We discovered that one of Samuel’s brothers, George Housley 1826-1877, emigrated to America in 1851, to Solebury, in Pennsylvania. Another brother, Charles 1823-1856, emigrated to Australia at the same time.
I wrote to the Solebury Historical Society to ask them if they had any information on the Housleys there. About a month later I had a very helpful and detailed reply from them.
There were Housley people in Solebury Township and nearby communities from 1854 to at least 1973, perhaps 1985. George Housley immigrated in 1851, arriving in New York from London in July 1851 on the ship “Senator”. George was in Solebury by 1854, when he is listed on the tax roles for the Township He didn’t own land at that time. Housley family members mostly lived in the Lumberville area, a village in Solebury, or in nearby Buckingham or Wrightstown. The second wife of Howard (aka Harry) Housley was Elsa (aka Elsie) R. Heed, the daughter of the Lumberville Postmaster. Elsie was the proprietor of the Lumberville General Store from 1939 to 1973, and may have continued to live in Lumberville until her death in 1985. The Lumberville General Store was, and still is, a focal point of the community. The store was also the official Post Office at one time, hence the connection between Elsie’s father as Postmaster, and Elsie herself as the proprietor of the store. The Post Office function at Lumberville has been reduced now to a bank of cluster mailboxes, and official U.S. Postal functions are now in Point Pleasant, PA a few miles north of Lumberville. We’ve attached a pdf of the Housley people buried in Carversville Cemetery, which is in the town next to Lumberville, and is still in Solebury Township. We hope this list will confirm that these are your relatives.
It doesn’t seem that any Housley people still live in the area. Some of George’s descendents moved to Wilkes-Barre, PA and Flemington, NJ. One descendent, Barbara Housley, lived in nearby Doylestown, PA, which is the county seat for Bucks County. She actually visited Solebury Township Historical Society looking for Housley relatives, and it would have been nice to connect you with her. Unfortunately she died in 2018. Her obituary is attached in case you want to follow up with the nieces and great nieces who are listed.
Lumberville General Store, Pennsylvania, Elsie Housley:
I noticed the name of Barbara’s brother Howard Housley in her obituary, and found him on facebook. I knew it was the right Howard Housley as I recognized Barbara’s photograph in his friends list as the same photo in the obituary. Howard didn’t reply initially to a friend request from a stranger, so I found his daughter Laura on facebook and sent her a message. She replied, spoke to her father, and we exchanged email addresses and were able to start a correspondence. I simply could not believe my luck when Howard sent me a 17 page file of Barbara’s Narrative on the Letters with numerous letter excerpts interspersed with her own research compiled on a six month trip to England.
The letters were written to George between 1851 and the 1870s, from the Housley family in Smalley.
Narrative of Historic Letters ~ Barbara Housley. AND BELIEVE ME EVER MY DEAR BROTHER, YOUR AFFECTIONATE FAMILY In February 1991, I took a picture of my 16 month old niece Laura Ann Housley standing near the tombstones of her great-great-great-grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley. The occassion was the funeral of another Sarah Housley, Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, youngest son of John Eley Housley (George and Sarah Ann’s first born). Laura Ann’s great-grandfather (my grandfather) was another George, John Eley’s first born. It was Aunt Sarah who brought my mother, Lois, a packet of papers which she had found in the attic. Mom spent hours transcribing the letters which had been written first horizontally and then vertically to save paper. What began to emerge was a priceless glimpse into the lives and concerns of Housleys who lived and died over a century ago. All of the letters ended with the phrase “And believe me ever my dear brother, your affectionate….” The greeting and opening remarks of each of the letters are included in a list below. The sentence structure and speech patterns have not been altered however spelling and some punctuation has been corrected. Some typical idiosyncrasies were: as for has, were for where and vice versa, no capitals at the beginnings of sentences, occasional commas and dashes but almost no periods. Emma appears to be the best educated of the three Housley letter-writers. Sister-in-law Harriet does not appear to be as well educated as any of the others. Since their mother did not write but apparently was in good health, it must be assumed that she could not. The people discussed and described in the following pages are for the most part known to be the family and friends of the Housleys of Smalley, Derbyshire, England. However, practically every page brings conjectures about the significance of persons who are mentioned in the letters and information about persons whose names seem to be significant but who have not yet been established as actual members of the family.
To say this was a priceless addition to the family research is an understatement. I have since, with Howard’s permission, sent the file to the Derby Records Office for their family history section. We are hoping that Howard will find the actual letters in among the boxes he has of his sisters belongings. Some of the letters mention photographs that were sent. Perhaps some will be found.
William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872. The court case was in 1873. Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew, in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far. However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.
William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813. They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne. Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal. This point is mentioned in one of the letters.
One of the pages of William Housley’s will:
An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:
A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.
Joseph wrote that when Emma was married, Ellen “broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby didn’t agree with her so she left again leaving her things behind and came to live with John in the new house where she died.” Ellen was listed with John’s household in the 1871 census. In May 1872, the Ilkeston Pioneer carried this notice: “Mr. Hopkins will sell by auction on Saturday next the eleventh of May 1872 the whole of the useful furniture, sewing machine, etc. nearly new on the premises of the late Mrs. Housley at Smalley near Heanor in the county of Derby. Sale at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.” Mary Ann was still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”
In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter) In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”
In May 1872, Joseph wrote: “For what do you think, John has sold his share and he has acted very bad since his wife died and at the same time he sold all his furniture. You may guess I have never seen him but once since poor mother’s funeral and he is gone now no one knows where.”
In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”
Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth. In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:
“I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that”
However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.
Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:
Charles went to Australia in 1851, and was last heard from in January 1853. According to the solicitor, who wrote to George on June 3, 1874, Charles had received advances on the settlement of their parent’s estate. “Your promissory note with the two signed by your brother Charles for 20 pounds he received from his father and 20 pounds he received from his mother are now in the possession of the court.”
In December 1872, Joseph wrote: “I’m told that Charles two daughters has wrote to Smalley post office making inquiries about his share….” In January 1876, the solicitor wrote: “Charles Housley’s children have claimed their father’s share.”
In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875
HOUSLEY – wanted information as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and Children of Charles Housley, formerly of Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England. June 16,1875.
The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:
The court case:
Kerry v Housley. Documents: Bill, demurrer. Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley. Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted). Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire. Date: 1873
From the Narrative on the Letters:
The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”
In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”
In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.” On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”
In his last letter (February 11, 1874), Joseph sounded very discouraged and wrote that Harriet’s parents were very poorly and both had been “in bed for a long time.” In addition, Harriet and the children had been ill. The move to Little Eaton may indicate that Joseph received his settlement because in August, 1873, he wrote: “I think this is bad news enough and bad luck too, but I have had little else since I came to live at Kiddsley cottages but perhaps it is all for the best if one could only think so. I have begun to think there will be no chance for us coming over to you for I am afraid there will not be so much left as will bring us out without it is settled very shortly but I don’t intend leaving this house until it is settled either one way or the other. ”
Joseph’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”
In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”
On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”
Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father. But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.” Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”
The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?” After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything. In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.
George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.” In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.
On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.
January 14, 1876: “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
Abram J. Flint”
September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
“I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”
Florence’s father was Richard Gretton, a baker in Swadlincote, Derbyshire. When Richard married Sarah Orgill in 1861, they lived with her mother, a widow, in Measham, Ashby de la Zouch in Leicestershire. On the 1861 census Sarah’s mother, Elizabeth, is a farmer of two acres.
(Swadlincote and Ashby de la Zouch are on the Derbyshire Leicestershire border and not far from each other. Swadlincote is near to Burton upon Trent which is sometimes in Staffordshire, sometimes in Derbyshire. Newhall, Church Gresley, and Swadlincote are all very close to each other or districts in the same town.)
Ten years later in 1871 Richard and Sarah have their own place in Swadlincote, he is a baker, and they have four children. A fourteen year old apprentice or servant is living with them.
In the Ashby-de-la-Zouch Gazette on 28 February 1880, it was reported that Richard Gretton, baker, of Swadlincote, was charged by Captain Bandys with carrying bread in a cart for sale, the said cart not being provided with scales and weights, according to the requirements of the Act, on the 17th January last.—Defendant pleaded guilty, but urged in extenuation of the offence that in the hurry he had forgotten to put the scales in the cart before his son started.—The Bench took this view of the case, regarding it as an oversight, and fined him one shilling only and costs. This was not his only offence.
In 1883, he was fined twenty shillings, and ten shillings and sixpence costs.
By 1881 they have 4 more children, and Florence Nightingale is the youngest at four months. Richard is 48 by now, and Sarah is 44. Florence’s older brother William is a blacksmith.
Interestingly on the same census page, two doors down Thomas and Selina Warren live at the Stanhope Arms. Richards son John Gretton lives at the pub, a 13 year old servant. Incidentally, I noticed on Thomas and Selena’s marriage register that Richard and Sarah Gretton were the witnesses at the wedding.
Ten years later in 1891, Florence Nightingale and her sister Clara are living with Selina Warren, widow, retired innkeeper, one door down from the Stanhope Arms. Florence is ten, Clara twelve and they are scholars.
Richard and Sarah are still living three doors up on the other side of the Stanhope Arms, with three of their sons. But the two girls lived up the road with the Warren widow!
The Stanhope Arms, Swadlincote: it’s possible that the shop with the awning was Richard Gretton’s bakers shop (although not at the time of this later photo).
Richard died in 1898, a year before Florence married Samuel Warren.
Sarah is a widowed 60 year old baker on the 1901 census. Her son 26 year old son Alf, also a baker, lives at the same address, as does her 22 year old daughter Clara who is a district nurse.
Clara Gretton and family, photo found online:
In 1901 Florence Nightingale (who we don’t have a photograph of!) is now married and is Florrie Warren on the census, and she, her husband Samuel, and their one year old daughter Hildred are visitors at the address of Elizabeth (Staley)Warren, 60 year old widow and Samuel’s mother, and Samuel’s 36 year old brother William. Samuel and William are engineers.
Samuel and Florrie had ten children between 1900 and 1925 (and all but two of them used their middle name and not first name: my mother and I had no idea until I found all the records. My grandmother Florence Noreen was known as Nora, which we knew of course, uncle Jack was actually Douglas John, and so on).
Hildred, Clara, Billy, and Nora were born in Swadlincote. Sometime between my grandmother’s birth in 1907 and Kay’s birth in 1911, the family moved to Oldswinford, in Stourbridge. Later they moved to Market Street.
1911 census, Oldswinford, Stourbridge:
Oddly, nobody knew when Florrie Warren died. My mothers cousin Ian Warren researched the Warren family some years ago, while my grandmother was still alive. She contributed family stories and information, but couldn’t remember if her mother died in 1929 or 1927. A recent search of records confirmed that it was the 12th November 1927.
She was 46 years old. We were curious to know how she died, so my mother ordered a paper copy of her death certificate. It said she died at 31 Market Street, Stourbridge at the age of 47. Clara May Warren, her daughter, was in attendance. Her husband Samuel Warren was a motor mechanic. The Post mortem was by Percival Evans, coroner for Worcestershire, who clarified the cause of death as vascular disease of the heart. There was no inquest. The death was registered on 15 Nov 1927.
I looked for a photo of 31 Market Street in Stourbridge, and was astonished to see that it was the house next door to one I lived in breifly in the 1980s. We didn’t know that the Warren’s lived in Market Street until we started searching the records.
Market Street, Stourbridge. I lived in the one on the corner on the far right, my great grandmother died in the one next door.
I found some hitherto unknown emigrants in the family. Florence Nightingale Grettons eldest brother William 1861-1940 stayed in Swadlincote. John Orgill Gretton born in 1868 moved to Trenton New Jersey USA in 1888, married in 1892 and died in 1949 in USA. Michael Thomas born in 1870 married in New York in 1893 and died in Trenton in 1940. Alfred born 1875 stayed in Swadlincote. Charles Herbert born 1876 married locally and then moved to Australia in 1912, and died in Victoria in 1954. Clara Elizabeth was a district nurse, married locally and died at the age of 99.
Samuel Warren, my great grandfather, and husband of Florence Nightingale Gretton, worked with the family company of boiler makers in Newhall in his early years. He developed an interest in motor cars, and left the family business to start up on his own. By all accounts, he made some bad decisions and borrowed a substantial amount of money from his sister. It was because of this disastrous state of affairs that the impoverished family moved from Swadlincote/Newhall to Stourbridge.
1914: Tram no 10 on Union Road going towards High Street Newhall. On the left Henry Harvey Engineer, on the right Warren Bros Boiler Manufacturers & Engineers:
I found a newspaper article in the Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal dated the 2nd October 1915 about a Samuel Warren of Warren Brothers Boilermakers, but it was about my great grandfathers uncle, also called Samuel.
DEATH OF MR. SAMUEL WARREN, OF NEWHALL. Samuel Warren, of Rose Villa, Newhall, passed away on Saturday evening at the age of 85.. Of somewhat retiring disposition, he took little or no active part in public affairs, but for many years was trustee of the loyal British Oak Lodge of the M.U. of Oddfellows, and in many other ways served His community when opportunity permitted. He was member of the firm of Warren Bros., of the Boiler Works, Newhall. This thriving business was established by the late Mr. Benjamin Bridge, over 60 years ago, and on his death it was taken over by his four nephews. Mr. William Warren died several years ago, and with the demise Mr. Samuel Warren, two brothers remain, Messrs. Henry and Benjamin Warren. He leaves widow, six daughters, and three sons to mourn his loss.
This was the first I’d heard of Benjamin Bridge. William Warren mentioned in the article as having died previously was Samuel’s father, my great great grandfather. William’s brother Henry was the father of Ben Warren, the footballer.
But who was Benjamin Bridge?
Samuel’s father was William Warren 1835-1881. He had a brother called Samuel, mentioned above, and William’s father was also named Samuel. Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge 1813-1872. Benjamin Bridge 1811-1898 was Elizabeth’s brother.
Burton Chronicle 28 July 1898:
Benjamin and his wife Jane had no children. According to the obituary in the newspaper, the couple were fondly remembered for their annual tea’s for the widows of the town. Benjamin Bridge’s house was known as “the preachers house”. He was superintendent of Newhall Sunday School and member of Swadlincote’s board of health. And apparently very fond of a tall white hat!
On the 1881 census, Benjamin Bridge and his wife live near to the Warren family in Newhall. The Warren’s live in the “boiler yard” and the family living in between the Bridge’s and the Warren’s include an apprentice boiler maker, so we can assume these were houses incorporated in the boiler works property. Benjamin is a 72 year old retired boiler maker. Elizabeth Warren is a widow (William died in 1881), two of her sons are boiler makers, and Samuel, my great grandfather, is on the next page of the census, at seven years old.
Warren Brothers made boilers for the Burton breweries, including Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton.
This receipt from Warrens Boiler yard for a new boiler in 1885 was purchased off Ebay by Colin Smith. He gave it to one of the grandsons of Robert Adolphus Warren, to keep in the Warren family. It is in his safe at home, and he promised Colin that it will stay in the family forever.
Some years ago I read a book about Eyam, the Derbyshire village devastated by the plague in 1665, and about how the villagers quarantined themselves to prevent further spread. It was quite a story. Each year on ‘Plague Sunday’, at the end of August, residents of Eyam mark the bubonic plague epidemic that devastated their small rural community in the years 1665–6. They wear the traditional costume of the day and attend a memorial service to remember how half the village sacrificed themselves to avoid spreading the disease further.
My 4X great grandfather James Marshall married Ann Newton in 1792 in Elton. On a number of other people’s trees on an online ancestry site, Ann Newton was from Eyam. Wouldn’t that have been interesting, to find ancestors from Eyam, perhaps going back to the days of the plague. Perhaps that is what the people who put Ann Newton’s birthplace as Eyam thought, without a proper look at the records.
But I didn’t think Ann Newton was from Eyam. I found she was from Over Haddon, near Bakewell ~ much closer to Elton than Eyam. On the marriage register, it says that James was from Elton parish, and she was from Darley parish. Her birth in 1770 says Bakewell, which was the registration district for the villages of Over Haddon and Darley. Her parents were George Newton and Dorothy Wipperley of Over Haddon,which is incidentally very near to Nether Haddon, and Haddon Hall. I visited Haddon Hall many years ago, as well as Chatsworth (and much preferred Haddon Hall).
I looked in the Eyam registers for Ann Newton, and found a couple of them around the time frame, but the men they married were not James Marshall.
Ann died in 1806 in Elton (a small village just outside Matlock) at the age of 36 within days of her newborn twins, Ann and James. James and Ann had two sets of twins. John and Mary were twins as well, but Mary died in 1799 at the age of three.
1796 baptism of twins John and Mary of James and Ann Marshall
Ann’s husband James died 42 years later at the age of eighty, in Elton in 1848. It was noted in the parish register that he was for yearsparish clerk.
On the 1851 census John Marshall born in 1796, the son of James Marshall the parish clerk, was a lead miner occupying six acres in Elton, Derbyshire.
His son, also John, was registered on the census as a lead miner at just eight years old.
The mining of lead was the most important industry in the Peak district of Derbyshire from Roman times until the 19th century – with only agriculture being more important for the livelihood of local people. The height of lead mining in Derbyshire came in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the evidence is still visible today – most obviously in the form of lines of hillocks from the more than 25,000 mineshafts which once existed.
Peak District Mines Historical Society
Smelting, or extracting the lead from the ore by melting it, was carried out in a small open hearth. Lead was cast in layers as each batch of ore was smelted; the blocks of lead thus produced were referred to as “pigs”. Examples of early smelting-hearths found within the county were stone lined, with one side open facing the prevailing wind to create the draught needed. The hilltops of the Matlocks would have provided very suitable conditions.
The miner used a tool called a mattock or a pick, and hammers and iron wedges in harder veins, to loosen the ore. They threw the ore onto ridges on each side of the vein, going deeper where the ore proved richer.
Many mines were very shallow and, once opened, proved too poor to develop. Benjamin Bryan cited the example of “Ember Hill, on the shoulder of Masson, above Matlock Bath” where there are hollows in the surface showing where there had been fruitless searches for lead.
There were small buildings, called “coes”, near each mine shaft which were used for tool storage, to provide shelter and as places for changing into working clothes. It was here that the lead was smelted and stored until ready for sale.
Lead is, of course, very poisonous. As miners washed lead-bearing material, great care was taken with the washing vats, which had to be covered. If cattle accidentally drank the poisoned water they would die from something called “belland”.
Cornish and Welsh miners introduced the practice of buddling for ore into Derbyshire about 1747. Buddling involved washing the heaps of rubbish in the slag heaps, the process of separating the very small particles from the dirt and spar with which they are mixed, by means of a small stream of water. This method of extraction was a major pollutant, affecting farmers and their animals (poisoned by Belland from drinking the waste water), the brooks and streams and even the River Derwent.
Women also worked in the mines. An unattributed account from 1829, says: “The head is much enwrapped, and the features nearly hidden in a muffling of handkerchiefs, over which is put a man’s hat, in the manner of the paysannes of Wales”. He also describes their gowns, usually red, as being “tucked up round the waist in a sort of bag, and set off by a bright green petticoat”. They also wore a man’s grey or dark blue coat and shoes with 3″ thick soles that were tied round with cords. The 1829 writer called them “complete harridans!”
Lead Mining in Matlock & Matlock Bath, The Andrews Pages
John’s wife Margaret died at the age of 42 in 1847. I don’t know the cause of death, but perhaps it was lead poisoning. John’s son John, despite a very early start in the lead mine, became a carter and lived to the ripe old age of 88.
The Pig of Lead pub, 1904:
The earliest Marshall I’ve found so far is Charles, born in 1742. Charles married Rebecca Knowles, 1775-1823. I don’t know what his occupation was but when he died in 1819 he left a not inconsiderable sum to his wife.
1819 Charles Marshall probate:
There are still Marshall’s living in Elton and Matlock, not our immediate known family, but probably distantly related. I asked a Matlock group on facebook:
“…there are Marshall’s still in the village. There are certainly families who live here who have done generation after generation & have many memories & stories to tell. Visit The Duke on a Friday night…”
Two of my grandmothers uncles emigrated to New Jersey, USA, John Orgill Gretton in 1888, and Michael Thomas Gretton in 1889. My grandmothers mother Florence Nightingale Gretton, born in 1881 and the youngest of eight, was still a child when they left. This is perhaps why we knew nothing of them until the family research started.
Michael Thomas Gretton
1870-1940
Michael, known by his middle name of Thomas, married twice. His occupation was a potter in the sanitary ware industry. He and his first wife Edith Wise had three children, William R Gretton 1894-1961, Charles Thomas Gretton 1897-1960, and Clara P Gretton 1895-1997. Edith died in 1922, and Thomas married again. His second wife Martha Ann Barker was born in Stoke on Trent in England, but had emigrated to USA in 1909. She had two children with her first husband Thomas Barker, Doris and Winifred. Thomas Barker died in 1921.
Martha Ann Barker and her daughter Doris, born in 1900, were Lusitania survivors. The Lusitania was a British ocean liner that was sunk on 7 May 1915 by a German U-boat 11 miles (18 km) off the southern coast of Ireland, killing 1,198 passengers and crew. Martha and Doris survived, but sadly nine year old Winifred did not. Her remains were lost at sea.
Winifred Barker:
Thomas Barker sailed to England after the disaster to accompany Martha and Doris on the trip home to USA:
Thomas Gretton, Martha’s second husband, died in 1940. She survived him by 23 years and died in 1963 in New Jersey:
John Orgill Gretton
1868-1949
John Orgill Gretton was a “Freeholder” in New Jersey for 24 years. New Jersey alone of all the United States has the distinction of retaining the title of “FREEHOLDER” to denote the elected members of the county governing bodies. This descriptive name, which commemorates the origin of home rule, is used by only 21 of the nation’s 3,047 counties. In other states, these county officials are known as commissioners, supervisors, probate judges, police jurors, councilors and a variety of other names.
John and his wife Caroline Thum had four children, Florence J Gretton 1893-1965, George Thum Gretton 1895-1951, Wilhelmina F Gretton 1899-1931, and Nathalie A Gretton 1904-1947.
Their engagements and weddings appear on the society pages of the Trenton Newspapers. For example the article headline on the wedding in 1919 of George Thum Gretton and his wife Elizabeth Stokes announces “Charming Society Girl Becomes Bride Today”.
This chapter is copied from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on Historic Letters, with thanks to her brother Howard Housley for sharing it with me. Interesting to note that Housley descendants (on the Marshall paternal side) and Gretton descendants (on the Warren maternal side) were both living in Trenton, New Jersey at the same time.
GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877
George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The service was performed by Attorney James Gilkyson.
In her first letter (February 1854), Anne (George’s sister in Smalley, Derbyshire) wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”
Upon learning of George’s marriage, Anne wrote: “I hope dear brother you may be happy with your wife….I hope you will be as a son to her parents. Mother unites with me in kind love to you both and to your father and mother with best wishes for your health and happiness.” In 1872 (December) Joseph (George’s brother) wrote: “I am sorry to hear that sister’s father is so ill. It is what we must all come to some time and hope we shall meet where there is no more trouble.”
Emma (George’s sister) wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”
According to his obituary, John Eley was born at Wrightstown and “removed” to Lumberville at the age of 19. John was married first to Lucy Wilson with whom he had three sons: George Wilson (1883), Howard (1893) and Raymond (1895); and then to Elizabeth Kilmer with whom he had one son Albert Kilmer (1907). John Eley Housley died November 20, 1926 at the age of 71. For many years he had worked for John R. Johnson who owned a store. According to his son Albert, John was responsible for caring for Johnson’s horses. One named Rex was considered to be quite wild, but was docile in John’s hands. When John would take orders, he would leave the wagon at the first house and walk along the backs of the houses so that he would have access to the kitchens. When he reached the seventh house he would climb back over the fence to the road and whistle for the horses who would come to meet him. John could not attend church on Sunday mornings because he was working with the horses and occasionally Albert could convince his mother that he was needed also. According to Albert, John was regular in attendance at church on Sunday evenings.
John was a member of the Carversville Lodge 261 IOOF and the Carversville Lodge Knights of Pythias. Internment was in the Carversville cemetery; not, however, in the plot owned by his father. In addition to his sons, he was survived by his second wife Elizabeth who lived to be 80 and three grandchildren: George’s sons, Kenneth Worman and Morris Wilson and Raymond’s daughter Miriam Louise. George had married Katie Worman about the time John Eley married Elizabeth Kilmer. Howard’s first wife Mary Brink and daughter Florence had died and he remarried Elsa Heed who also lived into her eighties. Raymond’s wife was Fanny Culver.
Two more sons followed: Joseph Sackett, who was known as Sackett, September 12, 1856 and Edwin or Edward Rose, November 11, 1858. Joseph Sackett Housley married Anna Hubbs of Plumsteadville on January 17, 1880. They had one son Nelson DeC. who in turn had two daughters, Eleanor Mary and Ruth Anna, and lived on Bert Avenue in Trenton N.J. near St. Francis Hospital. Nelson, who was an engineer and built the first cement road in New Jersey, died at the age of 51. His daughters were both single at the time of his death. However, when his widow, the former Eva M. Edwards, died some years later, her survivors included daughters, Mrs. Herbert D. VanSciver and Mrs. James J. McCarrell and four grandchildren. One of the daughters (the younger) was quite crippled in later years and would come to visit her great-aunt Elizabeth (John’s widow) in a chauffeur driven car. Sackett died in 1929 at the age of 70. He was a member of the Warrington Lodge IOOF of Jamison PA, the Uncas tribe and the Uncas Hayloft 102 ORM of Trenton, New Jersey. The interment was in Greenwood cemetery where he had been caretaker since his retirement from one of the oldest manufacturing plants in Trenton (made milk separators for one thing). Sackett also was the caretaker for two other cemeteries one located near the Clinton Street station and the other called Riverside.
Ed’s wife was named Lydia. They had two daughters, Mary and Margaret and a third child who died in infancy. Mary had seven children–one was named for his grandfather–and settled in lower Bucks county. Margaret never married. She worked for Woolworths in Flemington, N. J. and then was made manager in Somerville, N.J., where she lived until her death. Ed survived both of his brothers, and at the time of Sackett’s death was living in Flemington, New Jersey where he had worked as a grocery clerk.
In September 1872, Joseph wrote, “I was very sorry to hear that John your oldest had met with such a sad accident but I hope he is got alright again by this time.” In the same letter, Joseph asked: “Now I want to know what sort of a town you are living in or village. How far is it from New York? Now send me all particulars if you please.”
In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….” The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.
On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”
Apparently, George had indicated he might return to England for a visit in 1856. Emma wrote concerning the portrait of their mother which had been sent to George: “I hope you like mother’s portrait. I did not see it but I suppose it was not quite perfect about the eyes….Joseph and I intend having ours taken for you when you come over….Do come over before very long.”
In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”
On June 10, 1875, the solicitor wrote: “I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past. Please let me hear what you are doing and where you are living and how I must send you your money.” George’s big news at that time was that on May 3, 1875, he had become a naturalized citizen “renouncing and abjuring all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state and sovereignity whatsoever, and particularly to Victoria Queen of Great Britain of whom he was before a subject.”
Another matter which George took care of during the years the estate was being settled was the purchase of a cemetery plot! On March 24, 1873, George purchased plot 67 section 19 division 2 in the Carversville (Bucks County PA) Cemetery (incorporated 1859). The plot cost $15.00, and was located at the very edge of the cemetery. It was in this cemetery, in 1991, while attending the funeral of Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, that sixteen month old Laura Ann visited the graves of her great-great-great grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley.
George died on August 13, 1877 and was buried three days later. The text for the funeral sermon was Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”
My grandmother used to have golden syrup in her larder, hanging on the white plastic coated storage rack that was screwed to the inside of the larder door. Mostly the larder door was left propped open with an old flat iron, so you could see the Heinz ketchup and home made picallilli (she made a particularly good picallili), the Worcester sauce and the jar of pickled onions, as you sat at the kitchen table.
If you were sitting to the right of the kitchen table you could see an assortment of mismatched crockery, cups and bowls, shoe cleaning brushes, and at the back, tiny tins of baked beans and big ones of plum tomatoes, and normal sized tins of vegetable and mushroom soup. Underneath the little shelves that housed the tins was a blue plastic washing up bowl with a few onions, some in, some out of the yellow string bag they came home from the expensive little village supermarket in.
There was much more to the left in the awkward triangular shape under the stairs, but you couldn’t see under there from your seat at the kitchen table. You could see the shelf above the larder door which held an ugly china teapot of graceless modern lines, gazed with metallic silver which was wearing off in places. Beside the teapot sat a serving bowl, squat and shapely with little handles, like a flattened Greek urn, in white and reddish brown with flecks of faded gilt. A plain white teapot completed the trio, a large cylindrical one with neat vertical ridges and grooves.
