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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
29 October, 1936 to 3 November, 1936

Thrills and Chills

Being the seventeenth part of the diaries of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, in her final Autumn term at the Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies on Spontoon’s Eastern Island. The staff decided Amelia’s year has had enough of sunning themselves on tropical beaches, and ought to know what frost-nip and Trench Paw really mean ….


Tuesday October 29th, 1936

An alarming Monday! We started off yesterday with some Autumn Cleaning, in that all our bedding and such was carried off to the laundry. It seems we will not be needing it for awhile, as we start the cold-weather part of the course which is all outdoors and will be missing even our (jolly hard) Songmark beds. Miss Devinski called us into one of the lecture rooms and broadly spelled out what is in store for us – we are beginning with an extended survival exercise on Main Island, then going further afield.

    Usually we are given a list of equipment to draw from the stores, but from now on it seems we have free choice. Miss Wildford chimed in that we will be responsible for staying warm and dry (as far as we can) and between trips we will be able to make additions to our outfits. The hand-cranked Singer sewing machines are going to be busy, I think.

    Two hours later we stood on the shores of Main Island with ten pounds of equipment, not including tents or other shelters. It did include a can apiece of Maconochie, which makes the perfect emergency food. That is, apart from being fairly nutritious in its own right, being wholly uninteresting it inspires you to go and hunt or gather something else! If we were issued with chocolate bars the chances of them surviving uneaten till a real emergency came along would be slim.

    Another hour saw us walking along the beach past the plantations to the furthest Southern tip of Main Island, the sand spit I have not been on since we swam across from South Island last year. Fortunately we were not required to reverse the route, as the tide was turning and I saw a Native canoe shooting through the tide race at about fifteen knots with its rower hardly needing to work. The weather was rather chilly, and as we got to the distant hooked tip of the sand bar Miss Wildford just smiled and told us to make ourselves comfortable – we had a night in the open to relax in.

    Sleeping out on an open beach is perfectly fine in Summer, but nothing I had planned for now considering November starts this weekend! The wind was getting up, as well. Our Tutor waved cheerfully and promised to return in the morning to see how we got along.

    It is two years since we first spent a night out on Main Island and we have acquired a lot of experience since, but then we were in the forest with plenty of wood for fires and vegetation for shelter. There was a lot less to work with on an empty beach, not even shelter from the increasingly chilly wind – and as the sun went down we held a “Chinese Parliament” to plan our night. Missy K and Madeleine X opined that we would stay warm if we kept moving all night, walking around. The general opinion was they were more than welcome to try – but having been forced to do that on Vostok last year, Maria and I could assure folk they would be in very poor shape by morning.

    There was very little driftwood on the beach, certainly not enough to make a shelter for all of us even if we had canvas to cover it. Li Han was the one with the plan; she spotted a large drift of fresh kelp further along, which she had first considered investigated as a possible breakfast. Furs eat strange things in Kuo Han. A better idea was using it as reinforcing; piling up dry sand as a windbreak has its limitations but by layering seaweed and wet sand we managed to make a rough wall tail-high on me which certainly kept the worst of the night wind out. By the time true darkness fell we were fairly happy with it, and all clustered around the very small fire we had managed to get fuel for.

    As for the rest of it – there was nothing for it but to pack in together as close as possible, and share body heat. I doubt anyone got much sleep exactly; the pile of us rather moved around in the night and one was either squashed in the middle (generally with someone’s elbow jammed into a tender bit) or shivering half-awake on the outside trying to wriggle back in. It is one of the rare occasions Molly was keen to get closer to Prudence and dorm, or indeed anyone with body heat. I am reasonably sure I spent part of the evening with Missy K squashing me, and put up with the crush for the sake of the warmth. It is just as well Maria and Irma are only short-horned and comprise our only bovines; one of our new first-years is an Oryx, and would make an uncomfortable pillow.

    The night was exceedingly long and uncomfortable, and we were all glad to see the dawn. A few minutes brisk run got me awake and somewhat warmed, but we were a tousled bunch to be sure having gone without our beauty sleep. Of all the items of survival equipment we had between us, only Beryl had thought to bring a set of fur-brushes, which she promptly let us use for a shell a go, I.O.U’s acceptable.  Beryl would have been selling life-jackets on the Titanic for “all the market will bear.”

