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Ralston's head appeared; 'Mozambique,' he yelled. I shot up, 

 and there was the beloved isle, built on the blood and bones of 

 the flower of Portugal. Our wing-tip was near the palms as we 

 banked; Lumbo, 3.30 p.m. As I came out, phew, a blast from an 

 oven wasn't in it, and think of the Comores. . . . There were 

 effusive greetings from the Airport Supervisor, other officials, 

 and the hotel manager. I tackled them at once. Did they know 

 anything about landing on the Comores ? No, a complete blank. 

 So I telephoned the Chief of the Radio Station at Lumbo, but 

 he also knew nothing. I asked him to try to make contact with the 

 Comores, but he said it was Sunday, it was impossible. I replied 

 that nothing was impossible really, would he try ? Well, he would; 

 but soon after he telephoned to report a complete blank, they 

 would not open till next morning. Shortly afterwards there was a 

 roar and an East African Airways plane from Nairobi touched 

 down. We tackled them, did they know anything about Comoran 

 landing, the possibility of landing anywhere on the Comores ? But 

 they knew nothing. We may have looked a mixed and tough lot, 

 but they were restrained and apparently incurious. It was true 

 that we had not been introduced. 



I found out that none of our crew had ever been to the island 

 of Mozambique, so by radio telephone I spoke to the Port 

 Captain at the island, five miles across the bay from Lumbo, and 

 asked him to send us a launch. We went to the hotel and had 

 refreshments, and then to the wharf where the launch was 

 waiting. Some of its native crew had been with us on our expedi- 

 tions, and there were excited greetings for the Tatrao', and of 

 course as usual he had cigarettes. They shyly gave their news, and 

 I learnt that Salimo's wife's brother had been eaten by a lion. 

 While the airmen went to have a hasty look round the island, I 

 spent a short time with the Port Captain and his family, and gave 

 them a brief outline of what it was all about, the children more 

 interested in some chocolate slabs from my pocket. Then we went 

 back across the bay, a lovely cool trip in the gentle northerly 

 breeze, the stars twinkling. 



Dinner as usual was astonishingly good in such a remote place. 

 Iced beer cooled the thirsty crew, Blaauw watching each man's 

 single bottle. The hotel manager whispered quietly in my ear, 

 *I have the coolest room for the Professor.' I asked Blaauw for a 



