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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
11 July, 1937 & 12 July, 1937



Sunday 11th July, 1937

A damp day, but at least one where we awoke indoors looking out at the rain rather than looking up at it and feeling it running through our fur.  Our room still looks very home-like considering everything is packed away and we only have our overnight packs with us. Maria has already sent ahead most of her possessions, except a few changes of clothes and that shoehorn she found to her amazement in the native part of Macao (the shoehorn with teeth, which everyone told her did not exist.) Even before breakfast everyone was queuing to use the small darkroom downstairs, developing all the graduation and farewell photographs taken in the past few days.  Helen got her camera out; it is our last chance to capture Madeleine X’s expression when she is faced with a bowl of breadfruit mash for breakfast! She says she looks forward to wonderful breakfasts of “poulaine” back home, which sounds actually rather similar – but French.

    Beryl dropped in to say farewell, as she heads out to Europe with Piet tomorrow. They will be going to visit his relatives in Hamsterdam, then to the criminal quarter of Marseilles, then Monte Carlo for the Summer by her account. Hmm. Her visit takes in famous places for diamond merchants, a prime spot for fencing stolen goods, then high-stakes gambling and in that order. Interpol may be in for a busy summer.
 
    She has some news that will dampen the spirits of Crusader Dorm – her sisters Coral and Pearl are coming here in September! They have passed their exams at Saint T’s and have advanced enough funds for the first year. Presumably they are on what Molly used to call a “Smith and Weston Scholarship” but as long as they have no actual legal charges pending she says our Tutors have let them in for their considerable talents. Beryl says they are awfully naughty, mischievous girls compared to the rest of her respectable family. Considering her Father is still known as The Biplane Bandit (strictly speaking he might now be better titled the Monoplane Marauder, but Beryl says that name is already taken) I hardly like to contemplate the idea.

    Miss Devinski did mention another English student whose approval has been confirmed for September, a lepine lass from West Yorkshire. Hopefully this Christiana is a more respectable English rose, and not one with curare-dipped thorns as Beryl says is all the rage at Saint T’s. What with Beryl and her predecessor Soppy Forsythe as ambassadors, I fear we are hardly showing the British flag in a wonderful light! I may be passing Yorkshire on the way from Barsetshire to Barrow-in-Furryness and look her up. Forewarned is forearmed as they say. Mind you, had any of us known the sort of adventures awaiting us we might have been terrified out of our fur! Not even counting the sort of adventures that finished with Molly and me losing some fur permanently. If one stuck to the trips our dear Tutors arranged there is more than enough adventure on the timetable. On the other paw, a Songmark girl by definition is likely to make her own arrangements and her own adventures.

    Saffina joined us for our trip to South Island, by which time the rain had mostly stopped and the tourist stalls were being set up by the Topotabo Hotel where several Guides were looking hopefully across at the water-taxi slips of Casino Island for signs of incoming customers. They know us; we have trained with them on many occasions and have traded a lot of medium-hard knocks. Certainly they know not to ask if we need any help in exploring the islands by now. Sophie D’Artagnan and Susan de Ruiz have been known to vanish into the woods with a handsome Guide apiece, but that is more social than geographical exploration.

    At the Hoele’toemi compound the place was busy with the neighbours round to help for tomorrow is Helen’s big day, as Friday sees us depart for Europe via Boston! For Spontoonies the idea of a honeymoon is less crucial as the happy couple already know each other perfectly well and have all their lives together to look forward to – but Helen wants three days and she shall have them. We threw ourselves into the preparations with a will, not that there was much left for us to do. Helen’s head-dress was made years ago for Saimmi, and it is mostly our own outfits we had to work on.
 
