Extracts from a Diary 127 "Uncowed in Macau" start (Amelia at Songmark Academy)

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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
4 January, 1937 to 10 January, 1937

"Uncowed in Macao"

Being the twentieth part of Amelia Bourne-Phipps’ adventures at the
Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies on Eastern Island, Spontoon.
Amelia is starting the Spring term of her Third year… just two terms to go!

Monday 4th January, 1937

Back to the grindstone! Actually it feels more like a real millstone we have been saddled with; our Tutors decided we all looked flabby after eating “too much roast turkey and Christmas pudding” all holiday, or so Miss Wildford said. She has a keen sense of humour, which Molly panted would be the cause of many riots in several places she knows. Our Christmas “holiday” was hardly relaxing - though unlike today we did not have to load our knapsacks with sandbags (wet, heavy) and jog around the dunes (loose, dry) half the morning.

    For a change, it was not Molly or Beryl who had the idea of “evening the odds”, that is: cheating. Madeleine X declared as soon as we were out of sight on the first dune that there was no point in hauling a pack full of sand along a beach full of it; she proceeded to dump her load with the intention of re-filling it out of our Tutors’ sight before the final lap. It was Beryl who pointed out in a friendly tone that what she had poured out was not pure anonymous sand. The bags had been filled with something like tubes full of red brick dust and then the sand poured in around them; removing the tubes left a pattern of red and yellow running through like a watermark in a banknote. We did our very best to keep a straight face as we left her and her dorm trying to reproduce the effect, while they learned some energetic new words in French.

    I had luckily remembered hearing from my brother about his military training, when the same idea was used with packs full of bricks - the first week the recruits thought they “got wise” and in their spare time laid in a hidden stockpile of bricks a mile from the finish point. Alas, the Sergeants were far wiser and the next week issued them with numbered bricks. Plus they randomly changed the finish point.

    It could be worse; we might have to do the same in the Aleutians as we did a month ago. That was a nightmare, the part of our education where we learned what “trench paw” actually means. If any tourist agencies want to make postcards of those islands they will need hardy photographers with very good reflexes and a fast-draw camera; we had about an hour of good sunny weather in the whole trip - including one perfect dawn. But twenty minutes after that we were in a white-out blizzard, where one can hardly tell the ground from the snow-clouds. The one week “cast away” was extremely real, and Madeleine X almost left her bones there. Unlike previous years there was nobody to look after us however remotely; our sole help was being rescued at the end of the allotted time.

    Back to our usual luncheon, hot Poi and a fillet of fish. One of the second-year girls from the Danish West Indies made herself very popular; her family sent her a crate of the family product, Caribbean “jerk” sauce which is basically chillies concentrated till one presumably needs a special corrosion-proof quartz glass bottle with gold foil coated stopper to hold it. Between her and Rumiko handing out the Wasabe, there are things one can do to make our usual ration interesting. The first-years have already taken the hint, and a range of Gentleman’s Relish, Anchovy Essence and the like regularly appears on their table.

    Madeleine X was grumbling that according to the prospectus of the Ave Argentum they have meat every day. We get it at least once a week, as several other girls pointed out - but in truth that is not a sit-down Sunday joint but more likely a corned-beef sandwich for lunch. Molly is no happier with poi than the rest of us, but she takes what she is given these days and asked fairly sweetly when Madeleine is transferring over. It would certainly raise the average cheerfulness of our year. The Church always say that in the end one gets what one deserves; should Madeleine transfer over we would sincerely hope so.

    After lunch we split out to our various classes; back to small-boat handling on choppy waters, very glad I do not share Helen’s seasickness! There was a fascinating sight as I tacked around Main Island, a Vostok “Balalaika” airship heading in towards Spontoon. This is a newer model, subtly different and rather faster as far as I could judge. Maria has been following Vostok’s progress; they have been trying for ages to secure a supply of Helium from the Americans but so far without success. Having a ground-attack dirigible full of hydrogen is not a comfortable idea, especially as they fly too low to have a chance of getting out with parachutes. Although it is manifestly unarmed, we can see that the open crates on the stub wings that held a dozen rockets, have been replaced by boxed-in cowlings that probably keep the whole assembly from icing up in Vostok winters.
    I could have sworn that one of the distant bowl-carrying Tiki statues was turning to watch the Balalaika go by, but distances and angles are hard to judge from a small boat in choppy seas.
    Back for our first evening of term, after a very decent vegetable and fish stew with mashed sweet potatoes. The mash was rather like the potato version we used to have at Saint Winifred’s, the juniors always called it “squodged spud.” It is quite sobering to think the girls I left as third-years are sixth-form now, and will be graduating and gone this June. Our final full day here is July 16th, and our course here ends on the 23rd. After that we are on our own - all the Songmark protections and privileges our fees buy us will be gone. Our Tutors will have invested three years of their lives in us, and our parents and sponsors will have spent many thousands of pounds - it will be up to us after that to show if they made a wise investment.

    Being the start of term we have some actual free time, not that we can waste it on relaxing - we could have gone out to Song Sodas last night had we wanted to, but now it will have to wait. Everyone had a pile of correspondence and magazine subscriptions waiting in the post room, ranging from Molly’s “Criminal World” to Maria’s Italian aeronautical journals. Though they are naturally in Italian, she generally spreads them on a library table and gives a running translation for those interested.

    It seems the Italians are certainly holding their technical lead; there was an article on a whole specially built aeronautical city, “Guidonia”, which her Uncle has encouraged as a thriving hotbed of invention and industry. Say what you will about him, “Il Puce” is doing a lot to develop Italy and her people. There was also mention of a special site near Rome, “Vigne de Valle” that is doing a lot of work on radio-controlled aircraft. The article mentioned them being used for remote controlled gunnery targets and the like, but Maria says the language is somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Something like “remote control, accurate out to a hundred kilometres. What could we do with those, eh?”

    There is also another article on Signor Campini, who is still working with the Caproni company on a radical new engine that promises to beat all Schneider Trophy entrants next year or the year after. All these things take time - ten years ago most entries were biplanes, maybe in another ten they will all have those LeDuck engines. Actually getting off the water might be tricky; even in the Aleutians we never found the three hundred mile an hour headwind needed to start a LeDuck engine running. Then, we went in Winter and the equinoctial gales are said to be fiercer.

    Molly was discussing her own journal with Beryl; one of the articles was complaining there is not a Nobel Prize category for the perfect crime. They had a lively discussion of what might win such a thing - Beryl starting off with the idea of selling the plans for a perpetual motion machine. If it fails to work they can just blame shoddy construction. Molly came in with packaging it as a motor-car engine that would run forever, for free, and having Henry Fnord and Shellshock Oils go into a bidding war over it. Beryl’s top bid was to sell it to both of them, who would lock the secret away forever and never build a test engine on the grounds that if it by any chance did work, word would leak out somehow. They would never risk it.

