Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
26 March, 1937 to 28 March, 1937



Friday 26th March, 1937

Last day of term, hurrah! And this is the start of our final holiday – next time we finish a term at Songmark we will not be coming back. It looks as if it will be our usual (lack of) holiday with very little rest and relaxation involved. Of course, despite that our Tutors never let up for a minute, as if trying to cram in enough work to make up for the “wasted time” till next term starts. Back at Saint Winifred’s we often got a half-holiday with walks, Nature class and suchlike – Prudence reports much the same. Her old school was a respectable country public school, All Saint’s Preparatory * in the Pennine hills above her family’s wool spinning and cotton twirling factories.

    After a morning’s flying we were back over to Main Island for the term’s final lesson on two wheels. Molly managed to stay on without a crash, for a change. She grumbles that bicycles have left more bruises on her than any of our self-defence classes, and it is galling that she cannot strike back the same way. Maria did point out that by mastering her cycle she is bending it to her will (hopefully it will not get too bent in the process.)

    I managed to stay on the big despatch-rider’s machine for an hour, the one that Maria definitely prefers. She has ridden similar ones back in Italy she says – and in five months time may be doing so again. It is a machine to take care of; crashing off the road and having it roll over you would decidedly hurt.
 
    So – by now we have really managed to drive or pilot just about anything with wheels, wings or a hull. And I could make a good stab at piloting a Vostok “Balalaika” given a translated pilot’s manual or a friendly and bilingual local to guide my paw away from the self-destruct switch (which Balalaikas actually have, linked to a thermite charge somewhere in the magnesium hull.) Madeleine X has even taken a ride in that strange mono-wheel that is still swaying and occasionally “hamstering” around Casino Island, its French owner claiming it is the shape of the future. Helen’s comment is that is the future and always will be.

    A final hour’s cleaning and servicing the bikes for their owners and we were back on Eastern Island, checking our watches and scarcely believing that term was actually over! One or two of us will be on aircraft leaving tonight – there is only one commercial flight at nine heading to Hawaii and Points East, but a Songmark third-year tends to have a lot of friends and contacts in aeronautical circles.

    One last meal and the party began to break up; Beryl was first out of the door heading over to Casino Island – Prudence’s dorm were about five minutes behind, as they have a party tonight and expect to be back at Songmark breakfast time to pick up their clothes and such for the holiday. By seven, most folk who are staying elsewhere on Spontoon for the holidays was either gone or busy packing. I think more than half of us will be gone by tonight – Adele is officially heading over to Orpington but I fear she is planning to go to Krupmark. We hope she will not need rescuing.

    As we were staying overnight, someone had to go on gate guard. This is outside the regular term-time roster so Miss Devinski had each pair of us remaining overnight draw straws. Bad luck to Helen and Maria, plus Jasbir and Li Han! At least Helen and Maria got the early shift, and do not have to be up tomorrow early. In fact they could stay abed till noon if they wanted to – a first for us at Songmark, apart from the day we returned from the Aleutians. This time we are not seeing treble with fatigue and holding each other up for support either.

    Molly did suggest we head over to Mahanish’s and see how much Nootnops Blue they have in stock. The idea was tempting, but I thought of Helen and Maria tramping around the fence line in their official holiday time, and thought it hardly fair. We decided on a leisurely evening instead – a rare experience to have a bath without someone else banging on the door demanding how long we were going to be. We are due at the Hoele’toemi household tomorrow night, but it has to be said that longhouses are rather short on plumbing.
   
(Editor’s note: research has proved the full title was “All Saints except Saint John of Neppomuk or any of those dodgy Cornish Dark Ages “Saints” only approved by local bishops and never vetted by the Vatican, Preparatory School.” Presumably the name was abbreviated to fit on the school blazer.)


Saturday 27th March, 1937

A full day of holiday. I had a most restful night having deliberately not set the alarm clock, which again is a first. Molly and Helen were still fast asleep at eight, Maria making the windows rattle though I hardly notice these days. It is surprising what one can get used to; one hears tales from the Great War of troops sleeping through a barrage yet waking to complain of their comrades talking in the trench outside.
 
