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    TracyTracy
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      From Tanganyika with Love

      continued part 8

      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

      Morogoro 20th January 1941

      Dearest Family,

      It is all arranged for us to go on three months leave to Cape Town next month so
      get out your flags. How I shall love showing off Kate and John to you and this time
      George will be with us and you’ll be able to get to know him properly. You can’t think
      what a comfort it will be to leave all the worries of baggage and tipping to him. We will all
      be travelling by ship to Durban and from there to Cape Town by train. I rather dread the
      journey because there is a fifth little Rushby on the way and, as always, I am very
      queasy.

      Kate has become such a little companion to me that I dread the thought of leaving
      her behind with you to start schooling. I miss Ann and George so much now and must
      face separation from Kate as well. There does not seem to be any alternative though.
      There is a boarding school in Arusha and another has recently been started in Mbeya,
      but both places are so far away and I know she would be very unhappy as a boarder at
      this stage. Living happily with you and attending a day school might wean her of her
      dependance upon me. As soon as this wretched war ends we mean to get Ann and
      George back home and Kate too and they can then all go to boarding school together.
      If I were a more methodical person I would try to teach Kate myself, but being a
      muddler I will have my hands full with Johnny and the new baby. Life passes pleasantly
      but quietly here. Much of my time is taken up with entertaining the children and sewing
      for them and just waiting for George to come home.

      George works so hard on these safaris and this endless elephant hunting to
      protect native crops entails so much foot safari, that he has lost a good deal of weight. it
      is more than ten years since he had a holiday so he is greatly looking forward to this one.
      Four whole months together!

      I should like to keep the ayah, Janet, for the new baby, but she says she wants
      to return to her home in the Southern Highlands Province and take a job there. She is
      unusually efficient and so clean, and the houseboy and cook are quite scared of her. She
      bawls at them if the children’s meals are served a few minutes late but she is always
      respectful towards me and practically creeps around on tiptoe when George is home.
      She has a room next to the outside kitchen. One night thieves broke into the kitchen and
      stole a few things, also a canvas chair and mat from the verandah. Ayah heard them, and
      grabbing a bit of firewood, she gave chase. Her shouts so alarmed the thieves that they
      ran off up the hill jettisoning their loot as they ran. She is a great character.

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 30th July 1941

      Dearest Family,

      Safely back in Morogoro after a rather grim voyage from Durban. Our ship was
      completely blacked out at night and we had to sleep with warm clothing and life belts
      handy and had so many tedious boat drills. It was a nuisance being held up for a whole
      month in Durban, because I was so very pregnant when we did embark. In fact George
      suggested that I had better hide in the ‘Ladies’ until the ship sailed for fear the Captain
      might refuse to take me. It seems that the ship, on which we were originally booked to
      travel, was torpedoed somewhere off the Cape.

      We have been given a very large house this tour with a mosquito netted
      sleeping porch which will be fine for the new baby. The only disadvantage is that the
      house is on the very edge of the residential part of Morogoro and Johnny will have to
      go quite a distance to find playmates.

      I still miss Kate terribly. She is a loving little person. I had prepared for a scene
      when we said good-bye but I never expected that she would be the comforter. It
      nearly broke my heart when she put her arms around me and said, “I’m so sorry
      Mummy, please don’t cry. I’ll be good. Please don’t cry.” I’m afraid it was all very
      harrowing for you also. It is a great comfort to hear that she has settled down so happily.
      I try not to think consciously of my absent children and remind myself that there are
      thousands of mothers in the same boat, but they are always there at the back of my
      mind.

      Mother writes that Ann and George are perfectly happy and well, and that though
      German bombers do fly over fairly frequently, they are unlikely to drop their bombs on
      a small place like Jacksdale.

      George has already left on safari to the Rufiji. There was no replacement for his
      job while he was away so he is anxious to get things moving again. Johnny and I are
      going to move in with friends until he returns, just in case all the travelling around brings
      the new baby on earlier than expected.

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 26th August 1941

      Dearest Family,

      Our new son, James Caleb. was born at 3.30 pm yesterday afternoon, with a
      minimum of fuss, in the hospital here. The Doctor was out so my friend, Sister Murray,
      delivered the baby. The Sister is a Scots girl, very efficient and calm and encouraging,
      and an ideal person to have around at such a time.

      Everything, this time, went without a hitch and I feel fine and proud of my
      bouncing son. He weighs nine pounds and ten ounces and is a big boned fellow with
      dark hair and unusually strongly marked eyebrows. His eyes are strong too and already
      seem to focus. George is delighted with him and brought Hugh Nelson to see him this
      morning. Hugh took one look, and, astonished I suppose by the baby’s apparent
      awareness, said, “Gosh, this one has been here before.” The baby’s cot is beside my
      bed so I can admire him as much as I please. He has large strong hands and George
      reckons he’ll make a good boxer some day.