    Actually, if Beryl put half the energy into legitimate business that she does into ingenious crimes, she would have no need to risk arrest. She seems to agree herself on occasions; as one of her sayings goes, “put a fur in prison and he will better learn how to steal your wallet. But put him through Law School and he can learn to steal the whole country.”

    There was a letter from Father, the first in quite awhile. The postmark explained why; he has been sent on another liaison trip with a selected team, to help the Norwegians fortify their colonies. Bouvet Island is typical of the sort of new development nations seem to be making these days; building up remoter possessions as communications hubs and last-ditch bastions. Bouvet Island is becoming “the Gibraltar of the Southern Ocean” and now is far better defended from its neighbours. The French are doing much the same on Clipperton Island off Mexico, making it a huge naval and industrial base with its own local version of the Maginot Line defending it. What the Germans are doing in Antarctica we hope to find out - especially why they include archaeologists when nobody has ever lived there.

    It is encouraging to know that Bouvet Island is now secure against any land force liable to want to invade it. On the map it is absolutely strategic, guarding the whole Eastern Hemisphere between South Africa and Antarctica. The French are doing the same at Kerguelen, to where in the event of a disaster their government and much of their heavy industry could be evacuated. Just as we are always told to look for more than one way out of a building, nations keep their options open.

    Father says he is being recalled to Europe, where they might soon need his talents nearer to home. What with Spain flaring up and threatening to drag in the rest of Europe it is a worrying time, to be sure. The League Of Nations does not seem to be doing much, but as Maria says, their ultimate threat is to expel a nation from their list - at which point the expelled government stops caring what the League Of Nations does anyway. In Spain we have “International Brigades” of staggering complexity; English furs are fighting on both sides according to their politics, while the Italians and Germans contribute “volunteers” who just happen to be on paid leave from their military. They have very generous “leave”; a cavalryman being allowed to take his horse home to graze in the family paddock is one thing, but the aviators and tank-furs are allowed to bring their aircraft and tanks across to Spain!

    That was something Maria says she argued with Liberty Morgenstern in the big Althing debate back in December. Being a Red, Liberty supposedly cares nothing for pedigree or birthplace, and they accept all sorts nationalities if they only claim to follow the doctrine. Maria’s uncle has quite a different idea - he will take anyone as long as they are loyal Italian. Their religion is not important nor their pedigree (unlike in Germany) but Reds, Freemasons and Anarchists are absolutely forbidden for being Internationalist. He does not like the Church much, but then the Church do not like the idea of Italy either. Maria says that priests ordered their congregations not to take part in national elections till 1928! And it was only her Uncle who got them to change their minds about democracy. *

    To bed, sneaking a glance through Molly’s journal. There were actually some jolly informative articles on lock-picking and other means of unofficial building entry; the world is changing and only in the most unreconstructed stately homes can a larcenous fur now get down the chimney. With new technologies come new opportunities, though I had to hide a smile at the science fiction tale at the back. Surely nobody would build ventilator shafts big enough to crawl through! That’ll never catch on with Adventurers.

* Editor’s note: Maria is perfectly accurate about this one.

Tuesday 5th January, 1937

A cold, dark day, certainly the most dismal of the season so far. But there was no sitting indoors playing Monopoly while commenting on the weather on the windows outside; Miss Wildford rubbed her paws briskly and announced that we were “all going for a nice swim”. A stony silence settled around the class, followed by a mass departure in search of bathing-costumes and a rapid swallowing of chocolate bars by those who had the foresight to lay in a cache before the start of term.

    Well, at least we were reconciled to getting soaked as we trotted towards the beach and the waiting water-taxis; surprisingly they were full of Natives apart from the usual nautical Spontoonie driver. Prudence and her dorm waved at some familiar faces, explaining they were pearl-diver and fishing girls, one or two of whom are in that formation swimming club they have.

    The pearl-divers being aboard were explained when we got out of harbour and headed to the Northern tip of our island, where migrating shallows and sandflats make navigation tricky. The seabed is generally two or three fathoms deep at low tide, apart from the deep-water channels the tour boats try to stick to. We basically had a treasure-hunt, with the Natives placing pieces of crockery on the seabed and us diving down to hunt for them. Although we have done this sort of thing before that was in bright clear waters in Summer, not battling choppy waves, lashing rain mixing with the spray and a rather nasty rip-tide curving round the point! With so little light and the waves stirring up the mud it was awfully hard to find the targets, and I am sure there were some left down there for geologists to puzzle over in the far future.

    I suppose it was good practice, but at least last time we had to do this the prizes were worthwhile cans of food, not cracked pots. Some of them were hotel ware proclaiming their home on Accounting Island, which dates them to the rather early years before the Casino was built there.

    Rather than getting back on the water-taxis, Miss Devinski pointed at Eastern Island and gave us five minutes to get to shore. Just when we though we had finished, we had to get in through the surf. Li Han almost got washed away; she is our smallest and the rip-tides on that beach are ferocious. Happily Maria managed to grab her before any points were lost, and soon enough we were packed in together on the beach, consoling ourselves with the idea the rain was at least washing the salt out of our fur. It is warmer being in the middle of twenty bodies standing pressed tight together than standing alone, but not much - and one soon gets pushed to the outside edge while others seek their turn out of the worst of the wind.

    Naturally, Prudence and her dorm could take more comfort in the exercise than the rest of us. Prudence is wearing a new Tailfast locket, but unlike last term Ada is not. I never did find out who Ada was Tailfast to, if indeed her ring was a real one - Saimmi has said Ada has never been to Sacred Island for the official ceremony.

    While our Tutors’ water taxi landed, we started taking bets on what they would have in store for us next. The hopeful vote was for a brisk jog back to Songmark and a hot shower; the gloomier ones looked at the rock face two hundred yards away, streaming with rain, and prophesied we would be claw wedging and snout-jamming up the harder routes till dark. Maria and Irma are best at that; there is an “off-width” chimney that is just the wrong size for anyone except Beryl or Li Han to bridge their way up, but our bovines have the horns and the neck muscles to head-jam their way up.

    Actually nobody guessed what was next; the brisk jog was right, along the coast to the Eastern end of the runway. There was a group there of uniforms, Rain Island types and Spontoon militia. Our dear Tutors had volunteered our services as the opposition in their unarmed self-defence classes!

    I know it is now campaigning season for the militia; they exercise before the filming and tourist season gets started, and begin this time of year to dig trenches in the fields before the crops start to grow. There are always new recruits; we could just hope they had “enjoyed” a morning as strenuous as ours.

    Just to break the ice, one of the Rain Island sergeants stepped forward and promised a meal at Mahanish’s for any of us who could throw him. I think he was surprised at the response - we all stepped forwards, leaving Miss Devinski to choose who to send forward. Everyone expected it would be Irma or Maria, failing that Missy K (who certainly looks rather like a Samoan wrestler, though less than she did in her first year.) I would not have put a cowry on Belle being chosen! Adele might have been if it been a case of her choosing straws in which case she would have “won” and been used to wipe the floor with.

