Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
3 October, 1936 to 9 October, 1936



Monday October 3rd, 1936

An interesting joint trip for us all today; out to Main Village, Main Island! It has been the first time for ages we have been there, and it is rare for Songmark third-years to all have the same lessons together, exercise and sports excluded.

We can already fly most things with a joystick, and this year we should be able to drive most things with an engine. Other places might expensively hire vehicles out and have the drivers show us how to use them on a test track - but that is not the Songmark way of doing things. I will be taking my Day Skipper's exam on boats next Spring, but this term we are concentrating on wheels rather than hulls.

At nine sharp we were at the main depot of the Ministry of Public Works, on the Western side of Main Village. They had a dozen or so lorries there of the kind they use for road and telephone repairs wherever there is a road to take them - from what I could gather, the idea is we can make ourselves useful if they ever need drivers.

Last year we roared around the Songmark compound in ancient Ford and White lorries that were at the end of their days (literally, for the one Maria broke the steering of) but these are rather more modern machines, mostly five-tonne vehicles with double back axles. The main model seems to be a Vostok design; nobody else builds things from monoque magnesium alloy castings half an inch thick! It hardly had to say "Made in Tsarogorod" with that rather distinctive engineering.

One of the reasons why they are buying in Vostok vehicles is that they simply do not rust. The Spontoon climate is very hard on motor-cars and lorries; distances are typically so short the engine never gets a chance to fully warm up, and a combination of the salt spray and warm, moist climate absolutely eats ordinary bodywork. These are built with "Sacrificial corrosion" like ships have, involving bars of pure magnesium on the undersides that corrode away but are easily replaced and save the main structure.

I must say, they build them tough in Tsarogorod. One of the drivers was telling us that last year one of the lorries went off the road on Main Island and rolled a hundred feet into a stream gorge - it was winched out, the shattered windscreen removed and a few loosened connections fixed, and driven back to the depot. Having no chassis as such, all the strength is in the bodywork.

A morning of tentatively driving around the depot was followed by six of us being put to work immediately as drivers, while the rest rode on the back. Helen was driving on the way out, as we picked up a load of telegraph poles from the main timber yard and roared out westwards along the coast road towards the "Chinese" village at the main river delta downstream of Sacred Lake. It is the first time we have ever driven on Main Island, and indeed few people do so. The only motor vehicles we saw were other official vehicles, three farm lorries and "The Bus" which stops everywhere and carries everything. If there is a spare piece of bodywork visible on "The Bus" it is grabbed hold of by a Spontoonie hanging off the outside, or immediately festooned with nets of produce heading in to market.

Once we got to the village, it was another draft of free labour generously provided by Songmark to the Althing. I suppose we can hardly complain (except for Madeleine X, who does so anyway; she is what they call a "grognard" in French but at least does the job despite her grumbling.) Anyway, an afternoon of very hard work putting up new telephone poles followed, which had us all drooping like dishrags by five o'clock.

At least Helen was fresh when we drove out. I ached all over just climbing back into the cab, and had to keep us on the road back to the depot. After that, it was out with the hoses and toolkits as we cleaned up and maintained the vehicles, another hour of hard work with our Tutors standing by with their notebooks out and ready to swoop on any slacking!

Still, we had some compensation. The idea of a large plate of Songmark's infamous three-finger poi was actually starting to seem good by the end of that, but instead we were told we would be dining in Main Village. Considering we see the place every day in the distance, it is surprising how rarely we get to set paw there - even for us, there are stern restrictions on travelling around Main Island.

Main Village may not have five-star hotels like Casino Island, but a lot of the chefs naturally live here, and in the off-season some retire to show any interested Natives just what they are missing - and for a price that would have any tour-boat diverting here if they were allowed to. I must say, the "Lucid Lobster" may look more like a longhouse than the Marleybone, but its kitchens coped admirably with the sudden invasion of two dozen hungry Songmark girls and their tutors. I really must get the chef's recipe for "Steak-fried chicken."


