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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
  25 January, 1937 to 31 January, 1937


Monday 25th January, 1937

Back to hard work with a vengeance, hard work on two wheels on Main Island again! There is a motor bicycle club being formed by the Spontoonies; no other island has enough road to make it worthwhile and Euros tend not to be allowed over without a Guide. Though side-cars and pillion-riders could answer, it is hard enough learning without the extra load of a passenger. One of the Spontoonie enthusiasts had a despatch-rider coat with an inscription on the back - “if you can read this, my pillion rider has fallen off!”

    As before, Molly grimly straddled Miss Wildford’s plain bicycle and wobbled along the smoothest track we could find while the rest of us started engines and filled the air with the scent of two-stroke fuel. Hardly impressive next to the hundreds of horsepower most aircraft use; in fact some of the smaller motor bicycles have engines I would have looked doubtful about powering my Flying Fleas! Yet they have a decent turn of speed, and being within shin-grazing reach of the ground with no altitude to play with, does concentrate the mind most wonderfully.
 
    Molly was not the only one to fall off, and indeed most of us had spills of some sort. At least in Molly’s case the magnesium framed bicycle was not much to get tangled with. Adele Beasley lost some tail-fur in the chain drive when she and her mount parted company on a bend; the cycle flipped and ended up on top of her.  Definitely there is a cursed bunny! A film studio trying to do that as a “stunt” would probably take all day  and a dozen “takes” before it happened the same. Sidcot suits at least cover up all exposed fur, though they are so clumsy to wear the doubled chances of having a crash on a bicycle probably outweigh their protection. Real dispatch-rider’s clothing is expensive, and as this is not the Songmark Cyclists Boarding School for speedway-riders, it is hardly likely we are going to get any made specially to fit our varying sizes and species. It is tricky enough with the helmets; those who could not find one to fit had to make do with flying helmets, which are hardly designed for the job.

    One could do worse. It is a blessing that apart from Maria and Irma none of us have horns. That Miss Stella, Nuala Rachorska’s friend and colleague, has Impala horns that would be a definite challenge for any milliner, let alone helmet maker! Lars has a very customised helmet, and he is quite modestly antlered next to some stags we have seen. The Oryx girl in the first-year is likely to be sorry open cockpits are getting unfashionable, and indeed she is hardly likely to fit into a Schneider Trophy canopy even now.

    By the end of the morning we had swapped mounts several times, getting used to the feel of different designs. Maria even demonstrated how well they can work across country; the most powerful machines are not always the best, especially since lighter ones can be paw-handled much better over walls, rope bridges and the like. Though noisier than a bicycle, one can imagine the extra speed more than makes up for it - a force of motor-cyclists could make their way through any decent trail through three-yard jungle, and appear from routes not marked on any common map.

    An hour of maintenance followed, where we rediscovered the greasy labours of taking engines apart and keeping blowing dust entirely out of them. Still, we are only borrowing the motor bicycles and owe it to return them in a better state than we found them; this way the club gets its servicing free and we tick off yet another box in what seems like an endlessly long list of What Adventuresses Need To Know.

    Back for another few hours in the classroom, where we refresh ourselves in the essentials of expedition foodstuff supplies. As Miss Windlesham pointed out, it may be boring to sir down and calculate how many tins of corned beef someone else is going to need a week from the nearest road - but that someone is depending on you to get it right. We have done similar things before but this time we had “supply problems” and half the essentials had to be made good locally. That is, instead of proper tinned fish and bully beef, there was local fresh cassava and taro leaf, which will not keep so well. It was like that old riddle with the fox, the hen and the bag of grain on a ferryboat - how to balance the trip with available resources. Living totally on cassava and taro leaf was not the solution, in our class had five “bearers mutinied”, four “food went off” and three “starvation” results handed back in red ink to their despairing authors.

    Just to rub it in, tonight the main meal was boiled cassava and taro leaf. No bully beef, even for the girls who kept their theoretical expedition properly fed.


Wednesday 27th January, 1937

A busy two days of classwork, and this morning a rather low cloud ceiling had the airport closed to all but emergency traffic. We still flew though; the one Tiger Moth equipped for “blind flying” did a lot of that today. The gyro compass and the radio direction equipment had to take the place of one’s eyes for most of the flight, though the flat calm meant at least no wind drift errors.
 