    Still, Saimmi had first claim on us as this is our last Sunday “services” and she is less than happy about losing her Warrior Priestesses for months. She acknowledges she managed before without us, and Saffina will be staying here taking instruction but we are not unlike the fire brigade for her; when wanted we are needed suddenly and urgently. She tells us Kansas Smith has been spotted in the Nimitz Sea area recently, although she is “much altered.” I never did find out who was backing her; she sold that Fragment to the Germans but they buy anything like that from anybody. Ada Cronstein says you could sell them beach pebbles if you engraved them “Made in Shamballah City, Kingdom of Agharti, enchantment expiry date Walpurgisnacht 1,600 B.C.” but she is not exactly unbiased.

    A definitely tiring session with Saimmi, who while we are gone will be training up Saffina as the only other suitable candidate for a Warrior Priestess she has found after a lot of searching. I would expect missionaries hate the idea, but now Saimmi has trained us in what to look out for, I will be looking for recruits whilst on my travels. There might be dozens of suitable girls of good family currently unaware of what they can do – though just now and then they get a “lucky shot” at hockey or lacrosse that the ordinary laws of physics would be baffled by. Sad to say, without training in controlling such energies many end up in places such as Saint T’s, or one of the half dozen genteel but secure academies founded for the Gifted Insane.

    Then – farewell to Helen! By tradition a bride stays overnight at the temple at which dwells the priestess she will be married by and the groom only arrives on the wedding day. So Helen left with Saimmi for Sacred Island, where she will also qualify as a Warrior Priestess.  Definitely catching up on lost time! What with everything she had to do on Kuo Han she has passed the “practicals” as well as me, but Saimmi can only qualify one at a time.

    The rest of us had a most fine evening preparing Helen’s wedding feast; the fire-pit was made ready and the initial fire started in it as a cheery bonfire with spit-roast fish and such for our own meal. A full-scale fire-pit has to heat up for hours, and the pig to be roast in it only goes in around midnight well wrapped with leaves and clay. All in all – quite something to look forward to.

    Helen was not the only one saying farewell, and indeed we will see her tomorrow. Just at sunset a Lacoetre flying boat in French military markings caught the last of the sunlight as it turned and headed East with Madeleine X onboard. She never did like these islands, which is a shame. Every month she received a food parcel from her home to help against the “disgusting Native muck they feed us”, and her watch for three years has remained set to Parisian time which at least kept up her mental arithmetic skills, as did her Napoleonic era geography based on the meridian going through Paris rather than London. She is the first to depart, and we will be almost the last. I wonder if anyone is staying in their rooms till five o’clock on Friday? That would be a sad thing, watching the clock as the last of Songmark’s protections and privileges runs out and one heads out into the rain. Still – even Zara who failed to qualify last year found herself a place, and still sends in occasional postcards from the Albanian South Indies.



Monday 12th July, 1937

A day many of us have been awaiting for a long time. Everyone was up at dawn, dressed in their finest, with Marti in pride of place. Apart from it being traditional (we were in the canoes as soon as Morning Song was finished) it helped that no tourists were around. They rarely get down to Haio beach much before ten o’clock.

    It was a splendid day for paddling across, with a fresh breeze and calm waters – a good omen, as Mrs. Hoele’toemi said. In twenty minutes we were there, Marti in his wedding head-dress paddling in the bows of the lead canoe. I felt a definite pang looking at him; he resembles his brother and we had talked about having a double wedding with Jirry and me.
 
    Helen and Saimmi were on the beach, Helen with her fur oiled and the markings combed in that every Spontoonie girl dreams of just as Euro girls think of white dresses and church bells. Helen is doubly blessed today, having passed her night on Sacred Island and is now my superior, as far as Warrior Priestess qualifications go. Saimmi has said it is not remembered if there was any restriction on Warrior Priestesses marrying; if so that was for the original tradition and we are rather different from the last ones on Spontoon centuries ago. Certainly if this was done in Euro style I am sure nobody would raise any objections at the ceremony. Annoying a Warrior Priestess on her wedding day would be an unwise thing to do, let alone Saimmi!