Tuesday, October 4th, 1936

Back to Main Island, with Maria and Molly getting their turn at the wheel while the rest of us added to our collection of splinters hauling new telephone poles. After yesterday, the girls who had forgotten to bring whisker tweezers with them were noted by the Tutors; it must have been galling for Madeleine to ask Ada Cronstein to pull a splinter out from where she could not get to it. I thought Ada was rather excessively thorough "checking her for more" but there is always a price to pay. It is probably as close as Ada is going to get to Madeleine's tail fur.

Unfortunately there were no more chicken dinners, and by lunchtime we were back on Eastern Island at our various courses. I had rather a surprise when Miss Devinski pulled me in quietly and asked if I would be willing to do one extra - something I would never be officially marked on, but she thinks would be a good idea for both Molly and myself. When she added that Saimmi had approved, I volunteered immediately for both of us. Our dear and long-suffering tutor seemed quite relieved, though gave me no other information. We shall see.

It was quite fun to head up to the crags on the Northern hillside and watch the first-years starting to scrabble up the practice boulders. Our own routes are rather harder; alas Miss Wildford has spotted our dodge with the sticky rubber tennis shoes and forbidden us to climb in class time with them! We are back in Songmark issue boots, hauling twenty pounds of water sacks as we climb (at least, I am. Maria is carrying more like thirty and Beryl complaining fifteen is far too much.)

Our guidebook is certainly filling up with new routes! Despite carrying the handicap weights we are heading out onto the smoother, more featureless pieces of the cliff * and not falling off too often. One thing Li Han thought up last year we are still allowed to use; a bag of wood ashes to dip one's paw pads in to improve the grip. It does one's claws no good I am sure, but it is better than the Portland cement Beryl suggested using. Not for herself, of course.

• (Editor's Note: extract from the 1985 edition of "Rock Climbs of the Nimitz Sea region:
 Kanims and Spontoon area."
The following is listed as "An early classic" and certainly dates from this time:
"ETERNAL FOUNTAIN OF FILTH. Grade: HVS (Hard Very Scary) Location: Lion's rock, far East end of exposure just SE of the octagonal anti-tankette pillbox. Shares same start with SEVEN PILLARS OF FOLLY, but breaks left across almost featureless manky slabs dotted with sparse chickenheads and one foul open green gulley almost impossible to grasp. Climbers with high pain thresholds could attempt to jam snout in to prevent barndooring, then dyno like crazy towards the crux, a dismal cheese-grater. Cratering is highly likely. A remote exposed route with no easy break-outs before the crux; the first ascent notes strangely say "if you always use this little protection you should stay a nun.")


Friday October 7th, 1936

A long, hard week indeed, and one where we have found out what being a third-year at Songmark really means. It means everything we have got used to previously, is no longer enough. Molly says she could sleep for a week, even if she has to do it alone. Ten hours a day of classes!

Whatever deal Songmark has with the Althing, we are the currency they pay it in. All morning we were cleaning and repairing the Ministry of Public Works vehicles, some of which seem to have had little more than "a lick and a promise" recently. Still, I suppose we know more about engines than most folk, and we are getting in free driving practice. The vehicles are very sturdy, with some interesting features. The load beds are reinforced with fitting plates for various equipment (some carry cranes or fire-engine type ladders) and they all have four or six screw-down stabilisers. If the vehicle is needed as a crane, it can be lifted off its tyres on the jacked anchors that swing down to make it a sturdy mounting.

Helen whispers that in the Gunboat Wars they had howitzers firing from the backs of lorries; certainly a five-tonne lorry could mount something of the sort, and the half-inch thick alloy bodywork should be at least splinter-proof though no tank. Still, these are a Vostok model, and it is probably the equally prepared Vostok designers who wanted them to have this ability in reserve. The Grand Duchess has Ioseph Starling just across the water, and if every Vostok built utility vehicle is capable of military use - well, she needs all the help she can get.