There were two fridges under the high shallow wooden wall cupboard. A waist high bulbous old green one with a big handle that pulled out with a clunk, and a chest high sleek white one with a small freezer at the top with a door of its own. On the top of the fridges were biscuit and cracker tins, big black keys, pencils and brittle yellow notepads, rubber bands and aspirin value packs and a bottle of Brufen. There was a battered old maroon spectacle case and a whicker letter rack, letters crammed in and fanning over the top. There was always a pile of glossy advertising pamphlets and flyers on top of the fridges, of the sort that were best put straight into the tiny pedal bin.
My grandmother never lined the pedal bin with a used plastic bag, nor with a specially designed plastic bin liner. The bin was so small that the flip top lid was often gaping, resting on a mound of cauliflower greens and soup tins. Behind the pedal bin, but on the outer aspect of the kitchen wall, was the big black dustbin with the rubbery lid. More often than not, the lid was thrust upwards. If Thursday when the dustbin men came was several days away, you’d wish you hadn’t put those newspapers in, or those old shoes! You stood in the softly drizzling rain in your slippers, the rubbery sheild of a lid in your left hand and the overflowing pedal bin in the other. The contents of the pedal bin are not going to fit into the dustbin. You sigh, put the pedal bin and the dustbin lid down, and roll up your sleeves ~ carefully, because you’ve poked your fingers into a porridge covered teabag. You grab the sides of the protruding black sack and heave. All being well, the contents should settle and you should have several inches more of plastic bag above the rim of the dustbin. Unless of course it’s a poor quality plastic bag in which case your fingernail will go through and a horizontal slash will appear just below rubbish level. Eventually you upend the pedal bin and scrape the cigarette ash covered potato peelings into the dustbin with your fingers. By now the fibres of your Shetland wool jumper are heavy with damp, just like the fuzzy split ends that curl round your pale frowning brow. You may push back your hair with your forearm causing the moisture to bead and trickle down your face, as you turn the brass doorknob with your palm and wrist, tea leaves and cigarette ash clinging unpleasantly to your fingers.
The pedal bin needs rinsing in the kitchen sink, but the sink is full of mismatched saucepans, some new in shades of harvest gold, some battered and mishapen in stainless steel and aluminium, bits of mashed potato stuck to them like concrete pebbledash. There is a pale pink octagonally ovoid shallow serving dish and a little grey soup bowl with a handle like a miniature pottery saucepan decorated with kitcheny motifs.
The water for the coffee bubbles in a suacepan on the cream enamelled gas cooker. My grandmother never used a kettle, although I do remember a heavy flame orange one. The little pan for boiling water had a lip for easy pouring and a black plastic handle.
The steam has caused the condensation on the window over the sink to race in rivulets down to the fablon coated windowsill. The yellow gingham curtains hang limply, the left one tucked behind the back of the cooker.
You put the pedal bin back it it’s place below the tea towel holder, and rinse your mucky fingers under the tap. The gas water heater on the wall above you roars into life just as you turn the tap off, and disappointed, subsides.
As you lean over to turn the cooker knob, the heat from the oven warms your arm. The gas oven was almost always on, the oven door open with clean tea towels and sometimes large white pants folded over it to air.
The oven wasn’t the only heat in my grandparents kitchen. There was an electric bar fire near the red formica table which used to burn your legs. The kitchen table was extended by means of a flap at each side. When I was small I wasn’t allowed to snap the hinge underneath shut as my grandmother had pinched the skin of her palm once.
The electric fire was plugged into the same socket as the radio. The radio took a minute or two to warm up when you switched it on, a bulky thing with sharp seventies edges and a reddish wood effect veneer and big knobs. The light for my grandfathers workshop behind the garage (where he made dentures) was plugged into the same socket, which had a big heavy white three way adaptor in. The plug for the washing machine was hooked by means of a bit of string onto a nail or hook so that it didn’t fall down behing the washing machine when it wasn’t plugged in. Everything was unplugged when it wasn’t in use. Sometimes there was a shrivelled Christmas cactus on top of the radio, but it couldn’t hide the adaptor and all those plugs.
Above the washing machine was a rhomboid wooden wall cupboard with sliding frsoted glass doors. It was painted creamy gold, the colour of a nicotine stained pub ceiling, and held packets of Paxo stuffing and little jars of Bovril and Marmite, packets of Bisto and a jar of improbably red Maraschino cherries.
The nicotine coloured cupboard on the opposite wall had half a dozen large hooks screwed under the bottom shelf. A variety of mugs and cups hung there when they weren’t in the bowl waiting to be washed up. Those cupboard doors seemed flimsy for their size, and the thin beading on the edge of one door had come unstuck at the bottom and snapped back if you caught it with your sleeve. The doors fastened with a little click in the centre, and the bottom of the door reverberated slightly as you yanked it open. There were always crumbs in the cupboard from the numerous packets of bisucits and crackers and there was always an Allbran packet with the top folded over to squeeze it onto the shelf. The sugar bowl was in there, sticky grains like sandpaper among the biscuit crumbs.
Half of one of the shelves was devoted to medicines: grave looking bottles of codeine linctus with no nonsense labels, brown glass bottles with pills for rheumatism and angina. Often you would find a large bottle, nearly full, of Brewers yeast or vitamin supplements with a dollar price tag, souvenirs of the familys last visit. Above the medicines you’d find a faded packet of Napolitana pasta bows or a dusty packet of muesli. My grandparents never used them but she left them in the cupboard. Perhaps the dollar price tags and foreign foods reminded her of her children.
If there had been a recent visit you would see monstrous jars of Sanka and Maxwell House coffee in there too, but they always used the coffee. They liked evaporated milk in their coffee, and used tins and tins of “evap” as they called it. They would pour it over tinned fruit, or rhubard crumble or stewed apples.
When there was just the two of them, or when I was there as well, they’d eat at the kitchen table. The table would be covered in a white embroidered cloth and the food served in mismatched serving dishes. The cutlery was large and bent, the knife handles in varying shades of bone. My grandfathers favourite fork had the tip of each prong bent in a different direction. He reckoned it was more efficient that way to spear his meat. He often used to chew his meat and then spit it out onto the side of his plate. Not in company, of course. I can understand why he did that, not having eaten meat myself for so long. You could chew a piece of meat for several hours and still have a stringy lump between your cheek and your teeth.
My grandfather would always have a bowl of Allbran with some Froment wheat germ for his breakfast, while reading the Daily Mail at the kitchen table. He never worse slippers, always shoes indoors, and always wore a tie. He had lots of ties but always wore a plain maroon one. His shirts were always cream and buttoned at throat and cuff, and eventually started wearing shirts without detachable collars. He wore greeny grey trousers and a cardigan of the same shade most of the time, the same colour as a damp English garden.
The same colour as the slimy green wooden clothes pegs that I threw away and replaced with mauve and fuschia pink plastic ones. “They’re a bit bright for up the garden, aren’t they,” he said. He was right. I should have ignored the green peg stains on the laundry. An English garden should be shades of moss and grassy green, rich umber soil and brick red walls weighed down with an atmosphere of dense and heavy greyish white.
After Grandma died and Mop had retired (I always called him Mop, nobody knows why) at 10:00am precisely Mop would have a cup of instant coffee with evap. At lunch, a bowl of tinned vegetable soup in his special soup bowl, and a couple of Krackawheat crackers and a lump of mature Cheddar. It was a job these days to find a tasty cheddar, he’d say.
When he was working, and he worked until well into his seventies, he took sandwiches. Every day he had the same sandwich filling: a combination of cheese, peanut butter and marmite. It was an unusal choice for an otherwise conventional man. He loved my grandmothers cooking, which wasn’t brilliant but was never awful. She was always generous with the cheese in cheese sauces and the meat in meat pies. She overcooked the cauliflower, but everyone did then. She made her gravy in the roasting pan, and made onion sauce, bread sauce, parsley sauce and chestnut stuffing. She had her own version of cosmopolitan favourites, and called her quiche a quiche when everyone was still calling it egg and bacon pie. She used to like Auntie Daphne’s ratatouille, rather exotic back then, and pronounced it Ratta Twa. She made pizza unlike any other, with shortcrust pastry smeared with tomato puree from a tube, sprinkled with oregano and great slabs of cheddar.
The roast was always overdone. “We like our meat well done” she’d say. She’d walk up the garden to get fresh mint for the mint sauce and would announce with pride “these runner beans are out of the garding”. They always grew vegetables at the top of the garden, behind the lawn and the silver birch tree. There was always a pudding: a slice of almond tart (always with home made pastry), a crumble or stewed fruit. Topped with evap, of course.
My grandmother had said that we were distantly related to Gladstone the prime minister. Apparently Grandma’s mothers aunt had a neice that was related to him, or some combination of aunts and nieces on the Gretton side. I had not yet explored all the potential great grandmothers aunt’s nieces looking for this Gladstone connection, but I accidentally found a Gladstone on the tree on the Gretton side.
I was wandering around randomly looking at the hints for other people that had my grandparents in their trees to see who they were and how they were connected, and noted a couple of photos of Orgills. Richard Gretton, grandma’s mother Florence Nightingale Gretton’s father, married Sarah Orgill. Sarah’s brother John Orgill married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone. It was the photographs that caught my eye, but then I saw the Gladstone name, and that she was born in Liverpool. Her father was William Gladstone born 1809 in Liverpool, just like the prime minister. And his father was John Gladstone, just like the prime minister.
But the William Gladstone in our family tree was a millwright, who emigrated to Australia with his wife and two children rather late in life at the age of 54, in 1863. He died three years later when he was thrown out of a cart in 1866. This was clearly not William Gladstone the prime minister.
John Orgill emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. Their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.
John Orgill 1835-1911 (Florence Nightingale Gretton’s mothers brother)
Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926
I did not think that the link to Gladstone the prime minister was true, until I found an article in the Australian newspapers while researching the family of John Orgill for the Australia chapter.
In the Letters to the Editor in The Argus, a Melbourne newspaper, dated 8 November 1921:
THE GLADSTONE FAMILY.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE ARGUS. Sir,—I notice to-day a reference to the death of Mr. Robert Gladstone, late of Wooltonvale. Liverpool, who, together with estate in England valued at £143,079, is reported to have left to his children (five sons and seven daughters) estate valued at £4,300 in Victoria. It may be of interest to some of your readers to know that this Robert Gladstone was a son of the Gladstone family to which the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, the famous Prime Minister, belonged, some members of which are now resident in Aus- tralia. Robert Gladstone’s father (W. E. Gladstone’s cousin), Stuart Gladstone, of Liverpool, owned at one time the estates of Noorat and Glenormiston, in Victoria, to which he sent Neil Black as manager. Mr. Black, who afterwards acquired the property, called one of his sons “Stuart Gladstone” after his employer. A nephew of Stuart Gladstone (and cousin of Robert Gladstone, of Wooltonvale), Robert Cottingham, by name “Bobbie” came out to Australia to farm at Noorat, but was killed in a horse accident when only 21, and was the first to be buried in the new cemetery at Noorat. A brother, of “Bob- bie,” “Fred” by name, was well known in the early eighties as an overland drover, taking stock for C. B. Fisher to the far north. Later on he married and settled in Melbourne, but left during the depressing time following the bursting of the boom, to return to Queensland, where, in all probability, he still resides. A sister of “Bobbie” and “Fred” still lives in the neighbourhood of Melbourne. Their father, Montgomery Gladstone, who was in the diplomatic service, and travelled about a great deal, was a brother of Stuart Glad- stone, the owner of Noorat, and a full cousin of William Ewart Gladstone, his father, Robert, being a brother of W. E. Gladstone’s father, Sir John, of Liverpool. The wife of Robert Gladstone, of Woolton- vale, Ella Gladstone by name, was also his second cousin, being the daughter of Robertson Gladstone, of Courthaize, near Liverpool, W. E. Gladstone’s older brother. A cousin of Sir John Gladstone (W. E. G.’s father), also called John, was a foundry owner in Castledouglas, and the inventor of the first suspension bridge, a model of which was made use of in the erection of the Menai Bridge connecting Anglesea with the mainland, and was after- wards presented to the Liverpool Stock Exchange by the inventor’s cousin, Sir John. One of the sons of this inventive engineer, William by name, left England in 1863 with his wife and son and daugh- ter, intending to settle in New Zealand, but owing to the unrest caused there by the Maori war, he came instead to Vic- toria, and bought land near Dandenong. Three years later he was killed in a horse accident, but his name is perpetuated in the name “Gladstone road” in Dandenong. His daughter afterwards married, and lived for many years in Gladstone House, Dande- nong, but is now widowed and settled in Gippsland. Her three sons and four daugh- ters are all married and perpetuating the Gladstone family in different parts of Aus- tralia. William’s son (also called Wil- liam), who came out with his father, mother, and sister in 1863 still lives in the Fix this textneighbourhood of Melbourne, with his son and grandson. An aunt of Sir John Glad- stone (W. E. G.’s father), Christina Glad- stone by name, married a Mr. Somerville, of Biggar. One of her great-grandchildren is Professor W. P. Paterson, of Edinburgh University, another is a professor in the West Australian University, and a third resides in Melbourne. Yours. &c.
Melbourne, Nov.7, FAMILY TREE
According to the Old Dandenong website:
“Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).”
The story of the Orgill’s continues in the chapter on Australia.
I always called my grandfather Mop, apparently because I couldn’t say the name Grandpa, but whatever the reason, the name stuck. My younger brother also called him Mop, but our two cousins did not.
My earliest memories of my grandparents are the picnics. Grandma and Mop loved going out in the car for a picnic. Favourite spots were the Clee Hills in Shropshire, North Wales, especially Llanbedr, Malvern, and Derbyshire, and closer to home, the caves and silver birch woods at Kinver Edge, Arley by the river Severn, or Bridgnorth, where Grandma’s sister Hildreds family lived. Stourbridge was on the western edge of the Black Country in the Midlands, so one was quickly in the countryside heading west. They went north to Derbyshire less, simply because the first part of the trip entailed driving through Wolverhampton and other built up and not particularly pleasant urban areas. I’m sure they’d have gone there more often, as they were both born in Derbyshire, if not for that initial stage of the journey.
There was predominantly grey tartan car rug in the car for picnics, and a couple of folding chairs. There were always a couple of cushions on the back seat, and I fell asleep in the back more times than I can remember, despite intending to look at the scenery. On the way home Grandma would always sing, “Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, I had a little drink about an hour ago, And it’s gone right to my head.” I’ve looked online for that song, and have not found it anywhere!
Grandma didn’t just make sandwiches for picnics, there were extra containers of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and so on. I used to love to wash up the picnic plates in the little brook on the Clee Hills, near Cleeton St Mary. The close cropped grass was ideal for picnics, and Mop and the sheep would Baaa at each other.
Mop would base the days outting on the weather forcast, but Grandma often used to say he always chose the opposite of what was suggested. She said if you want to go to Derbyshire, tell him you want to go to Wales. I recall him often saying, on a gloomy day, Look, there’s a bit of clear sky over there. Mop always did the driving as Grandma never learned to drive. Often she’d dust the dashboard with a tissue as we drove along.
My brother and I often spent the weekend at our grandparents house, so that our parents could go out on a Saturday night. They gave us 5 shillings pocket money, which I used to spend on two Ladybird books at 2 shillings and sixpence each. We had far too many sweets while watching telly in the evening ~ in the dark, as they always turned the lights off to watch television. The lemonade and pop was Corona, and came in returnable glass bottles. We had Woodpecker cider too, even though it had a bit of an alcohol content.
Mop smoked Kensitas and Grandma smoked Sovereign cigarettes, or No6, and the packets came with coupons. They often let me choose something for myself out of the catalogue when there were enough coupons saved up.
When I had my first garden, in a rented house a short walk from theirs, they took me to garden nurseries and taught me all about gardening. In their garden they had berberis across the front of the house under the window, and cotoneaster all along the side of the garage wall. The silver birth tree on the lawn had been purloined as a sapling from Kinver edge, when they first moved into the house. (they lived in that house on Park Road for more than 60 years). There were perennials and flowering shrubs along the sides of the back garden, and behind the silver birch, and behind that was the vegeatable garden. Right at the back was an Anderson shelter turned into a shed, the rhubarb, and the washing line, and the canes for the runner beans in front of those. There was a little rose covered arch on the path on the left, and privet hedges all around the perimeter.
My grandfather was a dental technician. He worked for various dentists on their premises over the years, but he always had a little workshop of his own at the back of his garage. His garage was full to the brim of anything that might potentially useful, but it was not chaotic. He knew exactly where to find anything, from the tiniest screw for spectacles to a useful bit of wire. He was “mechanicaly minded” and could always fix things like sewing machines and cars and so on.
Mop used to let me sit with him in his workshop, and make things out of the pink wax he used for gums to embed the false teeth into prior to making the plaster casts. The porcelain teeth came on cards, and were strung in place by means of little holes on the back end of the teeth. I still have a necklace I made by threading teeth onto a string. There was a foot pedal operated drill in there as well, possibly it was a dentists drill previously, that he used with miniature grinding or polishing attachments. Sometimes I made things out of the pink acrylic used for the final denture, which had a strong smell and used to harden quickly, so you had to work fast. Initially, the workshop was to do the work for Uncle Ralph, Grandmas’s sisters husband, who was a dentist. In later years after Ralph retired, I recall a nice man called Claude used to come in the evening to collect the dentures for another dental laboratory. Mop always called his place of work the laboratory.
Grandma loved books and was always reading, in her armchair next to the gas fire. I don’t recall seeing Mop reading a book, but he was amazingly well informed about countless topics.
At family gatherings, Mops favourite topic of conversation after dinner was the atrocities committed over the centuries by organized religion.
My grandfather played snooker in his younger years at the Conservative club. I recall my father assuming he voted Conservative, and Mop told him in no uncertain terms that he’s always voted Labour. When asked why he played snooker at the Conservative club and not the Labour club, he said with a grin that “it was a better class of people”, but that he’d never vote Conservative because it was of no benefit to the likes of us working people.
Grandma and her sister in law Marie had a little grocers shop on Brettel Lane in Amblecote for a few years but I have no personal recollection of that as it was during the years we lived in USA. I don’t recall her working other than that. She had a pastry making day once a week, and made Bakewell tart, apple pie, a meat pie, and her own style of pizza. She had an old black hand operated sewing machine, and made curtains and loose covers for the chairs and sofa, but I don’t think she made her own clothes, at least not in later years. I have her sewing machine here in Spain.
At regular intervals she’d move all the furniture around and change the front room into the living room and the back into the dining room and vice versa. In later years Mop always had the back bedroom (although when I lived with them aged 14, I had the back bedroom, and painted the entire room including the ceiling purple). He had a very lumpy mattress but he said it fit his bad hip perfectly.
Grandma used to alternate between the tiny bedroom and the big bedroom at the front. (this is in later years, obviously) The wardrobes and chests of drawers never changed, they were oak and substantial, but rather dated in appearance. They had a grandfather clock with a brass face and a grandmother clock. Over the fireplace in the living room was a Utrillo print. The bathroom and lavatory were separate rooms, and the old claw foot bath had wood panels around it to make it look more modern. There was a big hot water geyser above it. Grandma was fond of using stick on Fablon tile effects to try to improve and update the appearance of the bathroom and kitchen. Mop was a generous man, but would not replace household items that continued to function perfectly well. There were electric heaters in all the rooms, of varying designs, and gas fires in living room and dining room. The coal house on the outside wall was later turned into a downstairs shower room, when Mop moved his bedroom downstairs into the front dining room, after Grandma had died and he was getting on.
Mop was 91 when he told me he wouldn’t be growing any vegetables that year. He said the sad thing was that he knew he’d never grow vegetables again. He worked part time until he was in his early 80s.
Several years before I started researching the family tree, a friend treated me to a DNA test just for fun. The ethnicity estimates were surprising (and still don’t make much sense): I am apparently 58% Scandinavian, 37% English, and a little Iberian, North African, and even a bit Nigerian! My ancestry according to genealogical research is almost 100% Midlands English for the past three hundred years.
Not long after doing the DNA test, I was contacted via the website by Jim Perkins, who had noticed my Marshall name on the DNA match. Jim’s grandfather was James Marshall, my great grandfather William Marshall’s brother. Jim told me he had done his family tree years before the advent of online genealogy. Jim didn’t have a photo of James, but we had several photos with “William Marshall’s brother” written on the back.
Jim sent me a photo of his uncle, the man he was named after. The photo shows Charles James Marshall in his army uniform. He escaped Dunkirk in 1940 by swimming out to a destroyer, apparently an excellent swimmer. Sadly he was killed, aged 25 and unmarried, on Sep 2 1942 at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa. Jim was born exactly one year later.
Jim and I became friends on Facebook. In 2021 a relative kindly informed me that Jim had died. I’ve since been in contact with his sister Marilyn. Jim’s grandfather James Marshall was the eldest of John and Emma’s children, born in 1873. James daughter with his first wife Martha, Hilda, married James Perkins, Jim and Marilyn’s parents. Charles James Marshall who died in North Africa was James son by a second marriage. James was a railway engine fireman on the 1911 census, and a retired rail driver on the 1939 census.
Charles James Marshall 1917-1942 died at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa:
photo thanks to Jim Perkins
Anna Marshall, born in 1875, was a dressmaker and never married. She was still living with her parents John and Emma in Buxton on the 1921 census. One the 1939 census she was still single at the age of 66, and was living with John J Marshall born 1916. Perhaps a nephew?
John Marshall was born in 1877. Buxton is a spa town with many hotels, and John was the 2nd porter living in at the Crescent Hotel on the 1901 census, although he married later that year. In the 1911 census John was married with three children and living in Fairfield, Buxton, and his occupation was Hotel Porter and Boots. John and Alice had four children, although one son died in infancy, leaving two sons and a daughter, Lily.
My great grandfather WilliamMarshall was born in 1878, and Edward Marshall was born in 1880. According to the family stories, one of William’s brothers was chief of police in Lincolnshire, and two of the family photos say on the back “Frank Marshall, chief of police Lincolnshire”. But it wasn’t Frank, it was Edward, and it wasn’t Lincolnshire, it was Lancashire.
The records show that Edward Marshall was a hotel porter at the Pulteney Hotel in Bath, Somerset, in 1901. Presumably he started working in hotels in Buxton prior to that. James married Florence in Bath in 1903, and their first four children were born in Bath. By 1911 the family were living in Salmesbury, near Blackburn Lancashire, and Edward was a police constable. On the 1939 census, James was a retired police inspector, still living in Lancashire. Florence and Edward had eight children.
It became clear that the two photographs we have that were labeled “Frank Marshall Chief of police” were in fact Edward, when I noticed that both photos were taken by a photographer in Bath. They were correctly labeled as the policeman, but we had the name wrong.
Edward and Florence Marshall, Bath, Somerset:
Sarah Marshall was born in 1882 and died two years later.
Nellie Marshall was born in 1885 and I have not yet found a marriage or death for her.
Harry Marshall was John and Emma’s next child, born in 1887. On the 1911 census Harry is 24 years old, and lives at home with his parents and sister Ann. His occupation is a barman in a hotel. I haven’t yet found any further records for Harry.
Frank Marshall was the youngest, born in 1889. In 1911 Frank was living at the George Hotel in Buxton, employed as a boot boy. Also listed as live in staff at the hotel was Lily Moss, a kitchenmaid.
In 1913 Frank and Lily were married, and in 1914 their first child Millicent Rose was born. On the 1921 census Frank, Lily, William Rose and one other (presumably Millicent Rose) were living in Hartington Upper Quarter, Buxton.
The George Hotel, Buxton:
One of the photos says on the back “Jack Marshall, brother of William Marshall, WW1”:
Another photo that says on the back “William Marshalls brother”:
Another “William Marshalls brother”:
And another “William Marshalls brother”:
Unlabeled but clearly a Marshall:
The last photo is clearly a Marshall, but I haven’t yet found a Burnley connection with any of the Marshall brothers.
A short autobiography of George Gilman Rushby’s son, published in the Blackwall Bugle, Australia.
Early in 2009, Ballina Shire Council Strategic and Community Services Group Manager, Steve Barnier, suggested that it would be a good idea for the Wardell and District community to put out a bi-monthly newsletter. I put my hand up to edit the publication and since then, over 50 issues of “The Blackwall Bugle” have been produced, encouraged by Ballina Shire Council who host the newsletter on their website. Because I usually write the stories that other people generously share with me, I have been asked by several community members to let them know who I am. Here is my attempt to let you know!
My father, George Gilman Rushby was born in England in 1900. An Electrician, he migrated to Africa as a young man to hunt and to prospect for gold. He met Eleanor Dunbar Leslie who was a high school teacher in Cape Town. They later married in Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika. I was the second child and first son and was born in a mud hut in Tanganyika in 1933. I spent my first years on a coffee plantation. When four years old, and with parents and elder sister on a remote goldfield, I caught typhoid fever. I was seriously ill and had no access to proper medical facilities. My paternal grandmother sailed out to Africa from England on a steam ship and took me back to England for medical treatment. My sister Ann came too. Then Adolf Hitler started WWII and Ann and I were separated from our parents for 9 years.
Sister Ann and I were not to see him or our mother for nine years because of the war. Dad served as a Captain in the King’s African Rifles operating in the North African desert, while our Mum managed the coffee plantation at home in Tanganyika.
Ann and I lived with our Grandmother and went to school in Nottingham England. In 1946 the family was reunited. We lived in Mbeya in Southern Tanganyika where my father was then the District Manager of the National Parks and Wildlife Authority. There was no high school in Tanganyika so I had to go to school in Nairobi, Kenya. It took five days travelling each way by train and bus including two days on a steamer crossing Lake Victoria.
However, the school year was only two terms with long holidays in between.
When I was seventeen, I left high school. There was then no university in East Africa. There was no work around as Tanganyika was about to become independent of the British Empire and become Tanzania. Consequently jobs were reserved for Africans.
A war had broken out in Korea. I took a day off from high school and visited the British Army headquarters in Nairobi. I signed up for military service intending to go to Korea. The army flew me to England. During Army basic training I was nicknamed ‘Mike’ and have been called Mike ever since. I never got to Korea! After my basic training I volunteered for the Parachute Regiment and the army sent me to Egypt where the Suez Canal was under threat. I carried out parachute operations in the Sinai Desert and in Cyprus and Jordan. I was then selected for officer training and was sent to England to the Eaton Hall Officer Cadet School in Cheshire. Whilst in Cheshire, I met my future wife Jeanette. I graduated as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Lincolnshire Regiment and was posted to West Berlin, which was then one hundred miles behind the Iron Curtain. My duties included patrolling the demarcation line that separated the allies from the Russian forces. The Berlin Wall was yet to be built. I also did occasional duty as guard commander of the guard at Spandau Prison where Adolf Hitler’s deputy Rudolf Hess was the only prisoner.
From Berlin, my Regiment was sent to Malaya to undertake deep jungle operations against communist terrorists that were attempting to overthrow the Malayan Government. I was then a Lieutenant in command of a platoon of about 40 men which would go into the jungle for three weeks to a month with only air re-supply to keep us going. On completion of my jungle service, I returned to England and married Jeanette. I had to stand up throughout the church wedding ceremony because I had damaged my right knee in a competitive cross-country motorcycle race and wore a splint and restrictive bandage for the occasion! At this point I took a career change and transferred from the infantry to the Royal Military Police. I was in charge of the security of British, French and American troops using the autobahn link from West Germany to the isolated Berlin. Whilst in Germany and Austria I took up snow skiing as a sport.
Jeanette and I seemed to attract unusual little adventures along the way — each adventure trivial in itself but adding up to give us a ‘different’ path through life. Having climbed Mount Snowdon up the ‘easy way’ we were witness to a serious climbing accident where a member of the staff of a Cunard Shipping Line expedition fell and suffered serious injury. It was Sunday a long time ago. The funicular railway was closed. There was no telephone. So I ran all the way down Mount Snowdon to raise the alarm.
On a road trip from Verden in Germany to Berlin with our old Opel Kapitan motor car stacked to the roof with all our worldly possessions, we broke down on the ice and snow covered autobahn. We still had a hundred kilometres to go.
A motorcycle patrolman flagged down a B-Double tanker. He hooked us to the tanker with a very short tow cable and off we went. The truck driver couldn’t see us because we were too close and his truck threw up a constant deluge of ice and snow so we couldn’t see anyway. We survived the hundred kilometre ‘sleigh ride!’
