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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
15 April, 1937 to 16 April, 1937



Final Approach
The diary of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, as edited by Simon Barber

(Being the twenty-fourth part of the diaries of Amelia Bourne-Phipps, who is returning to Spontoon for her final term at Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies. She’s back from German Antarctica, where the Natives were Restless…)


Thursday April 15th, 1937

Home to Spontoon at last. Last night we arrived at Eastern Island just as darkness fell, with the lights of Casino Island just starting to come on across the water. Getting through Customs was trickier than usual; either they have brought in a new batch of officials who do not know us by sight, or some furs with the fresh passport stamps for German Antarctica have been known to bring back interesting souvenirs. If so we can hardly blame the Customs furs for being edgy – considering the sort of artefact Professor Schiller collects, and what we have seen down there.

    Having established Molly was not actually trying to smuggle in the 400 million year old Unholy Sword of [             ] * we were finally let through and stood on Spontoon soil again. Songmark is open right now though the arrival date for third-years is sunset Sunday night, but nobody suggested we return to our rather hard dorm beds and the rather plain Songmark cuisine a minute earlier than we need to. Instead – before the Dornier X had even finished refuelling for its next stage to Vostok we were waving to the crew from a water-taxi heading for South Island.
 
    It was excellent to be back amongst the scent of jungle plants in a warm evening, with birds and insects calling all around. In Antarctica the only sound was the howling wind, with the crunch of snow crust breaking under our skis and everyone around panting for breath. Being in our shorts and shirts was very fine as well, feeling warm wind on our fur. Strictly speaking it is quite cool in April here and of course we were much warmer two days ago crossing the equator, but after acclimatising to Neue Suden Thule it still feels tropical.

    Mrs. H was pleased to see us as ever – and although it was late a meal of her excellent baked vegetables was ready as soon as we were out of our respectable Euro outfits. Marti is here (I doubt we will see much of Helen till we have to leave for Songmark) and the good news is that Jirry is returning next week! Just my luck that we will be hideously busy at Songmark, but even an hour or two would be something.

    This morning we spent relaxing and catching up with the Hoele’toemi family, after sending a postcard to Post Box Nine that we had things to tell Mr. Sapohatan. I am sure he knows we are back, but it is polite to tell him myself. Although it is always hard to work out what to put on these cards, having sent him a postcard printed in Berlin of innocent tourist scenes in Wotansberg (keen-looking sports furs skiing outside in the snow, jolly-looking waitresses in dirndls carrying big beer steins indoors) with the message “Eventful trip, wish you were here!” should attract his attention. Saimmi will no doubt find us in her own time; it is a fairly pointless task to go looking for Spontoon’s High Priestess. She might be anywhere, and if she is not here this morning it is because there is something more urgent elsewhere.

    Molly was all for heading off to the attractions of Casino Island right away, but the rest of us decided a day of relaxation would do better. This is one of the last chances we will get, after all – it is like furs describe things in the Great War with troops on their last days of leave knowing they will soon be back at the Front. They never know what will happen after that – unless there is news of a “big push.” We certainly know there is one awaiting us! After all, it is the final term at Songmark with exams at the end of it … that is going “over the top” as much as we have ever done. In terms of being on Spontoon, it is something most of us are never coming back from.

    Still, that did not mean we spent all our time on the beach. Just getting back into the Hoele’toemi garden patch digging and weeding was good exercise but relaxing in its way – and we are very aware of the debt we owe the family, whether or not they ever mention it (I doubt they ever would.) Being up to our tails in greenery rather than snow was a great improvement, and as for helping with the taro plantation – though we are no fans of poi the rest of the family certainly are. I can hardly forget the circumstances last year when I had a craving for poi; it set my ears blushing thinking that this time next year I might be looking forward to the dish in the same way again.