Just when we had staggered back exhausted after changing engines and tyres all day, Miss Devinski pulled Molly and me aside and told us we had a special class booked for this evening. We just had time to shower and grab a hasty bite of grilled fish and plantain mash before she was calling us away again. One generally associates "ravening" with wolves rather than deer, but Molly can do it rather convincingly when hungry.

It was rather interesting. We were told to go to Song Sodas, order an ice-cream apiece and wait to be called. That part we could both do very happily, having missed the dessert at Songmark (stewed local Jackfruit and coconut cream by the scent; very nice.)

Song Sodas is an interesting old building, with the main restaurant and quite a few smaller rooms that are booked for parties and such. From what I heard from our senior years before they left, it sees a lot of use with Songmark girls and their native friends if one only has a one-hour pass. Some of the rooms I had never been into; they are locked when not in use.

Molly was the first to be called in by the regular waitress who was evidently just passing the message on; she was gone for nearly an hour while I finished off my dessert and chatted with the waitress, a Spontoonie girl who is an absolute grave of secrets yet has some tales she can tell.  Molly emerged looking rather dazed and staggering; I had not seen her looking like that since Cranium Island, when Saimmi did her best for her. She whispered that she was all right, and that I should go in. Feeling rather unnerved, I went into the dimly lit back corridor and saw there was one door standing open that I had never been through before.

There were two furs waiting for me on the far side of a table with a vacant comfy chair: Miss Blande and a snake gentleman I had not seen before. Miss Blande gave an odd, rather tight smile and gestured for me to sit down while she explained things.

Well! Of course we have trained in first aid and taking precautions about all sorts of things, but it seems Songmark have finally found someone who can train others to resist hypnosis. I suppose it is something proper Adventuresses might well be exposed to, sometime in their careers. Although Miss Blande did stress it was entirely voluntary and I could refuse if I really wanted to stay as I am (an odd sort of phrase, I thought) she mentioned that although Songmark was footing the bill, this was going to be expensive and I should finish the course if I decide on it.

I have never given up half-way on anything yet (bailing out of a flight in a Flying Flea hardly counts as giving up after the wing or tailplane departed first) and I volunteered on the spot. It would be bad manners to have our Tutors go to all this trouble then refuse to take advantage of the offer.

That being said, I was introduced to Mr. Sabass, a very imposing black cobra gentleman with the quiet voice and penetrating eyes one gets in many reptile folk. Miss Blande sat in the corner and watched, but took little further part in things. He began by asking if I had ever been hypnotised before - I told him I had not, but I had seen it done on stage back in England, with a spinning mirror rather than the traditional watch. He nodded, his hood flaring slightly, and asked if he could attempt it on me. Then things got somewhat blurred.

It was rather like that time with Saimmi; the next time I noticed the clock on the wall the hands had jumped forty minutes, though it was hard to say just how. Miss Blande was still watching over me, so I had no real worries on that part. Mister Sabass straightened up, and announced he was finished for the time being, but he would have to go and think things over before our next session. Fascinating! I suppose he was satisfied with my performance, whatever it was. If only more training was like this, where one learns by having it poured straight into you.

We were excused gate guard tonight; Helen and Maria were very interested in our evening but there was rather little Molly or me could actually tell them. Molly said Mister Sabass had mentioned looking for blocks and commands, whatever those may be.

Actually I feel no different, though I suppose it is not something I would notice. We are booked for more sessions on Friday nights, which should be interesting.


Saturday October 8th, 1936

Definitely it is looking like Autumn now; howling winds and rather heavy rain in the morning.

At least breakfast was more leisurely than usual, with us not having to dash out anywhere. It was interesting to watch Adele Beasley settling into her new dorm, though it has not changed her luck overnight. She had a stack of buttered toast, and was just heading towards the tables when Jasbir totally accidentally tripped her with her tail. The plate went flying, and every one of the six slices of buttered toast spun in the air and landed butter-side down. Poor Adele! Interestingly, Susan de Ruiz seems to be watching over her with her notebook in paw.

