Spontoon Island
home - contact - credits - new - links - history - maps - art - story

Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
26 September, 1936 to 2 October, 1936


Monday 26th September, 1936

Our Tutors certainly believe in beginning as they mean to go on. This is not surprising, or encouraging. First off we were briefly looked over by Mrs. Oelabe who pronounced us provisionally fit, though the full medical would wait awhile till the second-years are checked over. The first thing on our timetables was a two hour run, with Miss Wildford pacing us on a bicycle calling out cheerful encouragement as we panted our way around several laps of the beach on Eastern Island. The wet sand was not a problem to run on but the loose dry dunes on the Eastern coast were a nightmare, and our steel-lined boots felt like lead diving boots by the time we had finished the first circuit of the island.

Still, it is some comfort that we are not the only ones suffering. Rounding the Northern tip we could see the row of crags half-way up the hill had the second-years swarming up them, chivvied on with Miss Blande providing encouragement via megaphone. Beryl panted that Miss Blande wears out three megaphones a term, and for once I can believe her. A ten minute swim followed, fully dressed, after which we were led through the showers the Airport staff use to wash the salt off our fur and clothing.

It was a very tired and dripping class that finished up on the airstrip, but our aches and pains were quite forgotten as we looked round Songmark's latest acquisition. I have no idea how they managed it, but we now have a Junkers Ju86 D to fly! It is a large monoplane, twin engined and very fast; we are glad to hear it is strictly third-years only. The first-years were busy at work in the next hangar on maintaining the Tiger Moths; if their timetable is anything like ours was they will be lucky to get flying by November.

Lunch was breadfruit and plantain mash, nourishing certainly but very digestible. Molly muttered that when we have a light digestible lunch it is a sign our Tutors are going to want us to do something energetic straight afterwards; she was unfortunately quite right.

Miss Wildford had us pick up climbing ropes and equipment from the Songmark compound and led us up the hill towards the Radio LONO tower. She waved her tail at the hundred-foot tower and told us to get busy; ten ascents to the aerial platform (up the girders and not using the handy ladder, of course) and ten abseils down the far side. Of course, she first made us demonstrate on the ten-foot side of the building that we had not forgotten our technique over the holidays; launching oneself over the edge of the main tower is no place to discover one has the rope the wrong way round. We were issued with heavy gloves for the descent part of it, and she sat back with a pair of binoculars and her notebook to keep score.

If anyone spent their summer holiday relaxing on a beach eating ice-cream all day, they were sorely regretting it by the time we had finished the first climb and abseil. I had kept generally very fit, but there are muscles and muscles, and I had not done any serious rope climbing since the escapades on Krupmark Island. Before that, it would have been the sailing voyage on the Liki-Tiki. Still, we were all the same and the ninth and tenth ascents were sheer agony. Irma Bundt has a lot of weight to haul despite her strength, and took a rather too-rapid slide down to hit the ground on the final abseil. Her tail-bones were surely as bruised as her dignity.

Of course, having us do this is very easy for our other Tutors, who can spend the time we are busy with the hundred and one things needed to get Songmark organised for the new term. There are timetables to give out, classes to organise and everything; by the end of the day the mimeograph must have been running hot getting all our paperwork ready.

One good thing - we were welcomed back with a very decent meal, a dish with roast chicken and those fine banana blossoms called "Puso ng Saging", which is probably half Songmark's food budget for the week gone. Missy K asked plaintively if there was any poi to be had, but she was universally howled down. She has had all summer to gorge on the stuff, and no doubt will have plenty more tomorrow.

(Later) Our timetables are definitely packed, as always - ten hours a day scheduled! Molly's jaw dropped when she saw what is piled up ahead of us; fortunately we have a still wider choice of subjects than last year. I have dropped the beach survival ones (a year of that tells you about all you need to know) and am taking more nautical classes, which always improve with practice.

Maria had some amusing things to say about what a ship's cat was traditionally tasked with. She is keeping up with the journalism and is even submitting pieces to the Mirror, where they run it in the politics column. Actually, it is run as a rather odd series of parodies, with Maria from her Uncle's political stance interpreting the day's news along with a fanatical Starlingist (not Tatiana, she does not have that sense of humour) and an absolutely rabid Bakuninite Anarchist. The three interpretations are all rather skewed, and probably send a shiver down the spines of the Spontoonies who read them (and are thankful they live here instead.)