    There were fifty people attending, five ten-fur canoes pulled up on the beach out of sight of any casual tourists with big binoculars. From Songmark all Prudence’s dorm attended, Prudence naturally with Tahni. They will be wed on Main Island, where Tahni’s family live near “Vikingstown”. Saffina was there representing the Junior years although strictly speaking she can sew her third bar on now and our Tutors will not object.  She looks most striking; a full-grown lioness in tabby fur.

    The wedding ceremony is simple but very moving. Helen and Marti took off their Tailfast rings and cast them on the waves, signifying shed fur does not last forever but their love will. They wore flower leis freshly woven at sunrise today, and exchanged them while Saimmi completed the fur markings that label them as a married couple. The audience cheered, rather more like a Kilikiti match than a church wedding, and bore witness to the happy couple. Mrs. Helen Hoele’toemi and her husband Marti walked down to the beach where a freshly built canoe for two was ready for their first voyage together.

    Then – following in their wake, a fast and cheerful paddle back to Haio Beach, still before the tourists arrived! I had thought we might celebrate it on some remoter part of the island, but tradition has it the wedding feast is held at the brides’ new home and Helen is quite resigned to having some of her big day contribute to the tourist  experience. She is a Spontoonie now, and will smile and wave for the cameras if it brings her village and her nation foreign exchange.

    The feast was excellent, the fire-pit having been well tended and the village shared in marvellously tender pork having been slow-cooked for twelve hours – and roast taro with spices for the exclusively vegetarian furs. Although it was not a Euro wedding, Helen had a bridal bouquet made up that she threw to the crowd to be caught by Prudence. Three years at Songmark gives a girl well-honed reflexes and a keen eye for a catch, Prudence beating to it some furs who have played at Kilikiti since they were big enough to swing the bat. In this case the tradition looks quite true that the one catching the bouquet will be next to wed. Certainly if any of the village girls had beaten Prudence to it, they would have to hurry to marry before her!

    It was splendid to see Helen and Marti heading out together on their honeymoon to one of the remoter Kanim Islands. Still, when I had helped wave them off my ears somewhat drooped and I took a solitary walk along the beach. There is a popular American song we have heard played on Radio LONO a few times, “Those wedding bells are breaking up, that old gang of mine.” I hardly need to hear church bells to get that feeling. Though Helen volunteered to join us on the Europe trip and she will doubtless be of enormous help, it still hardly feels right to drag a new bride from her husband’s arms and take her half way around the world very likely into danger. Then, she is both a Songmark qualified Adventuress and a Warrior Priestess now and plenty of furs married on five-day home leaves in the middle of the Great War which was a close equivalent.
 
    Maria joined me, and we stood silent for a few minutes listening to the distant happy sounds of the wedding feast as the neighbours brought out their drums, slack-key Hawaiian guitars and suchlike much to the delight of the first batch of tourists appearing on the trail. Helen will at least be coming back here and I plan to myself; Maria might not. She seemed rather out of sorts, commenting that all her sisters are married already. She rarely talks about her three sisters and two brothers, except to note they live respectable, industrious lives that she finds stiflingly dull. Then, if Maria is to fly Schneider Trophy aircraft a whole host of furs have to labour to build them and get them ready for her without having much of the thrill.

    I had rather a shock at her next idea – I knew she had been dissatisfied with all the gentlemen she had been with since Cranium Island last year. There was that rather nice-looking Chinese ox in Macao who provided as fine a “room service” as she says could be wanted, but proved less fun than he should have been. Her notion of getting herself caught by Mr. Pettachi for a few days sounds like an awfully bad idea! I was willingly captured by Kuo Han true enough, but that was a sacrifice made for the Penningtons and not to discover if I liked such things (which I do not, decidedly not. But now at least I know, and will not be wondering about it.)

    I tried to dissuade Maria, and we compromised – if we can time this properly, Helen and I can rescue her after perhaps 48 hours, as we will be fairly sure where she will be – that cellar under the Embassy that few people know exists. I cannot but help thinking this is a really bad idea – but Maria has her graduation certificate now and our Tutors will not be taking any more marks off us.
 