I then went back to the other side of the world where I carried out military police duties in Singapore and Malaya for three years. I took up scuba diving and loved the ocean. Jeanette and I, with our two little daughters, took a holiday to South Africa to see my parents. We sailed on a ship of the Holland-Afrika Line. It broke down for four days and drifted uncontrollably in dangerous waters off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia until the crew could get the ship’s motor running again. Then, in Cape Town, we were walking the beach near Hermanus with my youngest brother and my parents, when we found the dead body of a man who had thrown himself off a cliff. The police came and secured the site. Back with the army, I was promoted to Major and appointed Provost Marshal of the ACE Mobile Force (Allied Command Europe) with dual headquarters in Salisbury, England and Heidelberg, Germany. The cold war was at its height and I was on operations in Greece, Denmark and Norway including the Arctic. I had Norwegian, Danish, Italian and American troops in my unit and I was then also the Winter Warfare Instructor for the British contingent to the Allied Command Europe Mobile Force that operated north of the Arctic Circle.
The reason for being in the Arctic Circle? From there our special forces could look down into northern Russia.
I was not seeing much of my two young daughters. A desk job was looming my way and I decided to leave the army and migrate to Australia. Why Australia? Well, I didn’t want to go back to Africa, which seemed politically unstable and the people I most liked working with in the army, were the Australian troops I had met in Malaya.
I migrated to Brisbane, Australia in 1970 and started working for Woolworths. After management training, I worked at Garden City and Brookside then became the manager in turn of Woolworths stores at Paddington, George Street and Redcliff. I was also the first Director of FAUI Queensland (The Federation of Underwater Diving Instructors) and spent my spare time on the Great Barrier Reef. After 8 years with Woollies, I opted for a sea change.
I moved with my family to Evans Head where I converted a convenience store into a mini supermarket. When IGA moved into town, I decided to take up beef cattle farming and bought a cattle property at Collins Creek Kyogle in 1990. I loved everything about the farm — the Charolais cattle, my horses, my kelpie dogs, the open air, fresh water creek, the freedom, the lifestyle. I also became a volunteer fire fighter with the Green Pigeon Brigade. In 2004 I sold our farm and moved to Wardell. My wife Jeanette and I have been married for 60 years and are now retired. We have two lovely married daughters and three fine grandchildren. We live in the greatest part of the world where we have been warmly welcomed by the Wardell community and by the Wardell Brigade of the Rural Fire Service. We are very happy here.
Mike Rushby
A short article sent to Jacksdale in England from Mike Rushby in Australia:
“The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.
These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
important part of her life.
Prelude
Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to
Africa.
Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
and told her what ship you are arriving on.”
Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
their home.
These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.
Dearest Marj, Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in imagining!!
The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession. Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.
Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast. Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.
He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.” George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the pot boiling.
Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the most gracious chores.
George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and even and he has a quiet voice.
I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.
Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and apply a bit of glamour.
Much love my dear, your jubilant Eleanor
S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.
Dearest Family, Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women, but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.
I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.
The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff. Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her husband and only child in an accident.
I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty, from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.
However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.
The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up for it in mime.
I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.
At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up. The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me, Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or worse.
I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days. Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.
Bless you all, Eleanor.
S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930
Dearest Family,
Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who pursues Mrs C everywhere.
The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type. I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend. Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.
The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice, very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.
In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better. At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man, very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing very much.
It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina trees.
The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.
The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea with them.
Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed. We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew straight up into the rigging.
The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.
Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends. It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.
During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage. A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer
I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin, shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly. “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals. This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet passenger to the wedding.
This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited that I shall not sleep.
Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time. with my “bes respeks”,
Eleanor Leslie.
Eleanor and George Rushby:
Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930
Dearest Family,
I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here. I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is heavenly.
We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov). The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George. We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky says he was not amused.
Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be bad tempered.
Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through, except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl. Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind. We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.
Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me. I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then she too left for the church.
I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said, “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.” Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.
I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.
Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.
In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church, standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well because they would not have fitted in at all well.
Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’ and I shall remember it for ever.
The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the- Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old lady was wearing a carnation.
When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a generous tip there and then.
I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.
After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.
There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.
We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores, tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.
We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham was bad.
Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a mattress.
Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.
Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my aid like a knight of old. Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw. I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small, seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset. This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.
I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel. With much love to all.
Your cave woman Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930
Dearest Family,
Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later. We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.
We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo. The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with wood and not coal as in South Africa.
Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious – that there had been a party the night before.
When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah, because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see our car before breakfast.
Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat. Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.
When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all. In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows and rounded roofs covered with earth.
Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears. The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country. Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course. our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.
When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.
After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening. Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day. Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly. Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.
The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.
Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends. This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear. We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.
Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings are too small to be of use.
George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on. There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long black tail feathers.
There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at once, the bath will be cold.
I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t worry about me.
Much love to you all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930
Dearest Family,
I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of course.
On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather. There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.
I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there, facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.
It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny, dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the sun.
Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun. Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost only sixpence each.
I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed. Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again, only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty miles away.
Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants. However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable. We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.
Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’ reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat, peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment. George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading. He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.
We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders. This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.
Your loving Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930
Dearest Family,
A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my bounce.
I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you? You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They have not yet returned from the coast.
George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to spend a further four days in bed.
We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very quickly.
The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill. Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria within a few weeks of her marriage.
The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy. I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity. The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are back with our very welcome mail.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Mbeya 23rd December 1930
Dearest Family,
George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC. who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his first elephant safari to show him the ropes.
George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.
So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven children.
I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about Mbeya will become quite suburban.
26th December 1930
George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.
I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.
You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon. We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the house.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931
Dearest Family,
Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter. The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a success.
However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.
Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road. The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is Major Jones.
All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.
The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun shines again.
I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.
Your loving, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931
Dearest Family,
Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen, lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.
Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.
I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous Memsahibs has complained.
My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there has not been a mishap.
It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to me.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931
Dearest Family,
It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.
Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.
We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.
We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look. A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I did not see him again until the following night.
George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.
Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931
Dear Family,
I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee during the dry season.
It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line. The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them work unless he is there to supervise.
I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive. Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.
I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.
George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however, complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.
I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the rest. Ah me!
The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the Tukuyu district.
On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe. They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful garb I assure you.
We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour. There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney. I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the bedroom whilst George handled the situation.
You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the houseboy both speak basic English.
I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.
George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he recovered.
But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath. Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are. Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is. The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields. This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with whom. This is a great country for gossip.
Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features, burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into song.
Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front. George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.
I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu, all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by. Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.
George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for washing pots and pans and for bath water.
Lots of love, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931
Dearest Family,
I think it is about time I told you that we are going to have a baby. We are both thrilled about it. I have not seen a Doctor but feel very well and you are not to worry. I looked it up in my handbook for wives and reckon that the baby is due about February 8th. next year.
The announcement came from George, not me! I had been feeling queasy for days and was waiting for the right moment to tell George. You know. Soft lights and music etc. However when I was listlessly poking my food around one lunch time George enquired calmly, “When are you going to tell me about the baby?” Not at all according to the book! The problem is where to have the baby. February is a very wet month and the nearest Doctor is over 50 miles away at Tukuyu. I cannot go to stay at Tukuyu because there is no European accommodation at the hospital, no hotel and no friend with whom I could stay.
George thinks I should go South to you but Capetown is so very far away and I love my little home here. Also George says he could not come all the way down with me as he simply must stay here and get the farm on its feet. He would drive me as far as the railway in Northern Rhodesia. It is a difficult decision to take. Write and tell me what you think.
The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate. He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.
The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.
Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned it is like the best brisket.
See what a housewife I am becoming. With much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931
Dearest Family,
I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would love to stay on here.
George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night. Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air. Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment. The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that dish.
And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was. I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that the baby will be a girl.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Note
“There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.
A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
baby.
He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.
My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
on the appointed day, Feb.8th.
I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
Tanganyika!”
The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
who longed to cuddle the child.
As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
put us on the plane for Mbeya.
Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932
Dearest Family,
You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way. Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went to meals in the dining car.
We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust health.
Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya. After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to the rather old world air of our living room.
In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for washing up. Lovely!
George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long journey.
It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm, Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann sends a special bubble for granddad.
Your very loving, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932
Dearest Family,
Ann at five months is enchanting. She is a very good baby, smiles readily and is gaining weight steadily. She doesn’t sleep much during the day but that does not matter, because, apart from washing her little things, I have nothing to do but attend to her. She sleeps very well at night which is a blessing as George has to get up very early to start work on the shamba and needs a good nights rest. My nights are not so good, because we are having a plague of rats which frisk around in the bedroom at night. Great big ones that come up out of the long grass in the gorge beside the house and make cosy homes on our reed ceiling and in the thatch of the roof.
We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more. Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.
I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few mosquitoes.
Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content. The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman, who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.
Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey. They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah walked beside it.
It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932
Dearest Family,
George has been very unwell for the past week. He had a nasty gash on his knee which went septic. He had a swelling in the groin and a high temperature and could not sleep at night for the pain in his leg. Ann was very wakeful too during the same period, I think she is teething. I luckily have kept fit though rather harassed. Yesterday the leg looked so inflamed that George decided to open up the wound himself. he made quite a big cut in exactly the right place. You should have seen the blackish puss pouring out.
After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some husband!
The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen. They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound, taking cover.
George returned quite soon to say that apparently the commotion made by the women and children had frightened the lions off. He found their tracks in the soft earth round the huts and a bag of maize that had been playfully torn open but the lions had moved on.
Next day we heard that they had moved to Hickson-Wood’s shamba. Hicky came across to say that the lions had jumped over the wall of his cattle boma and killed both his white Muskat riding donkeys. He and a friend sat up all next night over the remains but the lions did not return to the kill.
Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both cheeks. We are very proud of her.
Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”
Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.
Much love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932
Dearest Family,
News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings. Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her amusement and my exasperation!
You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down there.
The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently. Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs. Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good hunter.
Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck. Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for cooking and very like beef fat.
Much love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932
Dearest Family,
George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.
Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long journey in so tiny a car.
Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot, sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a treat for a pregnant female.
We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size, peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t know whether that was the thing to do.
We all send our love, Eleanor.
Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933
Dearest Family,
Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.
George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.
As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm. The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.
George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.
Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.
During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her, looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.
I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously. I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.
Dearest Family,
Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a great comfort it was to know that he was there.
The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache. George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at him.
Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all snowy white.
George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that tea is a medicine and good for him.
Much love from a proud mother of two. Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate 12May 1933
Dearest Family,
We are all together at home again and how lovely it feels. Even the house servants seem pleased. The boy had decorated the lounge with sprays of bougainvillaea and Abel had backed one of his good sponge cakes.
Ann looked fat and rosy but at first was only moderately interested in me and the new baby but she soon thawed. George is good with her and will continue to dress Ann in the mornings and put her to bed until I am satisfied with Georgie.
He, poor mite, has a nasty rash on face and neck. I am sure it is just due to that tea the nurse used to give him at night. He has lost his moustache and is fast loosing his wild black hair and emerging as quite a handsome babe. He is a very masculine looking infant with much more strongly marked eyebrows and a larger nose that Ann had. He is very good and lies quietly in his basket even when awake.
George has been making a hatching box for brown trout ova and has set it up in a small clear stream fed by a spring in readiness for the ova which is expected from South Africa by next weeks plane. Some keen fishermen from Mbeya and the District have clubbed together to buy the ova. The fingerlings are later to be transferred to streams in Mbeya and Tukuyu Districts.
I shall now have my hands full with the two babies and will not have much time for the garden, or I fear, for writing very long letters. Remember though, that no matter how large my family becomes, I shall always love you as much as ever.
Your affectionate, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933
Dearest Family,
The four of us are all well but alas we have lost our dear Kelly. He was rather a silly dog really, although he grew so big he retained all his puppy ways but we were all very fond of him, especially George because Kelly attached himself to George whilst I was away having Ann and from that time on he was George’s shadow. I think he had some form of biliary fever. He died stretched out on the living room couch late last night, with George sitting beside him so that he would not feel alone.
The children are growing fast. Georgie is a darling. He now has a fluff of pale brown hair and his eyes are large and dark brown. Ann is very plump and fair. We have had several visitors lately. Apart from neighbours, a car load of diggers arrived one night and John Molteno and his bride were here. She is a very attractive girl but, I should say, more suited to life in civilisation than in this back of beyond. She has gone out to the diggings with her husband and will have to walk a good stretch of the fifty or so miles.
The diggers had to sleep in the living room on the couch and on hastily erected camp beds. They arrived late at night and left after breakfast next day. One had half a beard, the other side of his face had been forcibly shaved in the bar the night before.
your affectionate, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933
Dearest Family,
George is away on safari with two Indian Army officers. The money he will get for his services will be very welcome because this coffee growing is a slow business, and our capitol is rapidly melting away. The job of acting as White Hunter was unexpected or George would not have taken on the job of hatching the ova which duly arrived from South Africa.
George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking them up in a glass tube.
When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry down to feed the trout.
The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.
Very much love Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933
Dear Family,
All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.
There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified. By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me. I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.
George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor, because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid being left high and dry.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933
Dearest Family,
Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair and the other dark.
The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the doctor had no vaccine.
George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.
We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.
The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.
George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope the children will enjoy riding it later on.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.
Dearest Family,
You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same thing over again.
At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann. That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only small sips of water since the onset of the attack.
The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething. George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all subdued.
This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on our road or the doctor might not have got through.
Much love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934
Dearest Family,
We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head against the cot.
George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!
There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good return for all his hard work.
Lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934
Dearest Family,
George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well. The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of high powered rifles with telescopic sights.
It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However can we afford one?”
“Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.
So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator. Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.
Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally under her own steam.
George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country. I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re definitely carriage folk now.
Lots of love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934
Dearest Family,
Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new clothes.
Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’, follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing, the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.
The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday. They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better. We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up. Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her. They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the feathers had rotted off.
The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.
I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her belated Christmas dinner with relish.
I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.
Much love to you all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935
Dearest Family,
You cannot imagine how lovely it is to have Marjorie here. She came just in time because I have had pernicious vomiting and have lost a great deal of weight and she took charge of the children and made me spend three days in hospital having treatment. George took me to the hospital on the afternoon of New Years Eve and decided to spend the night at the hotel and join in the New Years Eve celebrations. I had several visitors at the hospital that evening and George actually managed to get some imported grapes for me. He returned to the farm next morning and fetched me from the hospital four days later. Of course the old A.C. just had to play up. About half way home the back axle gave in and we had to send a passing native some miles back to a place called Mbalizi to hire a lorry from a Greek trader to tow us home to the farm. The children looked well and were full of beans. I think Marjorie was thankful to hand them over to me. She is delighted with Ann’s motherly little ways but Georgie she calls “a really wild child”. He isn’t, just has such an astonishing amount of energy and is always up to mischief. Marjorie brought us all lovely presents. I am so thrilled with my sewing machine. It may be an old model but it sews marvellously. We now have an Alsatian pup as well as Joseph the donkey and the two cats.
Marjorie had a midnight encounter with Joseph which gave her quite a shock but we had a good laugh about it next day. Some months ago George replaced our wattle and daub outside pit lavatory by a substantial brick one, so large that Joseph is being temporarily stabled in it at night. We neglected to warn Marj about this and one night, storm lamp in hand, she opened the door and Joseph walked out braying his thanks. I am afraid Marjorie is having a quiet time, a shame when the journey from Cape Town is so expensive. The doctor has told me to rest as much as I can, so it is impossible for us to take Marj on sight seeing trips.
I hate to think that she will be leaving in ten days time.
Much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935
Dearest Family,
You must be able to visualise our life here quite well now that Marj is back and has no doubt filled in all the details I forget to mention in my letters. What a journey we had in the A.C. when we took her to the plane. George, the children and I sat in front and Marj sat behind with numerous four gallon tins of water for the insatiable radiator. It was raining and the canvas hood was up but part of the side flaps are missing and as there is no glass in the windscreen the rain blew in on us. George got fed up with constantly removing the hot radiator cap so simply stuffed a bit of rag in instead. When enough steam had built up in the radiator behind the rag it blew out and we started all over again. The car still roars like an aeroplane engine and yet has little power so that George sent gangs of boys to the steep hills between the farm and the Mission to give us a push if necessary. Fortunately this time it was not, and the boys cheered us on our way. We needed their help on the homeward journey however.
George has now bought an old Chev engine which he means to install before I have to go to hospital to have my new baby. It will be quite an engineering feet as George has few tools.
I am sorry to say that I am still not well, something to do with kidneys or bladder. George bought me some pills from one of the several small shops which have opened in Mbeya and Ann is most interested in the result. She said seriously to Kath Wood, “Oh my Mummy is a very clever Mummy. She can do blue wee and green wee as well as yellow wee.” I simply can no longer manage the children without help and have engaged the cook’s wife, Janey, to help. The children are by no means thrilled. I plead in vain that I am not well enough to go for walks. Ann says firmly, “Ann doesn’t want to go for a walk. Ann will look after you.” Funny, though she speaks well for a three year old, she never uses the first person. Georgie say he would much rather walk with Keshokutwa, the kitchen boy. His name by the way, means day-after-tomorrow and it suits him down to the ground, Kath Wood walks over sometimes with offers of help and Ann will gladly go walking with her but Georgie won’t. He on the other hand will walk with Anne Molteno and Ann won’t. They are obstinate kids. Ann has developed a very fertile imagination. She has probably been looking at too many of those nice women’s magazines you sent. A few days ago she said, “You are sick Mummy, but Ann’s got another Mummy. She’s not sick, and my other mummy (very smugly) has lovely golden hair”. This morning’ not ten minutes after I had dressed her, she came in with her frock wet and muddy. I said in exasperation, “Oh Ann, you are naughty.” To which she instantly returned, “My other Mummy doesn’t think I am naughty. She thinks I am very nice.” It strikes me I shall have to get better soon so that I can be gay once more and compete with that phantom golden haired paragon.
We had a very heavy storm over the farm last week. There was heavy rain with hail which stripped some of the coffee trees and the Mchewe River flooded and the water swept through the lower part of the shamba. After the water had receded George picked up a fine young trout which had been stranded. This was one of some he had put into the river when Georgie was a few months old.
The trials of a coffee farmer are legion. We now have a plague of snails. They ring bark the young trees and leave trails of slime on the glossy leaves. All the ring barked trees will have to be cut right back and this is heartbreaking as they are bearing berries for the first time. The snails are collected by native children, piled upon the ground and bashed to a pulp which gives off a sickening stench. I am sorry for the local Africans. Locusts ate up their maize and now they are losing their bean crop to the snails.
I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named ‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was. It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really friendly terms with them.
Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things. Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks.
She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs. Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant stride up the hill, half walking half riding.
Very much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935
Dearest Family,
A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best of what we have.
George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening. This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire.
Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look. To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane. Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair, normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law. Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration.
Just hold thumbs that all goes well.
your loving but anxious, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935
Dearest Family,
Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface mail has not yet arrived.
Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course, was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin- law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley. Perhaps number three will be a Leslie.
What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times. Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes.
I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here. The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother! A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe. Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what transformations will be worked when I am in hospital.
Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist. One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married, mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot. To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet.
Very much love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935
Dearest Family,
Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine. I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy.
For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights.
Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,” and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked “Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor arrived.
A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on the sixth to fetch me home.
I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What more could anyone possibly want.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935
Dearest Family,
Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire her when she is lying alone in her basket.
George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge. Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked, enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful, you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to get that sylph-like figure.”
When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home. Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the journey.
Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit. Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.”
Who would be a mother! Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935
Dearest Family,
I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful. About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism.
I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake for Kate’s ten o’clock feed.
I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked. “I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand Alfani.
George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme! Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched upwards to support his head.
Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have. Lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935
Dearest Family,
Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked “Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember how livid you were, dad?
I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said, “What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki- Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate who is thriving and bonny and placid.
Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne. Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was.
Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much. The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t touch it, it’s hot.”
Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935
Dearest Family,
I take back the disparaging things I said about my new Ayah, because she has proved her worth in an unexpected way. On Wednesday morning I settled Kate in he cot after her ten o’clock feed and sat sewing at the dining room table with Ann and Georgie opposite me, both absorbed in painting pictures in identical seed catalogues. Suddenly there was a terrific bang on the back door, followed by an even heavier blow. The door was just behind me and I got up and opened it. There, almost filling the door frame, stood a huge native with staring eyes and his teeth showing in a mad grimace. In his hand he held a rolled umbrella by the ferrule, the shaft I noticed was unusually long and thick and the handle was a big round knob.
I was terrified as you can imagine, especially as, through the gap under the native’s raised arm, I could see the new cook and the kitchen boy running away down to the shamba! I hastily tried to shut and lock the door but the man just brushed me aside. For a moment he stood over me with the umbrella raised as though to strike. Rather fortunately, I now think, I was too petrified to say a word. The children never moved but Tubbage, the Alsatian, got up and jumped out of the window!
Then the native turned away and still with the same fixed stare and grimace, began to attack the furniture with his umbrella. Tables and chairs were overturned and books and ornaments scattered on the floor. When the madman had his back turned and was busily bashing the couch, I slipped round the dining room table, took Ann and Georgie by the hand and fled through the front door to the garage where I hid the children in the car. All this took several minutes because naturally the children were terrified. I was worried to death about the baby left alone in the bedroom and as soon as I had Ann and Georgie settled I ran back to the house.
I reached the now open front door just as Kianda the houseboy opened the back door of the lounge. He had been away at the river washing clothes but, on hearing of the madman from the kitchen boy he had armed himself with a stout stick and very pluckily, because he is not a robust boy, had returned to the house to eject the intruder. He rushed to attack immediately and I heard a terrific exchange of blows behind me as I opened our bedroom door. You can imagine what my feelings were when I was confronted by an empty cot! Just then there was an uproar inside as all the farm labourers armed with hoes and pangas and sticks, streamed into the living room from the shamba whence they had been summoned by the cook. In no time at all the huge native was hustled out of the house, flung down the front steps, and securely tied up with strips of cloth.
In the lull that followed I heard a frightened voice calling from the bathroom. ”Memsahib is that you? The child is here with me.” I hastily opened the bathroom door to find Mary couched in a corner by the bath, shielding Kate with her body. Mary had seen the big native enter the house and her first thought had been for her charge. I thanked her and promised her a reward for her loyalty, and quickly returned to the garage to reassure Ann and Georgie. I met George who looked white and exhausted as well he might having run up hill all the way from the coffee store. The kitchen boy had led him to expect the worst and he was most relieved to find us all unhurt if a bit shaken. We returned to the house by the back way whilst George went to the front and ordered our labourers to take their prisoner and lock him up in the store. George then discussed the whole affair with his Headman and all the labourers after which he reported to me. “The boys say that the bastard is an ex-Askari from Nyasaland. He is not mad as you thought but he smokes bhang and has these attacks. I suppose I should take him to Mbeya and have him up in court. But if I do that you’ll have to give evidence and that will be a nuisance as the car won’t go and there is also the baby to consider.”
Eventually we decided to leave the man to sleep off the effects of the Bhang until evening when he would be tried before an impromptu court consisting of George, the local Jumbe(Headman) and village Elders, and our own farm boys and any other interested spectators. It was not long before I knew the verdict because I heard the sound of lashes. I was not sorry at all because I felt the man deserved his punishment and so did all the Africans. They love children and despise anyone who harms or frightens them. With great enthusiasm they frog-marched him off our land, and I sincerely hope that that is the last we see or him. Ann and Georgie don’t seem to brood over this affair at all. The man was naughty and he was spanked, a quite reasonable state of affairs. This morning they hid away in the small thatched chicken house. This is a little brick building about four feet square which Ann covets as a dolls house. They came back covered in stick fleas which I had to remove with paraffin. My hens are laying well but they all have the ‘gapes’! I wouldn’t run a chicken farm for anything, hens are such fussy, squawking things.
Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the children’s pranks is very tranquil.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935
Dearest Family,
The hot winds have dried up the shamba alarmingly and we hope every day for rain. The prices for coffee, on the London market, continue to be low and the local planters are very depressed. Coffee grows well enough here but we are over 400 miles from the railway and transport to the railhead by lorry is very expensive. Then, as there is no East African Marketing Board, the coffee must be shipped to England for sale. Unless the coffee fetches at least 90 pounds a ton it simply doesn’t pay to grow it. When we started planting in 1931 coffee was fetching as much as 115 pounds a ton but prices this year were between 45 and 55 pounds. We have practically exhausted our capitol and so have all our neighbours. The Hickson -Woods have been keeping their pot boiling by selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi but now everyone is broke and there is not a market for fertilisers. They are offering their farm for sale at a very low price.
Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit. There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning, before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily ceremony of presentation.
The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box. The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed ceiling.
I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats.
I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire.
So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children?
Very much love from us all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935
Dearest Family,
To set your minds at rest I must tell you that the native who so frightened me and the children is now in jail for attacking a Greek at Mbalizi. I hear he is to be sent back to Rhodesia when he has finished his sentence.
Yesterday we had one of our rare trips to Mbeya. George managed to get a couple of second hand tyres for the old car and had again got her to work so we are celebrating our wedding anniversary by going on an outing. I wore the green and fawn striped silk dress mother bought me and the hat and shoes you sent for my birthday and felt like a million dollars, for a change. The children all wore new clothes too and I felt very proud of them. Ann is still very fair and with her refined little features and straight silky hair she looks like Alice in Wonderland. Georgie is dark and sturdy and looks best in khaki shirt and shorts and sun helmet. Kate is a pink and gold baby and looks good enough to eat. We went straight to the hotel at Mbeya and had the usual warm welcome from Ken and Aunty May Menzies. Aunty May wears her hair cut short like a mans and usually wears shirt and tie and riding breeches and boots. She always looks ready to go on safari at a moments notice as indeed she is. She is often called out to a case of illness at some remote spot.
There were lots of people at the hotel from farms in the district and from the diggings. I met women I had not seen for four years. One, a Mrs Masters from Tukuyu, said in the lounge, “My God! Last time I saw you , you were just a girl and here you are now with two children.” To which I replied with pride, “There is another one in a pram on the verandah if you care to look!” Great hilarity in the lounge. The people from the diggings seem to have plenty of money to throw around. There was a big party on the go in the bar.
One of our shamba boys died last Friday and all his fellow workers and our house boys had the day off to attend the funeral. From what I can gather the local funerals are quite cheery affairs. The corpse is dressed in his best clothes and laid outside his hut and all who are interested may view the body and pay their respects. The heir then calls upon anyone who had a grudge against the dead man to say his say and thereafter hold his tongue forever. Then all the friends pay tribute to the dead man after which he is buried to the accompaniment of what sounds from a distance, very cheerful keening.
Most of our workmen are pagans though there is a Lutheran Mission nearby and a big Roman Catholic Mission in the area too. My present cook, however, claims to be a Christian. He certainly went to a mission school and can read and write and also sing hymns in Ki-Swahili. When I first engaged him I used to find a large open Bible prominently displayed on the kitchen table. The cook is middle aged and arrived here with a sensible matronly wife. To my surprise one day he brought along a young girl, very plump and giggly and announced proudly that she was his new wife, I said,”But I thought you were a Christian Jeremiah? Christians don’t have two wives.” To which he replied, “Oh Memsahib, God won’t mind. He knows an African needs two wives – one to go with him when he goes away to work and one to stay behind at home to cultivate the shamba.
Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot.
With love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935
Dearest Family,
The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.” George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice. We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry.
With love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935
Dearest Family,
We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples.
As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard. By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has had there is little hope of a decent crop next year.
Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas.
Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935
Dearest Family,
I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and it looks beautifully fresh.
My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile. Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked “Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from then?”
I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression. You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner. Think of us as I shall certainly think of you.
Your very loving, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936
Dearest Family,
Christmas was fun! The tree looked very gay with its load of tinsel, candles and red crackers and the coloured balloons you sent. All the children got plenty of toys thanks to Grandparents and Aunts. George made Ann a large doll’s bed and I made some elegant bedding, Barbara, the big doll is now permanently bed ridden. Her poor shattered head has come all unstuck and though I have pieced it together again it is a sad sight. If you have not yet chosen a present for her birthday next month would you please get a new head from the Handy House. I enclose measurements. Ann does so love the doll. She always calls her, “My little girl”, and she keeps the doll’s bed beside her own and never fails to kiss her goodnight.