Helen was rather curious about some of the articles. Maria's Uncle is not at all liked by many people, not all of whom are Reds or Ethiopians. Maria says it is a matter of style; although the newsreels rather play up his shouting and histrionics in front of crowds, she explains that is what her countryfolk actually want, and that he is much quieter in private. What plays well to one audience would not go well with another; by all accounts Germans very happily sit through full Wagner operas lasting six or eight hours. One hopes they have decent intervals; we hear much about the Iron Will these days, but without a break the national characteristic would have to be a nickel-steel bladder.

Just our luck, we are the first dorm to go on gate duty tonight. It is just as well we had a decent night's sleep last night, as Molly and I are on the late shift. Straight to bed after supper for us!


Tuesday 27th September, 1936

Our first gate-watch of the year went quite uneventfully, I am happy to say. Helen and Maria shook us awake at two in the morning; by the time we were dressed Maria was already rattling the light fittings with her snoring, as unladylike as ever. We must ask Madame Maxine if there is anything that can be done about that. We are used to it, but any gentleman would find it disturbing, and she has only three terms left to make the most of her opportunities here.

It is rather a problem for Maria to find romantic company, what with her official position. A perfect match would be some high-ranking young Italian of the right politics, but there are none of them to be found around here. In fact, there are few at her level in Italy, and she already knows most of them. I certainly think Jasbir Sind had the right idea in the holidays; she left her reputation behind in safety along with her real fur pattern, and picked it up undamaged on her return. Whatever she might have done on Gull Island is nobody's business.

Molly had the compensation of being allowed to carry my T-Gew on duty again, with the fixed saw-edged bayonet. She had something to show me that Lars had loaned her at the party; at first sight it looked like one of the regular 13 mm rounds. But I soon saw there was something odd about it, and when Molly demonstrated by trying to chamber it, obviously the cartridge is nearly an inch too long! She looked at it in interest and opined that someone has developed a much "hotter" round in the same calibre. And she would like to see the rifle it fitted.

Fortunately, as we were on the late guard duty there was nobody around; even the most hardened revellers are back before two, except on Casino Island where Beryl says the casinos are still open till dawn. So between walking around the perimeter to keep awake and checking the guard dogs were watered (they are only fed at breakfast-time, making them hungry and sharp all night) there was plenty of time to talk in the quiet.

I heard rather more about what she and Lars have been up to on Krupmark Island recently; she seems to rather like the place and reminiscences it is like the good old days in Chicago without the blizzards or any police to worry about. I suppose given her background it would be more home-like than threatening, and she recounted having met one of the bosses who live "up the hill" from Fort Bob. Lars has now fully re-established his business over there, and if anything is expanding with the necessary permissions from (and doubtless paying tribute to) the far more criminal ruling clique. She made no attempt to disguise her identity, and by her accounts her family name is still quite respected there. Krupmark must be about the only place in the world where it is.

Actually, I am rather unsure as to whether to encourage her or not on this sort of thing. On the one paw, she has a second bolthole to go to if anything goes wrong at Songmark, unlike me. On the other, it is generally "a short life and a merry one" over there, from all accounts. She is very competent at most of the skills she needs ... but I have spent two years now trying to persuade her that there are better careers than dodging the forces of Law. My ears somewhat drooped as she recounted how she had helped Lars defend one of his warehouses against a hostile takeover bid. I am sure I would have done as much myself had I been there and my host's property under attack, but I would not look back on it as the high-point of the holiday.

The one good thing about Krupmark is there is little chance of stray rounds hitting innocent bystanders. Molly confirms my impression that innocent citizens "are happiest living somewheres else."

Some of the first-years are definitely in the habit of getting up early; it was just about dawn when Molly heard suspicious sounds coming from their side of the compound, and automatically assumed a break-in by hostile forces. She begged me to hand over the ammunition (our Tutors do not let her patrol with a loaded anti-tank rifle, indeed they would hardly issue her with a kitten's catapult plus ammunition) but on investigation I spotted a very keen-looking dorm in their exercise kit limbering up for an early-morning run. They comprised a squirrel, a star-nosed mole, a bloodhound and an arctic fox; definitely a mixed bunch.