      Another of my early visitors was Mabemba, George’s orderly. He is a very big
      African and looks impressive in his Game Scouts uniform. George met him years ago at
      Mahenge when he was a young elephant hunter and Mabemba was an Askari in the
      Police. Mabemba takes quite a proprietary interest in the family.

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 25th December 1941

      Dearest Family,

      Christmas Day today, but not a gay one. I have Johnny in bed with a poisoned
      leg so he missed the children’s party at the Club. To make things a little festive I have
      put up a little Christmas tree in the children’s room and have hung up streamers and
      balloons above the beds. Johnny demands a lot of attention so it is fortunate that little
      James is such a very good baby. He sleeps all night until 6 am when his feed is due.
      One morning last week I got up as usual to feed him but I felt so dopey that I
      thought I’d better have a cold wash first. I went into the bathroom and had a hurried
      splash and then grabbed a towel to dry my face. Immediately I felt an agonising pain in
      my nose. Reason? There was a scorpion in the towel! In no time at all my nose looked
      like a pear and felt burning hot. The baby screamed with frustration whilst I feverishly
      bathed my nose and applied this and that in an effort to cool it.

      For three days my nose was very red and tender,”A real boozer nose”, said
      George. But now, thank goodness, it is back to normal.

      Some of the younger marrieds and a couple of bachelors came around,
      complete with portable harmonium, to sing carols in the early hours. No sooner had we
      settled down again to woo sleep when we were disturbed by shouts and screams from
      our nearest neighbour’s house. “Just celebrating Christmas”, grunted George, but we
      heard this morning that the neighbour had fallen down his verandah steps and broken his
      leg.

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

      Dearest Family,

      Well now we are eight! Our new son, Henry, was born on the night of the 28th.
      He is a beautiful baby, weighing ten pounds three and a half ounces. This baby is very
      well developed, handsome, and rather superior looking, and not at all amusing to look at
      as the other boys were.George was born with a moustache, John had a large nose and
      looked like a little old man, and Jim, bless his heart, looked rather like a baby
      chimpanzee. Henry is different. One of my visitors said, “Heaven he’ll have to be a
      Bishop!” I expect the lawn sleeves of his nightie really gave her that idea, but the baby
      does look like ‘Someone’. He is very good and George, John, and Jim are delighted
      with him, so is Mabemba.

      We have a dear little nurse looking after us. She is very petite and childish
      looking. When the baby was born and she brought him for me to see, the nurse asked
      his name. I said jokingly, “His name is Benjamin – the last of the family.” She is now very
      peeved to discover that his real name is Henry William and persists in calling him
      ‘Benjie’.I am longing to get home and into my pleasant rut. I have been away for two
      whole weeks and George is managing so well that I shall feel quite expendable if I don’t
      get home soon. As our home is a couple of miles from the hospital, I arranged to move
      in and stay with the nursing sister on the day the baby was due. There I remained for ten
      whole days before the baby was born. Each afternoon George came and took me for a
      ride in the bumpy Bedford lorry and the Doctor tried this and that but the baby refused
      to be hurried.

      On the tenth day I had the offer of a lift and decided to go home for tea and
      surprise George. It was a surprise too, because George was entertaining a young
      Game Ranger for tea and my arrival, looking like a perambulating big top, must have
      been rather embarrassing.Henry was born at the exact moment that celebrations started
      in the Township for the end of the Muslim religious festival of Ramadan. As the Doctor
      held him up by his ankles, there was the sound of hooters and firecrackers from the town.
      The baby has a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon above his left eyebrow.

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 26th January 1944

      Dearest Family,

      We have just heard that we are to be transferred to the Headquarters of the
      Game Department at a place called Lyamungu in the Northern Province. George is not
      at all pleased because he feels that the new job will entail a good deal of office work and
      that his beloved but endless elephant hunting will be considerably curtailed. I am glad of
      that and I am looking forward to seeing a new part of Tanganyika and particularly
      Kilimanjaro which dominates Lyamungu.

      Thank goodness our menagerie is now much smaller. We found a home for the
      guinea pigs last December and Susie, our mischievous guinea-fowl, has flown off to find
      a mate.Last week I went down to Dar es Salaam for a check up by Doctor John, a
      woman doctor, leaving George to cope with the three boys. I was away two nights and
      a day and returned early in the morning just as George was giving Henry his six o’clock
      bottle. It always amazes me that so very masculine a man can do my chores with no
      effort and I have a horrible suspicion that he does them better than I do. I enjoyed the
      short break at the coast very much. I stayed with friends and we bathed in the warm sea
      and saw a good film.