We had no guests for Christmas this year but we were quite festive. Ann decorated the dinner table with small pink roses and forget-me-knots and tinsel and the crackers from the tree. It was a wet day but we played the new records and both George and I worked hard to make it a really happy day for the children. The children were hugely delighted when George made himself a revolting set of false teeth out of plasticine and a moustache and beard of paper straw from a chocolate box. “Oh Daddy you look exactly like Father Christmas!” cried an enthralled Ann. Before bedtime we lit all the candles on the tree and sang ‘Away in a Manger’, and then we opened the box of starlights you sent and Ann and Georgie had their first experience of fireworks. After the children went to bed things deteriorated. First George went for his bath and found and killed a large black snake in the bathroom. It must have been in the bathroom when I bathed the children earlier in the evening. Then I developed bad toothache which kept me awake all night and was agonising next day. Unfortunately the bridge between the farm and Mbeya had been washed away and the water was too deep for the car to ford until the 30th when at last I was able to take my poor swollen face to Mbeya. There is now a young German woman dentist working at the hospital. She pulled out the offending molar which had a large abscess attached to it. Whilst the dentist attended to me, Ann and Georgie played happily with the doctor’s children. I wish they could play more often with other children. Dr Eckhardt was very pleased with Margery Kate who at seven months weighs 17 lbs and has lovely rosy cheeks. He admired Ann and told her that she looked just like a German girl. “No I don’t”, cried Ann indignantly, “I’m English!”
We were caught in a rain storm going home and as the old car still has no windscreen or side curtains we all got soaked except for the baby who was snugly wrapped in my raincoat. The kids thought it great fun. Ann is growing up fast now. She likes to ‘help mummy’. She is a perfectionist at four years old which is rather trying. She gets so discouraged when things do not turn out as well as she means them to. Sewing is constantly being unpicked and paintings torn up. She is a very sensitive child. Georgie is quite different. He is a man of action, but not silent. He talks incessantly but lisps and stumbles over some words. At one time Ann and Georgie often conversed in Ki-Swahili but they now scorn to do so. If either forgets and uses a Swahili word, the other points a scornful finger and shouts “You black toto”.
Life is very quiet just now. Our neighbours have left and I miss them all especially Joni who was always a great bearer of news. We also grew fond of his Swedish brother-in-law Max, whose loud ‘Hodi’ always brought a glad ‘Karibu’ from us. His wife, Marion, I saw less often. She is not strong and seldom went visiting but has always been friendly and kind and ready to share her books with me.
Ann’s birthday is looming ahead and I am getting dreadfully anxious that her parcels do not arrive in time. I am delighted that you were able to get a good head for her doll, dad, but horrified to hear that it was so expensive. You would love your ‘Charming Ann’. She is a most responsible little soul and seems to have outgrown her mischievous ways. A pity in a way, I don’t want her to grow too serious. You should see how thoroughly Ann baths and towels herself. She is anxious to do Georgie and Kate as well.
I did not mean to teach Ann to write until after her fifth birthday but she has taught herself by copying the large print in newspaper headlines. She would draw a letter and ask me the name and now I find that at four Ann knows the whole alphabet. The front cement steps is her favourite writing spot. She uses bits of white clay we use here for whitewashing.
Coffee prices are still very low and a lot of planters here and at Mbosi are in a mess as they can no longer raise mortgages on their farms or get advances from the Bank against their crops. We hear many are leaving their farms to try their luck on the Diggings.
George is getting fed up too. The snails are back on the shamba and doing frightful damage. Talk of the plagues of Egypt! Once more they are being collected in piles and bashed into pulp. The stench on the shamba is frightful! The greybeards in the village tell George that the local Chief has put a curse on the farm because he is angry that the Government granted George a small extension to the farm two years ago! As the Chief was consulted at the time and was agreeable this talk of a curse is nonsense but goes to show how the uneducated African put all disasters down to witchcraft.
With much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936
Dearest Family,
Ann’s birthday yesterday was not quite the gay occasion we had hoped. The seventh was mail day so we sent a runner for the mail, hoping against hope that your parcel containing the dolls head had arrived. The runner left for Mbeya at dawn but, as it was a very wet day, he did not return with the mail bag until after dark by which time Ann was fast asleep. My heart sank when I saw the parcel which contained the dolls new head. It was squashed quite flat. I shed a few tears over that shattered head, broken quite beyond repair, and George felt as bad about it as I did. The other parcel arrived in good shape and Ann loves her little sewing set, especially the thimble, and the nursery rhymes are a great success.
Ann woke early yesterday and began to open her parcels. She said “But Mummy, didn’t Barbara’s new head come?” So I had to show her the fragments. Instead of shedding the flood of tears I expected, Ann just lifted the glass eyes in her hand and said in a tight little voice “Oh poor Barbara.” George saved the situation. as usual, by saying in a normal voice,”Come on Ann, get up and lets play your new records.” So we had music and sweets before breakfast. Later I removed Barbara’s faded old blond wig and gummed on the glossy new brown one and Ann seems quite satisfied.
Last night, after the children were tucked up in bed, we discussed our financial situation. The coffee trees that have survived the plagues of borer beetle, mealie bugs and snails look strong and fine, but George says it will be years before we make a living out of the farm. He says he will simply have to make some money and he is leaving for the Lupa on Saturday to have a look around on the Diggings. If he does decide to peg a claim and work it he will put up a wattle and daub hut and the children and I will join him there. But until such time as he strikes gold I shall have to remain here on the farm and ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’.
Now don’t go and waste pity on me. Women all over the country are having to stay at home whilst their husbands search for a livelihood. I am better off than most because I have a comfortable little home and loyal servants and we still have enough capitol to keep the wolf from the door. Anyway this is the rainy season and hardly the best time to drag three small children around the sodden countryside on prospecting safaris.
So I’ll stay here at home and hold thumbs that George makes a lucky strike.
Heaps of love to all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936
Dearest Family,
Well, George has gone but here we are quite safe and cosy. Kate is asleep and Ann and Georgie are sprawled on the couch taking it in turns to enumerate the things God has made. Every now and again Ann bothers me with an awkward question. “Did God make spiders? Well what for? Did he make weeds? Isn’t He silly, mummy? She is becoming a very practical person. She sews surprisingly well for a four year old and has twice made cakes in the past week, very sweet and liberally coloured with cochineal and much appreciated by Georgie.
I have been without George for a fortnight and have adapted myself to my new life. The children are great company during the day and I have arranged my evenings so that they do not seem long. I am determined that when George comes home he will find a transformed wife. I read an article entitled ‘Are you the girl he married?’ in a magazine last week and took a good look in the mirror and decided that I certainly was not! Hair dry, skin dry, and I fear, a faint shadow on the upper lip. So now I have blown the whole of your Christmas Money Order on an order to a chemist in Dar es Salaam for hair tonic, face cream and hair remover and am anxiously awaiting the parcel.
In the meantime, after tucking the children into bed at night, I skip on the verandah and do the series of exercises recommended in the magazine article. After this exertion I have a leisurely bath followed by a light supper and then read or write letters to pass the time until Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I have arranged for Janey to sleep in the house. She comes in at 9.30 pm and makes up her bed on the living room floor by the fire.
The days are by no means uneventful. The day before yesterday the biggest troop of monkeys I have ever seen came fooling around in the trees and on the grass only a few yards from the house. These monkeys were the common grey monkeys with black faces. They came in all sizes and were most entertaining to watch. Ann and Georgie had a great time copying their antics and pulling faces at the monkeys through the bedroom windows which I hastily closed.
Thomas, our headman, came running up and told me that this troop of monkeys had just raided his maize shamba and asked me to shoot some of them. I would not of course do this. I still cannot bear to kill any animal, but I fired a couple of shots in the air and the monkeys just melted away. It was fantastic, one moment they were there and the next they were not. Ann and Georgie thought I had been very unkind to frighten the poor monkeys but honestly, when I saw what they had done to my flower garden, I almost wished I had hardened my heart and shot one or two.
The children are all well but Ann gave me a nasty fright last week. I left Ann and Georgie at breakfast whilst I fed Fanny, our bull terrier on the back verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash and rushed inside to find Ann’s chair lying on its back and Ann beside it on the floor perfectly still and with a paper white face. I shouted for Janey to bring water and laid Ann flat on the couch and bathed her head and hands. Soon she sat up with a wan smile and said “I nearly knocked my head off that time, didn’t I.” She must have been standing on the chair and leaning against the back. Our brick floors are so terribly hard that she might have been seriously hurt.
However she was none the worse for the fall, but Heavens, what an anxiety kids are.
Lots of love, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936
Dearest Family,
It was marvellous of you to send another money order to replace the one I spent on cosmetics. With this one I intend to order boots for both children as a protection from snake bite, though from my experience this past week the threat seems to be to the head rather than the feet. I was sitting on the couch giving Kate her morning milk from a cup when a long thin snake fell through the reed ceiling and landed with a thud just behind the couch. I shouted “Nyoka, Nyoka!” (Snake,Snake!) and the houseboy rushed in with a stick and killed the snake. I then held the cup to Kate’s mouth again but I suppose in my agitation I tipped it too much because the baby choked badly. She gasped for breath. I quickly gave her a sharp smack on the back and a stream of milk gushed through her mouth and nostrils and over me. Janey took Kate from me and carried her out into the fresh air on the verandah and as I anxiously followed her through the door, another long snake fell from the top of the wall just missing me by an inch or so. Luckily the houseboy still had the stick handy and dispatched this snake also.
The snakes were a pair of ‘boomslangs’, not nice at all, and all day long I have had shamba boys coming along to touch hands and say “Poli Memsahib” – “Sorry madam”, meaning of course ‘Sorry you had a fright.’
Apart from that one hectic morning this has been a quiet week. Before George left for the Lupa he paid off most of the farm hands as we can now only afford a few labourers for the essential work such as keeping the weeds down in the coffee shamba. There is now no one to keep the grass on the farm roads cut so we cannot use the pram when we go on our afternoon walks. Instead Janey carries Kate in a sling on her back. Janey is a very clean slim woman, and her clothes are always spotless, so Kate keeps cool and comfortable. Ann and Georgie always wear thick overalls on our walks as a protection against thorns and possible snakes. We usually make our way to the Mchewe River where Ann and Georgie paddle in the clear cold water and collect shiny stones.
The cosmetics parcel duly arrived by post from Dar es Salaam so now I fill the evenings between supper and bed time attending to my face! The much advertised cream is pink and thick and feels revolting. I smooth it on before bedtime and keep it on all night. Just imagine if George could see me! The advertisements promise me a skin like a rose in six weeks. What a surprise there is in store for George!
You will have been wondering what has happened to George. Well on the Lupa he heard rumours of a new gold strike somewhere in the Sumbawanga District. A couple of hundred miles from here I think, though I am not sure where it is and have no one to ask. You look it up on the map and tell me. John Molteno is also interested in this and anxious to have it confirmed so he and George have come to an agreement. John Molteno provided the porters for the journey together with prospecting tools and supplies but as he cannot leave his claims, or his gold buying business, George is to go on foot to the area of the rumoured gold strike and, if the strike looks promising will peg claims in both their names.
The rainy season is now at its height and the whole countryside is under water. All roads leading to the area are closed to traffic and, as there are few Europeans who would attempt the journey on foot, George proposes to get a head start on them by making this uncomfortable safari. I have just had my first letter from George since he left on this prospecting trip. It took ages to reach me because it was sent by runner to Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia, then on by lorry to Mpika where it was put on a plane for Mbeya. George writes the most charming letters which console me a little upon our all too frequent separations.
His letter was cheerful and optimistic, though reading between the lines I should say he had a grim time. He has reached Sumbawanga after ‘a hell of a trip’, to find that the rumoured strike was at Mpanda and he had a few more days of foot safari ahead. He had found the trip from the Lupa even wetter than he had expected. The party had three days of wading through swamps sometimes waist deep in water. Of his sixteen porters, four deserted an the second day out and five others have had malaria and so been unable to carry their loads. He himself is ‘thin but very fit’, and he sounds full of beans and writes gaily of the marvellous holiday we will have if he has any decent luck! I simply must get that mink and diamonds complexion.
The frustrating thing is that I cannot write back as I have no idea where George is now.
With heaps of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936
Dearest Family, How kind you are. Another parcel from home. Although we are very short of labourers I sent a special runner to fetch it as Ann simply couldn’t bear the suspense of waiting to see Brenda, “My new little girl with plaits.” Thank goodness Brenda is unbreakable. I could not have born another tragedy. She really is an exquisite little doll and has hardly been out of Ann’s arms since arrival. She showed Brenda proudly to all the staff. The kitchen boy’s face was a study. His eyes fairly came out on sticks when he saw the dolls eyes not only opening and shutting, but moving from side to side in that incredibly lifelike way. Georgie loves his little model cars which he carries around all day and puts under his pillow at night.
As for me, I am enchanted by my very smart new frock. Janey was so lavish with her compliments when I tried the frock on, that in a burst of generosity I gave her that rather tartish satin and lace trousseau nighty, and she was positively enthralled. She wore it that very night when she appeared as usual to doss down by the fire. By the way it was Janey’s turn to have a fright this week. She was in the bathroom washing the children’s clothes in an outsize hand basin when it happened. As she took Georgie’s overalls from the laundry basket a large centipede ran up her bare arm. Luckily she managed to knock the centipede off into the hot water in the hand basin. It was a brute, about six inches long of viciousness with a nasty sting. The locals say that the bite is much worse than a scorpions so Janey had a lucky escape.
Kate cut her first two teeth yesterday and will, I hope, sleep better now. I don’t feel that pink skin food is getting a fair trial with all those broken nights. There is certainly no sign yet of ‘The skin he loves to touch”. Kate, I may say, is rosy and blooming. She can pull herself upright providing she has something solid to hold on to. She is so plump I have horrible visions of future bow legs so I push her down, but she always bobs up again.
Both Ann and Georgie are mad on books. Their favourites are ‘Barbar and Celeste” and, of all things, ‘Struvel Peter’ . They listen with absolute relish to the sad tale of Harriet who played with matches.
I have kept a laugh for the end. I am hoping that it will not be long before George comes home and thought it was time to take the next step towards glamour, so last Wednesday after lunch I settled the children on their beds and prepared to remove the , to me, obvious down on my upper lip. (George always loyally says that he can’t see any.) Well I got out the tube of stuff and carefully followed the directions. I smoothed a coating on my upper lip. All this was watched with great interest by the children, including the baby, who stood up in her cot for a better view. Having no watch, I had propped the bedroom door open so that I could time the operation by the cuckoo clock in the living room. All the children’s surprised comments fell on deaf ears. I would neither talk nor smile for fear of cracking the hair remover which had set hard. The set time was up and I was just about to rinse the remover off when Kate slipped, knocking her head on the corner of the cot. I rushed to the rescue and precious seconds ticked off whilst I pacified her.
So, my dears, when I rinsed my lip, not only the plaster and the hair came away but the skin as well and now I really did have a Ronald Coleman moustache – a crimson one. I bathed it, I creamed it, powdered it but all to no avail. Within half an hour my lip had swollen until I looked like one of those Duckbilled West African women. Ann’s comments, “Oh Mummy, you do look funny. Georgie, doesn’t Mummy look funny?” didn’t help to soothe me and the last straw was that just then there was the sound of a car drawing up outside – the first car I had heard for months. Anyway, thank heaven, it was not George, but the representative of a firm which sells agricultural machinery and farm implements, looking for orders. He had come from Dar es Salaam and had not heard that all the planters from this district had left their farms. Hospitality demanded that I should appear and offer tea. I did not mind this man because he was a complete stranger and fat, middle aged and comfortable. So I gave him tea, though I didn’t attempt to drink any myself, and told him the whole sad tale.
Fortunately much of the swelling had gone next day and only a brown dryness remained. I find myself actually hoping that George is delayed a bit longer. Of one thing I am sure. If ever I grow a moustache again, it stays!
Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936
Dearest Family,
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. George is home again. The safari, I am sad to say, was a complete washout in more ways than one. Anyway it was lovely to be together again and we don’t yet talk about the future. The home coming was not at all as I had planned it. I expected George to return in our old A.C. car which gives ample warning of its arrival. I had meant to wear my new frock and make myself as glamourous as possible, with our beautiful babe on one arm and our other jewels by my side. This however is what actually happened. Last Saturday morning at about 2 am , I thought I heard someone whispering my name. I sat up in bed, still half asleep, and there was George at the window. He was thin and unshaven and the tiredest looking man I have ever seen. The car had bogged down twenty miles back along the old Lupa Track, but as George had had no food at all that day, he decided to walk home in the bright moonlight.
This is where I should have served up a tasty hot meal but alas, there was only the heal of a loaf and no milk because, before going to bed I had given the remaining milk to the dog. However George seemed too hungry to care what he ate. He made a meal off a tin of bully, a box of crustless cheese and the bread washed down with cup after cup of black tea. Though George was tired we talked for hours and it was dawn before we settled down to sleep.
During those hours of talk George described his nightmarish journey. He started up the flooded Rukwa Valley and there were days of wading through swamp and mud and several swollen rivers to cross. George is a strong swimmer and the porters who were recruited in that area, could also swim. There remained the problem of the stores and of Kianda the houseboy who cannot swim. For these they made rough pole rafts which they pulled across the rivers with ropes. Kianda told me later that he hopes never to make such a journey again. He swears that the raft was submerged most of the time and that he was dragged through the rivers underwater! You should see the state of George’s clothes which were packed in a supposedly water tight uniform trunk. The whole lot are mud stained and mouldy.
To make matters more trying for George he was obliged to live mostly on porters rations, rice and groundnut oil which he detests. As all the district roads were closed the little Indian Sores in the remote villages he passed had been unable to replenish their stocks of European groceries. George would have been thinner had it not been for two Roman Catholic missions enroute where he had good meals and dry nights. The Fathers are always wonderfully hospitable to wayfarers irrespective of whether or not they are Roman Catholics. George of course is not a Catholic. One finds the Roman Catholic missions right out in the ‘Blue’ and often on spots unhealthy to Europeans. Most of the Fathers are German or Dutch but they all speak a little English and in any case one can always fall back on Ki-Swahili.
George reached his destination all right but it soon became apparent that reports of the richness of the strike had been greatly exaggerated. George had decided that prospects were brighter on the Lupa than on the new strike so he returned to the Lupa by the way he had come and, having returned the borrowed equipment decided to make his way home by the shortest route, the old and now rarely used road which passes by the bottom of our farm.
The old A.C. had been left for safe keeping at the Roman Catholic Galala Mission 40 miles away, on George’s outward journey, and in this old car George, and the houseboy Kianda , started for home. The road was indescribably awful. There were long stretches that were simply one big puddle, in others all the soil had been washed away leaving the road like a rocky river bed. There were also patches where the tall grass had sprung up head high in the middle of the road, The going was slow because often the car bogged down because George had no wheel chains and he and Kianda had the wearisome business of digging her out. It was just growing dark when the old A.C. settled down determinedly in the mud for the last time. They could not budge her and they were still twenty miles from home. George decided to walk home in the moonlight to fetch help leaving Kianda in charge of the car and its contents and with George’s shot gun to use if necessary in self defence. Kianda was reluctant to stay but also not prepared to go for help whilst George remained with the car as lions are plentiful in that area. So George set out unarmed in the moonlight. Once he stopped to avoid a pride of lion coming down the road but he circled safely around them and came home without any further alarms.
Kianda said he had a dreadful night in the car, “With lions roaming around the car like cattle.” Anyway the lions did not take any notice of the car or of Kianda, and the next day George walked back with all our farm boys and dug and pushed the car out of the mud. He brought car and Kianda back without further trouble but the labourers on their way home were treed by the lions.
The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.
Lots and lots of love, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936
Dearest Family,
Young George’s third birthday passed off very well yesterday. It started early in the morning when he brought his pillow slip of presents to our bed. Kate was already there and Ann soon joined us. Young George liked all the presents you sent, especially the trumpet. It has hardly left his lips since and he is getting quite smart about the finger action.
We had quite a party. Ann and I decorated the table with Christmas tree tinsel and hung a bunch of balloons above it. Ann also decorated young George’s chair with roses and phlox from the garden. I had made and iced a fruit cake but Ann begged to make a plain pink cake. She made it entirely by herself though I stood by to see that she measured the ingredients correctly. When the cake was baked I mixed some soft icing in a jug and she poured it carefully over the cake smoothing the gaps with her fingers!
During the party we had the gramophone playing and we pulled crackers and wore paper hats and altogether had a good time. I forgot for a while that George is leaving again for the Lupa tomorrow for an indefinite time. He was marvellous at making young George’s party a gay one. You will have noticed the change from Georgie to young George. Our son declares that he now wants to be called George, “Like Dad”. He an Ann are a devoted couple and I am glad that there is only a fourteen months difference in their ages. They play together extremely well and are very independent which is just as well for little Kate now demands a lot of my attention. My garden is a real cottage garden and looks very gay and colourful. There are hollyhocks and Snapdragons, marigolds and phlox and of course the roses and carnations which, as you know, are my favourites. The coffee shamba does not look so good because the small labour force, which is all we can afford, cannot cope with all the weeds. You have no idea how things grow during the wet season in the tropics.
Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when George is home, so I’m afraid this letter is rather dull. I wanted you to know though, that largely due to all your gifts of toys and sweets, Georgie’s 3rd birthday party went with a bang.
Your very affectionate, Eleanor
Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936
Dearest Family,
I am sorry to hear that Mummy worries about me so much. “Poor Eleanor”, indeed! I have a quite exceptional husband, three lovely children, a dear little home and we are all well.It is true that I am in rather a rut but what else can we do? George comes home whenever he can and what excitement there is when he does come. He cannot give me any warning because he has to take advantage of chance lifts from the Diggings to Mbeya, but now that he is prospecting nearer home he usually comes walking over the hills. About 50 miles of rough going. Really and truly I am all right. Although our diet is monotonous we have plenty to eat. Eggs and milk are cheap and fruit plentiful and I have a good cook so can devote all my time to the children. I think it is because they are my constant companions that Ann and Georgie are so grown up for their years. I have no ayah at present because Janey has been suffering form rheumatism and has gone home for one of her periodic rests. I manage very well without her except in the matter of the afternoon walks. The outward journey is all right. George had all the grass cut on his last visit so I am able to push the pram whilst Ann, George and Fanny the dog run ahead. It is the uphill return trip that is so trying. Our walk back is always the same, down the hill to the river where the children love to play and then along the car road to the vegetable garden. I never did venture further since the day I saw a leopard jump on a calf. I did not tell you at the time as I thought you might worry. The cattle were grazing on a small knoll just off our land but near enough for me to have a clear view. Suddenly the cattle scattered in all directions and we heard the shouts of the herd boys and saw – or rather had the fleeting impression- of a large animal jumping on a calf. I heard the herd boy shout “Chui, Chui!” (leopard) and believe me, we turned in our tracks and made for home. To hasten things I picked up two sticks and told the children that they were horses and they should ride them home which they did with commendable speed.
Ann no longer rides Joseph. He became increasingly bad tempered and a nuisance besides. He took to rolling all over my flower beds though I had never seen him roll anywhere else. Then one day he kicked Ann in the chest, not very hard but enough to send her flying. Now George has given him to the native who sells milk to us and he seems quite happy grazing with the cattle.
With love to you all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936
Dearest Family,
Since I last wrote George has been home and we had a lovely time as usual. Whilst he was here the District Commissioner and his wife called. Mr Pollock told George that there is to be a big bush clearing scheme in some part of the Mbeya District to drive out Tsetse Fly. The game in the area will have to be exterminated and there will probably be a job for George shooting out the buffalo. The pay would be good but George says it is a beastly job. Although he is a professional hunter, he hates slaughter.
Mrs P’s real reason for visiting the farm was to invite me to stay at her home in Mbeya whilst she and her husband are away in Tukuyu. Her English nanny and her small daughter will remain in Mbeya and she thought it might be a pleasant change for us and a rest for me as of course Nanny will do the housekeeping. I accepted the invitation and I think I will go on from there to Tukuyu and visit my friend Lillian Eustace for a fortnight. She has given us an open invitation to visit her at any time.
I had a letter from Dr Eckhardt last week, telling me that at a meeting of all the German Settlers from Mbeya, Tukuyu and Mbosi it had been decided to raise funds to build a school at Mbeya. They want the British Settlers to co-operate in this and would be glad of a subscription from us. I replied to say that I was unable to afford a subscription at present but would probably be applying for a teaching job. The Eckhardts are the leaders of the German community here and are ardent Nazis. For this reason they are unpopular with the British community but he is the only doctor here and I must say they have been very decent to us. Both of them admire George. George has still not had any luck on the Lupa and until he makes a really promising strike it is unlikely that the children and I will join him. There is no fresh milk there and vegetables and fruit are imported from Mbeya and Iringa and are very expensive. George says “You wouldn’t be happy on the diggings anyway with a lot of whores and their bastards!”
Time ticks away very pleasantly here. Young George and Kate are blooming and I keep well. Only Ann does not look well. She is growing too fast and is listless and pale. If I do go to Mbeya next week I shall take her to the doctor to be overhauled. We do not go for our afternoon walks now that George has returned to the Lupa. That leopard has been around again and has killed Tubbage that cowardly Alsatian. We gave him to the village headman some months ago. There is no danger to us from the leopard but I am terrified it might get Fanny, who is an excellent little watchdog and dearly loved by all of us. Yesterday I sent a note to the Boma asking for a trap gun and today the farm boys are building a trap with logs.
I had a mishap this morning in the garden. I blundered into a nest of hornets and got two stings in the left arm above the elbow. Very painful at the time and the place is still red and swollen.
Much love to you all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936
Dearest Family,
Well here we are at Mbeya, comfortably installed in the District Commissioner’s house. It is one of two oldest houses in Mbeya and is a charming gabled place with tiled roof. The garden is perfectly beautiful. I am enjoying the change very much. Nanny Baxter is very entertaining. She has a vast fund of highly entertaining tales of the goings on amongst the British Aristocracy, gleaned it seems over the nursery teacup in many a Stately Home. Ann and Georgie are enjoying the company of other children. People are very kind about inviting us out to tea and I gladly accept these invitations but I have turned down invitations to dinner and one to a dance at the hotel. It is no fun to go out at night without George. There are several grass widows at the pub whose husbands are at the diggings. They have no inhibitions about parties. I did have one night and day here with George, he got the chance of a lift and knowing that we were staying here he thought the chance too good to miss. He was also anxious to hear the Doctor’s verdict on Ann. I took Ann to hospital on my second day here. Dr Eckhardt said there was nothing specifically wrong but that Ann is a highly sensitive type with whom the tropics does not agree. He advised that Ann should spend a year in a more temperate climate and that the sooner she goes the better. I felt very discouraged to hear this and was most relieved when George turned up unexpectedly that evening. He phoo-hood Dr Eckhardt’s recommendation and next morning called in Dr Aitkin, the Government Doctor from Chunya and who happened to be in Mbeya.
Unfortunately Dr Aitkin not only confirmed Dr Eckhardt’s opinion but said that he thought Ann should stay out of the tropics until she had passed adolescence. I just don’t know what to do about Ann. She is a darling child, very sensitive and gentle and a lovely companion to me. Also she and young George are inseparable and I just cannot picture one without the other. I know that you would be glad to have Ann but how could we bear to part with her?
Your worried but affectionate, Eleanor.
Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936
Dearest Family,
As you see we have moved to Tukuyu and we are having a lovely time with Lillian Eustace. She gave us such a warm welcome and has put herself out to give us every comfort. She is a most capable housekeeper and I find her such a comfortable companion because we have the same outlook in life. Both of us are strictly one man women and that is rare here. She has a two year old son, Billy, who is enchanted with our rolly polly Kate and there are other children on the station with whom Ann and Georgie can play. Lillian engaged a temporary ayah for me so I am having a good rest. All the children look well and Ann in particular seems to have benefited by the change to a cooler climate. She has a good colour and looks so well that people all exclaim when I tell them, that two doctors have advised us to send Ann out of the country. Perhaps after all, this holiday in Tukuyu will set her up.
We had a trying journey from Mbeya to Tukuyu in the Post Lorry. The three children and I were squeezed together on the front seat between the African driver on one side and a vast German on the other. Both men smoked incessantly – the driver cigarettes, and the German cheroots. The cab was clouded with a blue haze. Not only that! I suddenly felt a smarting sensation on my right thigh. The driver’s cigarette had burnt a hole right through that new checked linen frock you sent me last month. I had Kate on my lap all the way but Ann and Georgie had to stand against the windscreen all the way. The fat German offered to take Ann on his lap but she gave him a very cold “No thank you.” Nor did I blame her. I would have greatly enjoyed the drive under less crowded conditions. The scenery is gorgeous. One drives through very high country crossing lovely clear streams and at one point through rain forest. As it was I counted the miles and how thankful I was to see the end of the journey. In the days when Tanganyika belonged to the Germans, Tukuyu was the administrative centre for the whole of the Southern Highlands Province. The old German Fort is still in use as Government offices and there are many fine trees which were planted by the Germans. There is a large prosperous native population in this area. They go in chiefly for coffee and for bananas which form the basis of their diet. There are five British married couples here and Lillian and I go out to tea most mornings. In the afternoon there is tennis or golf. The gardens here are beautiful because there is rain or at least drizzle all the year round. There are even hedge roses bordering some of the district roads. When one walks across the emerald green golf course or through the Boma gardens, it is hard to realise that this gentle place is Tropical Africa. ‘Such a green and pleasant land’, but I think I prefer our corner of Tanganyika.