We were kept in as call-out by our Tutors, while a very apologetic Jasbir and co headed out for their dance practice. Fair's fair. I wonder if Jasbir has brought anything interesting back from Gull Island? I recall Beryl mentioning a folk dance she learned at Saint T's, a Surrey midden dance called "Great lumps o' muck" which should be relevant to everything I have heard about Gull Island. Helen was quite happy to give our Casino Island trip a miss; choppy seas in a fifteen-foot water taxi are never much fun, and as Molly puts it, Helen gives her impression of a fire hydrant.

Still, we kept trim and practiced in the dining hall having cleared the chairs and tables off to one side, with some more dance practice. In fact we werre hard at it four hours tilllunchtime as we tried to develop some brand new routines to catch the S.I.T.H.S. lead. Just repeating the Orpington Island dances will not do; we shall have to come up with an "Interpretive Hula" that nobody else has seen before and yet follows all the traditions.

As none of the first-years have earned passes to go anywhere, not surprisingly we drew rather a crowd. Most of them looked in for five minutes and left, but at the end we had three who were quietly watching and taking notes. Not surprisingly Meera Sind was one, but the others were Eva Schiller and Svetlana Cherenkov, a surprisingly graceful wolverine girl from Vostok. She tells us she has studied ballet back home, and although a grass skirt is not quite a tutu it should be very useful training.

Dear Diary: we have actual Songmark girls this year from Germany, Vostok and Ulster. What ARE our Tutors thinking of? If they had been exiled types like Hanna Meyer's family I could understand it, but Eva is a much-decorated and proud member of her country's equivalent to the Girl Guides, and goes definitely misty-eyed whenever she speaks of her homeland. The talkies are full of parodies of her Party, but I have known her Uncle and those three wolves we think of as G-U-U and they are nothing like the stereotype, and Eva was a leading light in some "Winter Help" state charity. Possibly that is why they were sent here.

Still, the first-years were polite and very interested in Native dances. A lot more so than (say) Madeleine X has ever been in her 3 years here; although she dances in the Euro style she does not even dance the Tango as it is "un-French" despite Paris being a famous place to dance it. Helen once asked her if she danced the supremely Parisian can-can much at home, which kept her quiet but fuming for awhile.

Lunch was the usual. Oddly enough, Meera quite likes it. They grow various yams and taro in her home state of Utterly Pradesh, and Poi is only a development of the same, as yoghourt is to milk. Her sister Jasbir has never actually complained either; I suppose a Maharani can eat more or less what she wants and taro is considered rather lower class. Our Tutors dropped by in the afternoon to watch our progress: after an hour's break and a look through our books we got back into some serious dance exercises, developing the ideas we hashed out in the morning.

It is surprising how tiring dance makes one; by the end of another three hours we felt as if we had been running round the dunes with our packs and boots on. Still, we have deliberately worked out the most energetic dance we have ever seen; most people would simply not be able to keep up with it. Of course the S.I.T.H.S. team are fit and well practiced, but Helen has the good idea of designing one that even they cannot match, and that we would have stood no chance at even last year. All those hours swimming and trotting round the dunes heavy laden will finally pay off, and well before we graduate.

Miss Devinski came in to watch, and stayed a few minutes to see us teaching some first-years the moves. The squirrel girl Miss Rote came in, took one look at us and then bounced out as if her tail was scorching. Very odd.

Molly has yet to be convinced that virtue is its own reward, but after half an hour of us passing on some of the basics to an interested pawfull of first years, Miss Devinski beckoned her over and gave us some cheering news. We were not actually invited to go to Mahanish's in the evening, but our Tutor suggested it would make a nice change. Last year or the year before Molly would surely have grumbled about people stating the obvious; now she took the hint and thanked Miss Devinski very politely before we double-timed it back towards the showers.