    After luncheon we strolled up to Hotel Bay and saw some familiar snouts; Jasbir and Meera Sind, plus Sophie D’Artagnan, fresh back from Gull Island! The two mongooses (would that be “mongeese”? I never think to ask, and they would probably reply it is not an issue in any of the five Indian languages they can speak) and the French otter have been having a very fine time considering the lack of facilities there; apparently after a day or two on Gull Island one hardly notices the smell, though oddly enough staying as sensitive as ever to other scents. Roast seagull is the national dish although it is a brave fur who goes hunting on the main nesting colony there – the gulls know exactly what the resident foxes like to eat, and are prone to mob them by the thousand. Meera seems extremely … impressed by her experiences. The locals were extremely friendly, and the Sind sisters seem to have reciprocated. Amongst other things.

    Actually it was quite a time for catching up; we hear that most Songmark girls have been making their most of their holidays, not just the final year for whom it was the last chance. By repute Miss Rote and her famous Crusader Dorm have had an eventful trip to Vostok, evidently quite as “interesting” what Maria calls our own Tsar Trek – this next generation of Songmark seem quite keen to maintain our traditions. Considering that by reputation every loyal Vostokite girl wants to be a secret agent and hunt down deviants and heretics of all imaginable shades however trivial, sleuths must be viewed as something on the lines of visiting movie stars to them.

    Evidently we have missed out on a lot, but our own Easter was as eventful as it gets. Nobody gets to do everything, after all. I suppose the parts my diary has said least about would seem as Adventurous in themselves as most furs could wish for, trekking across the Antarctic plateau pursued by what was released from that ancient archaeological site. Covering forty miles a day over the snows is a heroic thing to do on paper (let alone snow) but at the time it gets to be rather a strain if not exactly a bore – there is far more that actually happens in half an hour on Casino Island any day of the week.

    When we returned to the Hoele’toemi compound we were reminded that Spontoon has a rather efficient postal system, at least for some forms of communication. There was a postcard for us, innocent enough on the outside unless one knows the circumstances – “glad you had a nice holiday – will drop by tonight to see the photos!” and no signature except an “S”.  Still, there can be no single point on the Spontoon islands more than an hour away from any other by water taxi and post bicycle, with the exception of Mount Kiribatori.

    We had to stick close to the longhouse after discovering we expected company, but the weeds in the garden patch always need hoeing, and indeed they are shooting up this time of year. As we piled the weeds and assorted plant debris into the compost heap we managed to fill it a yard deep in a few hours’ work. Mrs. H says South Island would quite like a “Bio-reactor” the second of which is now being built near the plantations on the South-West spur of Main Island, but this neighbourhood is designated a tourist spot and the Althing is approving nothing too modern-looking. Hotels are an exception of course – tourists may spend the day marvelling at quaint Native longhouses and (carefully preserved) untamed jungle, but insist on returning to a five-star Art Deco construction with clean rooms and hot water in the taps.

    Mr. Sapohatan arrived after dessert, looking less weary than last time we met. He says married life is suiting him, though we naturally inquired no details. He congratulated us at returning from German Antarctica – although many furs might think it is so remote from Spontoon that he would hardly care about it, Moscow, Washington, London and Paris are equally remote and of great interest. I hope to see something of London this year, whether or not that involves taking up the Allworthy seat in the House of Lords.

    One thing we could tell him was that we saw no definite military preparations down there unless one counts their sponsoring the archaeology. Having described what was encountered in the millions-year old city, he seemed more agitated. After all, if such things exist they might just possibly be tamed, or at least negotiated with. At any rate, it would be more a matter for Priestesses than troops to deal with; Maria pointed out that Starling’s Russia is now wide open to such a threat as it has never been before. They used to have Priests and monasteries with centuries of traditions of dealing with what came out of the darkness. Rather than counting their rosaries (if Eastern Orthodox monks do that) it is a lucky ex-monk who has survived long enough to be counting trees in Siberia.

    It took two hours of him closely questioning us before our story wound up; he congratulated us again about getting back in one piece. I did ask him if it was all right to pass on what I had seen to Major Hawkins – after all I hope to be in England this Summer and need all the good words putting in for me that I can get. After pondering he agreed, and indeed he is easy enough on my sharing information on things outside the Nimitz Sea. The information gathered on our trip to Macao was happily shared – though the “torpedo breaker” Alpha Rote came up with as a consequence was not.