Much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe. 12th November 1936
Dearest Family,
We had a lovely holiday but it is so nice to be home again, especially as Laza, the local Nimrod, shot that leopard whilst we were away (with his muzzleloader gun). He was justly proud of himself, and I gave him a tip so that he could buy some native beer for a celebration. I have never seen one of theses parties but can hear the drums and sounds of merrymaking, especially on moonlight nights.
Our house looks so fresh and uncluttered. Whilst I was away, the boys whitewashed the house and my houseboy had washed all the curtains, bedspreads, and loose covers and watered the garden. If only George were here it would be heaven.
Ann looked so bonny at Tukuyu that I took her to the Government Doctor there hoping that he would find her perfectly healthy, but alas he endorsed the finding of the other two doctors so, when an opportunity offers, I think I shall have to send Ann down to you for a long holiday from the Tropics. Mother-in-law has offered to fetch her next year but England seems so far away. With you she will at least be on the same continent.
I left the children for the first time ever, except for my stay in hospital when Kate was born, to go on an outing to Lake Masoko in the Tukuyu district, with four friends. Masoko is a beautiful, almost circular crater lake and very very deep. A detachment of the King’s African Rifles are stationed there and occupy the old German barracks overlooking the lake.
We drove to Masoko by car and spent the afternoon there as guests of two British Army Officers. We had a good tea and the others went bathing in the lake but i could not as I did not have a costume. The Lake was as beautiful as I had been lead to imagine and our hosts were pleasant but I began to grow anxious as the afternoon advanced and my friends showed no signs of leaving. I was in agonies when they accepted an invitation to stay for a sundowner. We had this in the old German beer garden overlooking the Lake. It was beautiful but what did I care. I had promised the children that I would be home to give them their supper and put them to bed. When I did at length return to Lillian’s house I found the situation as I had expected. Ann, with her imagination had come to the conclusion that I never would return. She had sobbed herself into a state of exhaustion. Kate was screaming in sympathy and George 2 was very truculent. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Poor Lillian had had a trying time. We did not return to Mbeya by the Mail Lorry. Bill and Lillian drove us across to Mbeya in their new Ford V8 car. The children chattered happily in the back of the car eating chocolate and bananas all the way. I might have known what would happen! Ann was dreadfully and messily car sick.
I engaged the Mbeya Hotel taxi to drive us out to the farm the same afternoon and I expect it will be a long time before we leave the farm again.
Lots and lots of love to all, Eleanor.
Chunya 27th November 1936
Dearest Family,
You will be surprised to hear that we are all together now on the Lupa goldfields. I have still not recovered from my own astonishment at being here. Until last Saturday night I never dreamed of this move. At about ten o’clock I was crouched in the inglenook blowing on the embers to make a fire so that I could heat some milk for Kate who is cutting teeth and was very restless. Suddenly I heard a car outside. I knew it must be George and rushed outside storm lamp in hand. Sure enough, there was George standing by a strange car, and beaming all over his face. “Something for you my love,” he said placing a little bundle in my hand. It was a knotted handkerchief and inside was a fine gold nugget.
George had that fire going in no time, Kate was given the milk and half an aspirin and settles down to sleep, whilst George and I sat around for an hour chatting over our tea. He told me that he had borrowed the car from John Molteno and had come to fetch me and the children to join him on the diggings for a while. It seems that John, who has a camp at Itewe, a couple of miles outside the township of Chunya, the new Administrative Centre of the diggings, was off to the Cape to visit his family for a few months. John had asked George to run his claims in his absence and had given us the loan of his camp and his car.
George had found the nugget on his own claim but he is not too elated because he says that one good month on the diggings is often followed by several months of dead loss. However, I feel hopeful, we have had such a run of bad luck that surely it is time for the tide to change. George spent Sunday going over the farm with Thomas, the headman, and giving him instructions about future work whilst I packed clothes and kitchen equipment. I have brought our ex-kitchenboy Kesho Kutwa with me as cook and also Janey, who heard that we were off to the Lupa and came to offer her services once more as ayah. Janey’s ex-husband Abel is now cook to one of the more successful diggers and I think she is hoping to team up with him again.
The trip over the Mbeya-Chunya pass was new to me and I enjoyed it very much indeed. The road winds over the mountains along a very high escarpment and one looks down on the vast Usangu flats stretching far away to the horizon. At the highest point the road rises to about 7000 feet, and this was too much for Ann who was leaning against the back of my seat. She was very thoroughly sick, all over my hair. This camp of John Molteno’s is very comfortable. It consists of two wattle and daub buildings built end to end in a clearing in the miombo bush. The main building consists of a large living room, a store and an office, and the other of one large bedroom and a small one separated by an area for bathing. Both buildings are thatched. There are no doors, and there are no windows, but these are not necessary because one wall of each building is built up only a couple of feet leaving a six foot space for light and air. As this is the dry season the weather is pleasant. The air is fresh and dry but not nearly so hot as I expected.
Water is a problem and must be carried long distances in kerosene tins. vegetables and fresh butter are brought in a van from Iringa and Mbeya Districts about once a fortnight. I have not yet visited Chunya but I believe it is as good a shopping centre as Mbeya so we will be able to buy all the non perishable food stuffs we need. What I do miss is the fresh milk. The children are accustomed to drinking at least a pint of milk each per day but they do not care for the tinned variety.
Ann and young George love being here. The camp is surrounded by old prospecting trenches and they spend hours each day searching for gold in the heaps of gravel. Sometimes they find quartz pitted with little spots of glitter and they bring them to me in great excitement. Alas it is only Mica. We have two neighbours. The one is a bearded Frenchman and the other an Australian. I have not yet met any women. George looks very sunburnt and extremely fit and the children also look well. George and I have decided that we will keep Ann with us until my Mother-in-law comes out next year. George says that in spite of what the doctors have said, he thinks that the shock to Ann of being separated from her family will do her more harm than good. She and young George are inseparable and George thinks it would be best if both George and Ann return to England with my Mother-in-law for a couple of years. I try not to think at all about the breaking up of the family.
Since last I wrote I have visited Chunya and met several of the diggers wives. On the whole I have been greatly disappointed because there is nothing very colourful about either township or women. I suppose I was really expecting something more like the goldrush towns and women I have so often seen on the cinema screen. Chunya consists of just the usual sun-dried brick Indian shops though there are one or two double storied buildings. Most of the life in the place centres on the Goldfields Hotel but we did not call there. From the store opposite I could hear sounds of revelry though it was very early in the afternoon. I saw only one sight which was quite new to me, some elegantly dressed African women, with high heels and lipsticked mouths teetered by on their way to the silk store. “Native Tarts,” said George in answer to my enquiry.
Several women have called on me and when I say ‘called’ I mean called. I have grown so used to going without stockings and wearing home made dresses that it was quite a shock to me to entertain these ladies dressed to the nines in smart frocks, silk stockings and high heeled shoes, handbags, makeup and whatnot. I feel like some female Rip van Winkle. Most of the women have a smart line in conversation and their talk and views on life would make your nice straight hair curl Mummy. They make me feel very unsophisticated and dowdy but George says he has a weakness for such types and I am to stay exactly as I am. I still do not use any makeup. George says ‘It’s all right for them. They need it poor things, you don’t.” Which, though flattering, is hardly true. I prefer the men visitors, though they also are quite unlike what I had expected diggers to be. Those whom George brings home are all well educated and well groomed and I enjoy listening to their discussion of the world situation, sport and books. They are extremely polite to me and gentle with the children though I believe that after a few drinks at the pub tempers often run high. There were great arguments on the night following the abdication of Edward VIII. Not that the diggers were particularly attached to him as a person, but these men are all great individualists and believe in freedom of choice. George, rather to my surprise, strongly supported Edward. I did not.
Many of the diggers have wireless sets and so we keep up to date with the news. I seldom leave camp. I have my hands full with the three children during the day and, even though Janey is a reliable ayah, I would not care to leave the children at night in these grass roofed huts. Having experienced that fire on the farm, I know just how unlikely it would be that the children would be rescued in time in case of fire. The other women on the diggings think I’m crazy. They leave their children almost entirely to ayahs and I must confess that the children I have seen look very well and happy. The thing is that I simply would not enjoy parties at the hotel or club, miles away from the children and I much prefer to stay at home with a book.
I love hearing all about the parties from George who likes an occasional ‘boose up’ with the boys and is terribly popular with everyone – not only the British but with the Germans, Scandinavians and even the Afrikaans types. One Afrikaans woman said “Jou man is ‘n man, al is hy ‘n Engelsman.” Another more sophisticated woman said, “George is a handsome devil. Aren’t you scared to let him run around on his own?” – but I’m not. I usually wait up for George with sandwiches and something hot to drink and that way I get all the news red hot.
There is very little gold coming in. The rains have just started and digging is temporarily at a standstill. It is too wet for dry blowing and not yet enough water for panning and sluicing. As this camp is some considerable distance from the claims, all I see of the process is the weighing of the daily taking of gold dust and tiny nuggets. Unless our luck changes I do not think we will stay on here after John Molteno returns. George does not care for the life and prefers a more constructive occupation. Ann and young George still search optimistically for gold. We were all saddened last week by the death of Fanny, our bull terrier. She went down to the shopping centre with us and we were standing on the verandah of a store when a lorry passed with its canvas cover flapping. This excited Fanny who rushed out into the street and the back wheel of the lorry passed right over her, killing her instantly. Ann was very shocked so I soothed her by telling her that Fanny had gone to Heaven. When I went to bed that night I found Ann still awake and she asked anxiously, “Mummy, do you think God remembered to give Fanny her bone tonight?”
Much love to all, Eleanor.
Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936
Dearest Family,
Your Christmas parcel arrived this morning. Thank you very much for all the clothing for all of us and for the lovely toys for the children. George means to go hunting for a young buffalo this afternoon so that we will have some fresh beef for Christmas for ourselves and our boys and enough for friends too.
I had a fright this morning. Ann and Georgie were, as usual, searching for gold whilst I sat sewing in the living room with Kate toddling around. She wandered through the curtained doorway into the store and I heard her playing with the paraffin pump. At first it did not bother me because I knew the tin was empty but after ten minutes or so I became irritated by the noise and went to stop her. Imagine my horror when I drew the curtain aside and saw my fat little toddler fiddling happily with the pump whilst, curled up behind the tin and clearly visible to me lay the largest puffadder I have ever seen. Luckily I acted instinctively and scooped Kate up from behind and darted back into the living room without disturbing the snake. The houseboy and cook rushed in with sticks and killed the snake and then turned the whole storeroom upside down to make sure there were no more.
I have met some more picturesque characters since I last wrote. One is a man called Bishop whom George has known for many years having first met him in the Congo. I believe he was originally a sailor but for many years he has wandered around Central Africa trying his hand at trading, prospecting, a bit of elephant hunting and ivory poaching. He is now keeping himself by doing ‘Sign Writing”. Bish is a gentle and dignified personality. When we visited his camp he carefully dusted a seat for me and called me ‘Marm’, quite ye olde world. The only thing is he did spit.
Another spitter is the Frenchman in a neighbouring camp. He is in bed with bad rheumatism and George has been going across twice a day to help him and cheer him up. Once when George was out on the claim I went across to the Frenchman’s camp in response to an SOS, but I think he was just lonely. He showed me snapshots of his two daughters, lovely girls and extremely smart, and he chatted away telling me his life history. He punctuated his remarks by spitting to right and left of the bed, everywhere in fact, except actually at me.
George took me and the children to visit a couple called Bert and Hilda Farham. They have a small gold reef which is worked by a very ‘Heath Robinson’ type of machinery designed and erected by Bert who is reputed to be a clever engineer though eccentric. He is rather a handsome man who always looks very spruce and neat and wears a Captain Kettle beard. Hilda is from Johannesburg and quite a character. She has a most generous figure and literally masses of beetroot red hair, but she also has a warm deep voice and a most generous disposition. The Farhams have built themselves a more permanent camp than most. They have a brick cottage with proper doors and windows and have made it attractive with furniture contrived from petrol boxes. They have no children but Hilda lavishes a great deal of affection on a pet monkey. Sometimes they do quite well out of their gold and then they have a terrific celebration at the Club or Pub and Hilda has an orgy of shopping. At other times they are completely broke but Hilda takes disasters as well as triumphs all in her stride. She says, “My dear, when we’re broke we just live on tea and cigarettes.”
I have met a young woman whom I would like as a friend. She has a dear little baby, but unfortunately she has a very wet husband who is also a dreadful bore. I can’t imagine George taking me to their camp very often. When they came to visit us George just sat and smoked and said,”Oh really?” to any remark this man made until I felt quite hysterical. George looks very young and fit and the children are lively and well too. I , however, am definitely showing signs of wear and tear though George says, “Nonsense, to me you look the same as you always did.” This I may say, I do not regard as a compliment to the young Eleanor.
Anyway, even though our future looks somewhat unsettled, we are all together and very happy.
With love, Eleanor.
Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936
Dearest Family,
We had a very cheery Christmas. The children loved the toys and are so proud of their new clothes. They wore them when we went to Christmas lunch to the Cresswell-Georges. The C-Gs have been doing pretty well lately and they have a comfortable brick house and a large wireless set. The living room was gaily decorated with bought garlands and streamers and balloons. We had an excellent lunch cooked by our ex cook Abel who now works for the Cresswell-Georges. We had turkey with trimmings and plum pudding followed by nuts and raisons and chocolates and sweets galore. There was also a large variety of drinks including champagne!
There were presents for all of us and, in addition, Georgie and Ann each got a large tin of chocolates. Kate was much admired. She was a picture in her new party frock with her bright hair and rosy cheeks. There were other guests beside ourselves and they were already there having drinks when we arrived. Someone said “What a lovely child!” “Yes” said George with pride, “She’s a Marie Stopes baby.” “Truby King!” said I quickly and firmly, but too late to stop the roar of laughter.
Our children played amicably with the C-G’s three, but young George was unusually quiet and surprised me by bringing me his unopened tin of chocolates to keep for him. Normally he is a glutton for sweets. I might have guessed he was sickening for something. That night he vomited and had diarrhoea and has had an upset tummy and a slight temperature ever since.
Janey is also ill. She says she has malaria and has taken to her bed. I am dosing her with quinine and hope she will soon be better as I badly need her help. Not only is young George off his food and peevish but Kate has a cold and Ann sore eyes and they all want love and attention. To complicate things it has been raining heavily and I must entertain the children indoors.
Eleanor.
Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937
Dearest Family,
So sorry I have not written before but we have been in the wars and I have had neither the time nor the heart to write. However the worst is now over. Young George and Janey are both recovering from Typhoid Fever. The doctor had Janey moved to the native hospital at Chunya but I nursed young George here in the camp.
As I told you young George’s tummy trouble started on Christmas day. At first I thought it was only a protracted bilious attack due to eating too much unaccustomed rich food and treated him accordingly but when his temperature persisted I thought that the trouble might be malaria and kept him in bed and increased the daily dose of quinine. He ate less and less as the days passed and on New Years Day he seemed very weak and his stomach tender to the touch.
George fetched the doctor who examined small George and said he had a very large liver due no doubt to malaria. He gave the child injections of emertine and quinine and told me to give young George frequent and copious drinks of water and bi-carb of soda. This was more easily said than done. Young George refused to drink this mixture and vomited up the lime juice and water the doctor had suggested as an alternative. The doctor called every day and gave George further injections and advised me to give him frequent sips of water from a spoon. After three days the child was very weak and weepy but Dr Spiers still thought he had malaria. During those anxious days I also worried about Janey who appeared to be getting worse rather that better and on January the 3rd I asked the doctor to look at her. The next thing I knew, the doctor had put Janey in his car and driven her off to hospital. When he called next morning he looked very grave and said he wished to talk to my husband. I said that George was out on the claim but if what he wished to say concerned young George’s condition he might just as well tell me.
With a good deal of reluctance Dr Spiers then told me that Janey showed all the symptoms of Typhoid Fever and that he was very much afraid that young George had contracted it from her. He added that George should be taken to the Mbeya Hospital where he could have the professional nursing so necessary in typhoid cases. I said “Oh no,I’d never allow that. The child had never been away from his family before and it would frighten him to death to be sick and alone amongst strangers.” Also I was sure that the fifty mile drive over the mountains in his weak condition would harm him more than my amateur nursing would. The doctor returned to the camp that afternoon to urge George to send our son to hospital but George staunchly supported my argument that young George would stand a much better chance of recovery if we nursed him at home. I must say Dr Spiers took our refusal very well and gave young George every attention coming twice a day to see him.
For some days the child was very ill. He could not keep down any food or liquid in any quantity so all day long, and when he woke at night, I gave him a few drops of water at a time from a teaspoon. His only nourishment came from sucking Macintosh’s toffees. Young George sweated copiously especially at night when it was difficult to change his clothes and sponge him in the draughty room with the rain teeming down outside. I think I told you that the bedroom is a sort of shed with only openings in the wall for windows and doors, and with one wall built only a couple of feet high leaving a six foot gap for air and light. The roof leaked and the damp air blew in but somehow young George pulled through.
Only when he was really on the mend did the doctor tell us that whilst he had been attending George, he had also been called in to attend to another little boy of the same age who also had typhoid. He had been called in too late and the other little boy, an only child, had died. Young George, thank God, is convalescent now, though still on a milk diet. He is cheerful enough when he has company but very peevish when left alone. Poor little lad, he is all hair, eyes, and teeth, or as Ann says” Georgie is all ribs ribs now-a-days Mummy.” He shares my room, Ann and Kate are together in the little room. Anyway the doctor says he should be up and around in about a week or ten days time. We were all inoculated against typhoid on the day the doctor made the diagnosis so it is unlikely that any of us will develop it. Dr Spiers was most impressed by Ann’s unconcern when she was inoculated. She looks gentle and timid but has always been very brave. Funny thing when young George was very ill he used to wail if I left the room, but now that he is convalescent he greatly prefers his dad’s company. So now I have been able to take the girls for walks in the late afternoons whilst big George entertains small George. This he does with the minimum of effort, either he gets out cartons of ammunition with which young George builds endless forts, or else he just sits beside the bed and cleans one of his guns whilst small George watches with absorbed attention.
The Doctor tells us that Janey is also now convalescent. He says that exhusband Abel has been most attentive and appeared daily at the hospital with a tray of food that made his, the doctor’s, mouth water. All I dare say, pinched from Mrs Cresswell-George.
I’ll write again soon. Lots of love to all, Eleanor.
Chunya 29th January 1937
Dearest Family,
Georgie is up and about but still tires very easily. At first his legs were so weak that George used to carry him around on his shoulders. The doctor says that what the child really needs is a long holiday out of the Tropics so that Mrs Thomas’ offer, to pay all our fares to Cape Town as well as lending us her seaside cottage for a month, came as a Godsend. Luckily my passport is in order. When George was in Mbeya he booked seats for the children and me on the first available plane. We will fly to Broken Hill and go on to Cape Town from there by train.
Ann and George are wildly thrilled at the idea of flying but I am not. I remember only too well how airsick I was on the old Hannibal when I flew home with the baby Ann. I am longing to see you all and it will be heaven to give the children their first seaside holiday.
I mean to return with Kate after three months but, if you will have him, I shall leave George behind with you for a year. You said you would all be delighted to have Ann so I do hope you will also be happy to have young George. Together they are no trouble at all. They amuse themselves and are very independent and loveable. George and I have discussed the matter taking into consideration the letters from you and George’s Mother on the subject. If you keep Ann and George for a year, my mother-in-law will go to Cape Town next year and fetch them. They will live in England with her until they are fit enough to return to the Tropics. After the children and I have left on this holiday, George will be able to move around and look for a job that will pay sufficiently to enable us to go to England in a few years time to fetch our children home. We both feel very sad at the prospect of this parting but the children’s health comes before any other consideration. I hope Kate will stand up better to the Tropics. She is plump and rosy and could not look more bonny if she lived in a temperate climate.
We should be with you in three weeks time!
Very much love, Eleanor.
Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937
Dearest Family,
Well here we are safe and sound at the Great Northern Hotel, Broken Hill, all ready to board the South bound train tonight.
We were still on the diggings on Ann’s birthday, February 8th, when George had a letter from Mbeya to say that our seats were booked on the plane leaving Mbeya on the 10th! What a rush we had packing up. Ann was in bed with malaria so we just bundled her up in blankets and set out in John Molteno’s car for the farm. We arrived that night and spent the next day on the farm sorting things out. Ann and George wanted to take so many of their treasures and it was difficult for them to make a small selection. In the end young George’s most treasured possession, his sturdy little boots, were left behind.
Before leaving home on the morning of the tenth I took some snaps of Ann and young George in the garden and one of them with their father. He looked so sad. After putting us on the plane, George planned to go to the fishing camp for a day or two before returning to the empty house on the farm.
John Molteno returned from the Cape by plane just before we took off, so he will take over the running of his claims once more. I told John that I dreaded the plane trip on account of air sickness so he gave me two pills which I took then and there. Oh dear! How I wished later that I had not done so. We had an extremely bumpy trip and everyone on the plane was sick except for small George who loved every moment. Poor Ann had a dreadful time but coped very well and never complained. I did not actually puke until shortly before we landed at Broken Hill but felt dreadfully ill all the way. Kate remained rosy and cheerful almost to the end. She sat on my lap throughout the trip because, being under age, she travelled as baggage and was not entitled to a seat. Shortly before we reached Broken Hill a smartly dressed youngish man came up to me and said, “You look so poorly, please let me take the baby, I have children of my own and know how to handle them.” Kate made no protest and off they went to the back of the plane whilst I tried to relax and concentrate on not getting sick. However, within five minutes the man was back. Kate had been thoroughly sick all over his collar and jacket.
I took Kate back on my lap and then was violently sick myself, so much so that when we touched down at Broken Hill I was unable to speak to the Immigration Officer. He was so kind. He sat beside me until I got my diaphragm under control and then drove me up to the hotel in his own car.
We soon recovered of course and ate a hearty dinner. This morning after breakfast I sallied out to look for a Bank where I could exchange some money into Rhodesian and South African currency and for the Post Office so that I could telegraph to George and to you. What a picnic that trip was! It was a terribly hot day and there was no shade. By the time we had done our chores, the children were hot, and cross, and tired and so indeed was I. As I had no push chair for Kate I had to carry her and she is pretty heavy for eighteen months. George, who is still not strong, clung to my free arm whilst Ann complained bitterly that no one was helping her.
Eventually Ann simply sat down on the pavement and declared that she could not go another step, whereupon George of course decided that he also had reached his limit and sat down too. Neither pleading no threats would move them so I had to resort to bribery and had to promise that when we reached the hotel they could have cool drinks and ice-cream. This promise got the children moving once more but I am determined that nothing will induce me to stir again until the taxi arrives to take us to the station.
This letter will go by air and will reach you before we do. How I am longing for journeys end.
With love to you all, Eleanor.
Leaving home 10th February 1937, George Gilman Rushby with Ann and Georgie (Mike) Rushby:
NOTE
We had a very warm welcome to the family home at Plumstead Cape Town.
After ten days with my family we moved to Hout Bay where Mrs Thomas lent us her
delightful seaside cottage. She also provided us with two excellent maids so I had
nothing to do but rest and play on the beach with the children.
After a month at the sea George had fully recovered his health though not his
former gay spirits. After another six months with my parents I set off for home with Kate,
leaving Ann and George in my parent’s home under the care of my elder sister,
Marjorie.
One or two incidents during that visit remain clearly in my memory. Our children
had never met elderly people and were astonished at the manifestations of age. One
morning an elderly lady came around to collect church dues. She was thin and stooped
and Ann surveyed her with awe. She turned to me with a puzzled expression and
asked in her clear voice, “Mummy, why has that old lady got a moustache – oh and a
beard?’ The old lady in question was very annoyed indeed and said, “What a rude little
girl.” Ann could not understand this, she said, “But Mummy, I only said she had a
moustache and a beard and she has.” So I explained as best I could that when people
have defects of this kind they are hurt if anyone mentions them.
A few days later a strange young woman came to tea. I had been told that she
had a most disfiguring birthmark on her cheek and warned Ann that she must not
comment on it. Alas! with the kindest intentions Ann once again caused me acute
embarrassment. The young woman was hardly seated when Ann went up to her and
gently patted the disfiguring mark saying sweetly, “Oh, I do like this horrible mark on your
face.”
I remember also the afternoon when Kate and George were christened. My
mother had given George a white silk shirt for the occasion and he wore it with intense
pride. Kate was baptised first without incident except that she was lost in admiration of a
gold bracelet given her that day by her Godmother and exclaimed happily, “My
bangle, look my bangle,” throughout the ceremony. When George’s turn came the
clergyman held his head over the font and poured water on George’s forehead. Some
splashed on his shirt and George protested angrily, “Mum, he has wet my shirt!” over
and over again whilst I led him hurriedly outside.
My last memory of all is at the railway station. The time had come for Kate and
me to get into our compartment. My sisters stood on the platform with Ann and George.
Ann was resigned to our going, George was not so, at the last moment Sylvia, my
younger sister, took him off to see the engine. The whistle blew and I said good-bye to
my gallant little Ann. “Mummy”, she said urgently to me, “Don’t forget to wave to
George.”
And so I waved good-bye to my children, never dreaming that a war would
intervene and it would be eight long years before I saw them again.
Home again! We had an uneventful journey. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We stopped for an hour at Bulawayo where we had to change trains but everything was simplified for me by a very pleasant man whose wife shared my compartment. Not only did he see me through customs but he installed us in our new train and his wife turned up to see us off with magazines for me and fruit and sweets for Kate. Very, very kind, don’t you think?
Kate and I shared the compartment with a very pretty and gentle girl called Clarice Simpson. She was very worried and upset because she was going home to Broken Hill in response to a telegram informing her that her young husband was dangerously ill from Blackwater Fever. She was very helpful with Kate whose cheerfulness helped Clarice, I think, though I, quite unintentionally was the biggest help at the end of our journey. Remember the partial dentures I had had made just before leaving Cape Town? I know I shall never get used to the ghastly things, I’ve had them two weeks now and they still wobble. Well this day I took them out and wrapped them in a handkerchief, but when we were packing up to leave the train I could find the handkerchief but no teeth! We searched high and low until the train had slowed down to enter Broken Hill station. Then Clarice, lying flat on the floor, spied the teeth in the dark corner under the bottom bunk. With much stretching she managed to retrieve the dentures covered in grime and fluff. My look of horror, when I saw them, made young Clarice laugh. She was met at the station by a very grave elderly couple. I do wonder how things turned out for her.
I stayed overnight with Kate at the Great Northern Hotel, and we set off for Mbeya by plane early in the morning. One of our fellow passengers was a young mother with a three week old baby. How ideas have changed since Ann was born. This time we had a smooth passage and I was the only passenger to get airsick. Although there were other women passengers it was a man once again, who came up and offered to help. Kate went off with him amiably and he entertained her until we touched down at Mbeya.
George was there to meet us with a wonderful surprise, a little red two seater Ford car. She is a bit battered and looks a bit odd because the boot has been converted into a large wooden box for carrying raw salt, but she goes like the wind. Where did George raise the cash to buy a car? Whilst we were away he found a small cave full of bat guano near a large cave which is worked by a man called Bob Sargent. As Sargent did not want any competition he bought the contents of the cave from George giving him the small car as part payment.
It was lovely to return to our little home and find everything fresh and tidy and the garden full of colour. But it was heartbreaking to go into the bedroom and see George’s precious forgotten boots still standing by his empty bed.
With much love, Eleanor.
Mchewe 25th June 1937
Dearest Family,
Last Friday George took Kate and me in the little red Ford to visit Mr Sargent’s camp on the Songwe River which cuts the Mbeya-Mbosi road. Mr Sargent bought Hicky-Wood’s guano deposit and also our small cave and is making a good living out of selling the bat guano to the coffee farmers in this province. George went to try to interest him in a guano deposit near Kilwa in the Southern Province. Mr Sargent agreed to pay 25 pounds to cover the cost of the car trip and pegging costs. George will make the trip to peg the claim and take samples for analysis. If the quality is sufficiently high, George and Mr Sargent will go into partnership. George will work the claim and ship out the guano from Kilwa which is on the coast of the Southern Province of Tanganyika. So now we are busy building castles in the air once more.