    Back to the party, where we found Miss Cabot thoroughly enjoying herself shaking a grass skirt in fine style along with the rest of the hula dancers. As the afternoon went on, more of the neighbours had to leave and set up their tourist booths and such on the beach; by four everyone had gone and we were helping the Hoele’toemis with the tidying up. Even the bones get thoroughly used here, with meat being so scarce. They are cracked then thoroughly boiled for stock and after that dried and burned before adding to the compost heap. On a true coral atoll of coral sand there are few soil nutrients and none to waste – the Polynesians have learned to make the most of every washed-up dead fish and piece of seaweed. Certainly Professor Kurt’s idea for his composting power station fell on fertile ground on Spontoon, one might say.

    A surprise visitor was Major Hawkins – I had not seen him since before Easter, though I know from Mr. Sapohatan he has kept his interest in my career. He congratulated me on finishing Songmark and on my recent rescue trip – even though strictly speaking we failed to bring back the furs we wanted to rescue. Getting back at all was a major achievement, he reassured me.

    Not surprisingly, Major Hawkins was interested in my plans to return to Europe. I had told him before that I plan to drop the Allworthy title as soon as possible and by all means possible – though I did not tell him my plans about that. He may be obligated to report such things to London, and I could find my loophole in the law patched before I get there. I am planning to return to Spontoon and marry Jirry, once various other things are out of the way.
 
    Major Hawkins seemed impressed at my determination – swapping a fortune and a seat in the House of Lords for a sleeping-mat in a longhouse and a Native husband to share it. Still, folk will give up anything for love, he mused. Our own King Edward was prepared to abdicate the throne if he could not marry the then Mrs. Simpson, after all. Despite a lot of public sympathy there were powerful factions at court and in the Colonies who were absolutely opposed to the match. Fortunately Archbishop Crowley lent his support to his King and “jumped on them hard” – rather like the German howitzers did to the Belgian frontier forts in 1914.

    Major Hawkins asked if I was following Maria to Italy, which I probably will. Italy is definitely pulling together a lot of middle Europe under its banner – just last month Il Duce signed treaties with the similarly inclined governments of Austria, Hungary and Roumania to form “The Arch of Steel”. Apparently Herr Hitler is furious, not having been invited to join. He had wanted something called a Berlin-Rome Axis, but there seems little chance of that happening now despite Austria and North Italy being full of German-speaking furs he has spoken much about reuniting. Italy has acquired other allies that can supply just what she was short of – the ironworks of Austria, the oil of Hungary and Roumania and a lot of general talent and resources plus military assistance and trade pacts. As the Central Powers found out in the East in 1917, getting territories by conquest does not mean getting usable resources just like that – mines and farms need to be in working order complete with willing staff and not just seized as squares on the map. Swallowing territory is not the same thing as digesting it, after all. The good Major has the opinion that if snowy Austria is ever in strategic need of dust and sand for gritting their icy roads, Il Duce now controls much of the world’s stockpile in Libya, Somalia and Ethiopia and will be only too happy to sell them all they want. To date there has not been much else found in Il Duce’s colonies to pay for their upkeep.

    I guessed what the Major was angling at – whether I would be reporting back to him, Mr. Sapohatan or both. I could reassure him that I was not planning to sit in the House of Lords while drafting secret reports for Meeting Island – though whatever I find in Europe might be a different matter. Maria certainly plans to keep sending in articles to the Daily Elele as a roving correspondent. After all, she says nobody really believes what Government sponsored newspapers in Italy say, but the Elele is a major favourite with “clipping services” worldwide as a neutral and well-informed source and information printed there can rapidly end up in the most unlikely places.

    I must say, I was not considering a career as a Secret Agent. Of course, three years ago I would not have contemplated signing a Hunting License or studying to be a Warrior Priestess either. An Adventuress may do a lot of things, guided by her conscience (or in Beryl’s case her bank balance. I hope the merchants in Hamsterdam have good security this summer). Major Hawkins mused that the Vostokites might actually be onto something with their updated knight-errants, the “Akula” who the Government do not issue specific orders to or take responsibility for their actions, but support as long as they are generally doing the right thing. One reads tales of Secret Agents who keep being given a hard time by their bosses; in Vostok they just choose the right people with the right opinions then let them off the leash entirely.