      Now I suppose there will be a round of farewell parties. People in this country
      are most kind and hospitable.

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 20th March 1944

      Dearest Family,

      We left Morogoro after the round of farewell parties I had anticipated. The final
      one was at the Club on Saturday night. George made a most amusing speech and the
      party was a very pleasant occasion though I was rather tired after all the packing.
      Several friends gathered to wave us off on Monday morning. We had two lorries
      loaded with our goods. I rode in the cab of the first one with Henry on my knee. George
      with John and Jim rode in the second one. As there was no room for them in the cab,
      they sat on our couch which was placed across the width of the lorry behind the cab. This
      seat was not as comfortable as it sounds, because the space behind the couch was
      taken up with packing cases which were not lashed in place and these kept moving
      forward as the lorry bumped its way over the bad road.

      Soon there was hardly any leg room and George had constantly to stand up and
      push the second layer of packing cases back to prevent them from toppling over onto
      the children and himself. As it is now the rainy season the road was very muddy and
      treacherous and the lorries travelled so slowly it was dark by the time we reached
      Karogwe from where we were booked to take the train next morning to Moshi.
      Next morning we heard that there had been a washaway on the line and that the
      train would be delayed for at least twelve hours. I was not feeling well and certainly did
      not enjoy my day. Early in the afternoon Jimmy ran into a wall and blackened both his
      eyes. What a child! As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and when at last the train
      did arrive I simply crawled into my bunk whilst George coped nobly with the luggage
      and the children.

      We arrived at Moshi at breakfast time and went straight to the Lion Cub Hotel
      where I took to my bed with a high temperature. It was, of course, malaria. I always have
      my attacks at the most inopportune times. Fortunately George ran into some friends
      called Eccles and the wife Mollie came to my room and bathed Henry and prepared his
      bottle and fed him. George looked after John and Jim. Next day I felt much better and
      we drove out to Lyamungu the day after. There we had tea with the Game Warden and
      his wife before moving into our new home nearby.

      The Game Warden is Captain Monty Moore VC. He came out to Africa
      originally as an Officer in the King’s African Rifles and liked the country so much he left the
      Army and joined the Game Department. He was stationed at Banagi in the Serengetti
      Game Reserve and is well known for his work with the lions there. He particularly tamed
      some of the lions by feeding them so that they would come out into the open and could
      readily be photographed by tourists. His wife Audrey, has written a book about their
      experiences at Banagi. It is called “Serengetti”

      Our cook, Hamisi, soon had a meal ready for us and we all went to bed early.
      This is a very pleasant house and I know we will be happy here. I still feel a little shaky
      but that is the result of all the quinine I have taken. I expect I shall feel fine in a day or two.

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 15th May 1944

      Dearest Family,

      Well, here we are settled comfortably in our very nice house. The house is
      modern and roomy, and there is a large enclosed verandah, which will be a Godsend in
      the wet weather as a playroom for the children. The only drawback is that there are so
      many windows to be curtained and cleaned. The grounds consist of a very large lawn
      and a few beds of roses and shrubs. It is an ideal garden for children, unlike our steeply
      terraced garden at Morogoro.

      Lyamungu is really the Government Coffee Research Station. It is about sixteen
      miles from the town of Moshi which is the centre of the Tanganyika coffee growing
      industry. Lyamungu, which means ‘place of God’ is in the foothills of Mt Kilimanjaro and
      we have a beautiful view of Kilimanjaro. Kibo, the more spectacular of the two mountain
      peaks, towers above us, looking from this angle, like a giant frosted plum pudding. Often the mountain is veiled by cloud and mist which sometimes comes down to
      our level so that visibility is practically nil. George dislikes both mist and mountain but I
      like both and so does John. He in fact saw Kibo before I did. On our first day here, the
      peak was completely hidden by cloud. In the late afternoon when the children were
      playing on the lawn outside I was indoors hanging curtains. I heard John call out, “Oh
      Mummy, isn’t it beautiful!” I ran outside and there, above a scarf of cloud, I saw the
      showy dome of Kibo with the setting sun shining on it tingeing the snow pink. It was an
      unforgettable experience.

      As this is the rainy season, the surrounding country side is very lush and green.
      Everywhere one sees the rich green of the coffee plantations and the lighter green of
      the banana groves. Unfortunately our walks are rather circumscribed. Except for the main road to Moshi, there is nowhere to walk except through the Government coffee
      plantation. Paddy, our dog, thinks life is pretty boring as there is no bush here and
      nothing to hunt. There are only half a dozen European families here and half of those are
      on very distant terms with the other half which makes the station a rather uncomfortable
      one.