Of course, our Tutors insist that we investigate anything suspicious, and first-years getting up earlier than they have to is certainly unusual. If any dorm was scheduled to be up for exercises as a punishment it would certainly be in the notes we are given. So I let Molly go ahead and challenge them; a cocked T-Gew looks exactly the same whether it is loaded or not, and I must admit it is more intimidating with the saw-backed bayonet. As we found out confronting Kansas Smith's hench-furs on Cranium Island, that is a very impressive weapon to look down the barrel of. Whether or not it actually makes any difference to be shot dead with a .22 small game rifle or a T-Gew, folk seem far more hesitant to risk it with the young cannon. I have seen what a round from that can do to an unripe watermelon - it is not just a matter of finding where the pieces landed, as the whole thing is atomised.

Well! It appears the squirrel is the Miss Rote who Saffina mentioned having fallen for Beryl's practical joke with the so-called Spontoonie National Anthem; she was very cool and explained that she is the head of her dorm and believes in making an early start. By their accents she is an American, and the star-nosed girl is either Spanish or South American. The other two surprised me - one is the first German we have had in Songmark for two years since Erica graduated, and the other is British. I recognised from her hard, flat Irish tones she is definitely an Ulster girl - on my enquiry she is about as Orange as some others in the second-year are Red; one of those fierce and determined Protestants.

I let them get on with their exercise and returned to the guard-room to talk it over with Molly. I can never predict what our Tutors are going to do next; just when I thought they had stopped taking in British, Germans or Italians I am proved quite wrong. Eva is from Nuremberg and Maureen from Belfast, near the Shorts seaplane factory. Between them they should prove a source of endless irritation to some of Red Dorm, which may be no bad thing and fun to watch.

Molly regrets we missed the chance to wire our old second-year rooms for sound before we left; I quite agreed that it would be fun to hear the reaction when Liberty Morgenstern and Tatiana find out, to say nothing of Brigit Mulvaney (which is usually a good thing anyway.) All we need now in that dorm is an amateur Policewoman to send Wo Shin into fits!

Still, our Tutors would have been bound to spot the wiring over the Summer refurbishment and trace it to us. Oh well. One day folk may have radio transmitters that are a little smaller than a heavy suitcase, but I doubt it.

Breakfast was very welcome, as we had been up and walking around for six hours by the time the gong rang and we all assembled to eat. It feels strange being at the head of the dining room now, with the two years looking up to us. I have coached Molly on her manners, but she still says it would make more of an impression eating out of hacked-out tins with a bayonet for cutlery. No doubt, but not the sort of impression I have tried to encourage.

Back into classes, where we started our reports on "what I did in my Holidays." Happily I have my log-book for the Albanian South Indies to concentrate on and will try to gloss over some of the Krupmark Islands trip. I know I wanted that flight to gain money and experience, and I certainly got it - but not in the form I would have planned. Molly says she is going to give a full and honest account of her own rather different experiences, down to the number and calibre of rounds fired.

It would be nice to report that third-year girls who have done half a night of gate duty and only managed two or three hours sleep, are allowed a siesta to recover from it. It would be very nice. I wish it was true!


Wednesday 28th September, 1936

Not much time to write yesterday - or today either. Mrs. Oelabe spent the day working through my year giving us a detailed check-up; I passed with a clean bill of health, as did Helen, Molly and Maria. Well, apart from Molly's slight case of Athlete's paw; she will insist on wearing those high Russian boots from Vostok as a matter of style when sandals would be better in the Summer heat. Some types of deer go entirely bare-hoofed; Lars could if he wanted to, but Molly prefers her high, polished knee-length black boots. Sandals and Thompson machine-guns, she argues, do not go together and she is always keen on style.

The only one who seems to have any trouble is our unlucky bunny Adele Beasley. She looked healthy enough as far as I could see, but has been packed off to the hospital on Casino Island; Beryl is speculating freely about her catching diseases unknown to science. With Adele's luck, this is depressingly possible. She looked perfectly well as far as I could see, apart from a slight rash around the nose that could have been anything.

We spent the afternoon working on the Junkers Ju86 until we know just about every rivet. Actually although it is a Junkers design this is made in Japan, a license build. The maker's plates are in Japanese, and we were glad that Li Han speaks it well enough to translate. If there is a notice in an aircraft, it is important to know what it says.