    The scene: a very wet field just off the end of the runway, with one large Rain Island stallion flexing his muscles and a very averagely built long-eared rabbit girl dripping wet and soaked from head-fur to toe-claws. But Belle stepped forward gamely - and the show began.

    One could see the Sergeant’s first move; he was going to grab her, pin her then throw her with the minimum of effort. Things turned out rather differently - when he lunged for her she was already elsewhere, behind him in fact. Rabbits can certainly jump - she sprang about four feet in the air, planted both feet on his back and kicked again, with all her strength. Definitely not a move we have seen in the training manuals! As we have heard, “amateurs” are frequently hard to tackle as with a professional one has a fair idea of what they are going to try next.

    It would be good to record that Belle bowled him over with the first move - and with a fur of her own weight she certainly would have. It went on for about two minutes, which is an awfully long time for such - the Sergeant could not get her in any sort of grip, and was nearly tripped twice. In the end he called it a draw and promised her the meal anyway, for holding out so well. Our unconventional bunny smiled and asked sweetly if he had a sister on the islands he could send along instead. Oddly enough, he had. One hopes the young mare will have been warned beforehand, or she may get the sort of dinner date she will not be expecting.

    One could see Miss Devinski’s logic, putting their best against our average. Beryl or Li Han are our smallest, though they have definite talents. Anyone deciding Beryl in her Sunday dress with elegant parasol looks a good hold-up target will soon find out their mistake; that hollow parasol handle flicks out into two pounds of chain as one unwise would-be robber found out this Summer (the judge reduced his sentence to take into account the time he had spent in the hospital until his broken jaw healed enough to testify in court.) Today she was unarmed initially; the sock full of grit she had rapidly filled was disallowed under the rules.

    Then it was the turn of the rest of us; I was set to tackle a short but very stocky black-furred bear girl, possibly a Malaysian Sun-bear. I know from Missy K that bears are tough, but this was like trying to grapple and throw a boulder! The Rain Islanders do train their recruits rather well - possibly Mr and Mrs Fairburn-Sykes gave them classes too. Free-style Jude-Jitsu is very handy, but we are trained in rougher work in self-defence, and I found myself noting brief openings where I could have gone for eyes, throat and kidneys as Mr. Toshiro Finkelstein taught us. Not a ladylike occupation; I wonder how the Ave Argentum train?

    By the time we had all gone three bouts against different opponents everyone was a mass of bruises; the rain-soaked ground was soft enough but some folk were hitting it rather hard. I saw Maria pick up one large canine and swing him in almost an “aeroplane ride” before crashing him down; had that been on concrete rather than mud there would have been broken bones rather than bruises.

    Miss Devinski was in a brief huddle with the Rain Island officers comparing notebooks, then with a curt nod she announced we were heading back with them to Moon Island. We were hoping to head back to the plain but adequate Songmark showers. Only Molly was keen on the Moon Island trip; they have the only visible artillery on Spontoon and in the exercises last year she dearly loved firing it. Beryl spotted her slightly glazed look, and whispered to her something about “triple turrets of eighteen inch battleship guns, illegally re-chambered for hand-loaded, wildcat rounds… just waiting for your command...” The effect was predictable; she nearly swooned like a comedy co-ed meeting a film star.

    Anyway, one water-taxi ride later we found out our fate. Military bases always have a lot of strenuous fatigues to be done; the average Sergeant-Major will always think of something to keep the troops busy rather than give them time off. On seeing the piles of coal near the wharf I rather feared we would be handled shovels and requested to move it from point A to Point B, just for the sake of it. At home, Father’s butler McCardle (Reg. Sgt. Major, ret.) frequently has the servants up polishing the roof on a quiet day. But we must have done something right, as we were presented with the biggest set of communal baths outside the public ones in Main Island, already full and steaming! It was one of those that Rumiko tells us are standard in Japan, with showers to actually wash all the dirt off before getting in to soak. A sensible idea today, without which the pool would soon have resembled a communal mud wallow. We had brought enough of Eastern Island with us to fill a window-box or two.

    I have heard a lot about the Rain Island armed services; they are “co-ed” to a remarkable degree, with mixed bathing and mixed dorms (though partitioned off, and partition-hopping highly disapproved of). But Songmark has a reputation to consider, and to some disappointment we had the baths to ourselves for half an hour of blissful soaking. There were two steam-rooms though, in which we could hear our former sparring partners relaxing. Well, we had towels and such for our modesty, and those of us who wished soon found room in the steam with company. Miss Wildford was there already and I suppose was the official chaperone, not that one is really needed. About half of us actually have promised themselves or their families to stay unattached till they graduate, at least.

    As a “sauna” it rather reminded me of my trip last year to the Gilbert and Sullivan islands, in terms of the heat and humidity. The difference there was I was dressed in my respectable Songmark uniform, which is at least cooler than the Royal Air Force kit some of our instructors had to wear. Still, despite the far greater comfort I doubt the military would really go for wearing towels. Maria commented that being draped in togas never slowed the ancient Romans down, and in Rome in midsummer one never needs to build an indoor sauna.

    I can see a steam bath being rather nice at Songmark especially in the Winter; Rain Island has them by tradition as their “sweat lodges” are used as part of their religion and suit a colder, damper climate. The fuel bill for communal baths of this size might be rather steep, but it is much cheaper to fill a room with steam than hot water and nearly as relaxing. Carmen and Jasbir were all for the idea, coming as they do from much hotter climates.

    Helen’s ears seemed somewhat down considering - she commented that she had hated having to comb the Tailfast markings out of her fur, and scatter her Tailfast ring on the waters as tradition demands. She feels very strange without it. Of course, what with our Krupmark adventure on the Solstice when she should have renewed her ring then the hunting of the Three Moons, she hardly had time to think much about such. I consoled her that it is less than half a year to the next chance, and she can be Mrs. Helen Hoele’toemi as soon as she likes anyway. Our Tutors seem to quite approve of her and Marti, and I doubt they would raise much objection. One of Red Dorm is married, after all. But Helen has said she will wait till she graduates; she is determined to put all her energies into one thing at a time. Quite right I suppose; Songmark and honeymoons are things one needs all one’s energies for.

    Back to Songmark suitably clean and steam-pressed, having been thawed out and admirably relaxed after a strenuous day. On the docks of Eastern Island Beryl recognised a familiar snout; dressed in an Ave Argentum uniform was a vixen she knew as a junior at Saint T’s! Rather a big change one would have thought. Beryl was unusually informative, saying this Maisie Thynne was from the famous “Happy Valley” in colonial Kenya, and was known at Saint T’s as a lively combatant with some useful notions she had picked up from the Natives back home.

