Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
19 March, 1937 to 21 March, 1937



Friday March 19th, 1937

Another day flying for the cameras! This is the last one, and indeed it has been useful experience working on schedule and “on cue” to a commercial company. I flew our Junkers 86 for half an hour, making several passes of the main runway. Not something we will be allowed to do when the schedules get more crowded in a couple of months. I am sure Pan-Nimitz would object to being kept circling with two dozen tourists onboard and ready to riot while the camera crews debate over whether they got the lighting just right or need another “take.”

      Well, now we have worked for the Barx Brothers and for Miss Melson – any of us can put that on their resume in a few months time. Though I would try to be vague about Miss Melson to most prospective employers; one never knows how they would take that. As Helen says, what goes down well in Papeete might not in Peoria.
 
    The afternoon was spent servicing the aircraft and putting them away in the hangars. It was very good to fly my little Sand Flea, which has now gained some fame in the films, or will when they are released. If only it had twice the range it would be so useful in these islands, being able to use cheap boat petrol and land on the beach without sinking like the Tiger Moth did. But the engine is barely powerful to lift the fully fuelled aircraft off the ground from a rough strip, and the paved Eastern Island runway is the only one of its kind this side of Hawaii. I have sketched additional fuel tanks in the structure, but unless I add air to air refuelling like the Soviets have, it will not get off the ground.

    Thinking of such, it is two years since we saw those strange fighter versions in the lava tube caves of Main Island. I wonder what happened to them. We used to see them far out to sea practicing; possibly they moved out to less accessible island bases after we inadvertently blew their cover and Soppy Forsythe got away to tell about it. I have not asked Mr. Sapohatan, and doubt there is much point in doing so. As to what that lava tube base is used for now – I would guess that it is a tangle of traps for anyone trying to follow up on Soppy Forsythe’s reports.  Definitely I will not be swimming in through that tunnel to find out. It is a great shame that we did find the place – I doubt there is anywhere as good on Spontoon, and even if so, folk will be looking for them. That is probably what happened to all the “cultural attaches” from Vostok and such places who get washed ashore having supposedly gone fishing.

    On return to Songmark I found the local post service efficient as ever, with a reply back from Malou who agrees to teach me various style hints and tips. I wondered whether I should go there in my Kim-Anh fur pattern, but decided against it. If I really did look like that I would presumably have no need for such tuition. Besides, walking out of Songmark as Kim-Anh might be noticed by the wrong people; as far as I know only my dorm know who she is. Life is getting complicated – it is not generally known that I am Lady Allworthy, and indeed only my dorm and Lars on the Macao trip knew it. I certainly hope so; it would be awfully embarrassing if Mr. M’wede turned up at the Songmark gates with a bunch of flowers.

    Busy indeed with our coursework all evening, revising what I could call Useful Geography. That is, if my Adventures take me to (say) South America next year we are expected to know what towns have ports and transport, where can one expect to find aircraft servicing facilities and so on. As our Tutors have repeatedly told us, the only guide book one can rely on having when wanted, is the one already memorised.  Possibly we can add to the book when we get back from New South Thule; according to the brochures there are at least facilities for sledge hire and ski repair. Some of the previous year’s graduates send in postcards of where they have been and what to find there; there is a sort of condensed “telegraphese” language which can fit onto a square inch of postcard and tell the basics. So when we tour  Europe this Summer, we can help Saffina and the rest still in Songmark with our updated reports. “Barrow-in-Furryness: good dry dock facilities and marine spares at reasonable rates; see proprietor for details. Discounts available for Songmark graduates.” Something like that, anyway.
 
   
Saturday March 20th, 1937

Last Saturday of term! And a decidedly eventful one it was. Getting up for breakfast at half past seven was a luxury we appreciated and made the most of, and indeed these days we can wake up just on the final tick before the alarm goes. Sleep is a strange thing; the only pleasure one never really notices when doing it. But it is such a treat to actually get one’s head on the pillow, it is surprising our Tutors bother to enforce a lights-out time. Hardly anyone in the third-year is up to see it. But I suppose that dome folk would be tempted to revise or work far into the night, just hoping they could make it through the next enormously strenuous day somehow.
 
    Off to Casino Island, noting the Lufthansa Dornier X Model D coming in to touch down on the main water path. That should be an interesting experience, flying down to Neue Suden Thule in one. Only the biggest aircraft are economic on such a long run – and when flying in the Antarctic the more engines one has the better, for safety reasons. I read that the original models are still flying down there – on most routes they had problems with the rear-facing engines overheating, but not on that run.
 