    I fully expected the kitchens to be shut at that time, but there was a table laid out with “cold collation” with boiled eggs, bread and jam and the like. First and second-years were dropping by to grab breakfast (and lunch; the Songmark jacket has deep pockets and even the first-years know by now to seize all the free food available.)

    Breakfast in bed, an amazing experience! It seemed somehow wrong to be relaxing in our dorm, rather like playing cards in church. You could do it, but nobody ever does. Well, it was breakfast on my bed anyway with a sheet of redundant parachute silk as a tablecloth. Most beds are too hard to serve well as tables; alas that was one thing that had not changed overnight. There had to be some advantage to those mattresses; in all fairness I cannot say a sandbag would be softer, but the difference is not too obvious.

    While Molly and Maria went down to check for post one final time, Helen whispered that she had had a very disturbing time last night around eleven. She had been putting the time to good use practicing her Priestess skills of perception, and noticed a burst of power somewhere very close, probably in Songmark itself – she asked if I had noticed anything then. She added that she had felt it happen a few times before, usually when she was on night shift – but with so many people around Songmark it was very hard to get any idea of distance and direction.

    I did not exactly like to tell her what I had been doing then – but I could truthfully say I had not noticed anything amiss. Not that I was concentrating at the time, being somewhat occupied - I had to air the rooms out somewhat afterwards as Molly was likewise making the most of her opportunity. Helen wants no part of anything to do with Lars, and hopefully I shall be able to return his cast antler to him soon. Jirry should be back soon, equally hopefully.

    By ten we had tidied our room, picked up our Native costume (the winter wear for Neue Suden Thule having been sent ahead to the seaplane dock yesterday to await us) and were happily heading out to Casino Island, arriving just in time for our dance class. A decidedly energetic morning! Even more seasonal workers have arrived and are limbering up for authentic Native dances in front of the tourists soon to arrive. It is ironic that a lot of native-born Spontoonies spend Summer wearing “Euro” waiter, maid and receptionist costumes while a lot of the Polynesian Dancers come hundreds of miles to put a grass skirt on!

    Thinking of furs learning to be authentic, it was an interesting afternoon across the island where I, or rather Kim-Anh studied under Malou. A lot of it was as last week, practicing how to stand and move, as Chinese furs would do it. Some of the “resting” positions hardly seemed very restful, including a sort of squat that was very tough on the tendons. We talked over a believable story for Kim-Anh, whom we decided has been away from Macao for a year or two. That should help if I am quizzed about details.
 
    Malou brought her kitten in to be near while we worked; it is a very well-behaved and quiet child who hardly ever cries. Looking at her it is not obvious that Malou’s husband is an equine gentleman, though the kitten will never pass for pedigree.
 
    I must confess my ears blushed as I thought about that; Malou is shorter and looks much more delicately built that I am, yet she seems very contentedly married with a kitten and says one day she hopes for more. It just goes to show what you can do if you try. Even that first-year squirrel Nancy Rote has a zebra boyfriend that I saw her with at Christmas.

    Anyway, Malou certainly earned her one shell wages today – I explained that I would be elsewhere for some weeks, but she just nodded and said she expects to be here when I return. That is one side of a regular life I could quite use, some stability. I had been contemplating settling here with Jirry after graduating, but first I must resolve the Allworthy problems and that means a European tour – to England and with Maria to Italy, for starters.

    Back to South Island, and on with the grass skirt for twenty-four hours. It is not much of a holiday but better than I usually get. Helen had already left for the guest longhouse with Marti, and I doubt we will see much of them. Jirry is still away, alas, though there is news that he and the ship are alive and well. Tramp steamers are very prone to breaking down, and it is part of the “cover” that they be seen to do so.

    Apart from Jirry, his father and Saimmi it was a full house – Jonni and Moeli were in, Moeli looking forwards to her new kitten arriving next month. Unlike most Euro advice I have heard (there are various medical books in the Songmark library that the most unlikely girls have sneaked peeks at) she is not “eating for two” but eating twice as well, not that there is much wrong with the Spontoonie diet anyway. Maria usually bemoans the shortage of bacon, salami and chocolate but Moeli is better off with fresh fish, Poi and fruit which make a decidedly square meal, and right now hers is positively bulging at the corners.