There are some interesting modifications that seem to be fairly recent. Between the undercarriage struts there is a streamlined vertical stub that looks very like a bomb rack, though rather more elaborate. It has a fuel pipe and an electrical connection, neither of which connect to anything internally right now, though there are signs that equipment has been removed recently. We have been taught to look at scratches and such to compare ages; these are new and bright, and it looks as if some work was done over the holidays since it arrived here. I remember the faces of our third-years lighting up last term when they got to work on the aircraft on its arrival; it is in a different hangar to our Tiger Moth squadron and we never saw it very closely but I am certain the vertical stub was not there then.

Helen also pointed out that the underside of the rear fuselage has been comprehensively re-painted, which seems odd as the rest of it could also use a touch-up but has made do without. She whispered that the new Songmark aircraft was probably doing something interesting in the holidays; she had seen it flying out to sea several times. Oddly enough, once it had flown out alongside that Schneider Trophy entrant from Tillamook, the one with the evaporative cooling system that gives it a brief thirty knot burst of speed. Perhaps they were testing that mid-air refuelling the Russians have got working? That could explain the "bomb rack" having being a fuel tank, and obviously we hardly need it at Songmark. Having seen aircraft undercarriages collapse on heavy landings, a big tank of fuel is not something a student aviatrix wants underneath her tail as the aircraft scrapes and sparks along the concrete.

In a few weeks, Miss Devinski tells us, we will be flying it. It will certainly be the fastest thing I have flown; its official description is "mail plane" but one can see where the structure is braced to carry a bomb load. Some of the new "mail planes" are actually faster than the frontline fighters; a Gloster Gladiator or Hawker Demon would never catch this one! Many countries have budgets for military aircraft restricted by laws and treaties, but if a Government funded postal project wants to have an aircraft designed to carry five tons of "mail bags" across Europe at record speeds, there is little the League of Nations can do about it. Similarly, the Austrians are extending their alpine "rocket post" to provide parcel deliveries, which they explain they need larger and more powerful rockets for.

Of course, Maria is only mildly impressed. Then, she was flying fighters and Schneider Trophy prototypes before even starting Songmark; at any rate it is a step up from the Tiger Moths. We are all looking forward to starting flying the Junkers 86.

Back for the traditional meal of Poi, which is something we have at least got used to in three years here. It is always interesting to watch the first-years coming to grips with it (a difficult thing to do to three-finger poi.) The thing to do is tell oneself that it is healthy and nutritious, which is perfectly true. Just look at the Hoele'toemi family as living proof. I wish I could look at Jirry right now; the food would be a tiny price to pay.

Actually, some of the first-years seem to have started work on the problem already. There is nothing in the regulations about supplementing one's diet, and in some cases it needs it. One platinum-furred bobcat with pince-nez glasses and an accent like Helen's was liberally adding Tabasco sauce to her poi, which should be an improvement, and a lepine was spooning something greenish into her portion that I think is Japanese "Wasabe". Potent stuff, which has been the raw material for many practical jokes. I fell for the toothpaste trick myself last year.

At least the islands are not short of fish or fresh vegetables, and no Songmark girl ever gets up from the table hungry if she eats everything put in front of her. But then, "hunger is the best sauce" as our Tutors have pointed out frequently, and anyone who complains about the food is generally given extra exercise until it starts to look appetising. Fortunately I lost any fussiness I might have had as a kitten after years of experience with the school meals at St. Winifred's, which seemed to consist largely of suet now I look back on it. Still, that was a rather colder climate.

Molly says she is glad her species of deer is not the sort with multiple stomachs, which are handy for eating grass and brushwood on survival exercises but leave one no choice but to be a vegetarian. Awfully hard luck if one is stranded on a shoal with only shellfish to eat. The only time we felines eat grass it is to be sick, but I manage the taro greens and such perfectly well these days like most of the carnivores here. Of course there are still digestion problems; canines will eat just about anything including boiled cabbage if it is spiced enough, but one does not want to share the dorm with them afterwards. Or the one downwind, for that matter.