    The dance classes were packed with entertainers picking up new moves and honing their skills for Easter and afterwards. Though no big tour-boats tend to arrive until May, independent travellers are already starting to show up in increasing numbers and the Althing wants them entertained. Spontoon “off-season” is getting a more popular destination now that aircraft are bigger and more reliable; Pan-Nimitz and the other airlines bring the early birds rather than the shipping lines. Though the weather in April here is unreliable, there are some very fine days and it is a huge improvement over places like Rain Island.

    Thinking of “entertainers” I heard Molly give a snort of disgust and she pointed out to where Florence Farmington was walking by talking with a decidedly statuesque vixen – and I recalled she had been scented by vixen musk last week. Actually scent-marked. It was a good thing our Tutors did not scent her (although they DID give her a Pass, and presumably know what to expect. Florence can have a Pass to Casino Island and as to what she does there, if our Tutors disapprove I am sure they will tell her.) I resolved not to ask Florence about it – there are some things one is better off not knowing. Though not in the same way as that Mad Scientist shrew in the first year, who actually takes a monthly journal “Transactions of the Standing Committee On What Furkind Is Meant To Know.” It is one of the things I glance at in the Post room. Presumably Cranium Island sends in experimental reports that get turned down more often than not.
 
    I had a surprising “date” myself after dance classes finished, but not quite the same as Florence. Leaving the rest to enjoy a long lunch at the Missing Coconut, I headed to the address given by Pring, which turned out to be a small house on the Eastern side of the island near Ferry Square Market.
 
    Malou (I do not know her other name) turned out to be a full Siamese feline, not far off my age and maybe an inch or so shorter. She was dressed in a most respectable Chinese robe, and having checked through the door and read my letter from Pring, she let me in.

    It took some time to explain exactly what I wanted. Possibly it is an unusual request, as although furs from all round the world go to Finishing Schools to behave like a polished Euro lady, very few want the opposite. We can spot tourists in Spontoonie costume, even costumes put on them by Spontoonies, as they simply do not move, stand or behave the same, even if they keep their snouts shut. What I wanted was to avoid the same sort of thing for Kim-Anh, so any casual observer will not immediately spot I am as authentically Oriental as Chop Suey. I know I am hardly likely to fool any professional Agent or observer, but that is not the idea anyway. Kim-Anh is half Siamese with one English parent, which can excuse quite a bit.

    Malou agreed, asking me the very reasonable rate of a shell per week – the week to be Saturday afternoons and whatever evenings I am free (jolly few, I should think. Good value for Malou, then.)  She is a married woman with a new kitten to look after, and seems eminently respectable.
 
    I had brought with me that silken cheongsam dress that I was given at the Allworthy house on Krupmark Island (the only “souvenir” from that trip I was happy to retain) but Malou waved it aside saying I was to learn what would work whether I was in a boiler suit or bare fur. Costumes, perfumes and such are the first thing that people look to for disguises, so I should not rely on them.

    Although every culture has people who study what their friends and neighbours do, not many actually understand it enough to teach it. I remember what my school chum Mabel told me about her finishing school in Switzerland; she spent a year learning to act and move with grace, poise and style. That was on top of what she had learned at Saint Winifred’s, where like all schools we had elocution classes from the first week onwards and the dear teachers were always models of deportment (except possibly Miss Lemmon the extremely rugged Gym teacher, but that is quite another story. We would have been slaughtered going up against the Australian Rules Hockey penal squads of Saint T’s or St. Herod’s Reformatory without her uncompromising leadership.)  Happily I will not need most of the social training, and indeed as I speak hardly a word of Chinese or Thai it would be quite impossible. My Spontoonie still has a definite accent, and I have been nearly three years speaking it.

    After learning Spontoonie dance for three years one gets to know how things look to an observer. That is, I have learned to concentrate on every move and step as they all have a meaning especially in Satirical Hula. Learning one body language makes it easier to learn another, even a markedly different one. Though not as strenuous as the morning’s dance lesson, it takes hard concentration and I was very glad when at four o’clock Malou suggested a break for tea. That was educational in its own right; I watched exactly how she did it, and did my best to memorise the style rather than the exact moves.
 