    Actually, he had a present for me as Lady Allworthy – he handed over a sheaf of blueprints of complex metal forgings he would like to commission from Barrow-in-Furryness. They are obviously machine parts, but there is no indication of what they go into. I am not too surprised. Anyway, I accepted the commission and promised to send the blueprints along with a letter first thing tomorrow when the post office opens.
 
    He made his farewells to us and the Hoele’toemi family, and left us feeling both relieved and exhausted. Being grilled is tiring work, and at least he seems happy with our Easter break. I have even got another commission for the Allworthy estates, which is all to the good – though the Depression seems to be lifting across most of Europe, some more foreign exchange will always help matters over there.
 
    A quiet end to the day, as Helen heads off first with Marti and the rest of us head out to the single ladies’ hut in the village. Definitely we will try and catch up on sleep before Sunday – it is about the best preparation we can make, being quite fit now. Someday I expect a Songmark girl really will spend a holiday doing what our Tutors always accuse us of – lying on a beach with ice-cream and chocolates all day. But she won’t do it twice.
     
* Editor’s note: Amelia’s diary is written in phonetic short-paw, using the never-popular Lexarc System that was invented by one of her schoolteachers and never caught on.  The symbol on the page is presumably untranslatable in any language speakable with a normal biology, which is possibly just as well.


Friday 16th April, 1937

Definitely not a day for lying on a beach – April in Spontoon is noted for sharp, torrential downpours and today we had some. The jungle around is not inviting, with the leaves lashed by squalls running in from the East and visibility down to a quarter mile. We are glad we are not on gate guard right now or out on the open airfield rigging a canvas covered aircraft – though we are very aware that will happen soon enough.

    Actually we hardly expect to see Helen most of the day – the guest hut is very comfortable and she and Marti have a lot to catch up on. Of all of us, Helen is the only one with a secure future planned out; she has agreed to accompany us on our trip to Europe after graduation (or at least after we leave Songmark) provided I can arrange her return ticket to Spontoon afterwards. She will be Helen Hoele’toemi by then, and will probably be adding tiger stripes to the family features by this time next year.

    As South Island in the rain has little to offer in terms of leisure (unless one has the use of a Guest longhouse and agreeable company) we headed out to Casino Island after breakfast. It is busy despite the weather, with hotels and such being decorated and spring-cleaned ready for the tour-boats arriving next month. There are posters up for a “hiring fair” such as we used to have in England before the Great War, where hotels and businesses fill their vacancies for the season from the crowds of hopefuls coming in from the Kanim Islands and further afield (or should that be “a-wave?”).

              My first duty was to be at the post office as soon as they opened, and indeed the blueprints and my personal note was soon winging its way towards distant Barrow-in-Furryness. That done, I could relax a little. One part of a “normal” life we miss is just simple shopping. Whenever we get here in term time it is a matter of rushing from one appointment to the next, and we checked that tomorrow the dance classes will be held. It will be the first time in quite awhile we have been there, and this time we will not be able to show the rest of the class any new dances such as we found on Orpington Island last year. Although according to those terrifying bas-reliefs the builders of the city in the Antarctic certainly had rituals that might have been dances, we do not have the biology to copy them. A sea anemone might have a better chance, or perhaps that odd pet invertebrate Angelica seems to have following her.

    Having hardly had the chance to spend a cowry of my allowance recently, I happily stocked up on essentials. Songmark food is plentiful and nutritious if not particularly tasty; I bought a bottle of anchovy essence for myself and one of “Cajun chilli extra-hot” for Helen. It makes poi quite bearable. A few tropical chocolate bars are handy to keep ready to grab for sudden emergencies when the Tutors call us out at three in the morning and we are half-way up Mount Kiribatori by dawn. I even patronised Molly’s enterprise with a can of “fish log” which is much better than messy sardines or too-solid corned beef to eat on its own straight out of the can.