    We have heard that the Argentum have an exception to their (often stated) policy of only allowing in girls of good pedigree and impeccable reputation; they have a separate rank called “Penitentes” who presumably are let in to act as an Awful Warning to the rest, and to be given the opportunity to reform and be accepted. The history of the Church is full of folk who started off as great sinners, turned round and made the very keenest and most energetic of converts. One could well imagine their “Penitentes” get given the dirty work - though Madeleine butted in and insisted that if it is officially sanctioned it cannot be dirty work by definition. Maria had a few interesting historical tales to top that one; one of her ancestors on her Mother’s side was a Papal Bull at the time of the Borgias, when Popes settled theological debates using mercenary armies and poison chalices.

    Back for a slap-up meal of mountains of cassava chips with enough curried vegetables to sate a quadruped elephant! Songmark might not have the Spanish ham and spiced chorizo sausage our rivals boast about on their menus (actually imported from Mixteca) but apart from the poi it is rather tastier than we generally credit, and one has to say there is plenty of it. Some of the first-years actually like plain poi without having been brought up on it like Missy K, which just goes to show it takes all sorts.

    It is rather a luxury to have as much food as one wants to eat - this time last month we were looking hungrily at frozen blocks of pemmican and a few hoarded chocolate bars, working out how long we could make them last. It is one thing to sit around under a tropical palm awaiting rescue; we are well-nourished and nobody is liable to starve to death in a week in such conditions. But out in the Aleutians with the biting wind and freezing temperature, as soon as one feels hungry the cold started to creep up from toes and tail-tip. That is bad enough - but if it reached any higher we would be in danger of perishing on frozen waists like so many explorers. As the official school exploration handbook by Messrs. Sellers and Yateman has it, “Arctic travellers feeling hard-up for hardships to describe on the lecture tour afterwards can miserably refer to pummican, a concoction of pellicanised friable pumice-stone.” Still, it could be worse - as every schoolboy can quote from the same chapter, “select your companions with care; you may have to eat them.” *

    After a day like today, even our unheated rooms and the (still extremely hard) Songmark beds feel very sweet. Looking out at the rain hammering on the window, we certainly feel for Jasbir’s dorm who are out guarding the fence right now. Certainly, Songmark graduates will have to take on rough and desperate jobs to match what we got used to on the course! Having seen what two lots of third-years were like by the end of June, I can imagine many are going to take a holiday straight afterwards involving a lot of sleep on a comfortable bed, company to taste. Just being able to sleep without an alarm clock would be such a luxury.

    Molly says she first came to Songmark with the aim of getting qualified to do more than start a business of “dirty deeds done cheap”. I doubt her current idea of “Discreet services at reasonable rates” is really much better, though it would look more respectable on the business card.

*   “And Now All This”, © Sellers and Yateman 1936

Thursday, 7th January 1937

Two days of excessively hard grind and flying in miserable weather. The cloud level has been about three hundred feet, brushing the top of LONO hill, but that has not put our Tutors off in the slightest. Having the runway streaming with water is a real challenge for landing the Junkers 86; it is bigger and heavier than anything else we have, and takes a lot of stopping in the wet. Folk have experimented with parachutes for aircraft, which we could certainly appreciate as we feel the locked wheels hydroplaning and see the end of the runway looming in front of us. The airport staff had the end cable up as an arrestor just in case; it might have bent the props had we run into it, but better that than collapsing the undercarriage running off into the soft ground at the end of the concrete.

    Thinking of parachutes, Songmark brought over someone who has had more practical experience with them than any regular pilot would ever wish. They do have an impressive network of contacts, and we are always being given short-notice lectures and talks by folk who appear briefly on Spontoon and have a story to tell. One of the “old girls”, from the second ever year to graduate was passing through the islands, and was invited to lecture us. She is Hetty Wainright, a British lioness who we missed seeing by two years. Though some folk wondered about her ancestry, her family have probably been in Britain since the Romans came over (Maria points out that there were actually not that many Romans in the Roman army; a lot of the Legions came from what is now Jugoslavia, Palestine, Spain and Germany.) Lions are not a “Euro” species generally, but that is one species that arrived from North Africa and stayed when the last legions marched away.

    Miss Wainright has that ultimate in exciting jobs, a Test Pilot! She has flown for Supermarine and Miles, and has even tried out private experimental racers - land, not floatplanes or we would probably have seen her around before at the Schneider Trophy races (perhaps she was; I have always managed to miss Speed Week, worse luck.) She has had some fur-raising escapes, all of which she got out of through forward planning and fanatical attention to detail. A real test pilot has more in common with the engine designer that with the “Hollywood” portrayal whose main job seems to be throwing aircraft into power-dives and seeing if the wings will stay on as he hauls the stick back yards above the waves. By her own description, only a tenth of her time is actually flying, the rest is planning meticulously in advance what they expected to do, and discussing with the designers afterwards how it turned out.

    Having flown privately built racing aircraft, she has earned her parachute “Caterpillar Club” badge a few times over. She says she may not hold the record of baling out at four hundred miles an hour, but she is probably the fastest one to do it and live to tell the tale. The instinct is always to pull the parachute as soon as clear of the aircraft; at anything like that speed the shock of the canopy opening would break the parachute, the harness or the pilot’s neck. Probably all three. She lived by spreading her arms and legs wide in a “star” like a free-fall parachutist, letting the speed bleed off until it was safe to pull the ripcord. This needs plenty of altitude, but she tells us one way of living to make a career as a test pilot is - do nothing experimental unless you really have got plenty of altitude.

    We are not likely to need her advice in the Tiger Moths, but aircraft are getting faster, not only Schneider Cup winners but regular commercial flyers. There was a De Havilland “Dragon Rapide” passing through Spontoon last week, which is the way things are going. By all accounts it is getting quite hard to get out of some aircraft, and many established pilots dislike enclosed cockpits for that reason. Some airline pilots insist in carrying a large fireman’s axe so they can chop their way out of a crash!

    I remember that idea we saw advertised last year of the airliner of the future. Every passenger is tightly strapped into a special parachute-equipped seat that in extreme emergency flings them out with a blast of compressed air - in that design, hopefully the mechanism guarantees the roof escape hatches open up beforehand. One hopes the switch is not too easy to mistake for the cabin lights on the pilot’s instrument panel, too. Personally I like the look of the current airliners, with their lightweight wickerwork or bamboo furniture, comfy bunk beds, proper galleys and such onboard. Being crammed in together nose to tail will never catch on, unless air travel gets as cheap as holiday charabancs - and that’s never going to happen. When Maria goes back to Italy in the big triple triplane Capronis, they have room for cosy bunks in that roomy houseboat-like fuselage. There is even room for maids and valets, an essential part of the service on the forty hour crossings from Alaska over the pole and Greenland to Europe. Only triple triplanes have the fuel to make such a crossing from Amundsen Field on the Magnetic Pole, and no longer have to touch down on Disko Island on the West coast of Greenland. There was very little to see there apart from a refuelling station, though the Disko natives had some quaint and unusual musical styles and folk dances.