      The coffee expert who runs this station is annoyed because his European staff
      has been cut down owing to the war, and three of the vacant houses and some office
      buildings have been taken over temporarily by the Game Department. Another house
      has been taken over by the head of the Labour Department. However I don’t suppose
      the ill feeling will effect us much. We are so used to living in the bush that we are not
      socially inclined any way.

      Our cook, Hamisi, came with us from Morogoro but I had to engage a new
      houseboy and kitchenboy. I first engaged a houseboy who produced a wonderful ‘chit’
      in which his previous employer describes him as his “friend and confidant”. I felt rather
      dubious about engaging him and how right I was. On his second day with us I produced
      some of Henry’s napkins, previously rinsed by me, and asked this boy to wash them.
      He looked most offended and told me that it was beneath his dignity to do women’s
      work. We parted immediately with mutual relief.

      Now I have a good natured fellow named Japhet who, though hard on crockery,
      is prepared to do anything and loves playing with the children. He is a local boy, a
      member of the Chagga tribe. These Chagga are most intelligent and, on the whole, well
      to do as they all have their own small coffee shambas. Japhet tells me that his son is at
      the Uganda University College studying medicine.The kitchen boy is a tall youth called
      Tovelo, who helps both Hamisi, the cook, and the houseboy and also keeps an eye on
      Henry when I am sewing. I still make all the children’s clothes and my own. Life is
      pleasant but dull. George promises that he will take the whole family on safari when
      Henry is a little older.

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 18th July 1944

      Dearest Family,

      Life drifts quietly by at Lyamungu with each day much like the one before – or
      they would be, except that the children provide the sort of excitement that prohibits
      boredom. Of the three boys our Jim is the best at this. Last week Jim wandered into the
      coffee plantation beside our house and chewed some newly spayed berries. Result?
      A high temperature and nasty, bloody diarrhoea, so we had to rush him to the hospital at
      Moshi for treatment. however he was well again next day and George went off on safari.
      That night there was another crisis. As the nights are now very cold, at this high
      altitude, we have a large fire lit in the living room and the boy leaves a pile of logs
      beside the hearth so that I can replenish the fire when necessary. Well that night I took
      Henry off to bed, leaving John and Jim playing in the living room. When their bedtime
      came, I called them without leaving the bedroom. When I had tucked John and Jim into
      bed, I sat reading a bedtime story as I always do. Suddenly I saw smoke drifting
      through the door, and heard a frightening rumbling noise. Japhet rushed in to say that the
      lounge chimney was on fire! Picture me, panic on the inside and sweet smile on the
      outside, as I picked Henry up and said to the other two, “There’s nothing to be
      frightened about chaps, but get up and come outside for a bit.” Stupid of me to be so
      heroic because John and Jim were not at all scared but only too delighted at the chance
      of rushing about outside in the dark. The fire to them was just a bit of extra fun.

      We hurried out to find one boy already on the roof and the other passing up a
      brimming bucket of water. Other boys appeared from nowhere and soon cascades of
      water were pouring down the chimney. The result was a mountain of smouldering soot
      on the hearth and a pool of black water on the living room floor. However the fire was out
      and no serious harm done because all the floors here are cement and another stain on
      the old rug will hardly be noticed. As the children reluctantly returned to bed John
      remarked smugly, “I told Jim not to put all the wood on the fire at once but he wouldn’t
      listen.” I might have guessed!

      However it was not Jim but John who gave me the worst turn of all this week. As
      a treat I decided to take the boys to the river for a picnic tea. The river is not far from our
      house but we had never been there before so I took the kitchen boy, Tovelo, to show
      us the way. The path is on the level until one is in sight of the river when the bank slopes
      steeply down. I decided that it was too steep for the pram so I stopped to lift Henry out
      and carry him. When I looked around I saw John running down the slope towards the
      river. The stream is not wide but flows swiftly and I had no idea how deep it was. All I
      knew was that it was a trout stream. I called for John, “Stop, wait for me!” but he ran on
      and made for a rude pole bridge which spanned the river. He started to cross and then,
      to my horror, I saw John slip. There was a splash and he disappeared under the water. I
      just dumped the baby on the ground, screamed to the boy to mind him and ran madly
      down the slope to the river. Suddenly I saw John’s tight fitting felt hat emerge, then his
      eyes and nose. I dashed into the water and found, to my intense relief, that it only
      reached up to my shoulders but, thank heaven no further. John’s steady eyes watched
      me trustingly as I approached him and carried him safely to the bank. He had been
      standing on a rock and had not panicked at all though he had to stand up very straight
      and tall to keep his nose out of water. I was too proud of him to scold him for
      disobedience and too wet anyway.