    Memo to myself; the saw back of Molly’s bayonet does NOT make a good comb.

    Breakfast was a matter of what we could find, mostly shellfish. Clams and razor shells are much better as chowder than eaten cold and alive, but most of us grimly ate whatever moved. Only Li Han will happily eat lugworms, though – it seems they are a delicacy in her homeland, and we gladly swapped those we dug up with her for less wriggly food. Ada Cronstein had a severe problem with any of it, as our attempts at surf fishing did not go well and she is only allowed to eat seafood with fins and scales (not having the digestion to live on raw seaweed as Molly and Maria could if they really had to.) I remember that bit from Scripture classes where you do not just leave forbidden things off the menu but go out of your way to actively Detest them and tell them so. Most of my class save detestation for Poi, which the Bible does not even mention.

    Around ten o’clock there was still no sign of Miss Wildford, so another group discussion concluded we had been left on our own resources for our dear tutor to see what we do. We had been told not to leave the beach, but there are ways of interpreting that. For one thing, we now operate on “What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve at” and although brazenly walking back up towards the Polynesian village would probably severely cost us points, there are other possibilities.

    Having noticed a large log rolling in the surf (far too wet for firewood) Helen remembered our reconnaissance of The Beach at Krupmark Island, and how we got close inshore unobserved. Volunteers were called for, and Sophie D’artagnan and Susan de Ruiz swam out to get it. An otter and a Pyrenean Desman are good choices in the water, after all. The rest of us contributed a hefty chunk of our contingency currency and handed it over to them, and concealed on the seaward side of the log they swam up the Eastern side of the Main Island coast, following the current.
 
    The morning passed with us consolidating our twenty-person sandcastle and sketching out practice distress signals in the sand before hurriedly scrubbing them before any aircraft came over and took notice. Five of us swam out with the fishing net between them, which is an uncomfortable thing to do where there are sharks in the waters. Fisher furs see enough bait taken that the prospect of being it themselves is not inviting. There were some small fish caught, enough for Ada’s lunch and little to spare, and by mid-day we were looking hungrily at our cans of Maconochie. To be honest it is not a bad meal considering it was mass-produced on a least-price contract in 1918; by that time the Germans were living on boiled turnip and dehydrated vegetables, mostly fodder kale – this being the troops, who got the best available food. What if anything the civilians ate, I must ask Eva. Beef and vegetable stew is luxury by contrast, even if the tins are nearly as old as we are.

    Just when I was contemplating how bad lugworm for lunch could really be, we noticed a Native canoe rowing up against the current, with four of Jirry’s friends putting their backs into it. When they passed us fifty feet offshore there was a splash as a sack was up-ended – one of them shouted the Spontoonie for “Oh dear” but in a rather cheerful tone, and winked as he sat down and returned to his rowing.

    Sophie and Susan had delivered the goods, so to speak – a rapid swim out and dive to the flat coral sand ten feet below the waves showed a silvery treasure trove of food cans that the locals had “accidentally” dropped overboard. In five minutes we had scoured the seabed and returned laden with the spoils, just as Miss Wildford came strolling up with a large Native equine gentleman friend to see how we are going on. From the relaxed look of her, I doubt she pent her night the way we did.

    Of course we had an honest explanation for our find, and she nodded in a pleased manner as she jotted things down in her notebook. It is perfectly acceptable to harvest cast-ashore food and goods, and we could put our paws on our hearts and honestly say none of us had arranged it. Susan and Sophie had of course “gone fishing” but they returned half an hour later the same way looking very well-fed.

    Looking at the various tins, Molly started musing aloud that what the world needs is a range of truly portable and edible outdoor food; something she could sell to Adventurers and make a stab at the military market as well. Tins of corned beef are the usual sort of thing (though Madeleine X says they even tinned cabbages for herbivore rations) and though very solid they are hardly the most interesting diet.