    I found myself wishing I was back feeling my way around the Radio LONO tower in zero visibility, when Miss Devinski called me to her office and asked if there was anything I felt she ought to know. Rather the sort of open-ended question our dear Tutor specialises in; I expect she hears some interesting confessions which have nothing to do with the subject she really wanted to hear about.

    I started with mentioning I have the paperwork underway to actually be set up as Lady Allworthy, soon hopefully to be challenged - but she waved that aside, saying she knows about all that. I have signed the legal papers witnessed by Judge Poynter, and the solicitors in Barrow-in Furryness have received the telegraph days ago now. The next possibility was Mr. Sapohatan’s briefing us on the Macao trip - not that I have ever mentioned him by name, but I am sure Miss Devinski knows who our contact is. She nodded, then asked the one question - “And?”

    It is always a very bad half-hour for me when our dear Tutor asks us about Lars Nordstrom and the trips we take with him.  The fact that Mr. Sapohatan had approved both our excursions cut no ice with her; she snapped that our Government contact would spend us like a ten-cowry piece if it suited them. I rather doubt it, and in any case we are volunteers and could have turned the mission down.
 
    After I had done my best to flesh out the basics of the plan, travelling out separately and acting a part as supposed a competitor to Lars in the bidding (somewhere the Allworthy identity really will be handy, bearing in mind they have shipyards and military contracts) Miss Devinski nodded once, coldly, and beckoned for me to follow her. We went out into the main open compound and towards that central mound - the one that has such a strange feel to it, rather like the Great Stone Glen. It is certainly the heart of Songmark, like the North Pole of a planet.

    Oh my. I knew there was something under that mound, but I did not know it was inhabited. The workings underneath are not the sort one could find with the usual treasure-hunting methods, but apparently Miss Devinski has been looking after a “lost” Songmark girl for some time. She is a skunk, though smells a lot nicer than any skunk I have met, especially in close quarters underground - I was about to ask if she was a mix and had inherited her other parent’s scent, when Miss Devinski told me she had been de-scented, and some other things that had been done to her. Henrika Polychronopoulos is her name, though she barely recognises it - there is almost no Henrika Polychronopoulos left, though physically she is as healthy as anyone.

    According to Miss Devinski, Henrika vanished years ago - she was a second year in 1934, the last time anyone saw her on Spontoon, and she ended up on Krupmark and Kuo Han. Our Tutor rather pointedly added that I had been to Krupmark more often than was good for me, especially in certain company - and Henrika is a living warning of what is liable to be a Songmark girl’s fate if she gets it wrong. She was as good a student as any of her class, probably destined to become a fine, free-spirited Adventuress - which is an idea some people absolutely detest, and would pay any sum to demolish. According to Miss Devinski, the dearest wish of some furs would be to see all Songmark girls end up like Henrika. And Miss Devinski swore on what is under Songmark that cost what it may, she would bring whoever did this to her student, to justice. Probably involving crabs or tiger ants, is my guess.

    Hmm. I know she has rather a down on Lars, but there is such a thing as being innocent until proven guilty - not that Krupmark uses rules like that. Molly and I have been quite at his mercy several times, but nothing happened we did not both approve of and (I must admit) rather enjoy. The merchandise Lars handles is of the military kind; Molly has seen his warehouse in Krupmark and I saw what was in the hold of the Parsifal. Not what was found in the holds of the Three Moons! Knowing what happens to slavers around here, Mr. Sapohatan would hardly be approving Lars to go on Government missions if there was any clear evidence against him that way.

    Although I did not say so, Miss Devinski spotted I was not eagerly agreeing with her - she threw up her hands in disgust, saying that if Henrika could not warn me, she knows of nothing that can. She mentioned a ludicrously high price on the head of any Songmark third-year; enough to pay for three years of Songmark training. In fact, she says she has turned down applications from three girls who have had “mystery benefactors” this year alone; that might be entirely innocent but she is not risking effectively fattening them up for sale. She escorted me back to the surface, and suddenly the mound was exactly as it had been before. Not even Beryl with a map and a treasure-hunting team would have found their way inside there unless what was within wished it.