    As I appreciated the tea (Oolong in a handle-less cup served without milk or sugar; very strange) I put my other training into practice. Saimmi has taught us how to expand our senses to read a fur’s spirit – it is not exactly like that first-year mole’s natural lie-detection talent, but not far off. One sees the most disturbing things looking at Beryl with it. I asked Malou about herself, and was quite relieved at the clear answers. She is from Dalian in China, but has been in Macao – and was rescued in China from the Japanese by her husband, a stallion. I had not noticed any equine traits in her kitten, but with a mixed breed it is anyone’s guess how a kitten will turn out. Our feline ex-Tutor Mrs. Voboele (nee Pelton) has an equine husband and her kitten is more of a foal, albeit with claws that might surprise folk someday.

    It is a good thing I did not mention the Japanese, as I was about to watching the tea ceremony! The Chinese say they had everything first, anyway. I think it is quite a romantic story, though I only know the bones of it – rescued from an occupying army by her one true love, and now happily safe with their kitten. I did not ask any details, but with my spirit sight I had no doubt she was telling the truth.

    Another two hours of instruction followed, and I was quite pleased to hear Malou telling me I was learning well. Any instruction is better than none, and I have all next term to learn, in whatever free time if any a third-year Songmark girl gets. Malou said her husband would soon be home, so I gratefully paid the agreed Shell and took my leave.
 
    Time definitely flies when one is concentrating hard. It was half past six and supper would be over by the time I got back to Songmark. Still, that would be no great loss considering the usual weekend meals. Instead there is a rather decent restaurant on Ferry Market Square that mostly serves the nautical types and has prices more geared to an able seaman rather than a none-too-able Tour-boat tourist. Popatohi with taro leaves and manioc is a jolly good nutritious meal, and cheap enough as everything is Spontoon grown. Anyone ordering steak will be paying as much for transport as raw ingredients; though we did dine on roast meat last weekend that was at a wedding feast and not on the everyday “native” menu.

    I noticed there were posters for Molly’s “Fizzy Pineapple” already up; apparently there are hundred-gallon vats of fermenting pineapple bubbling away on Main Island and the cannery has been giving some free samples away to various hotels and the like. If the product sells well she expects Hawaii to copy it in a year or two, but hopefully will have made enough of a killing on the deal to satisfy her backers – and Molly says that her backers at the Temple of Continual Reward can do interesting things with tax losses. Everyone hears of Criminal Lawyers but nobody exactly advertises as a Criminal Accountant.

    Back to Songmark, well-fed and quite pleased with my day. I found Helen, Molly and Maria looking through a selection of rather bulkier costume than my cheongsam; the Antarctic issue kit had arrived and soon we were testing its fit. Not for long though; Spring in Spontoon is rather warm this year and encased in windproof quilted garments one is soon panting in the heat. This should not be a problem in Neue Suden Thule.

    Molly was looking through the catalogues that came with the equipment, with technical specifications and endorsements from various sporting champions. The goggles are recommended by Hans Wuffner the bobsled winner of the Berlin Winter Olympics, who is described as a “bobsled Ace”. Molly was wondering out loud if that meant he had shot down five enemy bobsleds to become an Ace in the usual way, and how he got around what she thinks of as the unfair and restrictive sporting rules against that sort of thing.


Sunday March 21st, 1937

A busy day indeed, and not quite what we expected. We certainly got our ration of sleep, waking up right on the alarm and down for breakfast; happily it was the rare but always popular Kedgeree, made from all local ingredients including the rice from Main Island. Smoked fish, peas, onions and turmeric-hued rice make a most excellent start to the day.

    As it turned out we needed it. The trip to South Island with Saffina was uneventful, but at the Hoele’toemi compound we saw two guests who we had never seen there before at the same time – Saimmi and Mr. Sapohatan. Saimmi as Great Mother is in charge of one side of Spontoon’s defences, and Mr. Sapohatan does the same in other aspects, so it is no real surprise they seem to know each other well.

    Saimmi had a lot of things to say about our trip South next week; she wanted to know us what Eva Schiller had been asking about our training and such. As we owe our trip to Eva and her uncle, we had needed to tell her something – but not that we were trained as Warrior Priestesses. If Eva asks other Spontoonies they are not likely to mention the existence of such, as we are the first these islands have trained in many centuries.