    Beryl’s eyes lit up as she added she had friends who always were on the look out for legitimate investments; she has a share of the “Fish Log” project and relishes the idea of repeating that coup. The rest of us sat around and listened to an ever-intensifying round of “Buy cheap and sell dear” as between them they started working out just how they could make pastefish, manioc flakes and seaweed (the cheapest things in the market) into something one would chose to pack as iron rations. Spontoon has too little farmland to be a major food exporter; there are farms in our Colonies twice the size of its land area and Helen says it would hardly make a Texan ranch, but other small countries have found their market. A rain-swept Scottish glen might hardly be expected to produce world-famous products that millionaires with prairies of barley cannot imitate, but Molly has told us much about “the real McCoy”, which is not actually a brand name of whisky as I once thought.

    Miss Wildford had explained that we would be out till dark, then back to Songmark to stand guard and work on our equipment. As Madeleine X grumbled, it hardly looked like we would be warm and dry again this side of Christmas – unless we made sure of it ourselves. This is surely the idea.

   
Thursday October 31st, 1936

(Written at odd times whenever I get to pass our dorm)

Definitely hard work these days – we have been taking all our usual classes and been living out in the open besides. Even in the Great War troops only spent so long at the front before being rotated back to relatively cosy barns and rest-billets. As Father impressed on me before I left for Songmark, “never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down, never lie awake when you can sleep.” I had forgotten how truthful the prospectus really was.

    Still, we are all learning to make the most of our chances. In my sailing classes today, one of us handles the boat for an hour watched over by the captain, then the other takes over. We persuaded the gruff old sea-mink to let us take two hour shifts instead – leaving me or Madeleine that long to retire to the tiny cabin and remind ourselves what a mattress and blanket are like. Even pitching on a small boat in the autumn waters, we are out like a light.

    Meals and such are still taken at Songmark, and indeed we are developing extremely keen appetites – even relatively speaking. Poi is shovelled down without any comment except to ask for more, though liberally enlivened with Tabasco or anchovy sauce. The first-years look on in shock and awe; I recall we did as much ourselves at the time.

    Apart from our timetabled work, Helen and Saffina join me in our religious observations. One does not need a temple or shrine to do these in the Spontoonie tradition, after all. We practiced the same “observations” we had made when Saimmi took us out onto Sacred Lake to look for the fragment – and had rather a shock.

    Walking into Songmark through the main gates while holding the “open spirit” exercise, it was as if we had walked into a temple area. All three of us got it right away. I assumed somehow we must have been doing it wrong, but we tried it again, concentrating hard and got the same result. It is as unnerving as testing a brand new mine-detector in one’s own bedroom and finding something – though of course not as unwelcome.

    As far as any of us have seen, there have been no Spontoonie priestesses inside the wire at Songmark (Missy K is Tailfast in the local tradition, but not a devoted temple-goer) and Saimmi has told us a priestess’s duty includes caring for the temples. There is something very odd going on here; someone should be here to tend the site. I remember what the old High Priestess Huakava told us the last time we met, of Songmark’s site being particularly suitable for what it is.

    Saffina’s first thought was that we should ask our Tutors what was here before they built Songmark – but we could tell her that having read the archives ourselves. A pineapple shipping company is hardly a temple. Then again, we could point out reasons not to ask Miss Devinski. Firstly, the priestesses surely know about this. How could they not? Either the staff know, or there is a good reason for them not to be told. If they do know, they would surely have mentioned it to us unless there was a good reason not to. One way or another, we should find out quietly.

    Having noticed the general effect, there was more to explore. I waited till night and it was my turn for gate duty, and then took the chance of the quiet to quarter the area, using all my effort. The overall effect happens to follow the fence exactly, except for one area where the perimeter bulges twenty yards and is outside it. My tail thrashed as I remembered being told that piece of land was bought for expansion just the Summer before we first arrived, and the temple area follows the original boundary. So it is not the effect of the fence, but the other way around – this piece of land was special before the fence line was put up; probably before the pineapple company moved in. I remember reading how some property boundaries in Barsetshire towns are a thousand and more years old; the houses on them have been rebuilt many times but the shape of the plot endures.