    A most disturbing encounter! What with the timing of her disappearance I never met Henrika at Songmark, but she should have been in the class graduating with Erica and Noota. Everyone thought she quit suddenly and ran off to get married; her fate was rather different and our Tutors would lay down their lives rather than see it happen again.
 
    I called Molly, Helen and Maria up to our dorm and briefed them. Helen looked definitely pale around the nose, and asked if I was going to learn a lesson from this. Molly looked less shocked than one might expect, commenting there was a very similar “ship’s cat” found on board Captain Granite’s ship - who is presumably Chinese by species but no longer speaks any language, as if she had reverted to a primitive state with less in her head than some guard dogs that we know. Maria’s comment was that she was definitely coming with us to watch our backs, regardless of what our Tutors say. If she has to go over the wire, so be it.

    We sat down and started planning seriously; one thing that is in our favour is very few people outside Spontoon know I am Lady Allworthy - it is a title rather than a family name, just as Lord Nelson was not the son of any Mrs. Nelson. So it is a disguise in its own right - I will not be heading out as Amelia Bourne-Phipps plus title, but someone unknown but verifiably genuine as the owner of a shipyard. If the Direwolf’s commanders present me with a few chests of unmarked gold bullion to build them a sister ship, in theory I can have that in a Macao bank within the hour and telegraph Barrow-in-Furryness to start laying the keel the day after. I could really do that. They would be cheering me in the streets over there if I did, too.

    Obviously, having me in respectable dress and three Songmark dressed girls carrying a Fedorov Avtomat apiece would rather give the game away. A traditional Lady Allworthy would need a maid, a secretary and a guide at least, no matter how far or secretly she was travelling if she expected to do serious business at the far end. I put the posts open to argument; Maria grabbed the secretary role and Helen the guide, which rather left Molly in the role as my maid. She is about as undomesticated a domestic as one can imagine, and mutters that there should be a post of bodyguard. So there would, if our Tutors would let us take Saffina along. Despite her sterling performance on Krupmark I hardly dared to ask; Miss Devinski looked as if she was about to bite me as it was.

    I have seen my share of folk of good family, being invited to school chums’ estates over the holidays outside the Murder season. Even so, I will definitely need some coaching on this, to play my part well. It is a long way from home and there will be no help available if we get in trouble! A postcard was drafted immediately to Post Box Nine; we shall see what Mr. Sapohatan wants us to do exactly.
 
    Helen seemed fairly happy to be going along with the expedition - as Guide she will be expected to be tough, practical, and sensibly dressed. No acting needed on her part, then. Maria speaks six languages and has her own typewriter, so a secretary is a natural cover for her. Imagining Molly as a respectable lady’s maid though - the mind boggles. We are going to need some help on this one.


Friday 29th January, 1937

Dear Diary - our Tutors may not have thrown us out just yet, but they are extremely unhappy with us. Not in the sense of docking us points - as Miss Devinski said, if we are not here at the end of term points will be irrelevant anyway. Yesterday we received a telephone call, telling us the view from LONO hill is rather fine today - which it is, but our Tutors rarely grant us passes to go and look at the scenery.
 
    We did have an afternoon pass, and headed out up the hill with the big radio mast, looking over the airport. The transmitters are up on the hill but the radio studios are down just North of the airstrip; at this time of year they are presumably interviewing jugglers, contortionists and acrobats for the local radio entertainments of the coming Tourist season.
 
    Something that is not likely to be broadcast was our meeting on the far side of the radio compound, where the buzzing of transformers made it impossible for any eavesdroppers to overhear. Mr. Sapohatan was there with a pair of binoculars, a lunch bag and a book on wildfowl, evidently practicing his bird-spotting. He soon extended that to Songmark student spotting, and invited us to discuss our trip.
 
    We were up there two hours, a substantial time for someone in his position to give us, and hammered out the basics before we left. Next Friday! That is all the time we have to get ready, and our Tutors are not going to be too lenient in giving us spare time out of our classes. In fact, some “facilities” are made ready for us right away, and others will be alerted today. Travelling out directly from Spontoon might be a bad thing as we are meant to have come from England, so we suggested staging through Tillamook, where we can possibly drop off Adele and pick her up (hopefully cured) on the return trip.

