of the idea you really can successfully fight City Hall, burn down the building and have the employees all hung from the nearest lampposts as Enemies of the People (the People being oddly enough the ones who elected them, not the ones doing the hanging, which hardly seems to fit.)

Casino Island was in full swing with hordes of tourists queuing up for the Crazy Golf, the Criminally Insane Croquet and the fairground rides on the sea front. I keep forgetting that Saffina had never seen anything like it before she came here, and she is fascinated by the Aircraft spin-dizzy, the Wheel of Misfortune and the Cone of Tragedy. She says she has never seen people paying good money to be made explosively sick before, except for Helen on a water-taxi and that hardly counts.

Maria was greatly cheered up when one of the Italian Schneider Trophy pilots decided "Taxiing trials" could be interpreted as using his million-lira Macchi racer as a runabout to get some lunch at the Rainbow Bridge café. That, she says, is style. There seemed to be quite a few folk who agreed, as in ten minutes there were half a dozen admiring girls who swam out and were sitting on the floats as he chatted happily in a mixture of broken English and splintered Spontoonie. Evidently he must have been here in previous years; there are advantages in these islands permanently hosting the Trophy races, in that folk coming from around the world always know what languages to swot up on.

I have seen some of the British racing aircraft moored on Casino Island but they always took their mechanics with them and it was a case of showing the flag rather than just showing off. I have not seen any of the Germans doing the same, much to our pal Carmen's disappointment. She had an enlarged publicity photograph of Ilsa Klensch on her wall the last time I saw her dorm room, despite Prudence warning that the German champion seems to have absolutely no interest that direction and would not be at all pleased to find out about Carmen's crush on her (actually what Prudence said was "Ey, lass, one whiff o' that off thi' and she'd 'ave tha' tongue fer a bootlace.") Miss Klensch certainly seems someone it would be very bad to get on the wrong side of.

All too soon it was time to post our last postcards from Spontoon and head back; there is nobody we will want to write to saying "Wish you were here" from the reported dangers and horrors of Cranium Island -since we don't have an address for Soppy Forsythe.


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(Amelia's adventures continue in "Monster Hash.")