One of the nice things about being a third-year is that our quarters have an actual bathtub. Showers are all right in their place, but for relaxing and soaking sore muscles and bruises, a bath is the only thing. Of course, Songmark being Songmark, it is not as simple as just running hot water. There is an old boiler downstairs that has to be fed, and the staff has made clear it is up to us to do so - or not. Beryl has already been suspiciously spotted looking at the wooden slats under our mattresses, half of which could be missing without being obvious, till one tries to sleep on it (at which point they would be a useful training aid if our final year includes tests in being able to sleep crossways on a ploughed field.)


Thursday 29th September, 1936

Hurrah! We are back flying the Sea Osprey, and practicing "difficult" takeoffs and landings. That is, there is an area of the shallows to the North of Eastern Island marked out with buoys and we have to land in the area from any wind direction. Definitely tricky! The Sea Osprey is heavier by far than the Tiger Moths, and we can only do it by going in as if it was landing on an aircraft carrier (not something one would literally want to do in a flying boat.). Quite a few bruised tails in the class from where folk touched down rather heavier than they planned to.

Happily, a flying boat can take a much heavier landing without damage than any undercarriage, which is good for Songmark qualifications but practically rattles one's back teeth out. There may be occasions when one has little choice; as Miss Devinski says, we already know what we should be doing in the usual circumstances, and in the third-year we have to get used to the unexpected.

The island waters are definitely emptying now; the tour boats are long gone and even the pearl-fishing season finished last week. I wonder what my friend Angelica is doing now? She was depending on that to pay her way and try to get off the islands, the last I heard of her. If our Tutors had not been timing us I would have taken a two-minute diversion over Main Island to see if her aircraft is still there. A bright silver aircraft rather stands out on a beach.

Back for a swimming session off Eastern Island, after which Miss Wildford had us demonstrating rock climbing without equipment for the first-years. They were all equipped with ropes and safety mats, while we were not and were tired out with soaking wet paws as well. A few of us added to our bruises; Missy K dislocated a finger quite badly and had to have it re-set "in the field" before heading to the hospital to have it strapped up. Re-setting it basically involves having the tip pulled hard until it pops back into place: we learned some new words in Spontoonie that Helen says she is going to have to check on.

Sophie D'artagnan went up the rocks in fine style, including one very severe pitch next to Beryl's attempted route that is listed in our books as "Plummeting Mousie." She is full of praise for her new tennis shoes, which she picked up for eighty cowries in Ferry Square Market. They were going cheap as they are apparently a consignment of rejects; something went wrong with hardening the rubber and they still feel rather sticky. Sophie shrugged and admitted they would probably wear out in twenty miles on a hard road, but for sticking to steep smooth rocks she has found nothing to match them. An interesting idea, but I am sure it will never catch on.

Adele Beasley is back in class; she whispered that the Doctors cannot find out exactly what is wrong with her, but are confident it is not contagious by most normal means. She has to shower on her own though. I asked her if she had been anywhere exotic in the holidays; she "froze up" like one sees rabbits caught in motor-car headlights and would not say another word.

(Later) At least our Tutors are busy enough this time of year to leave us a few evenings of peace. That is to say, we have textbooks to read and all sorts of things to do, and although technically we could head out to Song Sodas, nobody does.

After all this time, we are well and truly in our Third-year at Songmark! We have spent two years looking forward to doing entirely without Passes, but discover there are all sorts of snags. Apart from our work, there is gate guard duty and on top of that one dorm is on Alert, in theory, to run after errant second-years. That leaves three dorms who could in theory head out right now and have a fine evening at Mahanish's only ten minutes walk away; we would not technically be breaking any rules. The trouble is, with the amount of work we have to do, we simply can't afford the time!


Friday 30th September, 1936

Something of a treat today; on Casino Island they are having a sports festival celebrating the end of the Olympic year. Most of the local population were busy running around serving tourists at the time, so they missed most of it.

All three years of us were invited to attend, and happily our Tutors let us go. Perhaps they need a rest, after the strains of getting another year underway. What that meant was we third-years had to take charge, arranging water-taxis, cinema tickets and everything else. It would have been such an opportunity for the second-years to desert en masse and spend the day in a pub, but that is what we earn our freedom from Passes preventing.

The Coconut Shell has occasional outdoor film screenings, and there was a free showing of the official Olympic Games documentary. "Olympia" is decidedly impressive! It might be just a bit prejudiced in places (we certainly didn't see that long-jumper from New South Zion getting his Gold medal) but it is quite a staggering piece of film. We had our eye on Red Dorm as usual, and even Tatiana was grumblingly acknowledging it as "very good propaganda."