    Maria has with her the “biography” of a Lady Allworthy who would be credible talking shady business deals with semi-pirates in Macao. Mr. Sapohatan had a chuckle reading it, and announced that he could have supporting documents ready by next week for us. In return, he gave us some very clear questions he needed answering about our target and its crew. Aircraft flying over a dock can say where a ship is and give an indication of how ready she is to sail; they cannot photograph what its captain is going to do next, or why.

    We are to act on our own, keep our eyes ears and noses open and not worry too much if we have to return empty-pawed. Establishing this Lady Allworthy as a presence in such a market will be valuable in its own right, no doubt. Whatever we do or do not find out in Macao, this is someone who is better than an assumed name and can be used later on - she really exists, even though I am only borrowing the part. It is like being Assistant Pope or the Elder in charge of the Protocols Of The Elders of Zion - they are job titles, but real people fill them.

    Maria was looking unusually thoughtful on the way back, and while the others went back into Songmark she invited me into Song Sodas; true enough, the Songmark desserts generally leave something to be desired. If I was really going to be Lady Allworthy in charge of shipyards and such, she mused, there was a lot I could do. Indeed, there is a lot I should be doing if Barrow-in-Furryness is going to keep employed. A lot of the world’s fleet has been built and repaired in Britain; South America is mostly defended by Export models that frequently equip both sides in their rather frequent skirmishes. Not that Spontoon could afford a battleship, anyway such things take years to build. A lot of the naval vessels that launched in 1918 had been ordered in 1914 and that was with full wartime crash priority regardless of costs; dozens were completed years too late for the War and many more were scrapped half built. Which partly explains why the Direwolf’s sister ships of the Imperial German fleet were scuttled in deep water rather than sold off; the market too was flooded in 1919 and we wanted to make sure any export customers bought their war-surplus ships and years’ worth of spare parts from British shipyards rather than Kiel and Hamburg.

    It is certainly something to think about. On the other paw, I am trying to clear my name and providing foreign nations with unlicensed military equipment will not reassure folk in attics and back rooms of Whitehall where such things are decided. Actually there is one person I can talk to about that. It is awhile since I have met Major Hawkins, but I believe he still has a roving commission based around Spontoon.

    I mentioned him to Maria and she agreed wholeheartedly; I cannot walk into the British Consulate these days but Maria practically has the front door key to the Italian one and diplomats have little to do this time of year but talk to each other. Though she rarely has occasion to use her position much less abuse it, I cannot see her being refused anything by her Consul here (unless he wants a ten year posting somewhere unsettled and unpronounceable in Italian East Africa, that is.)

    One strawberry soda and much to think about. It was almost a relief to get back and start wading into all the class-work out Tutors had ready for us; just because we have an afternoon pass does not mean we are excused the work everyone else did today! Up till lights-out finishing it all, but we finished with minutes to spare. Cutting things fine is an art they teach us around here - as Miss Wildford has pointed out, people soon forget whether one wins the Schneider Trophy by a minute or a second, provided that you do win.


Saturday January 30th, 1937

A desperately busy day, the last Saturday here we will have in awhile! For a change Molly was not going to dance classes but vanished behind the high walls of Madame Maxine’s establishment all day. We went out with Jasbir’s dorm and some of the first-years to our usual dance classes, and a fine and strenuous time was had by all! That Eva Schiller was there; she is always keen on learning about the island’s culture even though it feels to us rather like showing Beryl the family antiques.
 
    Some of the first-years were rather good; Svetlana from Vostok may have been trained in a rather different ballet tradition but it all seems to translate rather well in terms of balance and suppleness. She has told us tales of ballet training that have our neck-fur standing on end; Maria whispered she would probably confess anything after eight hours of “training” that sounds more like something the Spanish Inquisition made up on a wet Wednesday when feeling out-of-sorts.