    Although the rain kept coming down, Casino Island was quite crowded even apart from the workers busy on preparing for tourist season. I spotted the Siamese girl Malou, and arranged to meet tomorrow for more lessons in what I suppose is disguise through behaviour. I would really like to give Kim-Anh Soosay an airing – and with that in mind I purchased fresh fur dye and a new comb for applying it.
 
    Malou is really a very pretty girl, and I would do well to model Kim-Anh on her behaviour. I found myself blushing at all the implications of that – remembering she has an equine husband and an adorable child. We have not actually met but he sounds… impressive, and she is evidently very happy with him. Considering Malou is even smaller than I am, that is something to definitely think about.

    Luncheon was something not on the Hoele’toemi family or Songmark menus, a plain dish of “Euro” sausages and mashed potato. Lovely grub, as they used to say in school. The amount of meat we each  get in the average week at Songmark would hardly feed a wild crow, but there is always plenty of fish. The diet may be Spartan but there is no doubt it is healthy and indeed the quantities are one thing even Missy K has never grumbled at. Looking at us, we could star in that new “Women’s League of Health And Beauty” that is proving popular back in England and have mass rallies with open-air sports. I know Prudence subscribes to a Health and Efficiency magazine, though that mostly consists of furs showing their whole fur patterns as they play beach volleyball and similar vigorous sports in the fresh air. Actually we could have used a few pounds more insulation in Antarctica; oddly enough it is our Spontoonie classmate Missy K who is the best suited to a climate like that.

    Having been relentlessly athletic in Antarctica, we finished up on something else that we never get elsewhere – chocolate cake. It must be months since I had any, certainly not since Christmas and perhaps not then – so much for us being the “pampered plutocrats living on the workers’ backs and the fat of the land” that Liberty Morgenstern keeps accusing everyone of as a matter of principle. Presumably anyone (except her) who can afford Songmark fees is far too rich, and her philosophy only recognises wealth as being extorted from the Workers. To quote her, “there is no such thing as an honest profit.” Today we hardly care and know it is definitely a day to remember; from past experience we know this time next week we will be looking back hungrily from our bowls of three-finger poi wishing we had eaten another slice of gateaux.
 
    Maria had to contact her Embassy to see if they have anything for her, so Molly and me had a relaxing time window-shopping – that is, ducking between shop awnings in the driving rain. Her bank account is doing rather well, much to her delight – after all, apart from royalties on the increasingly popular “Fish Log” she is quietly paid rent by the Althing on that cargo ship Captain Granite had, which used to be called the Three Moons. Having the rentals without responsibility for its bills is definitely a happy combination.

    While she counted her shells in the bank, I saw one thing out of the window that I hardly liked to mention to her. I had been thinking about fur dye and such, and perhaps was looking rather harder at furs passing by than I generally do. I saw two canine ladies pass right outside the window, and after some head-scratching recognised them both. The very pretty and elegant vixen Gilda is a “huntress” that I have met at Miss Rachorska’s house – off duty this time of day, one might think. The other was a hound of definitely mongrel appearance, with bold black blotches and tawny highlights on her exposed fur, looking quite striking. But there was something I knew was familiar about the shape of her muzzle – when I saw her eyes I recognised her. Florence Farmington! Right now she is almost unrecognisable and though I know she has a perfectly good pedigree … an uncharitable observer might speculate her mother and grandmothers worked on the China Dock with more popularity than Precautions.

    I know she asked my advice last term about finding a suitable … companion, and though I passed her onto Prudence (who surely is better qualified to judge – oddly enough Prudence seemed rather peeved I had sent Florence her direction) she came back asking for details of a qualified Huntress. Although I was glad to be able to help point her via Miss Rachorska, I hardly like to think of getting the reputation of being the one to go to for that sort of advice!
 