On Saturday we went to Mbeya where George had to attend a meeting of the Trout Association. In the afternoon he played in a cricket match so Kate and I spent the whole day with the wife of the new Superintendent of Police. They have a very nice new house with lawns and a sunken rose garden. Kate had a lovely romp with Kit, her three year old son.
Mrs Wolten also has two daughters by a previous marriage. The elder girl said to me, “Oh Mrs Rushby your husband is exactly like the strong silent type of man I expected to see in Africa but he is the only one I have seen. I think he looks exactly like those men in the ‘Barney’s Tobacco’ advertisements.”
I went home with a huge pile of magazines to keep me entertained whilst George is away on the Kilwa trip.
Lots of love, Eleanor.
Mchewe 9th July 1937
Dearest Family,
George returned on Monday from his Kilwa safari. He had an entertaining tale to tell.
Before he approached Mr Sargent about going shares in the Kilwa guano deposit he first approached a man on the Lupa who had done very well out of a small gold reef. This man, however said he was not interested so you can imagine how indignant George was when he started on his long trip, to find himself being trailed by this very man and a co-driver in a powerful Ford V8 truck. George stopped his car and had some heated things to say – awful threats I imagine as to what would happen to anyone who staked his claim. Then he climbed back into our ancient little two seater and went off like a bullet driving all day and most of the night. As the others took turns in driving you can imagine what a feat it was for George to arrive in Kilwa ahead of them. When they drove into Kilwa he met them with a bright smile and a bit of bluff – quite justifiable under the circumstances I think. He said, you chaps can have a rest now, you’re too late.” He then whipped off and pegged the claim. he brought some samples of guano back but until it has been analysed he will not know whether the guano will be an economic proposition or not. George is not very hopeful. He says there is a good deal of sand mixed with the guano and that much of it was damp.
The trip was pretty eventful for Kianda, our houseboy. The little two seater car had been used by its previous owner for carting bags of course salt from his salt pans. For this purpose the dicky seat behind the cab had been removed, and a kind of box built into the boot of the car. George’s camp kit and provisions were packed into this open box and Kianda perched on top to keep an eye on the belongings. George travelled so fast on the rough road that at some point during the night Kianda was bumped off in the middle of the Game Reserve. George did not notice that he was missing until the next morning. He concluded, quite rightly as it happened, that Kianda would be picked up by the rival truck so he continued his journey and Kianda rejoined him at Kilwa.
Believe it or not, the same thing happened on the way back but fortunately this time George noticed his absence. He stopped the car and had just started back on his tracks when Kianda came running down the road still clutching the unlighted storm lamp which he was holding in his hand when he fell. The glass was not even cracked. We are finding it difficult just now to buy native chickens and eggs. There has been an epidemic amongst the poultry and one hesitates to eat the survivors. I have a brine tub in which I preserve our surplus meat but I need the chickens for soup. I hope George will be home for some months. He has arranged to take a Mr Blackburn, a wealthy fruit farmer from Elgin, Cape, on a hunting safari during September and October and that should bring in some much needed cash. Lillian Eustace has invited Kate and me to spend the whole of October with her in Tukuyu. I am so glad that you so much enjoy having Ann and George with you. We miss them dreadfully. Kate is a pretty little girl and such a little madam. You should hear the imperious way in which she calls the kitchenboy for her meals. “Boy Brekkis, Boy Lunch, and Boy Eggy!” are her three calls for the day. She knows no Ki-Swahili.
Eleanor
Mchewe 8th October 1937
Dearest Family,
I am rapidly becoming as superstitious as our African boys. They say the wild animals always know when George is away from home and come down to have their revenge on me because he has killed so many.
I am being besieged at night by a most beastly leopard with a half grown cub. I have grown used to hearing leopards grunt as they hunt in the hills at night but never before have I had one roaming around literally under the windows. It has been so hot at night lately that I have been sleeping with my bedroom door open onto the verandah. I felt quite safe because the natives hereabouts are law-abiding and in any case I always have a boy armed with a club sleeping in the kitchen just ten yards away. As an added precaution I also have a loaded .45 calibre revolver on my bedside table, and Fanny our bullterrier, sleeps on the mat by my bed. I am also looking after Barney, a fine Airedale dog belonging to the Costers. He slept on a mat by the open bedroom door near a dimly burning storm lamp.
As usual I went to sleep with an easy mind on Monday night, but was awakened in the early hours of Tuesday by the sound of a scuffle on the front verandah. The noise was followed by a scream of pain from Barney. I jumped out of bed and, grabbing the lamp with my left hand and the revolver in my right, I rushed outside just in time to see two animal figures roll over the edge of the verandah into the garden below. There they engaged in a terrific tug of war. Fortunately I was too concerned for Barney to be nervous. I quickly fired two shots from the revolver, which incidentally makes a noise like a cannon, and I must have startled the leopard for both animals, still locked together, disappeared over the edge of the terrace. I fired two more shots and in a few moments heard the leopard making a hurried exit through the dry leaves which lie thick under the wild fig tree just beyond the terrace. A few seconds later Barney appeared on the low terrace wall. I called his name but he made no move to come but stood with hanging head. In desperation I rushed out, felt blood on my hands when I touched him, so I picked him up bodily and carried him into the house. As I regained the verandah the boy appeared, club in hand, having been roused by the shots. He quickly grasped what had happened when he saw my blood saturated nightie. He fetched a bowl of water and a clean towel whilst I examined Barney’s wounds. These were severe, the worst being a gaping wound in his throat. I washed the gashes with a strong solution of pot permang and I am glad to say they are healing remarkably well though they are bound to leave scars. Fanny, very prudently, had taken no part in the fighting except for frenzied barking which she kept up all night. The shots had of course wakened Kate but she seemed more interested than alarmed and kept saying “Fanny bark bark, Mummy bang bang. Poor Barney lots of blood.”
In the morning we inspected the tracks in the garden. There was a shallow furrow on the terrace where Barney and the leopard had dragged each other to and fro and claw marks on the trunk of the wild fig tree into which the leopard climbed after I fired the shots. The affair was of course a drama after the Africans’ hearts and several of our shamba boys called to see me next day to make sympathetic noises and discuss the affair.
I went to bed early that night hoping that the leopard had been scared off for good but I must confess I shut all windows and doors. Alas for my hopes of a restful night. I had hardly turned down the lamp when the leopard started its terrifying grunting just under the bedroom windows. If only she would sniff around quietly I should not mind, but the noise is ghastly, something like the first sickening notes of a braying donkey, amplified here by the hills and the gorge which is only a stones throw from the bedroom. Barney was too sick to bark but Fanny barked loud enough for two and the more frantic she became the hungrier the leopard sounded. Kate of course woke up and this time she was frightened though I assured her that the noise was just a donkey having fun. Neither of us slept until dawn when the leopard returned to the hills. When we examined the tracks next morning we found that the leopard had been accompanied by a fair sized cub and that together they had prowled around the house, kitchen, and out houses, visiting especially the places to which the dogs had been during the day. As I feel I cannot bear many more of these nights, I am sending a note to the District Commissioner, Mbeya by the messenger who takes this letter to the post, asking him to send a game scout or an armed policeman to deal with the leopard. So don’t worry, for by the time this reaches you I feel sure this particular trouble will be over.
Eleanor.
Mchewe 17th October 1937
Dearest Family,
More about the leopard I fear! My messenger returned from Mbeya to say that the District Officer was on safari so he had given the message to the Assistant District Officer who also apparently left on safari later without bothering to reply to my note, so there was nothing for me to do but to send for the village Nimrod and his muzzle loader and offer him a reward if he could frighten away or kill the leopard.
The hunter, Laza, suggested that he should sleep at the house so I went to bed early leaving Laza and his two pals to make themselves comfortable on the living room floor by the fire. Laza was armed with a formidable looking muzzle loader, crammed I imagine with nuts and bolts and old rusty nails. One of his pals had a spear and the other a panga. This fellow was also in charge of the Petromax pressure lamp whose light was hidden under a packing case. I left the campaign entirely to Laza’s direction. As usual the leopard came at midnight stealing down from the direction of the kitchen and announcing its presence and position with its usual ghastly grunts. Suddenly pandemonium broke loose on the back verandah. I heard the roar of the muzzle loader followed by a vigourous tattoo beaten on an empty paraffin tin and I rushed out hoping to find the dead leopard. however nothing of the kind had happened except that the noise must have scared the beast because she did not return again that night. Next morning Laza solemnly informed me that, though he had shot many leopards in his day, this was no ordinary leopard but a “sheitani” (devil) and that as his gun was no good against witchcraft he thought he might as well retire from the hunt. Scared I bet, and I don’t blame him either.
You can imagine my relief when a car rolled up that afternoon bringing Messers Stewart and Griffiths, two farmers who live about 15 miles away, between here and Mbeya. They had a note from the Assistant District Officer asking them to help me and they had come to set up a trap gun in the garden. That night the leopard sniffed all around the gun and I had the added strain of waiting for the bang and wondering what I should do if the beast were only wounded. I conjured up horrible visions of the two little totos trotting up the garden path with the early morning milk and being horribly mauled, but I needn’t have worried because the leopard was far too wily to be caught that way. Two more ghastly nights passed and then I had another visitor, a Dr Jackson of the Tsetse Department on safari in the District. He listened sympathetically to my story and left his shotgun and some SSG cartridges with me and instructed me to wait until the leopard was pretty close and blow its b—– head off. It was good of him to leave his gun. George always says there are three things a man should never lend, ‘His wife, his gun and his dog.’ (I think in that order!)I felt quite cheered by Dr Jackson’s visit and sent once again for Laza last night and arranged a real show down. In the afternoon I draped heavy blankets over the living room windows to shut out the light of the pressure lamp and the four of us, Laza and his two stooges and I waited up for the leopard. When we guessed by her grunts that she was somewhere between the kitchen and the back door we all rushed out, first the boy with the panga and the lamp, next Laza with his muzzle loader, then me with the shotgun followed closely by the boy with the spear. What a farce! The lamp was our undoing. We were blinded by the light and did not even glimpse the leopard which made off with a derisive grunt. Laza said smugly that he knew it was hopeless to try and now I feel tired and discouraged too.
This morning I sent a runner to Mbeya to order the hotel taxi for tomorrow and I shall go to friends in Mbeya for a day or two and then on to Tukuyu where I shall stay with the Eustaces until George returns from Safari.
Eleanor.
Mchewe 18th November 1937
My darling Ann,
Here we are back in our own home and how lovely it is to have Daddy back from safari. Thank you very much for your letter. I hope by now you have got mine telling you how very much I liked the beautiful tray cloth you made for my birthday. I bet there are not many little girls of five who can embroider as well as you do, darling. The boy, Matafari, washes and irons it so carefully and it looks lovely on the tea tray.
Daddy and I had some fun last night. I was in bed and Daddy was undressing when we heard a funny scratching noise on the roof. I thought it was the leopard. Daddy quickly loaded his shotgun and ran outside. He had only his shirt on and he looked so funny. I grabbed the loaded revolver from the cupboard and ran after Dad in my nightie but after all the rush it was only your cat, Winnie, though I don’t know how she managed to make such a noise. We felt so silly, we laughed and laughed.
Kate talks a lot now but in such a funny way you would laugh to her her. She hears the houseboys call me Memsahib so sometimes instead of calling me Mummy she calls me “Oompaab”. She calls the bedroom a ‘bippon’ and her little behind she calls her ‘sittendump’. She loves to watch Mandawi’s cattle go home along the path behind the kitchen. Joseph your donkey, always leads the cows. He has a lazy life now. I am glad you had such fun on Guy Fawkes Day. You will be sad to leave Plumstead but I am sure you will like going to England on the big ship with granny Kate. I expect you will start school when you get to England and I am sure you will find that fun.
God bless my dear little girl. Lots of love from Daddy and Kate, and Mummy
Mchewe 18th November 1937
Hello George Darling,
Thank you for your lovely drawing of Daddy shooting an elephant. Daddy says that the only thing is that you have drawn him a bit too handsome.
I went onto the verandah a few minutes ago to pick a banana for Kate from the bunch hanging there and a big hornet flew out and stung my elbow! There are lots of them around now and those stinging flies too. Kate wears thick corduroy dungarees so that she will not get her fat little legs bitten. She is two years old now and is a real little pickle. She loves running out in the rain so I have ordered a pair of red Wellingtons and a tiny umbrella from a Nairobi shop for her Christmas present.
Fanny’s puppies have their eyes open now and have very sharp little teeth. They love to nip each other. We are keeping the fiercest little one whom we call Paddy but are giving the others to friends. The coffee bushes are full of lovely white flowers and the bees and ants are very busy stealing their honey.
Yesterday a troop of baboons came down the hill and Dad shot a big one to scare the others off. They are a nuisance because they steal the maize and potatoes from the native shambas and then there is not enough food for the totos. Dad and I are very proud of you for not making a fuss when you went to the dentist to have that tooth out.
Bye bye, my fine little son. Three bags full of love from Kate, Dad and Mummy.
Mchewe 12th February, 1938
Dearest Family,
here is some news that will please you. George has been offered and has accepted a job as Forester at Mbulu in the Northern Province of Tanganyika. George would have preferred a job as Game Ranger, but though the Game Warden, Philip Teare, is most anxious to have him in the Game Department, there is no vacancy at present. Anyway if one crops up later, George can always transfer from one Government Department to another. Poor George, he hates the idea of taking a job. He says that hitherto he has always been his own master and he detests the thought of being pushed around by anyone.
Now however he has no choice. Our capitol is almost exhausted and the coffee market shows no signs of improving. With three children and another on the way, he feels he simply must have a fixed income. I shall be sad to leave this little farm. I love our little home and we have been so very happy here, but my heart rejoices at the thought of overseas leave every thirty months. Now we shall be able to fetch Ann and George from England and in three years time we will all be together in Tanganyika once more.
There is no sale for farms so we will just shut the house and keep on a very small labour force just to keep the farm from going derelict. We are eating our hens but will take our two dogs, Fanny and Paddy with us.
One thing I shall be glad to leave is that leopard. She still comes grunting around at night but not as badly as she did before. I do not mind at all when George is here but until George was accepted for this forestry job I was afraid he might go back to the Diggings and I should once more be left alone to be cursed by the leopard’s attentions. Knowing how much I dreaded this George was most anxious to shoot the leopard and for weeks he kept his shotgun and a powerful torch handy at night.
One night last week we woke to hear it grunting near the kitchen. We got up very quietly and whilst George loaded the shotgun with SSG, I took the torch and got the heavy revolver from the cupboard. We crept out onto the dark verandah where George whispered to me to not switch on the torch until he had located the leopard. It was pitch black outside so all he could do was listen intently. And then of course I spoilt all his plans. I trod on the dog’s tin bowl and made a terrific clatter! George ordered me to switch on the light but it was too late and the leopard vanished into the long grass of the Kalonga, grunting derisively, or so it sounded.
She never comes into the clearing now but grunts from the hillside just above it.
Eleanor.
Mbulu 18th March, 1938
Dearest Family,
Journeys end at last. here we are at Mbulu, installed in our new quarters which are as different as they possibly could be from our own cosy little home at Mchewe. We live now, my dears, in one wing of a sort of ‘Beau Geste’ fort but I’ll tell you more about it in my next letter. We only arrived yesterday and have not had time to look around. This letter will tell you just about our trip from Mbeya.
We left the farm in our little red Ford two seater with all our portable goods and chattels plus two native servants and the two dogs. Before driving off, George took one look at the flattened springs and declared that he would be surprised if we reached Mbeya without a breakdown and that we would never make Mbulu with the car so overloaded.
However luck was with us. We reached Mbeya without mishap and at one of the local garages saw a sturdy used Ford V8 boxbody car for sale. The garage agreed to take our small car as part payment and George drew on our little remaining capitol for the rest. We spent that night in the house of the Forest Officer and next morning set out in comfort for the Northern Province of Tanganyika.
I had done the journey from Dodoma to Mbeya seven years before so was familiar with the scenery but the road was much improved and the old pole bridges had been replaced by modern steel ones. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We avoided hotels and camped by the road and she found this great fun. The road beyond Dodoma was new to me and very interesting country, flat and dry and dusty, as little rain falls there. The trees are mostly thorn trees but here and there one sees a giant baobab, weird trees with fantastically thick trunks and fat squat branches with meagre foliage. The inhabitants of this area I found interesting though. They are called Wagogo and are a primitive people who ape the Masai in dress and customs though they are much inferior to the Masai in physique. They are also great herders of cattle which, rather surprisingly, appear to thrive in that dry area.
The scenery alters greatly as one nears Babati, which one approaches by a high escarpment from which one has a wonderful view of the Rift Valley. Babati township appears to be just a small group of Indian shops and shabby native houses, but I believe there are some good farms in the area. Though the little township is squalid, there is a beautiful lake and grand mountains to please the eye. We stopped only long enough to fill up with petrol and buy some foodstuffs. Beyond Babati there is a tsetse fly belt and George warned our two native servants to see that no tsetse flies settled on the dogs.
We stopped for the night in a little rest house on the road about 80 miles from Arusha where we were to spend a few days with the Forest Officer before going on to Mbulu. I enjoyed this section of the road very much because it runs across wide plains which are bounded on the West by the blue mountains of the Rift Valley wall. Here for the first time I saw the Masai on their home ground guarding their vast herds of cattle. I also saw their strange primitive hovels called Manyattas, with their thorn walled cattle bomas and lots of plains game – giraffe, wildebeest, ostriches and antelope. Kate was wildly excited and entranced with the game especially the giraffe which stood gazing curiously and unafraid of us, often within a few yards of the road.
Finally we came across the greatest thrill of all, my first view of Mt Meru the extinct volcano about 16,000 feet high which towers over Arusha township. The approach to Arusha is through flourishing coffee plantations very different alas from our farm at Mchewe. George says that at Arusha coffee growing is still a paying proposition because here the yield of berry per acre is much higher than in the Southern highlands and here in the North the farmers have not such heavy transport costs as the railway runs from Arusha to the port at Tanga.
We stayed overnight at a rather second rate hotel but the food was good and we had hot baths and a good nights rest. Next day Tom Lewis the Forest Officer, fetched us and we spent a few days camping in a tent in the Lewis’ garden having meals at their home. Both Tom and Lillian Lewis were most friendly. Tom lewis explained to George what his work in the Mbulu District was to be, and they took us camping in a Forest Reserve where Lillian and her small son David and Kate and I had a lovely lazy time amidst beautiful surroundings. Before we left for Mbulu, Lillian took me shopping to buy material for curtains for our new home. She described the Forest House at Mbulu to me and it sounded delightful but alas, when we reached Mbulu we discovered that the Assistant District Officer had moved into the Forest House and we were directed to the Fort or Boma. The night before we left Arusha for Mbulu it rained very heavily and the road was very treacherous and slippery due to the surface being of ‘black cotton’ soil which has the appearance and consistency of chocolate blancmange, after rain. To get to Mbulu we had to drive back in the direction of Dodoma for some 70 miles and then turn to the right and drive across plains to the Great Rift Valley Wall. The views from this escarpment road which climbs this wall are magnificent. At one point one looks down upon Lake Manyara with its brilliant white beaches of soda.
The drive was a most trying one for George. We had no chains for the wheels and several times we stuck in the mud and our two houseboys had to put grass and branches under the wheels to stop them from spinning. Quite early on in the afternoon George gave up all hope of reaching Mbulu that day and planned to spend the night in a little bush rest camp at Karatu. However at one point it looked as though we would not even reach this resthouse for late afternoon found us properly bogged down in a mess of mud at the bottom of a long and very steep hill. In spite of frantic efforts on the part of George and the two boys, all now very wet and muddy, the heavy car remained stuck. Suddenly five Masai men appeared through the bushes beside the road. They were all tall and angular and rather terrifying looking to me. Each wore only a blanket knotted over one shoulder and all were armed with spears. They lined up by the side of the road and just looked – not hostile but simply aloof and supercilious. George greeted them and said in Ki-Swahili, “Help to push and I will reward you.” But they said nothing, just drawing back imperceptibly to register disgust at the mere idea of manual labour. Their expressions said quite clearly “A Masai is a warrior and does not soil his hands.” George then did something which startled them I think, as much as me. He plucked their spears from their hands one by one and flung them into the back of the boxbody. “Now push!” he said, “And when we are safely out of the mud you shall have your spears back.” To my utter astonishment the Masai seemed to applaud George’s action. I think they admire courage in a man more than anything else. They pushed with a will and soon we were roaring up the long steep slope. “I can’t stop here” quoth George as up and up we went. The Masai were in mad pursuit with their blankets streaming behind. They took a very steep path which was a shortcut to the top. They are certainly amazing athletes and reached the top at the same time as the car. Their route of course was shorter but much more steep, yet they came up without any sign of fatigue to claim their spears and the money which George handed out with a friendly grin. The Masai took the whole episode in good heart and we parted on the most friendly terms.
After a rather chilly night in the three walled shack, we started on the last lap of our journey yesterday morning in bright weather and made the trip to Mbulu without incident.
Eleanor.
Mbulu 24th March, 1938
Dearest Family,
Mbulu is an attractive station but living in this rather romantic looking fort has many disadvantages. Our quarters make up one side of the fort which is built up around a hollow square. The buildings are single storied but very tall in the German manner and there is a tower on one corner from which the Union Jack flies. The tower room is our sitting room, and one has very fine views from the windows of the rolling country side. However to reach this room one has to climb a steep flight of cement steps from the court yard. Another disadvantage of this tower room is that there is a swarm of bees in the roof and the stray ones drift down through holes in the ceiling and buzz angrily against the window panes or fly around in a most menacing manner.
Ours are the only private quarters in the Fort. Two other sides of the Fort are used as offices, storerooms and court room and the fourth side is simply a thick wall with battlements and loopholes and a huge iron shod double door of enormous thickness which is always barred at sunset when the flag is hauled down. Two Police Askari always remain in the Fort on guard at night. The effect from outside the whitewashed fort is very romantic but inside it is hardly homely and how I miss my garden at Mchewe and the grass and trees.
We have no privacy downstairs because our windows overlook the bare courtyard which is filled with Africans patiently waiting to be admitted to the courtroom as witnesses or spectators. The outside windows which overlook the valley are heavily barred. I can only think that the Germans who built this fort must have been very scared of the local natives.
Our rooms are hardly cosy and are furnished with typical heavy German pieces. We have a vast bleak bedroom, a dining room and an enormous gloomy kitchen in which meals for the German garrison were cooked. At night this kitchen is alive with gigantic rats but fortunately they do not seem to care for the other rooms. To crown everything owls hoot and screech at night on the roof.
On our first day here I wandered outside the fort walls with Kate and came upon a neatly fenced plot enclosing the graves of about fifteen South African soldiers killed by the Germans in the 1914-18 war. I understand that at least one of theses soldiers died in the courtyard here. The story goes, that during the period in the Great War when this fort was occupied by a troop of South African Horse, a German named Siedtendorf appeared at the great barred door at night and asked to speak to the officer in command of the Troop. The officer complied with this request and the small shutter in the door was opened so that he could speak with the German. The German, however, had not come to speak. When he saw the exposed face of the officer, he fired, killing him, and escaped into the dark night. I had this tale on good authority but cannot vouch for it. I do know though, that there are two bullet holes in the door beside the shutter. An unhappy story to think about when George is away, as he is now, and the moonlight throws queer shadows in the court yard and the owls hoot.
However though I find our quarters depressing, I like Mbulu itself very much. It is rolling country, treeless except for the plantations of the Forestry Dept. The land is very fertile in the watered valleys but the grass on hills and plains is cropped to the roots by the far too numerous cattle and goats. There are very few Europeans on the station, only Mr Duncan, the District Officer, whose wife and children recently left for England, the Assistant District Officer and his wife, a bachelor Veterinary Officer, a Road Foreman and ourselves, and down in the village a German with an American wife and an elderly Irishman whom I have not met. The Government officials have a communal vegetable garden in the valley below the fort which keeps us well supplied with green stuff.
Most afternoons George, Kate and I go for walks after tea. On Fridays there is a little ceremony here outside the fort. In the late afternoon a little procession of small native schoolboys, headed by a drum and penny whistle band come marching up the road to a tune which sounds like ‘Two lovely black eyes”. They form up below our tower and as the flag is lowered for the day they play ‘God save the King’, and then march off again. It is quite a cheerful little ceremony.
The local Africans are a skinny lot and, I should say, a poor tribe. They protect themselves against the cold by wrapping themselves in cotton blankets or a strip of unbleached sheeting. This they drape over their heads, almost covering their faces and the rest is wrapped closely round their bodies in the manner of a shroud. A most depressing fashion. They live in very primitive comfortless houses. They simply make a hollow in the hillside and build a front wall of wattle and daub. Into this rude shelter at night go cattle and goats, men, women, and children.
Mbulu village has the usual mud brick and wattle dukas and wattle and daub houses. The chief trader is a Goan who keeps a surprisingly good variety of tinned foodstuffs and also sells hardware and soft goods.
The Europeans here have been friendly but as you will have noted there are only two other women on station and no children at all to be companions for Kate.
Eleanor.
Mbulu 20th June 1938
Dearest Family,
Here we are on Safari with George at Babati where we are occupying a rest house on the slopes of Ufiome Mountain. The slopes are a Forest Reserve and George is supervising the clearing of firebreaks in preparation for the dry weather. He goes off after a very early breakfast and returns home in the late afternoon so Kate and I have long lazy days.
Babati is a pleasant spot and the resthouse is quite comfortable. It is about a mile from the village which is just the usual collection of small mud brick and corrugated iron Indian Dukas. There are a few settlers in the area growing coffee, or going in for mixed farming but I don’t think they are doing very well. The farm adjoining the rest house is owned by Lord Lovelace but is run by a manager.
George says he gets enough exercise clambering about all day on the mountain, so Kate and I do our walking in the mornings when George is busy, and we all relax in the evenings when George returns from his field work. Kate’s favourite walk is to the big block of mtama (sorghum) shambas lower down the hill. There are huge swarms of tiny grain eating birds around waiting the chance to plunder the mtama, so the crops are watched from sunrise to sunset.
Crude observation platforms have been erected for this purpose in the centre of each field and the women and the young boys of the family concerned, take it in turn to occupy the platform and scare the birds. Each watcher has a sling and uses clods of earth for ammunition. The clod is placed in the centre of the sling which is then whirled around at arms length. Suddenly one end of the sling is released and the clod of earth flies out and shatters against the mtama stalks. The sling makes a loud whip like crack and the noise is quite startling and very effective in keeping the birds at a safe distance.
Eleanor.
Karatu 3rd July 1938
Dearest Family,
Still on safari you see! We left Babati ten days ago and passed through Mbulu on our way to this spot. We slept out of doors one night beside Lake Tiawa about eight miles from Mbulu. It was a peaceful spot and we enjoyed watching the reflection of the sunset on the lake and the waterhens and duck and pelicans settling down for the night. However it turned piercingly cold after sunset so we had an early supper and then all three of us lay down to sleep in the back of the boxbody (station wagon). It was a tight fit and a real case of ‘When Dad turns, we all turn.’
Here at Karatu we are living in a grass hut with only three walls. It is rather sweet and looks like the setting for a Nativity Play. Kate and I share the only camp bed and George and the dogs sleep on the floor. The air here is very fresh and exhilarating and we all feel very fit. George is occupied all day supervising the cutting of firebreaks around existing plantations and the forest reserve of indigenous trees. Our camp is on the hillside and below us lie the fertile wheat lands of European farmers.
They are mostly Afrikaners, the descendants of the Boer families who were invited by the Germans to settle here after the Boer War. Most of them are pro-British now and a few have called in here to chat to George about big game hunting. George gets on extremely well with them and recently attended a wedding where he had a lively time dancing at the reception. He likes the older people best as most are great individualists. One fine old man, surnamed von Rooyen, visited our camp. He is a Boer of the General Smuts type with spare figure and bearded face. George tells me he is a real patriarch with an enormous family – mainly sons. This old farmer fought against the British throughout the Boer War under General Smuts and again against the British in the German East Africa campaign when he was a scout and right hand man to Von Lettow. It is said that Von Lettow was able to stay in the field until the end of the Great War because he listened to the advise given to him by von Rooyen. However his dislike for the British does not extend to George as they have a mutual interest in big game hunting.