    Ingrid Ledasdottir is another one with promise. Between her species and Svetlana’s classical traditions they could probably demonstrate “Swan Lake” if the Spontoonies wanted to see what the rest of the world builds giant opera houses for. Spontoonies are always very keen to see what tourists will spend money for; that is why they have the only Limbo dancers in the entire Pacific. Svetlana says on Vostok they are experimenting with new art styles the rest of the world will look on in awe; with all those tankettes they have a need to exercise their crews and commanders in ways nearer Bushby Barklay than a standard cavalry general. I have heard of Swan Lake performed on ice; Svetlana says many operas now are performed on tracks. One expects the sound track is dubbed onto the film separately, unless they are doing truly remarkable things with tuned exhausts.

    It is nice in a way to see the first-years have quite as much to talk about as we ever did; three girls from Vostok, Vanierge and Germany respectively coming together to learn Polynesian dancing. Rather odd that none of the second-years ever stuck to it, though some took a look at the classes in their first term.
 
    I asked Eva about the rest of “Crusader Dorm” and was told they were busy on a case. Amateur detectives do solve most of the high-profile crimes in England, but that is mostly the country-house murders. They never investigate the commonplace sordid crimes; the paid Police pick up all those. I hear in Spontoon Crusader Dorm have an almost unique position as being approved of by the Chief Constable; the local regular Police are unappreciative of having a team of eighteen-year old Euro girls solving crimes on their beat. One can appreciate their position, especially as the less than diplomatic Miss Nancy Rote leads the sleuthing team.
 
    A fine luncheon at the Missing Coconut, with the Rain Islanders still there and everyone talking about our contest with the Ave Argentum. It will be next weekend, and we will miss it! Still, there are four other dorms who I would bet money on. Apparently the Guide’s School named five events after talking with our Tutors and Father Dominicus; there is a swimming race, a cross-country run, an orienteering challenge with compasses, a gymnastics contest and one other that will be revealed only on the day. I doubt it will be original Olympic wrestling in the bare fur, unless Prudence has influential friends in the Guide’s School. The rest are all athletic sports an Adventuress would be expected to know; nothing too Unladylike such as Jude-Jitsu as Mr. Toshiro Finkelstein taught us. Besides, both sides must be seen to have a fair chance, and Mr. Finkelstein never taught them.
 
    While Maria and Helen went over to the Italian Consulate to ask about conditions in Macao and try to find Major Hawkins, I kept my own appointment over at Madame Maxine’s. The usual huge tigress at the gate bowed and let me in; although it might not rank in any pedigree list of finishing schools the establishment deals with all sorts of social training as well as physical changes. At least it was a respectable “polishing” I was booked for today; I recall Nuala Rachorska recommending I go there to learn various things when she thought I wanted that Hunting Licence. I never did find out who paid for that. Nuala said that as I had never signed and validated it, the document would stay on file forever in case I ever changed my mind. And I thought being Lady Allworthy was bad enough!

    Madame Maxine herself arrived to spend a few hours going over various social points I have had little occasion to practice at Songmark. Whether they will be strictly needed on Macao is doubtful, but one never knows. Having a good background, I proved a quick student and by teatime Madame Maxine seemed quite satisfied. I have much to be grateful to her for; she is the “Mother” of Kim-Anh Soosay or at least her author and the girls here evidently liked making me into a half-breed Siamese.
 
    Thinking of transformations, when the tea arrived I had rather a shock.  One of the maids arrived and put the tea down, stepping quietly in and out and standing attentively off to one side of the room in case anything more was needed. It took about two seconds before my nose twitched at a familiar musk. Molly! I nearly spilled my tea as I went up to inspect her - in a respectable maid’s black dress with white apron and head-dress, she could have passed for any Lyon’s corner tea-house waitress. She did not grin or wink at me, but stood civilly while I checked it really was my Tommy-gun toting tomboy friend under that uniform.

    Madame Maxine smiled and explained that she often had Hotel Staff to train, and it was something she was quite accustomed to - though then the process would be making a grass-skirt wearing Main Islander into a sophisticated cocktail waitress or the like. She dismissed the servants; Molly bowed and left without a word, which transformation was quite a frightening sight to anyone who knows her. I could hardly help remembering Henrika, who Miss Devinski says has been left with various talents but no independent will over whether or not to use them.