The six Olympic teams paraded to the cheers of the crowd, including Beryl's friend Piet van Hoogstraaten with the rest of the "Screaming Sculls" rowing team. Even the bobsled team turned out to rapturous applause; they all survived though three of them are still in plaster. I can imagine the Althing pondered awhile on whether or not to sponsor them, considering the example it will set. If the Main Islanders take it up as a popular sport the hospitals are going to be busy; I have seen that track and it frankly terrifies me! Perambulator wheels are decidedly not designed to make sharp pull-ups at sixty miles an hour, as the "g" force at the bottom where the track levels out is more than wire spoked wheels can take.

Bobsled, crawl and freestyle swimming, diving, wrestling and rowing - certainly these islands chose their strengths well apart from the bobsled. But then, as a "novelty value" of a tropical country competing in the Winter Sports it was much talked about, and I doubt the Tourist Board believe "no news is good news."


Saturday 1st October, 1936

October already! Last night was a rare thing, sharing the early Gate Guard with Susan de Ruiz rather than Helen, Molly or Maria. There is going to be some disturbance this year; from what Susan says that her dorm is going to change members for the first time since the first year. In fact, nobody has moved around since our Tutors put Prudence's dorm together having spotted their common interests.

I was not too surprised to learn that Adele Beasley is making the swap with one of the other girls who will be going to try her luck against Beryl and Missy K. Personally I would not want to have Madeleine X as my dorm leader, but from what I hear it can only be an improvement. Susan says she overheard the Tutors saying something about them having failed one Songmark girl last year (Zara, I think) and not wanting to have to do it again so soon. I have no idea what Adele was doing in the holidays, but Miss Devinski does not look approving at her.

Actually, I breathed a sigh of relief. I know Adele wanted to join me and Helen, but we have quite enough to do keeping Molly approximately the right side of law and sanity. We have heard about a few things the Tutors have planned for us this term, including the cold-weather trips to the Aleutian Islands, and having Adele running into her usual luck would not help matters. I have visions of her falling through the ice even after Missy K, Maria and Irma Bundt in full kit have successfully stamped over it.

Another relief was that we have the day off. It seems to be quite true that Songmark third-years have more leisure time - but knowing our Tutors, that is because we absolutely need it. It was hard to hide a smile seeing Red Dorm being drafted to shepherd the first-years around; we have had enough of that (though Jasbir's dorm are kept at Songmark to be sent out if THEY need rescuing/bailing out of prison.)

Beryl's ears went right down at the sight; it seems she had bets with Molly that by the start of term at least one of Red Dorm would have killed off, seriously injured or successfully framed another for something serious. Somehow they seem to have buried the hatchet, and not in each other. I am sure our Tutors are happy about that, but personally the idea of them presenting a united front against the world is something I think the League of Nations should be worrying about.

We followed Maria's lead in terms of heading out shopping, with our first stop being Ferry Square Market where she wanted to get a pair of those reject tennis shoes that Sophie was sticking her way up the rocks in. She was out of luck - at least, they had her size but nothing in a style to fit bovine feet! The world would be a very different place if there was only one species to cater for; mass-production would be easier but most of the cobblers and custom tailors would be out of a job. Helen and I snapped up a pair each which fit perfectly; even if they wear out by Solstice we can hardly complain at eighty cowries apiece.

Just to the West we ran into a group of Father Dominicus' new arrivals; their apparent leader being a Spanish Lynx girl was one of those I met back in the Summer term when she was applying to join Songmark. They were very cool but polite, but we could spot the fur on their hackles going up at the sight of us. The leader asked us politely if we were heading out to the Casino, or perhaps a tavern. One hopes they have not met Beryl.

I could tell Molly was going to erupt, but a firm booted paw pressing on her instep gave her the idea of keeping quiet as I moved into the lead like a fleet flagship in icy waters. Molly is not a subtle orator (I keep trying to explain there are some problems that simply cannot be solved with firepower or cold steel), Helen has not quite the vocabulary and Maria gets too passionate about things, even now. Hurrah again for the St. Winifred's debating society! I little thought I would be putting its lessons to use like this.