Hurrah! Ten minutes had our fur combed and us dressed in our best: another five minutes and we were out of the compound with Spontoonie straw hats and capes tied tight on against the steady rain. It is dark just after seven now, especially in this weather, and the lights of the runway shone reassuringly as we followed them along to the cluster of buildings that pilots look forward to after the end of a long flight.

It is a long time since we were at Mahanish's - of course we could have gone any day in Summer, but Mrs. Hoele'toemi is an excellent cook (she is teaching us) and somehow we seem to have decided to keep the airport restaurant for term time treats. It is usually what we think of as "So near and yet so far" as we tuck into the admittedly very filling and wholesome Songmark fare.

As there are fewer flights on Sundays, a lot of pilots are "off flight rules" for the evening and catching up on lost time. Molly and Maria seemed very keen to join them. I stuck to a single Nootnops Blue and Helen did the same - our Tutors are not vindictive and we are off gate guard tonight, but I prefer at least some of the party keeps their wits about them.

The meal was excellent (Maria insisted on buying this time round) and a "Foxtrot Oscar" strength chicken chilli with rice and chutney had Helen and me almost melting on the floor - in a good way, the way one finishes a run totally tired out. Molly and Maria contented themselves with taro leaves with shrimp and coconut cream; oddly enough they like the Polynesian dishes if anything better than I do. It is a good thing we burn four thousand calories a day at Songmark; Maria has mentioned some of her aunts get rather plump with age. Apart from her famous Uncle, she does not seem to like most of her relatives. The only cousin she has mentioned in detail is engaged in producing less alarming versions of classic operas for a junior audience; by Maria's account he has a 37 percent cosier version of "Cosi fan tutti" which makes a complete mess of the plot.

It was certainly a time to sit back and consider things - we have been coming here nearly two years now, since that first time we broke out of Songmark and then had to form a pyramid to get back in! It seems a lot longer somehow. Looking around the restaurant, it is full of pilots and ground staff chatting or complaining about flight schedules and the strange things that passengers do. I must ask Jane Ferry if her family pulp fiction publishers do a title "Tourist folk do the darnest things" as there would certainly be a ready market for it here.

Helen has less to worry about; she will certainly be Tailfast again this coming solstice, and the June one if at all possible - and I hope to be as well. This time next year she may be the junior Mrs. Hoele'toemi, but knowing what we do about these islands I rather doubt she will have a career of nothing but hoeing the taro patch and looking after striped kittens.

Maria could return to Italy any time after she graduates, but from what she hints she might be more valuable to her Uncle on this side of the world. After all, it would be rather a waste to train her for three years in local knowledge and then not use it. By some accounts, her adventures in Italy are what caused "Il Puce" to lose the last of his head-fur; not only is she far from the scandal sheets here but in fact after Songmark training she is far less scandalous (or if it comes to it, far less likely to get caught. Her journalism and reporting training, she says, is helping her learn all the tricks of the trade. It is rather like training a world leader as an assassin, so they know just what to look out for.)

It is Molly and myself who have the real career moves to plan. Molly has some ideas about commerce that she is keeping very close to her chest-fur; she has mentioned she can raise capital from her friends at the Temple of Continual Reward. They are often left with funds they need to sink into "legit biz" as she calls it. Otherwise - she shrugs, and says there is always Krupmark Island.

 An excellent evening, rather enlivened by spotting four first-years cautiously entering clad in re-dyed Songmark overalls and tourist-stall bush hats, though their Australian accents need a lot more work to be convincing. We very carefully did not notice them, and let them get on with their first-ever "breakout". Ah, traditions! We wonder what the Tutors have in store for them on their return. It might spoil things to let them know getting back in will be harder than however they got out.


Sunday October 9th, 1936

It seems far more than a week since we were back on South Island; five ten-hour days of solid work tend to rather saturate one's memory. If our brains are getting a rest it is only because we are hard at work with sports or exercise (and with one of the sports being orienteering, even that needs a fair amount of calculation.)