    Another hour of tuition completed a busy afternoon, and I took my leave in time to see Molly stepping out in the courtyard with a neat black valise presumably carrying her costume. She looked pale and shaken; I think she was happier fighting off those Moro pirates aboard the Parsifal, but she gamely stuck to her job. Having a broad Chicago accent is less of a problem than might be expected; in the stricter households servants only speak when spoken to and besides Chicago has its own “bon ton” with associated local maids serving them.

    Still, someone has to do the job and she admitted she does not have the languages or typing speed of Maria to take the secretarial “cover” and I think Helen would probably just shrivel up in embarrassment given Molly’s job. She actually does look rather imposing in the uniform, though she swears she would far rather put on a Foreign Legion kepi for a career than a maid’s apron. That or being Racketeering Advisor to some Chinese warlord; a lot of them make substantial incomes on smuggling, being effectively independent rulers of their own pieces of territory. I doubt she will have to do too many “duties” and we can always provide her with a deadly sharpened tea-tray or some other reassuring weapon she can carry in public.

  
Sunday January 31st, 1937

A whole month over, our final January here! In less than half a year all this will be over - it is up to us to get ready for what will happen afterwards.
 
    Maria has been telling us about Macao, having all but ransacked the Consulate for reference works and talked long with its staff yesterday. Being a Portuguese colony it is as nearly neutral as such places get, and Italian diplomats often stage through there when world politics (such as Ethiopia, or Italian East Africa as we should now call it) make them unwelcome guests at other ports. The Japanese are on the Chinese side of the border already; they are ruthless in stopping Chinese getting into the colony, but have made no move against Macao itself. The local inhabitants tend to shrug and get on with business; they have always been precariously perched on the flank of an overwhelmingly major power, whether controlled from Peking or Tokyo. As long as they are making money, little else matters. I can see how Lars got me my Macao passport as Kim-Anh there; just about anything can be bought and sold in Macao.

    Although she does not have specifics on the Direwolf, Maria showed us the “lading list”, or the shopping bill of a similar sized Italian cruiser. One quite understands why ships that size do not normally lead an independent career. Even without ammunition and battle repairs, the sheer daily appetite of a ship that size is horrendous; just sitting in harbour they need a hundred gallons of oil fuel a day keeping the generators running for desalination plant, lights, radios and pumps. At flank speed on the open ocean her consumption is such that one wonders how she manages without having a string of oilers passing their cargoes like the baton at a relay race. Not surprisingly, she was re-engined only three years ago with something rather better than the 1913 models she began with, the “mixed firing” system that has a compromise of readily available coal sprayed with hotter burning oil. Molly tells me that a bunker full of yards of coal is a surprisingly good armour (at least to armour-piercing shot) and unlike oil it does not leak out if there is a hole shot in the sides. A cubic yard of oil fuel has a lot more energy though and takes less stoking and boiler care.

    The trouble with Macao is it is not a major industrial base; the kind of small nation who are the Direwolf’s customers tend not to be able to help much that way. The only small independent Industrial power nearby is Vostok, but the Imperial German Navy would probably be rather unwelcome there. There is Rain Island, but I doubt the Anarcho-Syndicalists would be happy with such a customer either. The only nations comfortable with supplying an independent mercenary warship either have their own adequate Navy or no coastline. Having all the gold in China hardly helps if there is nowhere one can spend it - which presumably is why the Direwolf would be happy to talk to Lady Allworthy who owns a shipyard and Lars (who can “obtain” bits on demand from other people’s shipyards, as the Parsifal trip proved.)

    The weather was quite fine as we headed out to South Island, for some final preparation with Gha’ta. In fact we discovered it is our final lesson; she is returning to Ponape soon and says we have learned all we can of the theory - the rest is practice. Which is rather like having a searchlight battery run by a bicycle dynamo; the potential is there to light up the skies but our pedal-power is rather lacking.

    Just as Kansas Smith has “unusual” assistance in the form of the thing that travels with and sometimes speaks through Half Ration, what Gha’ta teaches us could be used in quite a few ways. Basically a Warrior Priestess is not limited to calling on the local Spirits, but uses her own power. This is handy, but means we are something like battery-powered rather than mains driven - more portable but always liable to run flat just when most wanted. And considering we are the battery, that is liable to be unhappy for us.
 