    Molly and Maria did not have their usual leisurely morning hoeing the Taro patch or helping with hut repairs; Mr. Sapohatan took them off for a discussion while we trained hard in our rituals. I asked if the Priestess Oharu would be coming, but apparently not – we will have to handle this on our own. It seems that Priestess Oharu has been forbidden to meet with any Songmark girls till we graduate, something I am sure Molly will shed no tears over. Whatever is in the Antarctic is not liable to be an immediate threat to Spontoon, unlike the Fragments on Cranium and Krupmark Islands.

    Saimmi certainly tested us hard, as hard as she had before our Krupmark Island trip at the Solstice! There might not be a Fragment as such down there, but there must be something or Professor Schiller would not spend time down there. He is an archaeologist, not a geologist or a glaciologist. According to the books we have read, there should be nothing in Antarctica for an archaeologist to study. Exactly what is down there should be interesting – though Saimmi stressed the need for caution. After all, she would rather we returned with a pawfull of evidence and alive and sane to tell her, rather than going for the whole thing and “fail to return.” We reassured her that we will be careful; the Antarctic is dangerous enough without antagonising one’s hosts or what they have dug up.

    Although Saffina is not going, she was tested as hard as we were – Saimmi has to be sure there is at least one Warrior Priestess at paw while we are gone. So it was four definitely tired felines who returned to the Hoele’toemi compound for luncheon. I was glad to see Molly and Maria helping out with the meal; Mr. Sapohatan is an honoured guest and took precedence over everyone but Saimmi.

    Actually, it is a wonder that Mrs. H holds up as well as she does. Most Spontoon ladies with five children expect to have the hut ankle-deep in grand-children by now, and though Moeli has one (and another due soon) it is not the sort one expects to see this far inland. True, Jonni is engaged and Marti Tailfast – but Saimmi has left the family to serve all Spontoon, and if it was not for me I expect Jirry would be married or at least Tailfast to a local girl who would probably not keep vanishing into danger all the time. Her husband is out in the “import-export trade” with Jirry right now and that is always a risky business.

    An excellent lunch of clay-roasted fish, cassava and taro leaf was cut short by Mr. Sapohatan apologising for dragging the rest of us off for briefing. At least he waited till we had finished dessert. We went off to the shrine at the edge of the three-yard jungle as he congratulated us again on our Macao trip and asked if we could do much the same further South.
 
    I did point out that we would be going to the sporting complex, and that Antarctica is not Vostok where one can live off the land or find sympathetic Native settlements. There will be no question of us “getting lost” to look for interesting sites off the tourist trail; anyone getting lost down there tends not to be found.  He quite agreed, noting that he does not expect us to come back with the long-term plans neatly wrapped up in ribbon. The Direwolf was a potential threat as it could reach Spontoon, but there does not seem to be anything threatening in a “Health through happiness” sporting centre. If there is an air base producing twin Dornier X assault landing flying boats destined to conquer the Pacific, it will be miles away across the ice and we are not too likely to get near it.

    So: our briefing is basically to go and look, and if the German sporting complex is secretly training divisions of surfboard-riding Marines to invade the beaches of the Albanian South Indies, that is the sort of thing Mr. Sapohatan needs to know.
 
    Back after an excellent meal, spotting Prudence and co with their swimming team dining at that small café behind the Topotabo Hotel. I noticed Miss Melson, the Brazilian jaguar starlet Juanita and some of the film crew there as well – certainly there is a lot to film in these islands without paying too much. I suppose that as a skilled chef can put together a tasty dish with whatever ingredients come to paw, Miss Melson is collating a film or two with a “Jungle Girl”, a swimming team, our aircraft footage and assembling a plot that can use them all. We were invited to join them, but I had to decline – Helen and Molly are never happy in such company, to put it mildly. I have dined and swam with them on several occasions, and any girl is totally safe with them.

    Molly has somewhat mixed feelings about the trip South. On the one paw, unlike Cranium or Krupmark Island, she will not be going armed. This is always depressing for her – though perhaps the “weighted sleeves” might make it through Customs if she can think of an alternative explanation as to what they are. On the other paw, she is not wearing the maid uniform any more – and by all accounts the Reich have about the same opinion of Prudence and her tastes as Molly has. Definitely I know one dorm who will not be following us South! With Ada Cronstein of course there is another problem; apart from not being a Bolshevik, with her ancestry she just about ticks all their “undesirables” boxes. Her and Liberty Morgenstern certainly do between them – Liberty being a Bolshevik and a mixed breed too.


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