    We pointed Miss Wainright towards her former Tutor’s house; Miss Pelton as was, now Mrs. Voboele and family. One very healthy son and a sibling on the way this Spring, due to arrive on my count eighteen months after her wedding. Hmm. It is something to think about; Helen at least will be looking forward to relaxing completely after graduating, but we will have to think hard about just what precautions to relax or not. Unlike our dear ex-Tutor, we are starting our active Adventuring carers not retiring from them.

    Our first night of gate guard starts tonight, and none of us are looking forward to it. The nights are awfully long right now, little more than two weeks after the solstice. It has been very wet, and Maria is parting with some of her allowance to Prudence’s dorm who have a rather strange waterproof suit that they say served them all well in the Aleutians. They were the only dorm who came out of that trip well-fed and well-rested, so Carmen’s idea of the thin rubber coating punched with thousands of pinholes may be a useful piece of kit. While we were trying to patch that rock shelter together with moss on the inside and frozen mud on the outside, we could certainly have used something like that.

    Alas, although Maria has been measured up for the suit it will take awhile to make considering how much free time we have, and tonight is the night she wants it!


Friday 8th January, 1937

At last, the end of an awfully long week. Although nobody agreed with the Tutors on Monday that they had got out of shape in the holidays, we are all ready to drop. Last night was a surprise. It started with Miss Windlesham telling us the guard dogs were having a night off, which is unheard-of. We depend quite a lot on their vigilant noses - the textbooks say that although a thinking fur may have the same size snout and such, our brains have the thinking parts developed at the expense of the bits handling the senses. Since the day we arrived here in 1934, there has never been a night the compound has been so unguarded. Anyway, Maria and me braced ourselves to the fact we are completely on our own for the first time ever, with the rain beating down loudly and the compound lights illuminating little more than cones of falling rain. Between the lights one could have parked a tankette and we would scarcely have seen it.

    As Molly still insists on carrying my T-Gew on sentry duty, we had to haul it around till she was due to take over with Helen at three. All such things live in the Songmark strong room, which is locked at night and we are absolutely forbidden to have them in our rooms at any time, so there was nothing for it but to haul its forty pounds around all night, like it or not. I was carrying the ammunition, which was more a matter of sharing the weight than safety precautions as when Molly has the rifle. On a regular night we generally patrol separately, but in such rain we would get too separated. With the weather covering them an invader could “bushwhack” us one at a time when we went out of sight behind the buildings.

    Our tutors have to approve whatever self-defence equipment we take to our night shift; I think they only approved Molly’s choice because it is almost impossible to use it in the circumstances. A pistol or carbine she might blaze away with in a heated moment, but the T-Gew has to be fired from its bipod on the ground, and whoever is with her on evenings carries the ammunition and is unlikely to let her have any however she pleads. Miss Devinski always checks it is unloaded before signing it out. I carry a Kilikiti bat myself; less intimidating than the anti-tank rifle with saw-backed bayonet but thirty-five pounds lighter, and can be used with a more flexible approach. A good thing too, as it happened.

    About two in the morning we heard a sudden jangling of tin cans. This is an innovation someone probably put in from hearing about their Father’s experiences on the Western Front, where the barbed wire hides an alarm wire. It will not go off by itself in the wind. Each section of fence has a different sound with different tins - so in one second we knew something was happening on the Northern aside facing the airport! Even then we might not have picked out the sound in the rain had we been wearing our oilskin hoods or sou’wester hats; the rain hitting oilskin next to the ears would have been deafening. We patrol bare-headed in all weathers now, admittedly getting chilled and soaked but hearing and seeing an awful lot more.

    We could see very little of the Northern fence as the second-year blocks, the kitchen and dining hall were in the way. Maria hissed for us to head out, and I passed her a single round she chambered in the breech. It seemed sinister that the very night the dogs were away someone was trying to break in - as if they had been watching for a very long time for this chance. Nobody has ever broken into Songmark that we know of, unless you count that horror tale Beryl tells of the canine lady thief and what happened to her.

    The staff duty bungalow is by the main entrance but standing orders are not to disturb our Tutor except for emergencies - and a Songmark dorm getting back in after an evening over the wire is definitely not an emergency. Maria checked she had the safety on, and saw that I had noted it too - then we were right next to the second-year dorm, just around the corner from the unknown intruders.

    Though the rain was covering most of the sound and scent, I blessed my feline night vision as I saw a shadow cast at our side of the building; something was coming our way. Counting down on my fingers, we did what we had practiced so often - Maria rolled on the ground to finish up with the rifle ready to fire round the corner, covering me while I did the risky bit and jumped out with the Kilikiti bat, shouting “Halt!”

    As it happened I timed it perfectly - there was a dark-suited figure there clutching something that might have been a rifle with netting furled round at one end. Definitely not one of our dorms coming home after a party. With a Kilikiti bat the natural thing is to swing it but that takes time and telegraphs one’s intentions - so instead I lunged with it like Molly has showed me with a pool cue, bringing a muffled “oomph!” as I connected with the intruder’s solar plexus and it went down like a sack of potatoes. The long rifle shape dropped to the ground and I stepped firmly on it while I probed with the bat tip, dislodging the hood. We are taught never to get too close, what with knives and such.

    My ears and tail must have gone right up; I recognised the dark-furred bear girl I had been wrestling the afternoon before, who had a Rain Island jacket under her dark grey coveralls! Looking down I spotted the “rifle” was actually a pole with a small flag on the end; evidently she had been planning to plant it somewhere as proof she had evaded us.

    While I stood guard, Maria looked around for any other intruders - finding none, we hauled her to her feet gasping, and marched her off towards the Staff duty bungalow. More for show than anything, Maria was prodding her along with the T-Gew and saw-backed bayonet - whatever the intruder’s motivation, we were determined to show how seriously Songmark takes its security. Unlike the prisoner, I could spot Maria wink as she growled that it was a good thing she was in uniform underneath or she would be shot out of paw as a spy.

    Miss Windlesham was already awake and in a dressing gown by the time we pressed the emergency bell - it came as no surprise that she nodded pleasantly, and said she would take care of our visitor. The bear had recovered enough to gasp out her name, rank and serial number - Missy Rongahoa, Private, RNI 14730. So now we know!

    Our Tutor asked us a few searching questions about what we had done and why, then nodded and wished us a quiet finish to our watch - before ordering us against warning Molly and Helen off. And indeed there were no further invaders; we got soaked but handed everything over at three without a word, except to complain about the miserable weather.

    At breakfast time we heard about the fate of the second intruder - a stoat girl who had managed to plant her flag and made a run for the fence (where a thick blanket covered the wire and a rope-ladder spanned it.) Molly caught her by the first-year dorm and tackled her rather efficiently; by the time Helen arrived the unfortunate mustelid was in a triple hammerlock and tail hitch, with Molly sitting on her like a big game hunter with trophy. Stoats are very flexible, and by all accounts she was practically tied in a reef knot.