The opening rounds were us introducing ourselves; their leader being Beatrice Esparanza, who had been booked to go to the Spanish school this year had it been open (she had already paid the first term's fees which are non refundable and Father Dominicus cannot help with that; no wonder she was irritated.) Having been turned down by Songmark and bounced out of Spain with nothing to show for it but bills would upset anyone. She politely enquired if being a pirate and smuggler was on our third-year official timetable; I told her it was not, and countered that she obviously wanted those lessons or she would not have applied to join us in the first place. First salvo to us, I think.

It is interesting that they already know quite a lot about us; at least she recognised Molly and Maria by sight. Having seen her first rounds bounce off me, she switched her aim to Molly, politely enquiring just what the job prospects are for a gun moll in the Spontoons. (Molly has an unfortunate name in that respect and one can imagine her Father meant it to be fitting.)

Fortunately, Molly had seen this one coming and was almost polite back; actually smiling and pointing out the prospects were better than being a Missionary in these islands (true enough). She added that if she was a Spanish gun moll she would be putting her talents to good use and not hiding on the far side of the planet; we have heard a lot about their Civil War where the Reds' idea of a successful campaign is not seizing bridges and high ground but "liquidating class enemies." I saw Beatrice's tail droop at that one and she broke off the engagement.

Watching them retreat, Maria whispered that she looked forward to the next encounter, which I doubt we will wait long for. Between studying her Uncle's speeches and her continuing journalism and reporting courses, she is developing quite a debating style and it will be something to see her engaging fellow Continentals with it. Piracy and smuggling might not be on the timetables, but Songmark girls learn a lot that never gets in the prospectus!

A more good-natured encounter took the rest of the morning as we met our friendly rivals at the dance school. The S.I.T.H.S. seniors have carried on developing that new style; it is not something we could just copy. They have a source of some exotic dances that they are interpreting in Polynesian style, and our imitating that would look like four tourists. Dance comes from within, and we have not managed to find where they got their new diet from.

Still, we did our level best, and were applauded for it. Maria no longer storms off in a black mood if we come second; in the showers she was quite coolly admitting they have something we will need to work hard to challenge.

Helen had been very quiet, but suddenly came up with one tradition we have not seen danced much around here - we do know some Orpington Island dances, and even our rivals admit we have a right to use them since we became honorary members of the Chicken Spirit cult. Of course, how a Chicagoite, a Texan, a Milanese and a Barsetshire girl will interpret that could be something nobody would expect, or hopefully be able to counter. It is certainly a plan.

Feeling much more cheerful, we dashed across the road to The Missing Coconut. The S.I.T.H.S. team were there of course, and so were three first-years escorted by Saffina. One of them I recognised as the arctic fox Eva from Nuremburg, who is in that dorm who like getting up early. I took the chance to ask her about her Songmark application - and was amazed to learn her full name is Eva Schiller, Prof Schiller's niece! The Prof recommended she apply, and somehow our Tutors agreed. She is certainly aviation-crazy, and told me a lot about the gliding schools up on the Härtz Mountains where every Summer holiday thousands of fresh-faced young furs learn all about the peaceful joys of soaring flight, sponsored by their Government. If only all governments did that.

It seems Professor Schiller has left the Pacific for awhile, and is on the quest in Palestine for something presumably to grace his Chancellor's rockery. Perhaps they need a new rockery to go with the expanded "living room" he keeps saying Germany needs; at any rate he seems to want these "Stones of David", whatever they are. Eva is full of admiration for his work, and wants to join the Ahenerbe after she graduates. I suppose it is very like being a treasure-hunter except that your own Government supports you and the money is not the important thing. By Eva's accounts the Prof failed to find the original Horn of Heimdal in the Vanierge territory this Summer; she was wistfully speculating about finding it herself someday. Well, every girl should have an ambition.

One of her friends was someone I recognised by sight and accent; Jasbir's sister Meera has a slightly different fur pattern but is the only Indian Mongoose iin the new first year. She isquite a jolly girl, fresh from Roedean on our South coast, and we had a lot to chat about. Meera is used to hardship and danger, having broken tailbones and a collarbone on the playing field at Australian Rules hockey, and one paw has the fur rather oddly bleached. She explained it is a souvenir of the Congreve Club's experiments in home rocketry; pure hydrogen peroxide is nasty stuff by all accounts. I am glad our aircraft only run on eighty-five octane petrol!