    An early night for us, as in longhouses one more or less sleeps with the sun. A sheer luxury, to live without alarm clocks. Helen has often said she will throw hers away after she graduates and becomes Mrs. Helen Hoele’toemi. Everything improves with practice and unlike most traditional Euro brides she will have no worries about the honeymoon.


Sunday 28th March, 1937

A splendid day to appreciate Spontoon – rather a shame we were leaving it. Helen and I were up for Morning Song, which we celebrated in the shrine at the edge of the family taro patch. Helen was in a very good mood, which might be somewhat related to the rather bitten state of her neck-fur. Other species find it an odd instinct for felines, but really it is a matter of trusting one’s instincts. Still, anyone can learn to be accommodating – my ears blushed recalling a few mornings where I have woken with nipped neck-fur but Molly has not. Stags do not seem to do that by instinct though I know one who has learned to, where appreciated.

    Anyway, it was good to work through our Warrior Priestess rituals with Helen and Saffina (who has been here since Friday night), then put in an hour of equally hard physical work with Molly, Maria and the Hoele’toemis on their garden patch. Everything is growing at top speed, the taro already tail-high on me and Spring is well advanced. I doubt we will be seeing much greenery where we are going next, so I took time to appreciate South Island before we head out to what one might call the South Continent.

    Moeli was busy indoors preparing luncheon, and by noon we were all back helping her, with baskets of vegetables from the garden and water from the well. That is the trouble with South Island; the Tourists come here to see traditional longhouses with thatched roofs and at best oil lamps in the evenings. Living there all year round is another matter – mains water and electric makes life so much more convenient, but it would hardly fit with the postcard image the island’s economy rests on. I know in places such as Albert Island they carefully hide the radios and gramophones when a Tourist ship docks but in Spontoon there are always Tourists of one sort or another. So the weeds and taro peelings will go to a compost heap in the corner of the garden; it seems hardly likely that Professor Kurt will be getting them for a local “bio-reaktor” unless it only powers the hotels and shops around the Topotabo Hotel where folk expect electric lighting.

    All too soon we were hanging up our grass skirts and putting our “off-duty” Euro costumes on, ready to cut a respectable figure on Eastern Island. Molly is used to snowy conditions in Chicago, she says, and is grimly happy she will not be going dressed as anybody’s maid this time.
 
    (Later) Well, here we are! Sitting on the top passenger deck of a Model C Dornier X, with Lufthansa markings on the wings. It is half full of keen tourists from tropical climes – not quite the same types as a Spontoon tour-boat crowd, being folk who are looking forward to an energetic fortnight in the People’s Winter Sporting Wonderland as the travel brochures call it.
 
    The Dornier X is definitely the most amazing passenger aircraft! Although the American DC3s are far sleeker and faster, this can carry a hundred furs plus mail and a few tons of freight, and carry it all the way down to the Antarctic. The prototypes flew in 1929 and even they crossed the Atlantic to South America, Gnu York and back to Europe despite the original engines being underpowered and overheating; the maximum altitude was about six thousand feet laden on a cold day! Not an aircraft to try and fly across the Andes. This model has certainly solved the problems, and we were even given a tour of the ten engines that sit on top of the main wing linked by a support strut that has more wing area in its own right than a Tiger Moth. The Flight Engineers have been known to belay themselves against the slipstream, walk out and fix engines while in flight – not something one can do on a DC-3, but an essential feature of a modern passenger aircraft. One can well imagine DC-3s being an evolutionary dead end, just for in-flight safety reasons.

    Our Antarctic kit is in the special lockers under our reclining seats that double as beds; there is a canvas screen system that provides darkness and privacy. The prime Tourist season is Antarctic Summer, where it is twenty-four hour daylight and special measures need to be taken to get to sleep. According to my old school textbook by Messrs Sellers and Yeatman, “in the Arctic it is light all night and dark all day for six months, and the Antarctic is visa versa.” This time of year is their Autumn, so that should not be too much of a problem.

    Anyway – it has been an interesting and decidedly full term, and it seems an awfully long time since we saw in the New Year onboard the decks of a Rain Island naval “trawler” hunting Captain Granite. It would be nice if our holiday turned out to be as refreshing as the brochures promise!


(And she found out, as told in the next section from her diary -“Pole Starlets”)

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