    Quite an evening for us! I did worry somewhat about our “captives” but Helen says our Tutor explained they had been warned we would not be expecting them - and to run for their lives if spotted. I imagine whoever comes over on the next four nights, if it is that regular, will be doubly vigilant seeing how their comrades were handled. It is just as well Molly did not fire a warning shot - our anti-tank rifle could be heard on Moon Island on a still night, and would have quite given the game away to the other dorms.

    We assured each other we would not tell the others; it is too much fun to spoil. If any of the Rain Islanders do get in and out undetected, the dorm that let them in will be in awful trouble - and we are sincerely glad it is not us. Molly speculated that if any of the intruders are male and personable, Sophie D’Artagnan or Susan de Ruiz will be happy to interrogate them, in terms of getting everything out of them.

    Actually, I severely doubt any dorm but Prudence’s will find anyone they want to meet that way. Both of our intruders were female, and I am as sure as I can be that the rest will be as well. The only males we have ever seen in our compound are four-leggers, and even they are not here right now. Obviously that was why we were on our own last night; the Tutors have confidence the guard dogs will spot anyone, and want to test us on our own merits.

    Back into classes, trying not to yawn our snouts off after a cold and wet but exciting night. Coming in off our freezing sentry duty soaked to the skin at three in the morning is rather a challenge. There is no hot water in the shower at that time of night, worse luck, but we do our best with towels and have a vacuum flask of something hot awaiting in our dorm. There is a rather fine curried soup we have tried at Bow Thai, and although our recipe might not be totally authentic, it is convincing enough for the middle of the night and decidedly warming. Getting Maria and Molly to cook in the first-year was more of a challenge than most of the things in the prospectus - Maria would far rather have infiltrated Krupmark alone than polish someone else’s boots, make a bed or cook their dinner. One wonders what sort of husband she will choose one day.

    I suppose it is an interesting idea - Songmark definitely aims to take raw talent and turn out well-rounded Adventuresses - except for Missy K, who is about ten percent less round than the day she arrived. She looks a lot better in a cockpit than a cocktail dress, even now.

    We were reminded of that in the afternoon, when Miss Devinski gave us copies of last year’s Songmark prospectus which includes articles done by the third-years now departed. With a nod she simply told us “improve on that” and left us to it. It is certainly something to think of; around the world there are hundreds and possibly thousands of girls who want to come here, and only twenty or so will in September. What with us and the Ave Argentum, Spontoon is definitely putting itself on the map year by year even without the holiday trade. If our Tutors were not so strict about nobody coming “on spec” there would probably be a refugee town of hopefuls camped outside our gate all year.

    Our Tutors tell us very little about how they got Songmark started, but we have read through the accounts of the first ever classes, and can work most of it out. The school started off small, with a lot of bills to pay and more confidence than bankable assets. Aircraft were leased or borrowed from friends, and although the early years had lower bills they had less spectacular equipment to train on. No expensive Aleutians trips; the top of Mount Kiribatori had to suffice, and indeed in Winter that is far from tropical. Again, we notice the courses have changed - there was far more treasure-hunting back then. I wonder if Kansas Smith ever applied?

    Maria had her typewriter out in a minute; it travels most places with her in a small tin box and she has another one to keep her papers dry. The trouble is working out just what to say - it would be irresponsible to paint the course as one big ripping yarn, with adventures and treats galore (though true enough we do get some.) On the other paw, telling folk about all the times we go to bed a mass of bruises and soaking wet fur is not too liable to get prospective first-years persuading their parents and sponsors to let them come. Some of the things we have been through would be sure to put anyone off - and yet the sooner a prospective Adventuress realises life here is not one long string of thrilling aerobatics and hula parties the better. We held off the Moro pirates aboard the Parsifal, but had the pom-pom jammed or the ammunition run out - it would have been a very different story. Not one that would encourage mothers to send their daughters this way.

    An hour of head-fur scratching and rapid scribbling ensued, as we put our first thoughts down on paper. As Maria pointed out, any girl reading a copy of the prospectus already wants to come here, and knows her chances of getting in are slim. It is a tricky proposition for our Tutors working out the right approach - on the face of it there is little we have in common. Four years ago I would never have thought to have Molly or Helen as classmates!

    Teatime was a lively affair, celebrating the end of our first week. Tomorrow we are back at the hula dance classes, along with Jasbir’s dorm and half a dozen first years. We will be spreading our strains and bruises around, hula using quite different muscles from trotting around the beach with pack. Actually there are some activities it helps us exactly with in terms of flexibility and stamina - as Jirry, Marti and Lars could probably agree.


Saturday 9th January, 1937

Still a damp day, but after a full night’s sleep and the prospect of Casino Island awaiting we hardly cared. Breakfast at half past seven as every Saturday in Winter gives us enough time to catch up on our sleep and not have to dress “on the bounce”. Sundays give us another half hour sleep, a luxury we have learned to appreciate. Getting to bed at three in the morning, or worse getting up then, is something a third-year gets used to but hardly likes. Maria has reminisced that back in Italy when she moved with the fast set she was often up that late but those were wild parties and dances, not trudging around a fence in the rain.

    Just before breakfast Maria collared Susan de Ruiz and asked her how her night went - she was on with Madeleine X, but Madeleine is rarely helpful or very communicative especially first thing in the morning. They had much the same as us, except that their second intruder got as far as the rope ladder on the way back having planted her flag right in the middle of the compound. Score highly for the Rain Islanders, and none too well for Madeleine! Tonight is Missy K, who is not the best for running after intruders but very good for sitting on them when captured. The trouble is, if she forgets herself and takes a good swing with that Kilikiti bat she is liable to take someone’s head clean off. They are originally designed as war-clubs, after all.

    It will be a real test of our resolve, for everyone to keep quiet and not drop any hints by the time Prudence’s dorm are on Monday night. Prudence is a particularly sharp girl, and the rest of her dorm are no slouches either. Still, they are the only ones who are likely to enjoy their capturing a female prisoner - not that they would actually do anything, Captain Granite they are definitely not. I can imagine Prudence and Carmen speculating on what they are liable to do to an intruder, who has “evidently” come in to kidnap a Songmark student.

    Off to Casino Island, straight after breakfast! First we had the luxury of shopping, Molly getting another pack of those Extreme Danger matches from Eriksson’s Outdoors. They take “strike anywhere” rather further than is really safe, and cannot be put out with water. The matchbox they come in is airtight steel, packed with baking soda to absorb stray moisture and cut down the space for oxygen in case of too-enthusiastic ignition. Still, as long as they do not go off in one’s pocket, it is good to know they are reliable.