      I made John undress and put on two spare pullovers and wrapped Henry’s
      baby blanket round his waist like a sarong. We made a small fire over which I crouched
      with literally chattering teeth whilst Tovelo ran home to fetch a coat for me and dry clothes
      for John.

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 16th August 1944

      Dearest Family,

      We have a new bull terrier bitch pup whom we have named Fanny III . So once
      more we have a menagerie , the two dogs, two cats Susie and Winnie, and
      some pet hens who live in the garage and are a real nuisance.

      As John is nearly six I thought it time that he started lessons and wrote off to Dar
      es Salaam for the correspondence course. We have had one week of lessons and I am
      already in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. John is a most reluctant scholar.
      “Why should I learn to read, when you can read to me?” he asks, and “Anyway why
      should I read such stupid stuff, ‘Run Rover Run’, and ‘Mother play with baby’ . Who
      wants to read about things like that? I don’t.”

      He rather likes sums, but the only subject about which he is enthusiastic is
      prehistoric history. He laps up information about ‘The Tree Dwellers’, though he is very
      sceptical about the existence of such people. “God couldn’t be so silly to make people
      so stupid. Fancy living in trees when it is easy to make huts like the natives.” ‘The Tree
      Dwellers is a highly imaginative story about a revolting female called Sharptooth and her
      offspring called Bodo. I have a very clear mental image of Sharptooth, so it came as a
      shock to me and highly amused George when John looked at me reflectively across the
      tea table and said, “Mummy I expect Sharptooth looked like you. You have a sharp
      tooth too!” I have, my eye teeth are rather sharp, but I hope the resemblance stops
      there.

      John has an uncomfortably logical mind for a small boy. The other day he was
      lying on the lawn staring up at the clouds when he suddenly muttered “I don’t believe it.”
      “Believe what?” I asked. “That Jesus is coming on a cloud one day. How can he? The
      thick ones always stay high up. What’s he going to do, jump down with a parachute?”
      Tovelo, my kitchen boy, announced one evening that his grandmother was in the
      kitchen and wished to see me. She was a handsome and sensible Chagga woman who
      brought sad news. Her little granddaughter had stumbled backwards into a large cooking
      pot of almost boiling maize meal porridge and was ‘ngongwa sana’ (very ill). I grabbed
      a large bottle of Picric Acid and a packet of gauze which we keep for these emergencies
      and went with her, through coffee shambas and banana groves to her daughter’s house.
      Inside the very neat thatched hut the mother sat with the naked child lying face
      downwards on her knee. The child’s buttocks and the back of her legs were covered in
      huge burst blisters from which a watery pus dripped. It appeared that the accident had
      happened on the previous day.

      I could see that it was absolutely necessary to clean up the damaged area, and I
      suddenly remembered that there was a trained African hospital dresser on the station. I
      sent the father to fetch him and whilst the dresser cleaned off the sloughed skin with
      forceps and swabs saturated in Picric Acid, I cut the gauze into small squares which I
      soaked in the lotion and laid on the cleaned area. I thought the small pieces would be
      easier to change especially as the whole of the most tender parts, front and back, were
      badly scalded. The child seemed dazed and neither the dresser nor I thought she would
      live. I gave her half an aspirin and left three more half tablets to be given four hourly.
      Next day she seemed much brighter. I poured more lotion on the gauze
      disturbing as few pieces as possible and again the next day and the next. After a week
      the skin was healing well and the child eating normally. I am sure she will be all right now.
      The new skin is a brilliant red and very shiny but it is pale round the edges of the burnt
      area and will I hope later turn brown. The mother never uttered a word of thanks, but the
      granny is grateful and today brought the children a bunch of bananas.

      Eleanor.

      c/o Game Dept. P.O.Moshi. 29th September 1944

      Dearest Mummy,

      I am so glad that you so enjoyed my last letter with the description of our very
      interesting and enjoyable safari through Masailand. You said you would like an even
      fuller description of it to pass around amongst the relations, so, to please you, I have
      written it out in detail and enclose the result.

      We have spent a quiet week after our exertions and all are well here.

      Very much love,
      Eleanor.

      Safari in Masailand

      George and I were at tea with our three little boys on the front lawn of our house
      in Lyamungu, Northern Tanganyika. It was John’s sixth birthday and he and Jim, a
      happy sturdy three year old, and Henry, aged eleven months, were munching the
      squares of plain chocolate which rounded off the party, when George said casually
      across the table to me, “Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow to go on
      safari?” “Me too?” enquired John anxiously, before I had time to reply, and “Me too?”
      echoed Jim. “yes, of course I can”, said I to George and “of course you’re coming too”,
      to the children who rate a day spent in the bush higher than any other pleasure.
      So in the early morning two days later, we started out happily for Masailand in a
      three ton Ford lorry loaded to capacity with the five Rushbys, the safari paraphernalia,
      drums of petrol and quite a retinue of servants and Game Scouts. George travelling
      alone on his monthly safaris, takes only the cook and a couple of Game Scouts, but this was to be a safari de luxe.