    Fortunately they were out of sight by the time Molly came out from her bank and I hope Florence is back in her usual fur pattern by Sunday night. Not that there is anything our Tutors have exactly said about changing one’s appearance, and indeed I am sure Miss Devinski once saw me patterned as Kim-Anh. Though she gave no indication of recognising me at the time, I would not bet a cowry that my disguise fooled her for a second.

    We met up with Maria at Lingenthal’s for teatime (tea for me, coffee for her and Molly) and noticed she had a large metal posting tube under her arm. Her Uncle does like sending her drafts of posters, which she often returns covered with as much savage criticism as any Red or Anarchist might make. After all, as she says, Il Puce cannot do everything himself (though he apparently tries rather too hard) and some of his Party are more enthusiastic than gifted when producing propaganda.
 
    Apart from the usual sheaf of heroic style posters showing military and economic triumphs (rather over-stated, she glumly admits – Italy still has to import every drop of oil having found none in its Empire) there was one that definitely caught our attention. It depicted a rather radical aircraft taking off without the obvious aid of a propeller. It was a low-winged design with a cigar-shaped fuselage open at both ends, climbing at about forty-five degrees having just cleared the end of the runway and evidently heading somewhere in the direction of the Pleiades at about three gravities acceleration, with a streak of blue flame jetting from its tail outlet. I was rather reminded of one of Monsieur Le Duck’s designs, or the strange high speed models we used to see being test-flown around the Spontoons until they presumably moved them somewhere remoter and more secure.

    Of course we quizzed her on that one – she wriggled slightly in embarrassment and said such an aircraft (codenamed the N1)was actually in construction by Mr. Campini at the Caproni works – though its rocket-like performance was something of an “artist’s impression”. I recall seeing other Italian artist’s impressions with the big Caproni Ca 60 triple triplanes performing various aerobatics as if it was a Tiger Moth. This Caproni and Campini effort when completed is meant to get around the problem of starting a Le Duck design by having a good reliable piston engine inside to get it off the ground and the air inside the duct moving fast enough to ignite the burners of the “thermojet” that really produces the power to accelerate it to five hundred miles an hour. According to the inventor, anyway. Maria says the original design sketches had quite sharp edged wings as proposed from tests in the high-speed wind tunnel in Guiodonia, but it has to take off and land at ordinary speeds and wings that only start generating lift at three hundred knots might be troublesome that way.

    We wished the constructors well, awarded them ten out of ten for bold thinking, and look forwards to seeing floatplane thermojets blasting off the lagoon at Speed Week someday - though we will not be holding our breaths.

    Back to South Island, having absorbed our ration of “Euro Culture” for awhile.  The rain stopped, but we had a wet walk in through the trail under the dripping trees. Still, that is what keeps Spontoon green and pleasant; nearby the flatter Orpington Island is dry and scrubby in the centre to the disadvantage of both farmers and anyone wanting to set up a tourist trade.

    The Hoele’toemi household has had quite a range of distinguished guests in the past two days, which does not include us! Saimmi was there, having arrived an hour ago and evidently been busy catching up with her family. Although she technically has no family being High Priestess, she does not take that too literally. For a change she quizzed the four of us not just Helen and me; Maria is getting somewhat less uncomfortable as time passed with us being what she still calls “witches”.  Having seen what we are up against and what we can do about it, I suppose anyone would have to admit it is a practical skill rather than a theology. Her crucifix certainly did nothing to protect her on Cranium Island last year.

    It took another two hours before Saimmi was satisfied, both that she understood something of what we found in Antarctica, and that the Germans are not likely to be able to control let alone export it.  She also had to be certain we had not brought anything back with us – there are things she would spot that the Customs officials are not qualified to. It was a relief to be given a clean bill of health, so to speak.  We are still beginners as far as warrior priestesses go – part of the problem is there have been none such on Spontoon for centuries, and we have nobody local with direct experience in the job to learn from.

    Saimmi says she has been talking with our Tutors, and knows we will not be available for our usual Sunday training – the final Songmark term is notoriously severe. But just as with Songmark, she expects us to make up the work in whatever time we have available – farewell sleep!


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