Kate loves being on safari. She is now so accustomed to having me as her nurse and constant companion that I do not know how she will react to paid help. I shall have to get someone to look after her during my confinement in the little German Red Cross hospital at Oldeani.
George has obtained permission from the District Commissioner, for Kate and me to occupy the Government Rest House at Oldeani from the end of July until the end of August when my baby is due. He will have to carry on with his field work but will join us at weekends whenever possible.
Eleanor.
Karatu 12th July 1938
Dearest Family,
Not long now before we leave this camp. We have greatly enjoyed our stay here in spite of the very chilly earl mornings and the nights when we sit around in heavy overcoats until our early bed time.
Last Sunday I persuaded George to take Kate and me to the famous Ngoro- Ngoro Crater. He was not very keen to do so because the road is very bumpy for anyone in my interesting condition but I feel so fit that I was most anxious to take this opportunity of seeing the enormous crater. We may never be in this vicinity again and in any case safari will not be so simple with a small baby.
What a wonderful trip it was! The road winds up a steep escarpment from which one gets a glorious birds eye view of the plains of the Great Rift Valley far, far below. The crater is immense. There is a road which skirts the rim in places and one has quite startling views of the floor of the crater about two thousand feet below.
A camp for tourists has just been built in a clearing in the virgin forest. It is most picturesque as the camp buildings are very neatly constructed log cabins with very high pitched thatched roofs. We spent about an hour sitting on the grass near the edge of the crater enjoying the sunshine and the sharp air and really awe inspiring view. Far below us in the middle of the crater was a small lake and we could see large herds of game animals grazing there but they were too far away to be impressive, even seen through George’s field glasses. Most appeared to be wildebeest and zebra but I also picked out buffalo. Much more exciting was my first close view of a wild elephant. George pointed him out to me as we approached the rest camp on the inward journey. He stood quietly under a tree near the road and did not seem to be disturbed by the car though he rolled a wary eye in our direction. On our return journey we saw him again at almost uncomfortably close quarters. We rounded a sharp corner and there stood the elephant, facing us and slap in the middle of the road. He was busily engaged giving himself a dust bath but spared time to give us an irritable look. Fortunately we were on a slight slope so George quickly switched off the engine and backed the car quietly round the corner. He got out of the car and loaded his rifle, just in case! But after he had finished his toilet the elephant moved off the road and we took our chance and passed without incident.
One notices the steepness of the Ngoro-Ngoro road more on the downward journey than on the way up. The road is cut into the side of the mountain so that one has a steep slope on one hand and a sheer drop on the other. George told me that a lorry coming down the mountain was once charged from behind by a rhino. On feeling and hearing the bash from behind the panic stricken driver drove off down the mountain as fast as he dared and never paused until he reached level ground at the bottom of the mountain. There was no sign of the rhino so the driver got out to examine his lorry and found the rhino horn embedded in the wooden tail end of the lorry. The horn had been wrenched right off!
Happily no excitement of that kind happened to us. I have yet to see a rhino.
Eleanor.
Oldeani. 19th July 1938
Dearest Family,
Greetings from a lady in waiting! Kate and I have settled down comfortably in the new, solidly built Government Rest House which comprises one large living room and one large office with a connecting door. Outside there is a kitchen and a boys quarter. There are no resident Government officials here at Oldeani so the office is in use only when the District Officer from Mbulu makes his monthly visit. However a large Union Jack flies from a flagpole in the front of the building as a gentle reminder to the entirely German population of Oldeani that Tanganyika is now under British rule.
There is quite a large community of German settlers here, most of whom are engaged in coffee farming. George has visited several of the farms in connection with his forestry work and says the coffee plantations look very promising indeed. There are also a few German traders in the village and there is a large boarding school for German children and also a very pleasant little hospital where I have arranged to have the baby. Right next door to the Rest House is a General Dealers Store run by a couple named Schnabbe. The shop is stocked with drapery, hardware, china and foodstuffs all imported from Germany and of very good quality. The Schnabbes also sell local farm produce, beautiful fresh vegetables, eggs and pure rich milk and farm butter. Our meat comes from a German butchery and it is a great treat to get clean, well cut meat. The sausages also are marvellous and in great variety.
The butcher is an entertaining character. When he called round looking for custom I expected him to break out in a yodel any minute, as it was obvious from a glance that the Alps are his natural background. From under a green Tyrollean hat with feather, blooms a round beefy face with sparkling small eyes and such widely spaced teeth that one inevitably thinks of a garden rake. Enormous beefy thighs bulge from greasy lederhosen which are supported by the traditional embroidered braces. So far the butcher is the only cheery German, male or female, whom I have seen, and I have met most of the locals at the Schnabbe’s shop. Most of the men seem to have cultivated the grim Hitler look. They are all fanatical Nazis and one is usually greeted by a raised hand and Heil Hitler! All very theatrical. I always feel like crying in ringing tones ‘God Save the King’ or even ‘St George for England’. However the men are all very correct and courteous and the women friendly. The women all admire Kate and cry, “Ag, das kleine Englander.” She really is a picture with her rosy cheeks and huge grey eyes and golden curls. Kate is having a wonderful time playing with Manfried, the Scnabbe’s small son. Neither understands a word said by the other but that doesn’t seem to worry them.
Before he left on safari, George took me to hospital for an examination by the nurse, Sister Marianne. She has not been long in the country and knows very little English but is determined to learn and carried on an animated, if rather quaint, conversation with frequent references to a pocket dictionary. She says I am not to worry because there is not doctor here. She is a very experienced midwife and anyway in an emergency could call on the old retired Veterinary Surgeon for assistance. I asked sister Marianne whether she knew of any German woman or girl who would look after Kate whilst I am in hospital and today a very top drawer German, bearing a strong likeness to ‘Little Willie’, called and offered the services of his niece who is here on a visit from Germany. I was rather taken aback and said, “Oh no Baron, your niece would not be the type I had in mind. I’m afraid I cannot pay much for a companion.” However the Baron was not to be discouraged. He told me that his niece is seventeen but looks twenty, that she is well educated and will make a cheerful companion. Her father wishes her to learn to speak English fluently and that is why the Baron wished her to come to me as a house daughter. As to pay, a couple of pounds a month for pocket money and her keep was all he had in mind. So with some misgivings I agreed to take the niece on as a companion as from 1st August.
Eleanor.
Oldeani. 10th August 1938
Dearest Family,
Never a dull moment since my young companion arrived. She is a striking looking girl with a tall boyish figure and very short and very fine dark hair which she wears severely slicked back. She wears tweeds, no make up but has shiny rosy cheeks and perfect teeth – she also,inevitably, has a man friend and I have an uncomfortable suspicion that it is because of him that she was planted upon me. Upon second thoughts though, maybe it was because of her excessive vitality, or even because of her healthy appetite! The Baroness, I hear is in poor health and I can imagine that such abundant health and spirit must have been quite overpowering. The name is Ingeborg, but she is called Mouche, which I believe means Mouse. Someone in her family must have a sense of humour.
Her English only needed practice and she now chatters fluently so that I know her background and views on life. Mouche’s father is a personal friend of Goering. He was once a big noise in the German Airforce but is now connected with the car industry and travels frequently and intensively in Europe and America on business. Mouche showed me some snap shots of her family and I must say they look prosperous and charming. Mouche tells me that her father wants her to learn to speak English fluently so that she can get a job with some British diplomat in Cairo. I had immediate thought that I might be nursing a future Mata Hari in my bosom, but this was immediately extinguished when Mouche remarked that her father would like her to marry an Englishman. However it seems that the mere idea revolts her. “Englishmen are degenerates who swill whisky all day.” I pointed out that she had met George, who was a true blue Englishman, but was nevertheless a fine physical specimen and certainly didn’t drink all day. Mouche replied that George is not an Englishman but a hunter, as though that set him apart. Mouche is an ardent Hitler fan and an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth Movement. The house resounds with Hitler youth songs and when she is not singing, her gramophone is playing very stirring marching songs. I cannot understand a word, which is perhaps as well. Every day she does the most strenuous exercises watched with envy by me as my proportions are now those of a circus Big Top. Mouche eats a fantastic amount of meat and I feel it is a blessing that she is much admired by our Tyrollean butcher who now delivers our meat in person and adds as a token of his admiration some extra sausages for Mouche.
I must confess I find her stimulating company as George is on safari most of the time and my evenings otherwise would be lonely. I am a little worried though about leaving Kate here with Mouche when I go to hospital. The dogs and Kate have not taken to her. I am trying to prepare Kate for the separation but she says, “She’s not my mummy. You are my dear mummy, and I want you, I want you.” George has got permission from the Provincial Forestry Officer to spend the last week of August here at the Rest House with me and I only hope that the baby will be born during that time. Kate adores her dad and will be perfectly happy to remain here with him.
One final paragraph about Mouche. I thought all German girls were domesticated but not Mouche. I have Kesho-Kutwa here with me as cook and I have engaged a local boy to do the laundry. I however expected Mouche would take over making the puddings and pastry but she informed me that she can only bake a chocolate cake and absolutely nothing else. She said brightly however that she would do the mending. As there is none for her to do, she has rescued a large worn handkerchief of George’s and sits with her feet up listening to stirring gramophone records whilst she mends the handkerchief with exquisite darning.
Eleanor.
Oldeani. 20th August 1938
Dearest Family,
Just after I had posted my last letter I received what George calls a demi official letter from the District Officer informing me that I would have to move out of the Rest House for a few days as the Governor and his hangers on would be visiting Oldeani and would require the Rest House. Fortunately George happened to be here for a few hours and he arranged for Kate and Mouche and me to spend a few days at the German School as borders. So here I am at the school having a pleasant and restful time and much entertained by all the goings on.
The school buildings were built with funds from Germany and the school is run on the lines of a contemporary German school. I think the school gets a grant from the Tanganyika Government towards running expenses, but I am not sure. The school hall is dominated by a more than life sized oil painting of Adolf Hitler which, at present, is flanked on one side by the German Flag and on the other by the Union Jack. I cannot help feeling that the latter was put up today for the Governor’s visit today. The teachers are very amiable. We all meet at mealtimes, and though few of the teachers speak English, the ones who do are anxious to chatter. The headmaster is a scholarly man but obviously anti-British. He says he cannot understand why so many South Africans are loyal to Britain – or rather to England. “They conquered your country didn’t they?” I said that that had never occurred to me and that anyway I was mainly of Scots descent and that loyalty to the crown was natural to me. “But the English conquered the Scots and yet you are loyal to England. That I cannot understand.” “Well I love England,” said I firmly, ”and so do all British South Africans.” Since then we have stuck to English literature. Shakespeare, Lord Byron and Galsworthy seem to be the favourites and all, thank goodness, make safe topics for conversation. Mouche is in her element but Kate and I do not enjoy the food which is typically German and consists largely of masses of fat pork and sauerkraut and unfamiliar soups. I feel sure that the soup at lunch today had blobs of lemon curd in it! I also find most disconcerting the way that everyone looks at me and says, “Bon appetite”, with much smiling and nodding so I have to fight down my nausea and make a show of enjoying the meals.
The teacher whose room adjoins mine is a pleasant woman and I take my afternoon tea with her. She, like all the teachers, has a large framed photo of Hitler on her wall flanked by bracket vases of fresh flowers. One simply can’t get away from the man! Even in the dormitories each child has a picture of Hitler above the bed. Hitler accepting flowers from a small girl, or patting a small boy on the head. Even the children use the greeting ‘Heil Hitler’. These German children seem unnaturally prim when compared with my cheerful ex-pupils in South Africa but some of them are certainly very lovely to look at.
Tomorrow Mouche, Kate and I return to our quarters in the Rest House and in a few days George will join us for a week.
Eleanor.
Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938
Dearest Family,
You will all be delighted to hear that we have a second son, whom we have named John. He is a darling, so quaint and good. He looks just like a little old man with a high bald forehead fringed around the edges with a light brown fluff. George and I call him Johnny Jo because he has a tiny round mouth and a rather big nose and reminds us of A.A.Milne’s ‘Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an O’ , but Kate calls him, ‘My brother John’. George was not here when he was born on September 5th, just two minutes before midnight. He left on safari on the morning of the 4th and, of course, that very night the labour pains started. Fortunately Kate was in bed asleep so Mouche walked with me up the hill to the hospital where I was cheerfully received by Sister Marianne who had everything ready for the confinement. I was lucky to have such an experienced midwife because this was a breech birth and sister had to manage single handed. As there was no doctor present I was not allowed even a sniff of anaesthetic. Sister slaved away by the light of a pressure lamp endeavouring to turn the baby having first shoved an inverted baby bath under my hips to raise them.
What a performance! Sister Marianne was very much afraid that she might not be able to save the baby and great was our relief when at last she managed to haul him out by the feet. One slap and the baby began to cry without any further attention so Sister wrapped him up in a blanket and took Johnny to her room for the night. I got very little sleep but was so thankful to have the ordeal over that I did not mind even though I heard a hyaena cackling and calling under my window in a most evil way. When Sister brought Johnny to me in the early morning I stared in astonishment. Instead of dressing him in one of his soft Viyella nighties, she had dressed him in a short sleeved vest of knitted cotton with a cotton cloth swayed around his waist sarong fashion. When I protested, “But Sister why is the baby not dressed in his own clothes?” She answered firmly, “I find it is not allowed. A baby’s clotheses must be boiled and I cannot boil clotheses of wool therefore your baby must wear the clotheses of the Red Cross.”
It was the same with the bedding. Poor Johnny lies all day in a deep wicker basket with a detachable calico lining. There is no pillow under his head but a vast kind of calico covered pillow is his only covering. There is nothing at all cosy and soft round my poor baby. I said crossly to the Sister, “As every thing must be so sterile, I wonder you don’t boil me too.” This she ignored.
When my message reached George he dashed back to visit us. Sister took him first to see the baby and George was astonished to see the baby basket covered by a sheet. “She has the poor little kid covered up like a bloody parrot,” he told me. So I asked him to go at once to buy a square of mosquito netting to replace the sheet. Kate is quite a problem. She behaves like an Angel when she is here in my room but is rebellious when Sister shoos her out. She says she “Hates the Nanny” which is what she calls Mouche. Unfortunately it seems that she woke before midnight on the night Johnny Jo was born to find me gone and Mouche in my bed. According to Mouche, Kate wept all night and certainly when she visited me in the early morning Kate’s face was puffy with crying and she clung to me crying “Oh my dear mummy, why did you go away?” over and over again. Sister Marianne was touched and suggested that Mouche and Kate should come to the hospital as boarders as I am the only patient at present and there is plenty of room. Luckily Kate does not seem at all jealous of the baby and it is a great relief to have here here under my eye.
George arrived today to take us home to Mbulu but Sister Marianne will not allow me to travel for another week as I had a bit of a set back after baby’s birth. At first I was very fit and on the third day Sister stripped the bed and, dictionary in hand, started me off on ante natal exercises. “Now make a bridge Mrs Rushby. So. Up down, up down,’ whilst I obediently hoisted myself aloft on heels and head. By the sixth day she considered it was time for me to be up and about but alas, I soon had to return to bed with a temperature and a haemorrhage. I got up and walked outside for the first time this morning.
I have had lots of visitors because the local German settlers seem keen to see the first British baby born in the hospital. They have been most kind, sending flowers and little German cards of congratulations festooned with cherubs and rather sweet. Most of the women, besides being pleasant, are very smart indeed, shattering my illusion that German matrons are invariably fat and dowdy. They are all much concerned about the Czecko-Slovakian situation, especially Sister Marianne whose home is right on the border and has several relations who are Sudentan Germans. She is ant-Nazi and keeps on asking me whether I think England will declare war if Hitler invades Czecko- Slovakia, as though I had inside information.
George tells me that he has had a grass ‘banda’ put up for us at Mbulu as we are both determined not to return to those prison-like quarters in the Fort. Sister Marianne is horrified at the idea of taking a new baby to live in a grass hut. She told George, “No,No,Mr Rushby. I find that is not to be allowed!” She is an excellent Sister but rather prim and George enjoys teasing her. This morning he asked with mock seriousness, “Sister, why has my wife not received her medal?” Sister fluttered her dictionary before asking. “What medal Mr Rushby”. “Why,” said George, “The medal that Hitler gives to women who have borne four children.” Sister started a long and involved explanation about the medal being only for German mothers whilst George looked at me and grinned.
Later. Great Jubilation here. By the noise in Sister Marianne’s sitting room last night it sounded as though the whole German population had gathered to listen to the wireless news. I heard loud exclamations of joy and then my bedroom door burst open and several women rushed in. “Thank God “, they cried, “for Neville Chamberlain. Now there will be no war.” They pumped me by the hand as though I were personally responsible for the whole thing.
George on the other hand is disgusted by Chamberlain’s lack of guts. Doesn’t know what England is coming to these days. I feel too content to concern myself with world affairs. I have a fine husband and four wonderful children and am happy, happy, happy.
Eleanor.
Mbulu. 30th September 1938
Dearest Family,
Here we are, comfortably installed in our little green house made of poles and rushes from a nearby swamp. The house has of course, no doors or windows, but there are rush blinds which roll up in the day time. There are two rooms and a little porch and out at the back there is a small grass kitchen.
Here we have the privacy which we prize so highly as we are screened on one side by a Forest Department plantation and on the other three sides there is nothing but the rolling countryside cropped bare by the far too large herds of cattle and goats of the Wambulu. I have a lovely lazy time. I still have Kesho-Kutwa and the cook we brought with us from the farm. They are both faithful and willing souls though not very good at their respective jobs. As one of these Mbeya boys goes on safari with George whose job takes him from home for three weeks out of four, I have taken on a local boy to cut firewood and heat my bath water and generally make himself useful. His name is Saa, which means ‘Clock’
We had an uneventful but very dusty trip from Oldeani. Johnny Jo travelled in his pram in the back of the boxbody and got covered in dust but seems none the worst for it. As the baby now takes up much of my time and Kate was showing signs of boredom, I have engaged a little African girl to come and play with Kate every morning. She is the daughter of the head police Askari and a very attractive and dignified little person she is. Her name is Kajyah. She is scrupulously clean, as all Mohammedan Africans seem to be. Alas, Kajyah, though beautiful, is a bore. She simply does not know how to play, so they just wander around hand in hand.
There are only two drawbacks to this little house. Mbulu is a very windy spot so our little reed house is very draughty. I have made a little tent of sheets in one corner of the ‘bedroom’ into which I can retire with Johnny when I wish to bathe or sponge him. The other drawback is that many insects are attracted at night by the lamp and make it almost impossible to read or sew and they have a revolting habit of falling into the soup. There are no dangerous wild animals in this area so I am not at all nervous in this flimsy little house when George is on safari. Most nights hyaenas come around looking for scraps but our dogs, Fanny and Paddy, soon see them off.
Eleanor.
Mbulu. 25th October 1938
Dearest Family,
Great news! a vacancy has occurred in the Game Department. George is to transfer to it next month. There will be an increase in salary and a brighter prospect for the future. It will mean a change of scene and I shall be glad of that. We like Mbulu and the people here but the rains have started and our little reed hut is anything but water tight.
Before the rain came we had very unpleasant dust storms. I think I told you that this is a treeless area and the grass which normally covers the veldt has been cropped to the roots by the hungry native cattle and goats. When the wind blows the dust collects in tall black columns which sweep across the country in a most spectacular fashion. One such dust devil struck our hut one day whilst we were at lunch. George swept Kate up in a second and held her face against his chest whilst I rushed to Johnny Jo who was asleep in his pram, and stooped over the pram to protect him. The hut groaned and creaked and clouds of dust blew in through the windows and walls covering our persons, food, and belongings in a black pall. The dogs food bowls and an empty petrol tin outside the hut were whirled up and away. It was all over in a moment but you should have seen what a family of sweeps we looked. George looked at our blackened Johnny and mimicked in Sister Marianne’s primmest tones, “I find that this is not to be allowed.”
The first rain storm caught me unprepared when George was away on safari. It was a terrific thunderstorm. The quite violent thunder and lightening were followed by a real tropical downpour. As the hut is on a slight slope, the storm water poured through the hut like a river, covering the entire floor, and the roof leaked like a lawn sprinkler. Johnny Jo was snug enough in the pram with the hood raised, but Kate and I had a damp miserable night. Next morning I had deep drains dug around the hut and when George returned from safari he managed to borrow an enormous tarpaulin which is now lashed down over the roof.
It did not rain during the next few days George was home but the very next night we were in trouble again. I was awakened by screams from Kate and hurriedly turned up the lamp to see that we were in the midst of an invasion of siafu ants. Kate’s bed was covered in them. Others appeared to be raining down from the thatch. I quickly stripped Kate and carried her across to my bed, whilst I rushed to the pram to see whether Johnny Jo was all right. He was fast asleep, bless him, and slept on through all the commotion, whilst I struggled to pick all the ants out of Kate’s hair, stopping now and again to attend to my own discomfort. These ants have a painful bite and seem to choose all the most tender spots. Kate fell asleep eventually but I sat up for the rest of the night to make sure that the siafu kept clear of the children. Next morning the servants dispersed them by laying hot ash.
In spite of the dampness of the hut both children are blooming. Kate has rosy cheeks and Johnny Jo now has a fuzz of fair hair and has lost his ‘old man’ look. He reminds me of Ann at his age.
Eleanor.
Iringa. 30th November 1938
Dearest Family,
Here we are back in the Southern Highlands and installed on the second floor of another German Fort. This one has been modernised however and though not so romantic as the Mbulu Fort from the outside, it is much more comfortable.We are all well and I am really proud of our two safari babies who stood up splendidly to a most trying journey North from Mbulu to Arusha and then South down the Great North Road to Iringa where we expect to stay for a month.
At Arusha George reported to the headquarters of the Game Department and was instructed to come on down here on Rinderpest Control. There is a great flap on in case the rinderpest spread to Northern Rhodesia and possibly onwards to Southern Rhodesia and South Africa. Extra veterinary officers have been sent to this area to inoculate all the cattle against the disease whilst George and his African game Scouts will comb the bush looking for and destroying diseased game. If the rinderpest spreads, George says it may be necessary to shoot out all the game in a wide belt along the border between the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and Northern Rhodesia, to prevent the disease spreading South. The very idea of all this destruction sickens us both.
George left on a foot safari the day after our arrival and I expect I shall be lucky if I see him occasionally at weekends until this job is over. When rinderpest is under control George is to be stationed at a place called Nzassa in the Eastern Province about 18 miles from Dar es Salaam. George’s orderly, who is a tall, cheerful Game Scout called Juma, tells me that he has been stationed at Nzassa and it is a frightful place! However I refuse to be depressed. I now have the cheering prospect of leave to England in thirty months time when we will be able to fetch Ann and George and be a proper family again. Both Ann and George look happy in the snapshots which mother-in-law sends frequently. Ann is doing very well at school and loves it.
To get back to our journey from Mbulu. It really was quite an experience. It poured with rain most of the way and the road was very slippery and treacherous the 120 miles between Mbulu and Arusha. This is a little used earth road and the drains are so blocked with silt as to be practically non existent. As usual we started our move with the V8 loaded to capacity. I held Johnny on my knee and Kate squeezed in between George and me. All our goods and chattels were in wooden boxes stowed in the back and the two houseboys and the two dogs had to adjust themselves to the space that remained. We soon ran into trouble and it took us all day to travel 47 miles. We stuck several times in deep mud and had some most nasty skids. I simply clutched Kate in one hand and Johnny Jo in the other and put my trust in George who never, under any circumstances, loses his head. Poor Johnny only got his meals when circumstances permitted. Unfortunately I had put him on a bottle only a few days before we left Mbulu and, as I was unable to buy either a primus stove or Thermos flask there we had to make a fire and boil water for each meal. Twice George sat out in the drizzle with a rain coat rapped over his head to protect a miserable little fire of wet sticks drenched with paraffin. Whilst we waited for the water to boil I pacified John by letting him suck a cube of Tate and Lyles sugar held between my rather grubby fingers. Not at all according to the book.
That night George, the children and I slept in the car having dumped our boxes and the two servants in a deserted native hut. The rain poured down relentlessly all night and by morning the road was more of a morass than ever. We swerved and skidded alarmingly till eventually one of the wheel chains broke and had to be tied together with string which constantly needed replacing. George was so patient though he was wet and muddy and tired and both children were very good. Shortly before reaching the Great North Road we came upon Jack Gowan, the Stock Inspector from Mbulu. His car was bogged down to its axles in black mud. He refused George’s offer of help saying that he had sent his messenger to a nearby village for help.
I hoped that conditions would be better on the Great North Road but how over optimistic I was. For miles the road runs through a belt of ‘black cotton soil’. which was churned up into the consistency of chocolate blancmange by the heavy lorry traffic which runs between Dodoma and Arusha. Soon the car was skidding more fantastically than ever. Once it skidded around in a complete semi circle so George decided that it would be safer for us all to walk whilst he negotiated the very bad patches. You should have seen me plodding along in the mud and drizzle with the baby in one arm and Kate clinging to the other. I was terrified of slipping with Johnny. Each time George reached firm ground he would return on foot to carry Kate and in this way we covered many bad patches.We were more fortunate than many other travellers. We passed several lorries ditched on the side of the road and one car load of German men, all elegantly dressed in lounge suits. One was busy with his camera so will have a record of their plight to laugh over in the years to come. We spent another night camping on the road and next day set out on the last lap of the journey. That also was tiresome but much better than the previous day and we made the haven of the Arusha Hotel before dark. What a picture we made as we walked through the hall in our mud splattered clothes! Even Johnny was well splashed with mud but no harm was done and both he and Kate are blooming. We rested for two days at Arusha and then came South to Iringa. Luckily the sun came out and though for the first day the road was muddy it was no longer so slippery and the second day found us driving through parched country and along badly corrugated roads. The further South we came, the warmer the sun which at times blazed through the windscreen and made us all uncomfortably hot. I have described the country between Arusha and Dodoma before so I shan’t do it again. We reached Iringa without mishap and after a good nights rest all felt full of beans.
Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.
Dearest Family,
You will be surprised to note that we are back on the farm! At least the children and I are here. George is away near the Rhodesian border somewhere, still on Rinderpest control.
I had a pleasant time at Iringa, lots of invitations to morning tea and Kate had a wonderful time enjoying the novelty of playing with children of her own age. She is not shy but nevertheless likes me to be within call if not within sight. It was all very suburban but pleasant enough. A few days before Christmas George turned up at Iringa and suggested that, as he would be working in the Mbeya area, it might be a good idea for the children and me to move to the farm. I agreed enthusiastically, completely forgetting that after my previous trouble with the leopard I had vowed to myself that I would never again live alone on the farm.
Alas no sooner had we arrived when Thomas, our farm headman, brought the news that there were now two leopards terrorising the neighbourhood, and taking dogs, goats and sheep and chickens. Traps and poisoned bait had been tried in vain and he was sure that the female was the same leopard which had besieged our home before. Other leopards said Thomas, came by stealth but this one advertised her whereabouts in the most brazen manner.
George stayed with us on the farm over Christmas and all was quiet at night so I cheered up and took the children for walks along the overgrown farm paths. However on New Years Eve that darned leopard advertised her presence again with the most blood chilling grunts and snarls. Horrible! Fanny and Paddy barked and growled and woke up both children. Kate wept and kept saying, “Send it away mummy. I don’t like it.” Johnny Jo howled in sympathy. What a picnic. So now the whole performance of bodyguards has started again and ‘till George returns we confine our exercise to the garden. Our little house is still cosy and sweet but the coffee plantation looks very neglected. I wish to goodness we could sell it.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 14th February 1939.
Dearest Family,
After three months of moving around with two small children it is heavenly to be settled in our own home, even though Nzassa is an isolated spot and has the reputation of being unhealthy.
We travelled by car from Mbeya to Dodoma by now a very familiar stretch of country, but from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam by train which made a nice change. We spent two nights and a day in the Splendid Hotel in Dar es Salaam, George had some official visits to make and I did some shopping and we took the children to the beach. The bay is so sheltered that the sea is as calm as a pond and the water warm. It is wonderful to see the sea once more and to hear tugs hooting and to watch the Arab dhows putting out to sea with their oddly shaped sails billowing. I do love the bush, but I love the sea best of all, as you know.
We made an early start for Nzassa on the 3rd. For about four miles we bowled along a good road. This brought us to a place called Temeke where George called on the District Officer. His house appears to be the only European type house there. The road between Temeke and the turn off to Nzassa is quite good, but the six mile stretch from the turn off to Nzassa is a very neglected bush road. There is nothing to be seen but the impenetrable bush on both sides with here and there a patch of swampy ground where rice is planted in the wet season.