      Henry and I shared the cab with George who was driving, whilst John and Jim
      with the faithful orderly Mabemba beside them to point out the game animals, were
      installed upon rolls of bedding in the body of the lorry. The lorry lumbered along, first
      through coffee shambas, and then along the main road between Moshi and Arusha.
      After half an hour or so, we turned South off the road into a track which crossed the
      Sanya Plains and is the beginning of this part of Masailand. Though the dry season was
      at its height, and the pasture dry and course, we were soon passing small groups of
      game. This area is a Game Sanctuary and the antelope grazed quietly quite undisturbed
      by the passing lorry. Here and there zebra stood bunched by the road, a few wild
      ostriches stalked jerkily by, and in the distance some wildebeest cavorted around in their
      crazy way.

      Soon the grasslands gave way to thorn bush, and we saw six fantastically tall
      giraffe standing motionless with their heads turned enquiringly towards us. George
      stopped the lorry so the children could have a good view of them. John was enchanted
      but Jim, alas, was asleep.

      At mid day we reached the Kikoletwa River and turned aside to camp. Beside
      the river, under huge leafy trees, there was a beautiful camping spot, but the river was
      deep and reputed to be full of crocodiles so we passed it by and made our camp
      some distance from the river under a tall thorn tree with a flat lacy canopy. All around the
      camp lay uprooted trees of similar size that had been pushed over by elephants. As
      soon as the lorry stopped a camp chair was set up for me and the Game Scouts quickly
      slashed down grass and cleared the camp site of thorns. The same boys then pitched the tent whilst George himself set up the three camp beds and the folding cot for Henry,
      and set up the safari table and the canvas wash bowl and bath.

      The cook in the meantime had cleared a cool spot for the kitchen , opened up the
      chop boxes and started a fire. The cook’s boy and the dhobi (laundry boy) brought
      water from the rather muddy river and tea was served followed shortly afterward by an
      excellent lunch. In a very short time the camp had a suprisingly homely look. Nappies
      fluttered from a clothes line, Henry slept peacefully in his cot, John and Jim sprawled on
      one bed looking at comics, and I dozed comfortably on another.

      George, with the Game Scouts, drove off in the lorry about his work. As a Game
      Ranger it is his business to be on a constant look out for poachers, both African and
      European, and for disease in game which might infect the valuable herds of Masai cattle.
      The lorry did not return until dusk by which time the children had bathed enthusiastically in
      the canvas bath and were ready for supper and bed. George backed the lorry at right
      angles to the tent, Henry’s cot and two camp beds were set up in the lorry, the tarpaulin
      was lashed down and the children put to bed in their novel nursery.

      When darkness fell a large fire was lit in front of the camp, the exited children at
      last fell asleep and George and I sat on by the fire enjoying the cool and quiet night.
      When the fire subsided into a bed of glowing coals, it was time for our bed. During the
      night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches and strange indescribable
      noises.” Just elephant”, said George comfortably and instantly fell asleep once more. I
      didn’t! We rose with the birds next morning, but breakfast was ready and in a
      remarkably short time the lorry had been reloaded and we were once more on our way.
      For about half a mile we made our own track across the plain and then we turned
      into the earth road once more. Soon we had reached the river and were looking with
      dismay at the suspension bridge which we had to cross. At the far side, one steel
      hawser was missing and there the bridge tilted dangerously. There was no handrail but
      only heavy wooden posts which marked the extremities of the bridge. WhenGeorge
      measured the distance between the posts he found that there could be barely two
      inches to spare on either side of the cumbersome lorry.

      He decided to risk crossing, but the children and I and all the servants were told to
      cross the bridge and go down the track out of sight. The Game Scouts remained on the
      river bank on the far side of the bridge and stood ready for emergencies. As I walked
      along anxiously listening, I was horrified to hear the lorry come to a stop on the bridge.
      There was a loud creaking noise and I instantly visualised the lorry slowly toppling over
      into the deep crocodile infested river. The engine restarted, the lorry crossed the bridge
      and came slowly into sight around the bend. My heart slid back into its normal position.
      George was as imperturbable as ever and simply remarked that it had been a near
      thing and that we would return to Lyamungu by another route.