Still, it was as welcome as ever to get to Haio Beach and the Hoele'toemi compound. All the family were there except the senior Mr. Hoele'toemi, and we do not ask where he goes when he is not around. If I was to fully list the various things we have learned not to ask about - well, any Agent would pay a lot to read it. I hope none of them use my Lexarc Shorthand.

Moeli has some happy news for us - there will be a new kitten (or similar) in the family next year! Mind you, it is not one who will be listed in the Meeting Islands ministries. She tells me by tradition she will be attended only by Main Island doctors and priestesses, but she hopes all will go well. It might be rather a giveaway if the Ministry of the Interior had a large file of Spontoonie Citizens registered as belonging to no island. At least the sea folk pay no taxes - on the other paw they are very undemanding about needing roads, medical provision or housing, so the treasury can hardly complain. How the folk at the registry of births, marriages and deaths explain things might be an interesting read.

Molly and Maria have still never met that side of the family - and I am sure many of the "euro" Spontoonies do not really believe they exist. After all, in the Museum of Anthropomorphology there is that whole section clearly explaining how the legend is faked for the films. Moeli's husband and daughter are certainly not special effects!

Saimmi taught us all morning; she seems quite pleased with our progress. Helen is doing very well considering her attitude to religion when she first got here; perhaps being exposed to the more practical and applied side of things has helped. Saffina was already a fully qualified Witch Doctor (a fairly compatible profession) and of course I have seen Archbishop Crowley demonstrating some other spectacular things that are not special effects either. He is held up quite rightly as the example that all keen and devout youth should follow; even his detractors cannot argue he must have needed more than mundane powers to scale the peak of Kanchjunga the way he did before the Great War. Anyone who can climb not only the crumbly chalk of the white cliffs of Dover (which he did) but the treacherous snows of the Himalayas must certainly have some deity or other on their side. His enemies may have called him "the Great Beast" but he took that as a complement, much in the way Maria does when Liberty calls her a total fascist.

Oddly enough, Saimmi was asking me about the reformed Church back in England - she rarely has much to say about "Euro" religions, but now there are military chaplains there who have a rather more practical side than providing church parades and the like. I wonder what these "Warrior Priestesses" are that she mentions; if Spontoon had any I should think we would know by now. There are the Wild Priests of course, but those are something rather different.

Before lunch we went back to the Hoele'toemi compound, where I helped Moeli putting on her fur markings. It was quite an experience, knowing what some of the new ones meant. When she had finished and bounced out to proudly display them, I admit that I traced one of the designs on my own tummy fur for a minute, thinking about it, before hurriedly brushing it smooth. Nobody wears fur markings they are not entitled to, it would be the worst sort of social gaffe. I recall having to brush out my "Tailfast" sign before we went to Vostok and it expired; that gave me a pang then and it would be far worse having to do iit now. In a very real sense,being Tailfast is like giving someone the keys to one's spirit.

An excellent luncheon followed, of baked whole fresh-caught fish and taro greens. Moeli points out that she is not exactly eating for two, but if the regular Native diet is nutritionally a square meal already, she is making sure hers positively bulges at the corners. Not the sort of useful tip they gave us back at Saint Winifred's.

Afterwards - it would have been impolite and bad for the digestion to bolt one's dessert and run, but Jirry and I were rather soon exploring the sights of the three-yard jungle. He has some disappointing news for me - he is taking several voyages with his father, and for the next few weeks will not be on Spontoon much. Interestingly, he mentions picking up some specialist pieces of British engineering that are coming from Rain Island. Spontoon's ally has a lot of heavy engineering anyway, so it must be something rather special to have to send the design to Sheffield to have it fabricated. That is one of the five cities in the world that has rolling mills and forges capable of making battleship armour, but I rather doubt that is what we will be getting.

A very fine afternoon followed. One cannot actually see much in three-yard jungle, but there was everything I wanted in view a lot closer than that.



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