    Dance classes were as fine as ever, with our regular opponents from the S.I.T.H.S and quite a few off-islanders we had not seen before. On enquiry they turned out to be Rain Islanders posted here with the militia, who evidently are being sent to pick up local colour. That makes a change; colonial troops do not take much notice of local customs, except to write home with humorous articles for books such as “Silly beliefs and senseless customs of many lands.”

    We have practiced our hula quite a bit over the holidays, as Jasbir and her dorm noticed. Then, Helen and me had a lot of compatible study up in the Great Stone Glen with the Priestess Oharu. Just as sailing is rather different from flying, both need a good set of reflexes and sharp judgement. We stepped through a very lively routine, then started showing off a few moves we have made up ourselves. Hula is like writing poetry; you can say anything, but it has a certain structure and form to be authentic. (I do not count some of these “modern” poets that have come along since the War. Everyone knows poems must rhyme and scan even if they do not all start off “roses are red, violets are blue.”)

    Jasbir is planning some more Adventures at Easter and asked us if we were interested in joining her. Not if it is back to Gull Island! I have never been there but heard all about her trip there in Summer - the place is basically a sandbank like a particularly uninviting and almost rainless Kanim Island that is deep in guano and raucous with aggressive birds. Presumably the settlements are on the upwind side, where all the Native foxes live and are rarely short of eggs and seabird meat if they risk being mobbed to collect it. Actually she is heading out to Yip-Yap Island next trip, where instead of vulpines there are mostly canines with a fascinating currency involving millstones. Perhaps everyone buys their goods “on account” and settles it once a year; it would be hard to give small change out of half a tonne of gritstone.

    We had to disappoint Jasbir, and Maria’s offer of inviting them to come to German Antarctica fell on ears rather chilled still from the Aleutians, especially Jasbir and Li Han. Still, Jasbir is keen on adventure, and we have never yet headed out with more than one dorm except for the Albert Island trip last year. She is one Songmark girl who knows exactly where she will be going after graduation - straight back to her Father’s Court, where she will be building up the aeronautic side of the princedom. Before then, she says, she will have to make the most of her last months of freedom here. Her family were going to have some retainers living on Casino Island keeping an eye on her for her course; happily she managed to dissuade them.

    An afternoon of Hula dancing is a fine way to keep warm; we are now quite used to grass skirts and flower leis but they are rather bold wear for Casino Island in tourist season, official events aside. There are few folk around right now except locals, but still we have Standing Orders to dress before leaving the dance school. The hotel the Ave Argentum occupy is in the next street, on the North side of the island.

    Thinking of such, on the way back Maria picked up the sort of thing she says she used to read every week, a European fashion magazine. It makes rather odd reading these days; we spend so much time in utterly practical costumes that the idea of fashion has rather faded for us. It seems that in the coming tourist season some of the swimsuits will be two-piece models, a decidedly daring move. We have seen such here, but mostly on secluded beaches on South Island where in truth the Spontoonies wear still less when bathing.

    Jasbir was unimpressed; perfectly respectable costume in her part of India has always had bare midriffs, and the Hindu temples apparently have some carvings that one would not expect on the equivalent of a cathedral. Very informative and inspiring carvings, from her description.

    Maria says that Il Puce’s daughter wore one in Italy last year; there was nowhere selling them in the whole country so one had to be secretly posted to fit her measurements from France. Certainly a trend-setter!

    Although in theory we could have spent all the evening till Songmark closes out having fun, with rather drooping tails we all headed in for the evening meal. Casino Island in January is none too thrilling, anyway. We have a stack of work to do, and after a quite decent meal (salt fish, fried aubergines and heaps of rice) we knuckled down to it for the evening.

    Tonight Missy K’s dorm is due on fence watch. It is tempting to wait up and see if we can spot the intruders coming over the fence from up in our first-floor window, but we need our sleep especially after last night - and the girls on watch would probably realise something was up when they spotted us gleefully watching them. Anyway, we are sure to hear about it in the morning.

Sunday 10th January, 1937

A bright day! It is getting difficult to keep the secret from Jasbir and Prudence’s dorms who are still to have their surprise encounters, but we found out what happened last night. I do not know if the Rain Island girls are being told details of how their comrades fared, but they are getting better at it. Last night one came in equipped with two dummies that she set in the shadows and looked quite realistic until Missy K tackled one. Beryl proved to be a good shot with a bolas, and brought her (real) intruder down at a run. The bolas is not a standard thing for us, but it seems she has prepared three rocks with holes bored through them, which with a pocketful of steel cable can be assembled into the weapon in ten seconds flat. Presumably she had them hidden nearby, disguised as plain pieces of Eastern Island basalt. One of her school chums was brought up in the Argentine outback as the daughter of a rich and successful cattle rustler, and at Saint T’s there is a constant quest for a fresh edge for surprise attacks as ruthless as life in any savage jungle.

    I would guess these would be fairly well-trained militia, if not something more special - the prospect of breaking into Songmark alone, with our reputation, is not something the average resident likes to think about. The Althing have raised no objections that we know of to our patrolling inside the compound armed to the teeth, and so far there have been no “incidents” to call down the wrath of the law on us. We just hope Prudence and Jasbir’s intruders do not make us spoil our record! Luckily nobody has had decided to do the “halt or I fire” routine followed by (hopefully) warning shots - that would work and be allowable but quite spoil the surprise for the following dorms.

    We could at least keep Prudence’s four too busy to be suspicious as they took our measurements for those waterproof suits Carmen put together for the Aleutian trip. They are not conventional waterproofs, which try and keep the rain off while still giving maximum ventilation. These are sealed suits, quite close fitting and designed to keep water out from all directions even if you are up to your neck in it - we would really have appreciated it this time last month. Carmen does like this job; she certainly took her time with the measuring tapes on me. Maria is initially paying for these, while Molly is speculating Ericsson’s Outdoors could be interested in a finished model if they could be made locally at a decent price. I remember the rain-coats we have seen in the oriental village near the delta on Main Island, made from a layer of rice straw tied around the shoulders and another one around the waist, with a conical straw hat on top. The wearer looks rather like a thatched roof on legs, but they are cheap to make and by repute are excellently dry when properly done. Plus one would not have to worry much about heat-stroke as would happen in a rubberised suit in the Spontoon summer.

    Out to South Island, hurrah! It does seem a lot more than a week since we were at the Hoele’toemi household. This time we took Adele with us; apparently Clear-Skies Yakan on Main Island is busy this weekend, and I want to have a look at her curse near a sacred site. It is rather like having more illumination available to inspect it, though it is not light that any film is liable to capture. We have seen everything we can by the “light” of what is on Songmark territory, and need something better.

    The days are definitely getting lighter. On the outskirts of Haio Beach there is an old sundial from Plantation days that was used to time the working day. It must have been very different, with no Spontoonies as such sixty years ago - a mixed bunch of farm-hands from all over the Pacific, with a Euro overseer ringing the bell to summon them to work every morning. The Plantations were there before the British government took an interest, and indeed there was a “commercial colonisation” of much of the Pacific long before any Governments discussed where to draw lines on the maps. There were similar plantations in the Bonin Islands further West, but Japan claimed that territory. Certainly, the Spontoonies could have done worse.