      Beyond the green river belt the very rutted track ran through very uninteresting
      thorn bush country. Henry was bored and tiresome, jumping up and down on my knee
      and yelling furiously. “Teeth”, said I apologetically to George, rashly handing a match
      box to Henry to keep him quiet. No use at all! With a fat finger he poked out the tray
      spilling the matches all over me and the floor. Within seconds Henry had torn the
      matchbox to pieces with his teeth and flung the battered remains through the window.
      An empty cigarette box met with the same fate as the match box and the yells
      continued unabated until Henry slept from sheer exhaustion. George gave me a smile,
      half sympathetic and half sardonic, “Enjoying the safari, my love?” he enquired. On these
      trying occasions George has the inestimable advantage of being able to go into a Yogilike
      trance, whereas I become irritated to screaming point.

      In an effort to prolong Henry’s slumber I braced my feet against the floor boards
      and tried to turn myself into a human shock absorber as we lurched along the eroded
      track. Several times my head made contact with the bolt of a rifle in the rack above, and
      once I felt I had shattered my knee cap against the fire extinguisher in a bracket under the
      dash board.

      Strange as it may seem, I really was enjoying the trip in spite of these
      discomforts. At last after three years I was once more on safari with George. This type of
      country was new to me and there was so much to see We passed a family of giraffe
      standing in complete immobility only a few yards from the track. Little dick-dick. one of the smallest of the antelope, scuttled in pairs across the road and that afternoon I had my first view of Gerenuk, curious red brown antelope with extremely elongated legs and giraffe-like necks.

      Most interesting of all was my first sight of Masai at home. We could hear a tuneful
      jangle of cattle bells and suddenly came across herds of humped cattle browsing upon
      the thorn bushes. The herds were guarded by athletic,striking looking Masai youths and men.
      Each had a calabash of water slung over his shoulder and a tall, highly polished spear in his
      hand. These herdsmen were quite unselfconscious though they wore no clothing except for one carelessly draped blanket. Very few gave us any greeting but glanced indifferently at us from under fringes of clay-daubed plaited hair . The rest of their hair was drawn back behind the ears to display split earlobes stretched into slender loops by the weight of heavy brass or copper tribal ear rings.

      Most of the villages were set well back in the bush out of sight of the road but we did pass one
      typical village which looked most primitive indeed. It consisted simply of a few mound like mud huts which were entirely covered with a plaster of mud and cattle dung and the whole clutch of huts were surrounded by a ‘boma’ of thorn to keep the cattle in at night and the lions out. There was a gathering of women and children on the road at this point. The children of both sexes were naked and unadorned, but the women looked very fine indeed. This is not surprising for they have little to do but adorn themselves, unlike their counterparts of other tribes who have to work hard cultivating the fields. The Masai women, and others I saw on safari, were far more amiable and cheerful looking than the men and were well proportioned.

      They wore skirts of dressed goat skin, knee length in front but ankle length behind. Their arms
      from elbow to wrist, and legs from knee to ankle, were encased in tight coils of copper and
      galvanised wire. All had their heads shaved and in some cases bound by a leather band
      embroidered in red white and blue beads. Circular ear rings hung from slit earlobes and their
      handsome throats were encircled by stiff wire necklaces strung with brightly coloured beads. These
      necklaces were carefully graded in size and formed deep collars almost covering their breasts.
      About a quarter of a mile further along the road we met eleven young braves in gala attire, obviously on their way to call on the girls. They formed a line across the road and danced up and down until the lorry was dangerously near when they parted and grinned cheerfully at us. These were the only cheerful
      looking male Masai that I saw. Like the herdsmen these youths wore only a blanket, but their
      blankets were ochre colour, and elegantly draped over their backs. Their naked bodies gleamed with oil. Several had painted white stripes on their faces, and two had whitewashed their faces entirely which I
      thought a pity. All had their long hair elaborately dressed and some carried not only one,
      but two gleaming spears.

      By mid day George decided that we had driven far enough for that day. He
      stopped the lorry and consulted a rather unreliable map. “Somewhere near here is a
      place called Lolbeni,” he said. “The name means Sweet Water, I hear that the
      government have piped spring water down from the mountain into a small dam at which
      the Masai water their cattle.” Lolbeni sounded pleasant to me. Henry was dusty and
      cross, the rubber sheet had long slipped from my lap to the floor and I was conscious of
      a very damp lap. ‘Sweet Waters’ I felt, would put all that right. A few hundred yards
      away a small herd of cattle was grazing, so George lit his pipe and relaxed at last, whilst
      a Game Scout went off to find the herdsman. The scout soon returned with an ancient
      and emaciated Masai who was thrilled at the prospect of his first ride in a lorry and
      offered to direct us to Lolbeni which was off the main track and about four miles away.