We left them chatting with some of the S.I.T.H.S. students, who had overheard us and seemed very interested in Meera's hobbies back in England. I wonder what this "Goddard Club" is that they were inviting her to join?

It is a pity Jasbir could not come to the dances today. Oh well, perhaps things will be turned around next week. If we are "on call" back at Songmark then at least we should get a chance to practice our dances. The local teams have evidently been at work all Summer on their new moves, and it is nothing we are going to beat inside a week.


Sunday October 2nd, 1936

A damp day, but a cheerful one for me. We headed out to South Island in a rather leaky water taxi (it being the overhead roof that leaked, fortunately not the hull) and arrived at the Hoele'toemi household about nine. Certainly there is little to tempt us to stay at Songmark on a Sunday morning. For the first time, Maria is not with us; the Chapel of the Sacred Heart is no more and she is attending St. Paul's on Casino Island while the new church is built. To hear some of her congregation go on about it, anyone would think the Spontoonies had dynamited a gothic Cathedral on South Island; that Chapel only seated forty people at a squeeze, and was a corrugated iron and timber affair that had seen better days long before the Gunboat Wars. Really, no great loss as architecture; I hear when furs started to dismantle it, the last half collapsed of its own accord. For some reason they have been unable to build that Calvary they planned on the site.

Still, I quite forgot all that and the pouring rain when I got down to Haio Beach. Jirry is back! A very welcome sight indeed; nobody minded at all when my tail went sideways at the sight of him. The whole family were there, including Moeli who I had not seen for some time. She whispered that she had been spending a lot of time at sea with her husband and kitten and their family. Officially Moeli is married to a fisherman, which is perfectly true as far as it goes. The Natives of No Island eat little else.

Despite her brother being back, Saimmi spent three hours with Helen, Saffina and myself in our religious training. We are learning other things now, base on the "seeing through fire" system. My other notebook is getting rather full. One thing is useful, being able to spot "The flow of the world" as Saimmi called it. Exactly how this works is hard to describe. But she says the Priestesses had six hours warning before the arrival of the belligerent fleet in the Gunboat Wars. It told folk nothing specific as to the direction or number of invaders, but they did know a lot of people were heading this direction and not with Spontoon's welfare in mind.

Saimmi says she is quite troubled, and expects to be taking up a heavy load in the near future; her own "Fire dreams" have assured her so. She is quite young for a priestess but perhaps she will be promoted a level (not that they actually have formal levels. It is not like the old days in Barsetshire, with Archbishops rivalling to be made Cardinal and planting heretical material in each others' libraries as sabotage.)

Back for luncheon, and then a leisurely afternoon. I had a lot to talk about with Jirry, or more properly "confess." It makes for rather a long list, but the one redeeming thing was, everything was in what looked like a good cause at the time. Even Lars' party was something I had to attend if Molly was going, to keep an eye on her. This is hardly the first time I have bared my soul and my diary, either. It is not as if I had any ambition to "visit every cabin on the Ark", quite the reverse - but one way or another I do seem to be on the way there, and sitting down to think about it I can hardly say how or why.

I suppose most "Euro" males would drop me like a hot potato, but happily the Polynesian ideal of a good "Wahine" is rather more flexible. From what Mrs. Hoele'toemi tells me, they were rather mystified on first contact with Euros as to their attitude to our brides ideally marrying in white (so to speak); a Polynesian male is far happier with a girl who can choose him through experience rather than blind faith. Actual divorces here are really very rare. Jirry first seemed more concerned that no harm had come to me, and secondly that I had enjoyed myself. It is not as if my "adventures" took place when he was available, he points out. And he is certainly the only one I would like to settle the family longhouse with.

Still, there is the matter of us being Tailfast again. I would dearly love to be, if only I could confidently promise to stick to it. If a thing's worth doing it's worth doing well, to be sure - and to be Tailfast with Jirry Hoele'toemi is exceedingly worth doing.

The rest of the afternoon was rather more relaxed and very much more fun - in no time Helen was pounding on the door of the Guest longhouse reminding me were expected for tea at Songmark. To judge from the state of her own neck-fur she had been having just as fine a time, and indeed Marti was pressing a raw tamarind to a somewhat bitten ear. It is wonderful having a feline friend like Helen; there is no need to explain these things to her.



next