    Crossing back to the main gate I walked over the central mound, as I have done hundreds of times before – but not with such effects. My fur fluffed out, as the effect suddenly doubled as I stood on the mound. It is like living unknowingly next to Radio LONO and then buying a radio set for the first time; suddenly you find out what you missed before. The mound is not huge, and I always assumed it was part of an old building. That may be right, but it was probably nothing to do with pineapples!

    I took over Helen’s position guarding the gate and asked her to do the same thing, though not telling her what I had found. She came back ten minutes later with her ears right up, and we confirmed each other’s findings. We shall ask Saffina to triple-check, but it seems quite certain there is something at Songmark that is not listed on the prospectus.

    We were relieved at two in the morning by Jasbir and Li Han – and instead of returning to our welcome beds, trooped out of Songmark to the temporary camp a mile away by the rock face. Everyone else was asleep, bivouacked more or less snugly – we stretched out a tarpaulin in the lee of the rocks and despite everything proved that like our wild ancestors, we can sleep on the ground.

    But I doubt they liked it much, either.


Friday 1st November, 1936
   
A clear, breezy day for our classes; flying the Sea Osprey and our new Junkers 86 in formation to strict time limits is a rather demanding job. It is getting chilly at altitude, and for the first time we have been trying out the oxygen equipment that Superior Engineering fitted last month.
 
    It is a frightening thing, running out of oxygen. Miss Devinski took the controls with me as co-pilot and Maria navigating, while Helen, Molly and Prudence’s dorm crowded in the back without the masks. Once we passed twenty thousand feet Miss Devinski called back for them to start jotting down the exact time every half minute on their navigation pads – ten minutes later we were at thirty thousand, and every one of them had passed out! A swift dive revived everyone; the alarming thing being nobody remembered blacking out, and only the evidence of their interrupted records persuaded them it had really happened.

    Mrs. Oelabe was waiting to check on everyone as soon as we landed, and having been given a clean bill of health Belle took my co-pilot’s seat with Prudence navigating and we swapped round otherwise. It is just as they had said – unlike normally feeling sleepy where you can shake yourself awake if you catch it in time, one just tapers off without even suspecting it. Very disturbing! We all vowed to keep a very close check on our equipment and the rest of the crew when we use it.

    The good thing with being a third-year is we have actual free time. Beryl has a new scheme; although our own dorms are stripped bare, she has arranged with one of the first-year rooms to sub-let, much as cramped naval ships have “hot bunks” where one shift gets in as soon as another gets out. She was explaining this to a rather amused Miss Wildford when I landed again; there is nothing actually in our instructions saying we cannot pay Beryl a shell to use a first-year shower and unoccupied bed in the afternoon. Beryl defends the cost by saying most of it goes to compensate “her clients” who are not absolutely sure we have not picked up all sorts of unpleasant insect life while sleeping out.

    There were few immediate takers, but after a week or two Beryl may have something going there. Had Saffina or one of the first-years come up with the idea I might not begrudge paying, but I am not lining Beryl’s purse for her!

    We have been given a fairly free paw with our equipment design, and this afternoon I put together a fairly comprehensive sleeping bag, something waterproof but hopefully not too confining. Molly has a sealed oilskin sack that she is liable to suffocate in if she turns over in the night and blocks the air holes. There are some strange and wonderful contraptions being produced, and we are all cribbing each others’ good ideas as soon as anyone decides they really are good and not a waste of fabric. By the holidays, we should have something efficient worked out. A stroll round Eriksson’s Outdoors tomorrow to study the patented designs and crib any good features will be quite in order; it is not as if we are going to be going into commercial production after all.

    Back to Song Sodas after tea, where Molly and I have our hypnosis-proofing classes. We are keeping up with these till the end of term, though Miss Devinski hints they are not having the effect she expected. We are doing our best, though, and it is difficult to try hard in a trance. At least we get each an ice-cream while waiting for the other to finish, though a bowl of hot soup would be better this time of year.

    A wet and chilly night, where we looked longingly through the fence at our now unlit and empty dorm as we headed up the coast road to join the others in our rather cheerless camp in the rocks. Molly had been rebelliously planning filling her sleeping bag with brushwood and booking into Mahanish’s, but I managed to talk her out of it. Our Tutors have a definite knack of finding such things out; anyway I need to test my equipment. This time next year we might be out in the cold with no friendly roof to sneak under.