After about six miles of bumpy road we reached Nzassa which is nothing more than a sandy clearing in the bush. Our house however is a fine one. It was originally built for the District Officer and there is a small court house which is now George’s office. The District Officer died of blackwater fever so Nzassa was abandoned as an administrative station being considered too unhealthy for Administrative Officers but suitable as Headquarters for a Game Ranger. Later a bachelor Game Ranger was stationed here but his health also broke down and he has been invalided to England. So now the healthy Rushbys are here and we don’t mean to let the place get us down. So don’t worry.
The house consists of three very large and airy rooms with their doors opening on to a wide front verandah which we shall use as a living room. There is also a wide back verandah with a store room at one end and a bathroom at the other. Both verandahs and the end windows of the house are screened my mosquito gauze wire and further protected by a trellis work of heavy expanded metal. Hasmani, the Game Scout, who has been acting as caretaker, tells me that the expanded metal is very necessary because lions often come out of the bush at night and roam around the house. Such a comforting thought!
On our very first evening we discovered how necessary the mosquito gauze is. After sunset the air outside is thick with mosquitos from the swamps. About an acre of land has been cleared around the house. This is a sandy waste because there is no water laid on here and absolutely nothing grows here except a rather revolting milky desert bush called ‘Manyara’, and a few acacia trees. A little way from the house there is a patch of citrus trees, grape fruit, I think, but whether they ever bear fruit I don’t know. The clearing is bordered on three sides by dense dusty thorn bush which is ‘lousy with buffalo’ according to George. The open side is the road which leads down to George’s office and the huts for the Game Scouts. Only Hasmani and George’s orderly Juma and their wives and families live there, and the other huts provide shelter for the Game Scouts from the bush who come to Nzassa to collect their pay and for a short rest. I can see that my daily walk will always be the same, down the road to the huts and back! However I don’t mind because it is far too hot to take much exercise.
The climate here is really tropical and worse than on the coast because the thick bush cuts us off from any sea breeze. George says it will be cooler when the rains start but just now we literally drip all day. Kate wears nothing but a cotton sun suit, and Johnny a napkin only, but still their little bodies are always moist. I have shorn off all Kate’s lovely shoulder length curls and got George to cut my hair very short too.
We simply must buy a refrigerator. The butter, and even the cheese we bought in Dar. simply melted into pools of oil overnight, and all our meat went bad, so we are living out of tins. However once we get organised I shall be quite happy here. I like this spacious house and I have good servants. The cook, Hamisi Issa, is a Swahili from Lindi whom we engaged in Dar es Salaam. He is a very dignified person, and like most devout Mohammedan Cooks, keeps both his person and the kitchen spotless. I engaged the house boy here. He is rather a timid little body but is very willing and quite capable. He has an excessively plain but cheerful wife whom I have taken on as ayah. I do not really need help with the children but feel I must have a woman around just in case I go down with malaria when George is away on safari.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 28th February 1939.
Dearest Family,
George’s birthday and we had a special tea party this afternoon which the children much enjoyed. We have our frig now so I am able to make jellies and provide them with really cool drinks.
Our very first visitor left this morning after spending only one night here. He is Mr Ionides, the Game Ranger from the Southern Province. He acted as stand in here for a short while after George’s predecessor left for England on sick leave, and where he has since died. Mr Ionides returned here to hand over the range and office formally to George. He seems a strange man and is from all accounts a bit of a hermit. He was at one time an Officer in the Regular Army but does not look like a soldier, he wears the most extraordinary clothes but nevertheless contrives to look top-drawer. He was educated at Rugby and Sandhurst and is, I should say, well read. Ionides told us that he hated Nzassa, particularly the house which he thinks sinister and says he always slept down in the office.
The house, or at least one bedroom, seems to have the same effect on Kate. She has been very nervous at night ever since we arrived. At first the children occupied the bedroom which is now George’s. One night, soon after our arrival, Kate woke up screaming to say that ‘something’ had looked at her through the mosquito net. She was in such a hysterical state that inspite of the heat and discomfort I was obliged to crawl into her little bed with her and remained there for the rest of the night.
Next night I left a night lamp burning but even so I had to sit by her bed until she dropped off to sleep. Again I was awakened by ear-splitting screams and this time found Kate standing rigid on her bed. I lifted her out and carried her to a chair meaning to comfort her but she screeched louder than ever, “Look Mummy it’s under the bed. It’s looking at us.” In vain I pointed out that there was nothing at all there. By this time George had joined us and he carried Kate off to his bed in the other room whilst I got into Kate’s bed thinking she might have been frightened by a rat which might also disturb Johnny.
Next morning our houseboy remarked that he had heard Kate screaming in the night from his room behind the kitchen. I explained what had happened and he must have told the old Scout Hasmani who waylaid me that afternoon and informed me quite seriously that that particular room was haunted by a ‘sheitani’ (devil) who hates children. He told me that whilst he was acting as caretaker before our arrival he one night had his wife and small daughter in the room to keep him company. He said that his small daughter woke up and screamed exactly as Kate had done! Silly coincidence I suppose, but such strange things happen in Africa that I decided to move the children into our room and George sleeps in solitary state in the haunted room! Kate now sleeps peacefully once she goes to sleep but I have to stay with her until she does.
I like this house and it does not seem at all sinister to me. As I mentioned before, the rooms are high ceilinged and airy, and have cool cement floors. We have made one end of the enclosed verandah into the living room and the other end is the playroom for the children. The space in between is a sort of no-mans land taken over by the dogs as their special territory.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 25th March 1939.
Dearest Family,
George is on safari down in the Rufigi River area. He is away for about three weeks in the month on this job. I do hate to see him go and just manage to tick over until he comes back. But what fun and excitement when he does come home. Usually he returns after dark by which time the children are in bed and I have settled down on the verandah with a book. The first warning is usually given by the dogs, Fanny and her son Paddy. They stir, sit up, look at each other and then go and sit side by side by the door with their noses practically pressed to the mosquito gauze and ears pricked. Soon I can hear the hum of the car, and so can Hasmani, the old Game Scout who sleeps on the back verandah with rifle and ammunition by his side when George is away. When he hears the car he turns up his lamp and hurries out to rouse Juma, the houseboy. Juma pokes up the fire and prepares tea which George always drinks whist a hot meal is being prepared. In the meantime I hurriedly comb my hair and powder my nose so that when the car stops I am ready to rush out and welcome George home. The boy and Hasmani and the garden boy appear to help with the luggage and to greet George and the cook, who always accompanies George on Safari. The home coming is always a lively time with much shouting of greetings. ‘Jambo’, and ‘Habari ya safari’, whilst the dogs, beside themselves with excitement, rush around like lunatics.
As though his return were not happiness enough, George usually collects the mail on his way home so there is news of Ann and young George and letters from you and bundles of newspapers and magazines. On the day following his return home, George has to deal with official mail in the office but if the following day is a weekday we all, the house servants as well as ourselves, pile into the boxbody and go to Dar es Salaam. To us this means a mornings shopping followed by an afternoon on the beach. It is a bit cooler now that the rains are on but still very humid. Kate keeps chubby and rosy in spite of the climate but Johnny is too pale though sturdy enough. He is such a good baby which is just as well because Kate is a very demanding little girl though sunny tempered and sweet. I appreciate her company very much when George is away because we are so far off the beaten track that no one ever calls.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 28th April 1939.
Dearest Family,
You all seem to wonder how I can stand the loneliness and monotony of living at Nzassa when George is on safari, but really and truly I do not mind. Hamisi the cook always goes on safari with George and then the houseboy Juma takes over the cooking and I do the lighter housework. the children are great company during the day, and when they are settled for the night I sit on the verandah and read or write letters or I just dream. The verandah is entirely enclosed with both wire mosquito gauze and a trellis work of heavy expanded metal, so I am safe from all intruders be they human, animal, or insect. Outside the air is alive with mosquitos and the cicadas keep up their monotonous singing all night long. My only companions on the verandah are the pale ghecco lizards on the wall and the two dogs. Fanny the white bull terrier, lies always near my feet dozing happily, but her son Paddy, who is half Airedale has a less phlegmatic disposition. He sits alert and on guard by the metal trellis work door. Often a lion grunts from the surrounding bush and then his hackles rise and he stands up stiffly with his nose pressed to the door. Old Hasmani from his bedroll on the back verandah, gives a little cough just to show he is awake. Sometimes the lions are very close and then I hear the click of a rifle bolt as Hasmani loads his rifle – but this is usually much later at night when the lights are out. One morning I saw large pug marks between the wall of my bedroom and the garage but I do not fear lions like I did that beastly leopard on the farm. A great deal of witchcraft is still practiced in the bush villages in the neighbourhood. I must tell you about old Hasmani’s baby in connection with this. Last week Hasmani came to me in great distress to say that his baby was ‘Ngongwa sana ‘ (very ill) and he thought it would die. I hurried down to the Game Scouts quarters to see whether I could do anything for the child and found the mother squatting in the sun outside her hut with the baby on her lap. The mother was a young woman but not an attractive one. She appeared sullen and indifferent compared with old Hasmani who was very distressed. The child was very feverish and breathing with difficulty and seemed to me to be suffering from bronchitis if not pneumonia. I rubbed his back and chest with camphorated oil and dosed him with aspirin and liquid quinine. I repeated the treatment every four hours, but next day there was no apparent improvement. In the afternoon Hasmani begged me to give him that night off duty and asked for a loan of ten shillings. He explained to me that it seemed to him that the white man’s medicine had failed to cure his child and now he wished to take the child to the local witch doctor. “For ten shillings” said Hasmani, “the Maganga will drive the devil out of my child.” “How?” asked I. “With drums”, said Hasmani confidently. I did not know what to do. I thought the child was too ill to be exposed to the night air, yet I knew that if I refused his request and the child were to die, Hasmani and all the other locals would hold me responsible. I very reluctantly granted his request. I was so troubled by the matter that I sent for George’s office clerk. Daniel, and asked him to accompany Hasmani to the ceremony and to report to me the next morning. It started to rain after dark and all night long I lay awake in bed listening to the drums and the light rain. Next morning when I went out to the kitchen to order breakfast I found a beaming Hasmani awaiting me. “Memsahib”, he said. “My child is well, the fever is now quite gone, the Maganga drove out the devil just as I told you.” Believe it or not, when I hurried to his quarters after breakfast I found the mother suckling a perfectly healthy child! It may be my imagination but I thought the mother looked pretty smug.The clerk Daniel told me that after Hasmani had presented gifts of money and food to the ‘Maganga’, the naked baby was placed on a goat skin near the drums. Most of the time he just lay there but sometimes the witch doctor picked him up and danced with the child in his arms. Daniel seemed reluctant to talk about it. Whatever mumbo jumbo was used all this happened a week ago and the baby has never looked back.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 3rd July 1939.
Dearest Family,
Did I tell you that one of George’s Game Scouts was murdered last month in the Maneromango area towards the Rufigi border. He was on routine patrol, with a porter carrying his bedding and food, when they suddenly came across a group of African hunters who were busy cutting up a giraffe which they had just killed. These hunters were all armed with muzzle loaders, spears and pangas, but as it is illegal to kill giraffe without a permit, the Scout went up to the group to take their names. Some argument ensued and the Scout was stabbed.
The District Officer went to the area to investigate and decided to call in the Police from Dar es Salaam. A party of police went out to search for the murderers but after some days returned without making any arrests. George was on an elephant control safari in the Bagamoyo District and on his return through Dar es Salaam he heard of the murder. George was furious and distressed to hear the news and called in here for an hour on his way to Maneromango to search for the murderers himself.
After a great deal of strenuous investigation he arrested three poachers, put them in jail for the night at Maneromango and then brought them to Dar es Salaam where they are all now behind bars. George will now have to prosecute in the Magistrate’s Court and try and ‘make a case’ so that the prisoners may be committed to the High Court to be tried for murder. George is convinced of their guilt and justifiably proud to have succeeded where the police failed.
George had to borrow handcuffs for the prisoners from the Chief at Maneromango and these he brought back to Nzassa after delivering the prisoners to Dar es Salaam so that he may return them to the Chief when he revisits the area next week.
I had not seen handcuffs before and picked up a pair to examine them. I said to George, engrossed in ‘The Times’, “I bet if you were arrested they’d never get handcuffs on your wrist. Not these anyway, they look too small.” “Standard pattern,” said George still concentrating on the newspaper, but extending an enormous relaxed left wrist. So, my dears, I put a bracelet round his wrist and as there was a wide gap I gave a hard squeeze with both hands. There was a sharp click as the handcuff engaged in the first notch. George dropped the paper and said, “Now you’ve done it, my love, one set of keys are in the Dar es Salaam Police Station, and the others with the Chief at Maneromango.” You can imagine how utterly silly I felt but George was an angel about it and said as he would have to go to Dar es Salaam we might as well all go.
So we all piled into the car, George, the children and I in the front, and the cook and houseboy, immaculate in snowy khanzus and embroidered white caps, a Game Scout and the ayah in the back. George never once complain of the discomfort of the handcuff but I was uncomfortably aware that it was much too tight because his arm above the cuff looked red and swollen and the hand unnaturally pale. As the road is so bad George had to use both hands on the wheel and all the time the dangling handcuff clanked against the dashboard in an accusing way.
We drove straight to the Police Station and I could hear the roars of laughter as George explained his predicament. Later I had to put up with a good deal of chaffing and congratulations upon putting the handcuffs on George.
Eleanor.
Nzassa 5th August 1939
Dearest Family,
George made a point of being here for Kate’s fourth birthday last week. Just because our children have no playmates George and I always do all we can to make birthdays very special occasions. We went to Dar es Salaam the day before the birthday and bought Kate a very sturdy tricycle with which she is absolutely delighted. You will be glad to know that your parcels arrived just in time and Kate loved all your gifts especially the little shop from Dad with all the miniature tins and packets of groceries. The tea set was also a great success and is much in use.
We had a lively party which ended with George and me singing ‘Happy Birthday to you’, and ended with a wild game with balloons. Kate wore her frilly white net party frock and looked so pretty that it seemed a shame that there was no one but us to see her. Anyway it was a good party. I wish so much that you could see the children. Kate keeps rosy and has not yet had malaria. Johnny Jo is sturdy but pale. He runs a temperature now and again but I am not sure whether this is due to teething or malaria. Both children of course take quinine every day as George and I do. George quite frequently has malaria in spite of prophylactic quinine but this is not surprising as he got the germ thoroughly established in his system in his early elephant hunting days. I get it too occasionally but have not been really ill since that first time a month after my arrival in the country.
Johnny is such a good baby. His chief claim to beauty is his head of soft golden curls but these are due to come off on his first birthday as George considers them too girlish. George left on safari the day after the party and the very next morning our wood boy had a most unfortunate accident. He was chopping a rather tough log when a chip flew up and split his upper lip clean through from mouth to nostril exposing teeth and gums. A truly horrible sight and very bloody. I cleaned up the wound as best I could and sent him off to the hospital at Dar es Salaam on the office bicycle. He wobbled away wretchedly down the road with a white cloth tied over his mouth to keep off the dust. He returned next day with his lip stitched and very swollen and bearing a resemblance to my lip that time I used the hair remover.
Eleanor.
Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939
Dearest Family,
So now another war has started and it has disrupted even our lives. We have left Nzassa for good. George is now a Lieutenant in the King’s African Rifles and the children and I are to go to a place called Morogoro to await further developments. I was glad to read in today’s paper that South Africa has declared war on Germany. I would have felt pretty small otherwise in this hotel which is crammed full of men who have been called up for service in the Army. George seems exhilarated by the prospect of active service. He is bursting out of his uniform ( at the shoulders only!) and all too ready for the fray.
The war came as a complete surprise to me stuck out in the bush as I was without wireless or mail. George had been away for a fortnight so you can imagine how surprised I was when a messenger arrived on a bicycle with a note from George. The note informed me that war had been declared and that George, as a Reserve Officer in the KAR had been called up. I was to start packing immediately and be ready by noon next day when George would arrive with a lorry for our goods and chattels. I started to pack immediately with the help of the houseboy and by the time George arrived with the lorry only the frig remained to be packed and this was soon done.
Throughout the morning Game Scouts had been arriving from outlying parts of the District. I don’t think they had the least idea where they were supposed to go or whom they were to fight but were ready to fight anybody, anywhere, with George. They all looked very smart in well pressed uniforms hung about with water bottles and ammunition pouches. The large buffalo badge on their round pill box hats absolutely glittered with polish. All of course carried rifles and when George arrived they all lined up and they looked most impressive. I took some snaps but unfortunately it was drizzling and they may not come out well.
We left Nzassa without a backward glance. We were pretty fed up with it by then. The children and I are spending a few days here with George but our luggage, the dogs, and the houseboys have already left by train for Morogoro where a small house has been found for the children and me.
George tells me that all the German males in this Territory were interned without a hitch. The whole affair must have been very well organised. In every town and settlement special constables were sworn in to do the job. It must have been a rather unpleasant one but seems to have gone without incident. There is a big transit camp here at Dar for the German men. Later they are to be sent out of the country, possibly to Rhodesia.
The Indian tailors in the town are all terribly busy making Army uniforms, shorts and tunics in khaki drill. George swears that they have muddled their orders and he has been given the wrong things. Certainly the tunic is far too tight. His hat, a khaki slouch hat like you saw the Australians wearing in the last war, is also too small though it is the largest they have in stock. We had a laugh over his other equipment which includes a small canvas haversack and a whistle on a black cord. George says he feels like he is back in his Boy Scouting boyhood.
George has just come in to say the we will be leaving for Morogoro tomorrow afternoon.
Eleanor.
Morogoro 14th September 1939
Dearest Family,
Morogoro is a complete change from Nzassa. This is a large and sprawling township. The native town and all the shops are down on the flat land by the railway but all the European houses are away up the slope of the high Uluguru Mountains. Morogoro was a flourishing town in the German days and all the streets are lined with trees for coolness as is the case in other German towns. These trees are the flamboyant acacia which has an umbrella top and throws a wide but light shade.
Most of the houses have large gardens so they cover a considerable area and it is quite a safari for me to visit friends on foot as our house is on the edge of this area and the furthest away from the town. Here ones house is in accordance with ones seniority in Government service. Ours is a simple affair, just three lofty square rooms opening on to a wide enclosed verandah. Mosquitoes are bad here so all doors and windows are screened and we will have to carry on with our daily doses of quinine.
George came up to Morogoro with us on the train. This was fortunate because I went down with a sharp attack of malaria at the hotel on the afternoon of our departure from Dar es Salaam. George’s drastic cure of vast doses of quinine, a pillow over my head, and the bed heaped with blankets soon brought down the temperature so I was fit enough to board the train but felt pretty poorly on the trip. However next day I felt much better which was a good thing as George had to return to Dar es Salaam after two days. His train left late at night so I did not see him off but said good-bye at home feeling dreadful but trying to keep the traditional stiff upper lip of the wife seeing her husband off to the wars. He hopes to go off to Abyssinia but wrote from Dar es Salaam to say that he is being sent down to Rhodesia by road via Mbeya to escort the first detachment of Rhodesian white troops.
First he will have to select suitable camping sites for night stops and arrange for supplies of food. I am very pleased as it means he will be safe for a while anyway. We are both worried about Ann and George in England and wonder if it would be safer to have them sent out.
Eleanor.
Morogoro 4th November 1939
Dearest Family,
My big news is that George has been released from the Army. He is very indignant and disappointed because he hoped to go to Abyssinia but I am terribly, terribly glad. The Chief Secretary wrote a very nice letter to George pointing out that he would be doing a greater service to his country by his work of elephant control, giving crop protection during the war years when foodstuffs are such a vital necessity, than by doing a soldiers job. The Government plan to start a huge rice scheme in the Rufiji area, and want George to control the elephant and hippo there. First of all though. he must go to the Southern Highlands Province where there is another outbreak of Rinderpest, to shoot out diseased game especially buffalo, which might spread the disease.
So off we go again on our travels but this time we are leaving the two dogs behind in the care of Daniel, the Game Clerk. Fanny is very pregnant and I hate leaving her behind but the clerk has promised to look after her well. We are taking Hamisi, our dignified Swahili cook and the houseboy Juma and his wife whom we brought with us from Nzassa. The boy is not very good but his wife makes a cheerful and placid ayah and adores Johnny.
Eleanor.
Iringa 8th December 1939
Dearest Family,
The children and I are staying in a small German house leased from the Custodian of Enemy Property. I can’t help feeling sorry for the owners who must be in concentration camps somewhere.George is away in the bush dealing with the Rinderpest emergency and the cook has gone with him. Now I have sent the houseboy and the ayah away too. Two days ago my houseboy came and told me that he felt very ill and asked me to write a ‘chit’ to the Indian Doctor. In the note I asked the Doctor to let me know the nature of his complaint and to my horror I got a note from him to say that the houseboy had a bad case of Venereal Disease. Was I horrified! I took it for granted that his wife must be infected too and told them both that they would have to return to their home in Nzassa. The boy shouted and the ayah wept but I paid them in lieu of notice and gave them money for the journey home. So there I was left servant less with firewood to chop, a smokey wood burning stove to control, and of course, the two children.
To add to my troubles Johnny had a temperature so I sent for the European Doctor. He diagnosed malaria and was astonished at the size of Johnny’s spleen. He said that he must have had suppressed malaria over a long period and the poor child must now be fed maximum doses of quinine for a long time. The Doctor is a fatherly soul, he has been recalled from retirement to do this job as so many of the young doctors have been called up for service with the army.
I told him about my houseboy’s complaint and the way I had sent him off immediately, and he was very amused at my haste, saying that it is most unlikely that they would have passed the disease onto their employers. Anyway I hated the idea. I mean to engage a houseboy locally, but will do without an ayah until we return to Morogoro in February.
Something happened today to cheer me up. A telegram came from Daniel which read, “FLANNEL HAS FIVE CUBS.”
Eleanor.
Morogoro 10th March 1940
Dearest Family,
We are having very heavy rain and the countryside is a most beautiful green. In spite of the weather George is away on safari though it must be very wet and unpleasant. He does work so hard at his elephant hunting job and has got very thin. I suppose this is partly due to those stomach pains he gets and the doctors don’t seem to diagnose the trouble.
Living in Morogoro is much like living in a country town in South Africa, particularly as there are several South African women here. I go out quite often to morning teas. We all take our war effort knitting, and natter, and are completely suburban. I sometimes go and see an elderly couple who have been interred here. They are cold shouldered by almost everyone else but I cannot help feeling sorry for them. Usually I go by invitation because I know Mrs Ruppel prefers to be prepared and always has sandwiches and cake. They both speak English but not fluently and conversation is confined to talking about my children and theirs. Their two sons were students in Germany when war broke out but are now of course in the German Army. Such nice looking chaps from their photographs but I suppose thorough Nazis. As our conversation is limited I usually ask to hear a gramophone record or two. They have a large collection.
Janet, the ayah whom I engaged at Mbeya, is proving a great treasure. She is a trained hospital ayah and is most dependable and capable. She is, perhaps, a little strict but the great thing is that I can trust her with the children out of my sight. Last week I went out at night for the first time without George. The occasion was a farewell sundowner given by the Commissioner of Prisoners and his wife. I was driven home by the District Officer and he stopped his car by the back door in a large puddle. Ayah came to the back door, storm lamp in hand, to greet me. My escort prepared to drive off but the car stuck. I thought a push from me might help, so without informing the driver, I pushed as hard as I could on the back of the car. Unfortunately the driver decided on other tactics. He put the engine in reverse and I was knocked flat on my back in the puddle. The car drove forward and away without the driver having the least idea of what happened. The ayah was in quite a state, lifting me up and scolding me for my stupidity as though I were Kate. I was a bit shaken but non the worse and will know better next time.
Eleanor.
Morogoro 14th July 1940
Dearest Family,
How good it was of Dad to send that cable to Mother offering to have Ann and George to live with you if they are accepted for inclusion in the list of children to be evacuated to South Africa. It would be wonderful to know that they are safely out of the war zone and so much nearer to us but I do dread the thought of the long sea voyage particularly since we heard the news of the sinking of that liner carrying child evacuees to Canada. I worry about them so much particularly as George is so often away on safari. He is so comforting and calm and I feel brave and confident when he is home. We have had no news from England for five weeks but, when she last wrote, mother said the children were very well and that she was sure they would be safe in the country with her.
Kate and John are growing fast. Kate is such a pretty little girl, rosy in spite of the rather trying climate. I have allowed her hair to grow again and it hangs on her shoulders in shiny waves. John is a more slightly built little boy than young George was, and quite different in looks. He has Dad’s high forehead and cleft chin, widely spaced brown eyes that are not so dark as mine and hair that is still fair and curly though ayah likes to smooth it down with water every time she dresses him. He is a shy child, and although he plays happily with Kate, he does not care to play with other children who go in the late afternoons to a lawn by the old German ‘boma’.
Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea and always calls Janet “John’s ayah”. One morning I went to a knitting session at a neighbours house. We are all knitting madly for the troops. As there were several other women in the lounge and no other children, I installed Kate in the dining room with a colouring book and crayons. My hostess’ black dog was chained to the dining room table leg, but as he and Kate are on friendly terms I was not bothered by this. Some time afterwards, during a lull in conversation, I heard a strange drumming noise coming from the dining room. I went quickly to investigate and, to my horror, found Kate lying on her back with the dog chain looped around her neck. The frightened dog was straining away from her as far as he could get and the chain was pulled so tightly around her throat that she could not scream. The drumming noise came from her heels kicking in a panic on the carpet.
Even now I do not know how Kate got herself into this predicament. Luckily no great harm was done but I think I shall do my knitting at home in future.
Eleanor.
Morogoro 16th November 1940
Dearest Family,
I much prefer our little house on the hillside to the larger one we had down below. The only disadvantage is that the garden is on three levels and both children have had some tumbles down the steps on the tricycle. John is an extremely stoical child. He never cries when he hurts himself.
I think I have mentioned ‘Morningside’ before. It is a kind of Resthouse high up in the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro. Jess Howe-Browne, who runs the large house as a Guest House, is a wonderful woman. Besides running the boarding house she also grows vegetables, flowers and fruit for sale in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam. Her guests are usually women and children from Dar es Salaam who come in the hot season to escape the humidity on the coast. Often the mothers leave their children for long periods in Jess Howe-Browne’s care. There is a road of sorts up the mountain side to Morningside, but this is so bad that cars do not attempt it and guests are carried up the mountain in wicker chairs lashed to poles. Four men carry an adult, and two a child, and there are of course always spare bearers and they work in shifts.
Last week the children and I went to Morningside for the day as guests. John rode on my lap in one chair and Kate in a small chair on her own. This did not please Kate at all. The poles are carried on the bearers shoulders and one is perched quite high. The motion is a peculiar rocking one. The bearers chant as they go and do not seem worried by shortness of breath! They are all hillmen of course and are, I suppose, used to trotting up and down to the town.
Morningside is well worth visiting and we spent a delightful day there. The fresh cool air is a great change from the heavy air of the valley. A river rushes down the mountain in a series of cascades, and the gardens are shady and beautiful. Behind the property is a thick indigenous forest which stretches from Morningside to the top of the mountain. The house is an old German one, rather in need of repair, but Jess has made it comfortable and attractive, with some of her old family treasures including a fine old Grandfather clock. We had a wonderful lunch which included large fresh strawberries and cream. We made the return journey again in the basket chairs and got home before dark. George returned home at the weekend with a baby elephant whom we have called Winnie. She was rescued from a mud hole by some African villagers and, as her mother had abandoned her, they took her home and George was informed. He went in the truck to fetch her having first made arrangements to have her housed in a shed on the Agriculture Department Experimental Farm here. He has written to the Game Dept Headquarters to inform the Game Warden and I do not know what her future will be, but in the meantime she is our pet. George is afraid she will not survive because she has had a very trying time. She stands about waist high and is a delightful creature and quite docile. Asian and African children as well as Europeans gather to watch her and George encourages them to bring fruit for her – especially pawpaws which she loves. Whilst we were there yesterday one of the local ladies came, very smartly dressed in a linen frock, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. She watched fascinated whilst Winnie neatly split a pawpaw and removed the seeds with her trunk, before scooping out the pulp and putting it in her mouth. It was a particularly nice ripe pawpaw and Winnie enjoyed it so much that she stretched out her trunk for more. The lady took fright and started to run with Winnie after her, sticky trunk outstretched. Quite an entertaining sight. George managed to stop Winnie but not before she had left a gooey smear down the back of the immaculate frock.
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So the Story goes...