    A busy morning left us feeling distinctly drained, barely staggering up the beach after making our farewells to our priestess, who says she is taking the long way home looking at various of her relatives on the way. It may take a few months to swim and walk to Ponape, and most people would say life is too short not to take the aircraft when available. Not so for Priestess Gha’ta! We never did work out her real age, and there is obviously something wrong with her modern Spontoonie language or mathematics when she tried to tell us how old she really was.

    Mrs. Hoele’toemi was pleased to see us, and we all helped prepare a fine Sunday luncheon. Something one of her neighbours brought over from “Vikingstown” yesterday was a pound or so of Hakarl, that Icelandic delicacy that is the fish equivalent of very high game. It is one of the fascinating features of Spontoon that different villages keep their traditions alive in terms of food and costume; presumably it adds variety to the Tourist experience not seeing grass skirts and coconut brassieres at every stop. I am not sure about the fermented fish, though. Some cultures have fraudulent “delicacies” that they only serve to tourists they dislike; do the Chinese really eat bird’s nests and hundred-year old eggs when nobody is watching? A little Hakarl certainly goes a long way - Molly and Maria were whispering that only the Goddard Club are likely to find ways of sending it far enough.

    Anyway, I grated some of the Hakarl for anyone to sample who had a mind to - Molly and Maria predictably passed on it, but Helen finished her sample as I did myself. We have eaten worse things on Survival exercises, but most of those were still wriggling. Nobody was keen and Mrs. H disliked having to throw food out especially that given as a gift, so I volunteered to take it back (wrapped in an air-tight oilskin bag) to offer to Prudence, who I know relishes such things. Then, Prudence likes a lot of things other folk would not. I have heard rumours that she and her dorm have appeared in the sort of films that one would not expect the average Odeon on the High Street to show, but I can hardly believe that of a good English girl. *

    A pleasant last Sunday spent in traditional pursuits, with most of us helping get the gardens and main longhouse tidy while Helen and Marti make the Guest longhouse messy. The chance would be a fine thing! As it is, we might have two weeks or more before returning here; Jirry will hopefully be back by then and the weather warmer for swimming and other outdoor sports. One wonders if Gymnastics classes in Spontoon schools involve a hammock; there are some uses of one that certainly need gymnastics training for.

    Back to Songmark uneventfully this time, though one could see Molly’s tail flicking as she passed the spot where she encountered Lars last Sunday. We might not even see him in Macao, depending on how the crew of the Direwolf arrange matters. Having all the bidders in one room driving down the price is one way of doing business, but so is sending in sealed bids. I must remember I am really going out there to lose; Lars may be able to obtain the components they want but I cannot, and it would be highly embarrassing if I bid lowest!

    We will be missing out on quite a bit; the teams are already picked for next weekend’s athletics match against the Ave Argentum. Not being able to include Molly is rather a blow to the running and orienteering events (she is rather good at those.)  There are no real surprises in the other teams, with Sophie D’artagnan and Susan de Ruiz swimming, Li Han and Beryl in the gymnastics and similar. The “Mystery Event” has a wide scattering of talents; it includes Irma Bundt who is in it to add muscle if required, while Jasbir Sind is as fast and flexible as we can supply. We will only find out on the day if it is a tug-of-war or a tightrope walk; one would suit Missy K and the other would be a sheer “walk-over” for Li Han! Actually “we” will not find out till our return from our Macao trip. It is a bit much, our missing out on being Tailfast, the New Year, the Schneider trophies (twice) and now this as well. Any Hawaiian-shirted tour-boat tourist sees more of Spontoon’s great events than us, and we live here.

    Prudence greatly appreciated the ten ounces of Hakarl, which she says she will eat and think of me. I am not sure I want to be associated with a chunk of salted half-decomposed shark, but it takes all sorts to make a world. I am sure judges never accept that as a plea, though.


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* Editor’s note: in his classical work “Stage-Land” of the 1890’s which categorised the various social classes in absolutely 100% true and thoroughly scientific detail, Mr Jerome K. Jerome described the Wicked Adventuress as “… always of overseas extraction. They do not make bad women in England, so the article is entirely of foreign manufacture. She speaks English with a charming little French accent, and French with a broad English one…”