    Still, one of Mahanish’s chillies would hit the spot very nicely, and by reputation their beds are rather more comfortable than Songmark’s. After however many weeks sleeping on the ground, we will be looking forward to those again, however austere. Molly’s tail drooped as she reminisced about silk sheets and stag company, and swore she would jump through any number of broken windows again if it gets her back there.

    I certainly know what she means. It should be a longhouse and sleeping mat for me though – as one day I very much hope it will. The disturbing thing is though – I really DO know what Molly means.

   
Saturday 2nd November, 1936

Still pouring down! The good news was my sleeping bag kept most of the rain out – the bad bit was getting out of it in the pouring rain, with no overhead shelter to change under. I got distinctly damp, after all. Jasbir has rigged a sort of umbrella over her shelter which I will copy, and Helen has rigged a canvas awning between two boulders that works just as well.

    Just because we are waking up a mile away in the rain, does not mean we can be late for breakfast; it was a steaming and panting Songmark third year that arrived at eight in a flapping of oilskins, hardly having time to hang up our various bivouacs and tarpaulins in the next room before the cooks started serving. If someone had told me two years ago that I would be ravenously tucking into plain stewed breadfruit (without milk or sugar) and asking for seconds I would hardly have believed them.  Though we appreciate good food more than ever, one is very aware of it being all fuel to the boilers after a night like we had, and will be having for the rest of term.

    Not everyone has such a good design of shelter; Belle looks more like a drowned rat than a bunny, and Madeleine X had the shivers to such an extent Mrs. Oelabe prescribed an immediate hot bath. Poor Adele had a very good design of oiled parachute silk, but when she rolled over in the night it tore open on a thorn branch and she woke up with her feet in two gallons of icy water. At least I am used to the cold and damp – or I was, St. Winifred’s with its chilly dorms and muddy hockey fields seeming a very long time ago now. They say living in tropical climes “thins the blood”, and certainly one hears crusty retired corporals complain about perpetual chill and shivers after forty years service in India. That might be the malaria, though.

    Still, we are allowed hot showers, and made the most of our chance. Prudence’s dorm is on gate guard today, no fun after a night like last, and Jasbir’s is on call. Which leaves us free, and Casino Island beckons!

    This time, we had half a dozen first-years to escort over. Eva Schiller, Meera Sind, Maureen, Svetlana, Nancy Rote and Alpha Zarahoff (at least that was her name on the original list of applicants, there seems to be some confusion.) Eva has decided that it is perfectly all right to study the customs of The Folk (she does talk in capitals sometimes) and it is nothing like being a “swing-kinde” or “edelweiss pirate.” From what she mentions, those are some sort of delinquents they have trouble with in Germany.

    After a fast bounce through the shops (two yards of linoleum and some sponge rubber under me at night should make the wet ground more comfortable) we met up with our friends and rivals at the dance class. Our first-years started in a basic class, while we worked on our interpretive hula with a vengeance.

    It is odd how the years, or generations, of Songmark students all seem to be very different from each other. There are first and third years doing Spontoon dance, but no second-years. On the other paw, the second-years are all into team sports; they are well-regarded as a tough and very competent Kilikiti team, and compete with the best Main Island can offer. I noticed that before, thinking about how my year refuses to organise apart from per dorm. There is talk of our new first years having an actual Head Girl, which I never thought to see.
 
    An excellent dance lesson, where some of the Guides turned up. This time of year the tourists are gone, so they have free time while they heal up their tempers and lay in new stocks of patience for next season.  I must say, if the regular S.I.T.H.S team are fit, the Guides are even fitter! There is that nice-looking young mule gentleman, who I hear is much in demand with certain lady tourists for obvious reasons. He may never have what we would call in Europe a family pedigree, but even the most  enthusiastic lady tourist would be sure not to lose hers. By other accounts he is also the island champion Limbo Dancer – an oddly Caribbean custom to find in the Pacific, to be sure. Moeli once told me that most tourists have a rather confused idea of “Tropical Culture” and having seen newsreels of Barbados and such places they assume that Limbo dancing goes along with the climate rather than the culture, and ask to see some. Spontoonie guides will always bend over backwards to accommodate a tourist – in this case, literally.