    I did ask if he knew anything about those espionage charges that had supposedly been quashed when I became Lady Allworthy – as in, the chances of them ever getting re-activated. He noted the possibility, but mentioned Miss Forsythe has been moved to Second Assistant Cultural attaché for the South Sandwich Islands and is far from the corridors of Whitehall these days. Besides, he says anyone trying to infiltrate as a foreign-paid Agent would jump at the chance to control the strategically valuable Allworthy estates and sit in the heart of Government, not want rid of the title.
 
    I wonder what “Soppy” has done to get her sent down there? The islands are the nearest equivalent the British Empire has to the Aleutians, the only native inhabitants being non-anthrop penguins. Perhaps it may be a vital listening post on Neue Suden Thule’s activities; nothing much else is down that end of the globe except the Norwegian super-fortress of Bouvet Island. One of the South Sandwich Islands is actually called South Thule, and was long before the Germans put their colony in Antarctica.

    Major Hawkins bowed and wished us a smooth trip back. Unless he gets recalled to London as well, he is another snout I might not see till I return here. I was not planning on sending Spontoon’s Post Box Nine any detailed reports, but the occasional postcard would help keep in touch and in Mr. Sapohatan’s good graces. After all, if I marry Jirry I will be a Spontoonie and they will have my full loyalty.

    It was somewhat disheartening to see everyone leaving, but we always knew this day would come. Even Maria will be vanishing for (hopefully) a brief experimentation, and every day more of my class depart perhaps never to be seen again. The world is awfully wide even in these days of air travel, and Adventuresses tend to vanish into the remoter parts of it. Sophie D’Artagnan and Susan de Ruiz sent their apologies for missing Helen’s wedding but they departed for the airport early this morning and may have already gone; this time of year there is a fairly constant stream of traffic, sometimes several flights an hour.
 
    A fine evening! After the excitement of the day, it was most welcome to head down to Haio Beach with Maria and Miss Cabot in our grass skirts. The traditional Spontoonie bathing costume is bare fur, and two of us are permanently … marked in a way that might attract unwanted attention from folk who do not know its significance and worse still from anyone who does. Just relaxing and looking at the waves rolling in through the gaps in the reef at low tide is something we will miss. Maria at least has holidayed in sunny conditions on the Mediterranean shores but if we get to England bathing is rather a chilly business even in Summer. Although we have some nice sand beaches, Brighton on our South Coast is the place “going to the beach” was invented as an idea – I have been there, it has chilly waters, no sand and a steep shelf of egg-sized pebbles that are rather hard on tender paws. Overseas visitors often believe the whole place is an inscrutably English practical joke.

    Naturally, three unattached and apparently Spontoonie ladies in grass skirts and flower leis draw some tourist attention – I think we must have made the film manufacturers very happy with the feet of film exposed prompted by fur exposed. At least we can warmly discuss our opinions of them in Spontoonie – and it is a good thing tourists never learn that language!

    While Maria stayed on the beach I crossed back to the Topotabo with Miss Cabot, for a nice glass of Nootnops Blue. In Native dress we hardly fit with the interior décor but the terrace is another matter, and any South Island hotel gives discounts to suitably dressed Spontoonies who after all act as free advertising. Very nice to watch the sun setting on the inner waters, feeling warm winds on one’s exposed fur. I well remember English summer days of grey skies and pounding rain; our last days here are ones to make the most of.

    Back to help the family polish off the left-overs for supper. There was no Euro styled bridal cake as such, but Helen had no complaints – and on her big day, that is definitely all that matters. Just as we thought everything had been settled, there was a note from the Miss Penningtons, I had to drop everything and trot over to try and keep them out of more trouble. Most annoying.


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