    We were reminded of that when we met up with the Hoele’toemi family, who were busily drying what they harvested yesterday, a surprising crop for these islands - tea. There are no commercial tea farms here, but fifty years ago it was tested on South Island by some companies that later failed and abandoned the project. The climate is not really warm enough for good commercial yields, but the trees have mostly survived and Spontoonies get a few baskets a year from each of them. I never recognised these as tea when I first saw them; in all the books the plants are regular rows of severely trimmed bushes kept short enough to pluck from the ground - not thirty or forty foot tall forest trees! If the yields were better, one could imagine that where other tropical islands are famed for their tree-climbing coconut harvesters, the Spontoonies could do it with tea. Certainly it would be far less hazardous for the workers at the bottom of the forty-foot tree catching filled bags of fresh leaves rather than dodging clusters of coconuts.

    My tail rose at the sight of Jirry - but it drooped again when hearing he was going to be heading out again on “import-export business” next week, for at least a month. Saimmi was absent today, but she had left word that we were to meet our other teacher Gha’ta down on the sand spit an hour before noon. Gha’ta is very precise on times by the sun; of course she is not the type who could wear a watch, and has trained herself to do without. As to longer time periods she seems a little evasive; she is young and sprightly as far as we can see, but sometimes refers to events that must surely have happened in her grandmother’s time.

    We wondered about taking Adele with us for this. Then again, although the Natives of No Island are certainly a secret, Gha’ta flew in on a scheduled aircraft from her homeland and indeed we have heard her relatives star in “Ponape Pool”, a Bushby Barklay hula and swimming spectacular. Adele would very much like to disbelieve in curses, magic and such talents, but in her circumstances she admits she has little choice in the matter. It was much the same with Angelica - I am only glad I volunteered for my move into this side of things rather than being booted into it as they were.

    The sand spit may be wide open, but it has the advantage that nobody can sneak up on you - unless of course they are one of the Natives of No Island, who we have no worries about. Gha’ta was showing us some of the more … spectacular rituals today, which I doubt we really have the power for. But all such things improve with practice, and she seems happy with our progress.

    I took the chance to ask her about something Jane Ferris mentioned last week. Jane comes from near Boston, and says there are legends of Gha’ta and her people up the coast from her. This happens to be true, Gha’ta assured me, and indeed in some of the remoter seaports they have had quite friendly relations with the New Englanders for generations. Adele has heard something about that; her parents being treasure-hunters, they made a tour of the area in 1928 and came home with some very odd Native artefacts that the Government had seized and would otherwise have destroyed.

    We even asked Gha’ta to look at Adele’s curse, which she did. Not surprisingly, she agreed with Saimmi that it was one from the Amerind traditions, and though she can certainly see it she would not like to risk making it worse. Curses are not unlike we have learned about arrow and barbed harpoon injuries in our First Aid classes - trying to just pull them straight out will do more harm than good.

    After Gha’ta finished up she waved and walked out into the Nimitz Sea much to Adele’s amazement, and we went back to the Hoele’toemi household for an excellent late luncheon. Our “church” is rather an exhausting experience, and by the time we finish we have many keen appetites. While Adele was shown around by Molly and Maria, Helen took the guest house and I took a stroll with Jirry and a hammock. After all this is the last chance in quite awhile, and we made the most of it. We may not be Tailfast, but it is not through want of trying.

    A final excellent supper with Mrs. H and then back towards the water taxis. Our Sundays here certainly count as our religious duty, but if Molly comes along she has to be on fatigue duties rather than relaxing. She takes them quite willingly on South Island; by now she knows every crevice of the Songmark kitchens from three years of scrubbing them, and is happier to help repair thatched roofs in the village than to stay in the compound all day - at least she has an excellent meal here and gets some fresh air on the way here and back.

    Still, Molly is not a happy doe. Our two trips in the holidays did not go too well for her; in particular the trip to catch Captain Granite was far less of a relief than she expected, and indeed she seems to have learned several things to her disadvantage. She had thought long and often about taking her revenge, and when it happened it was not at all as she hoped. Not that she actually did take revenge; I have heard Captain Granite was shot in the back by one of her own crew. Not a happy crew, one imagines, or else very poor shots.

    It would take quite a lot for Molly to turn down such a thing, but at least for now she has handed over to Helen that rifle Priestess Oharu gave her anonymously, and she only just discovered its source. Helen has had words with her about that; apart from being extremely ungrateful (such matched sets are simply not available to buy at any price) it saved us from certain death and possibly worse on Krupmark Island having been blessed by Oharu. It would have probably saved us all on Cranium Island given the same treatment beforehand, when Molly found out there are things that conventional artillery are untouched by.

    Helen is keeping the Mauser safe in the hope Molly will come round and appreciate it, however grudgingly. In fact they had quite a row about it on the way back - Molly saying that if Helen had such an unwanted admirer she would want nothing to do with gifts from them. Helen has almost the same opinion of Priestess Oharu’s tastes as Molly has (she really, really disliked being in the queue behind Tahni and Prudence in the last 2 Tailfasting ceremonies) but rallied round and retorted that it applied to what Molly has said about money - as long as you can spend it, how you got it is irrelevant. Molly asked her flat what would she do if she had her problem - which Helen had to go and think about awhile.

    Well, it is not exactly a new situation, us having Prudence’s dorm who were always quick with an offer especially in the first year. They have settled down a lot since then, though they are always very keen to offer to scrub my back or comb my tail-fur. Had, say, Belle or Carmen done as much for me as Priestess Oharu has, I would be as chastely grateful as possible, and do my best to find her a more suitable replacement for her affections. Not something I can really see Molly doing. She would be far happier being told to break into the Kremlin solo than attend a party at the Double Lotus.

    Back to Songmark as rather a divided dorm, a rare and unsettling thing for us. The other three elected me leader unanimously the first week we were here, and it is up to me to do something. Not a subject I have had experience in, willingly or otherwise, so I did the obvious thing and looked for expert advice. When we have a radio problem we go to Madeleine X, when we have a maths problem we seek out Susan de Ruiz - so in the circumstances I went for a quiet word with Prudence.

    The good news; they are already very familiar with the situation, in fact I learned a few things myself. The bad news; they already thought of all the ideas I came up with months ago, and could tell me why none of them are likely to work. Further, it is rather getting in the way of our Priestess, and I know how Saimmi values her. If nobody else had got back from Krupmark, we had to make sure that Oharu did.

    The worrying thing is how to stop Molly reverting to type, that is Chicago type. They say when the only tool you have is a hammer, all problems look nail-shaped. When the only tool one has is a Tommy-gun, most problems start looking target-shaped.

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