    I did overhear some of them (in Spontoonie) talking about heading overseas for a cultural exchange visit. Now is the time of year for it, with the beaches less inviting and the jungles dripping wet. Tillamook and Rain Island were mentioned, and I suppose anyone exchanged from there would still prefer the Spontoon climate! From what I have seen and heard of Tillamook, it has a climate similar to Vostok with clinging sea fogs and the like. Good for growing redwood trees rather than bananas and pineapples.

    Thinking of which, at luncheon there were Spontoon bananas on the menu today! Apart from cooking plantain (which is hardier) the plantations on the South side of Main Island are just warm enough to grow dessert bananas, though they are usually cut green and ripened indoors. An excellent change of diet, and one the Althing can save its shells from otherwise having to import.

    Back to Songmark to work on our equipment, again. Prudence and co. have put together a sort of four person shelter/sleeping bag, which looks cosy. I saw Molly’s ears going right down at the sight, and she shivered at more than contemplating a chilly night. Naturally Prudence has no objection to the rest of her dorm sharing such close quarters; if nothing else the body heat would be more than welcome. That is all there will be, I expect; despite what Madeleine X originally thought, none of those four are romantically involved with each other. It would make for rather a distraction while studying, and disrupt daily life for the others in the dorm. Whatever anyone says about Prudence, she has a large ration of Northern common sense.

    The rain happily stopped before dark, but on the shaded North-facing side of the island it was decidedly less than tropical. Actually it was the best night’s sleep I have had in our temporary camp, thanks to my new sleeping mattress system. Hurrah for linoleum, the wonder of the age!


Sunday 3rd November, 1936

One difference with last Sunday is that despite breakfast being served at the same time, all of us were up and back at Songmark an hour early. A nice lie-in is one thing in a bed, but quite another in a cramped and rather clammy bag where one’s ribs carry the impression of all the rocks underneath. Even Maria was up bright and early – or at least, early. She has slept in far chillier places she says, Alpine huts and the like – but those have at least basic beds and good eiderdowns.

    We are finding out that sleep is like air and water; things one takes for granted until they start to run short. Molly grumbles that a few bottles of medicinal brandy would improve matters; certainly furs having to sleep in the trenches in the Great War always had a rum ration.

    Fortunately breakfast was hot and substantial – banana mash, served with coconut cream. It is the nearest breakfast to hot porridge these islands traditionally provide, and very welcome on a cool morning. Even the first-years were tucking in very happily. Madeleine X was in expansive mood for a change and told of the great culinary dates of her home town, such as when the new Beaujolais wine or the first oysters of the season are rushed into the shops. “Les bananas nouveaux est arrive” does have a certain ring to it.

    Out to South Island with Saffina and Helen; Saimmi has something in mind I think as regards testing Eva Schiller, and for the time being she is staying behind. Of course, as the new High Priestess of all Spontoon she has a lot more to do these days, and we are only grateful she still gives us her time on Sundays.

    Helen is blunter than I am, and straight away reported what we had found at Songmark. She recalled almost the last things Huakava said to us, about how what is there will prove useful when the time is right. Of course, we did not actually ask Saimmi for an explanation – but the situation rather led that direction.

    Saimmi was silent for forty minutes while she led us to the top of Mount Topotabo, and bade us sit on a sort of shelf twenty feet across that looks as if it was carved out of the living rock in ancient times. She had us join her in two of the rituals, then turned to face us.

    Oh my. There are more sorts of exams at Songmark than the ones where you sit down with pencil and paper. Saimmi congratulated us on passing this one. I objected that I had not been looking for anything at the time, and just happened to be using the right ritual (which we learned weeks ago) in the right place at the right time. She nodded, and made the cryptic remark that that was exactly the point. It seems we have already started on the path of the Warrior Priestess.

    One hardly thinks of High Priestesses sending off telegrams and couriers, but she mentioned there are surviving Polynesian traditions on Ponape and elsewhere, and she has arranged for one to fly over and give us instruction. Some of the amphibian folk who live around Ponape have the strangest reputations, not that we place great store in long-distance reputations having seen how “custom” works around here. And the Albert Islanders are still cannibals in theory, though perfectly nice folk one could trust to cub-sit.

    A further ritual followed, and then we descended the familiar route down the stream past the Spontari Guest House where we stayed nearly two years ago and first discovered there was more to these islands than the tourist brochures show. The Guest House has been enlarged and re-painted recently; I have heard its owners the Tanoaho family have been very successful in selling scrap metal to the Cipanguan traders. Considering much of Cipangu’s export is things like nice silk and pottery, it seems rather one-sided that they spend so much of their national money on rusty scrap iron. “Money for old rope” as the saying goes.

    An excellent luncheon followed with the Hoele’toemi family; it might have been rather embarrassing to see Mrs. Hoele’toemi bowing to her own daughter if we had not known just how significant a High Priestess really is. We are absolutely grateful that Saimmi is still teaching us, what with everything else she has to do and nearly two hundred other full Priestesses to look after!
 
    Saimmi had one suggestion that we very happily fell in with; these days we are not sleeping in beds or wearing any delicate clothing, so oiled fur would not stain them. Having oiled fur means being soaked to the skin is not nearly as uncomfortable, and one stays much warmer even when wet. Saffina helped us make our Spontoonie toilette, and was very keen on following suit. Alas, that will have to wait till the holidays.

    Thinking of which, Saimmi tells us she has heard very disturbing rumours that may mean another trip like our almost disastrous Cranium Island trip. Of all people, Eva Schiller has volunteered some information – that Fragment we recovered from Cranium Island and exchanged with her uncle for assistance, is no longer safe out of the way in the Antarctic where we hoped it would stay. Eva says Professor Schiller had completed his studies, determined it was now powerless and sold it with official permission to “a private buyer.” Apparently there is little interest in Berlin for artefacts with flat batteries.

    That is certainly bad news, although it could be worse. “Private Collectors” probably do not have Government resources behind them – indeed, there is only one Government that publicly expresses an interest in such things and they are busy tracking the original Ring of Wotan and Horn of Heimdal right now. One wonders if in a few thousand years similar folk will be questing for artefacts such as the Pipe Wrench of Ponape of the Mystic Steel Carving Knife of Sheffield? On the other paw, there are a few people and societies out there who know exactly what they are looking for and have all the money needed to buy in buy expertise and muscle. We had better be there first with more of both.

    It is certainly an insight into Eva Schiller, too. I am sure Beryl would be proud of her; her Uncle determined the Cranium fragment was drained and worthless to him, but still sold it – and Eva effectively sold the knowledge, though not for cash. That is the sort of investment/profit deal Beryl worships; at least with her worthless share deals she paid a few pennies for them. Saimmi has mentioned that no Spontoonie priestess has taken a proper look at Neu Suden Thule, and noted it might be something we are suited to later on. This could happen; Maria has influence with similarly inclined folk on Vostok through her Uncle, and we certainly learned a lot on that trip being “Miss Inconnutia and party.” If we get the time and opportunity we could try and do the same further South; we are learning about cold weather already and that would be a real final icing on the cake. Helen commented sourly that we might as well ice the cake as everything else would get iced up.

    It was rather a wrench to say farewell to the cosy longhouse with its cheery fire-pit, bottles of date wine and soft sleeping mats promising a good night’s sleep, and head out into the dusk with the clouds already gathering. By five we were back at Songmark with the junior years much interested in the state of my fur and Helen’s, and determinedly tucking into a large hot meal before heading out into the larger, chilly night.
 
    Although at least ninety percent of the food we eat at Songmark is local produce, we are issued with some emergency supplies that can be made up just with boiling water and are rather more advanced than Main Island can provide. In our packs we each have an emergency hot ration of “Buckhorn’s ever-smooth instant semolina – with the patent milling process that frightens the lumps away!” A fine hot dessert in a minute and all British too, hurrah!



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