      Once Lolbeni had been a small administrative post and a good track had
      led to it, but now the Post had been abandoned and the road is dotted with vigourous
      thorn bushes and the branches of larger thorn trees encroach on the track The road had
      deteriorated to a mere cattle track, deeply rutted and eroded by heavy rains over a
      period of years. The great Ford truck, however, could take it. It lurched victoriously along,
      mowing down the obstructions, tearing off branches from encroaching thorn trees with its
      high railed sides, spanning gorges in the track, and climbing in and out of those too wide
      to span. I felt an army tank could not have done better.

      I had expected Lolbeni to be a green oasis in a desert of grey thorns, but I was
      quickly disillusioned. To be sure the thorn trees were larger and more widely spaced and
      provided welcome shade, but the ground under the trees had been trampled by thousands of cattle into a dreary expanse of dirty grey sand liberally dotted with cattle droppings and made still more uninviting by the bleached bones of dead beasts.

      To the right of this waste rose a high green hill which gave the place its name and from which
      the precious water was piped, but its slopes were too steep to provide a camping site.
      Flies swarmed everywhere and I was most relieved when George said that we would
      stay only long enough to fill our cans with water. Even the water was a disappointment!
      The water in the small dam was low and covered by a revolting green scum, and though
      the water in the feeding pipe was sweet, it trickled so feebly that it took simply ages to
      fill a four gallon can.

      However all these disappointments were soon forgotten for we drove away
      from the flies and dirt and trampled sand and soon, with their quiet efficiency, George
      and his men set up a comfortable camp. John and Jim immediately started digging
      operations in the sandy soil whilst Henry and I rested. After tea George took his shot
      gun and went off to shoot guinea fowl and partridges for the pot. The children and I went
      walking, keeping well in site of camp, and soon we saw a very large flock of Vulturine
      Guineafowl, running aimlessly about and looking as tame as barnyard fowls, but melting
      away as soon as we moved in their direction.

      We had our second quiet and lovely evening by the camp fire, followed by a
      peaceful night.

      We left Lolbeni very early next morning, which was a good thing, for as we left
      camp the herds of thirsty cattle moved in from all directions. They were accompanied by
      Masai herdsmen, their naked bodies and blankets now covered by volcanic dust which
      was being stirred in rising clouds of stifling ash by the milling cattle, and also by grey
      donkeys laden with panniers filled with corked calabashes for water.

      Our next stop was Nabarera, a Masai cattle market and trading centre, where we
      reluctantly stayed for two days in a pokey Goverment Resthouse because George had
      a job to do in that area. The rest was good for Henry who promptly produced a tooth
      and was consequently much better behaved for the rest of the trip. George was away in the bush most of the day but he returned for afternoon tea and later took the children out
      walking. We had noticed curious white dumps about a quarter mile from the resthouse
      and on the second afternoon we set out to investigate them. Behind the dumps we
      found passages about six foot wide, cut through solid limestone. We explored two of
      these and found that both passages led steeply down to circular wells about two and a
      half feet in diameter.

      At the very foot of each passage, beside each well, rough drinking troughs had
      been cut in the stone. The herdsmen haul the water out of the well in home made hide
      buckets, the troughs are filled and the cattle driven down the ramps to drink at the trough.
      It was obvious that the wells were ancient and the sloping passages new. George tells
      me that no one knows what ancient race dug the original wells. It seems incredible that
      these deep and narrow shafts could have been sunk without machinery. I craned my
      neck and looked above one well and could see an immensely long shaft reaching up to
      ground level. Small footholds were cut in the solid rock as far as I could see.
      It seems that the Masai are as ignorant as ourselves about the origin of these
      wells. They do say however that when their forebears first occupied what is now known
      as Masailand, they not only found the Wanderobo tribe in the area but also a light
      skinned people and they think it possible that these light skinned people dug the wells.
      These people disappeared. They may have been absorbed or, more likely, they were
      liquidated.

      The Masai had found the well impractical in their original form and had hired
      labourers from neighbouring tribes to cut the passages to water level. Certainly the Masai are not responsible for the wells. They are a purely pastoral people and consider manual labour extremely degrading.

      They live chiefly on milk from their herd which they allow to go sour, and mix with blood that has been skilfully tapped from the necks of living cattle. They do not eat game meat, nor do they cultivate any
      land. They hunt with spears, but hunt only lions, to protect their herds, and to test the skill
      and bravery of their young warriors. What little grain they do eat is transported into
      Masailand by traders. The next stage of our journey took us to Ngassamet where
      George was to pick up some elephant tusks. I had looked forward particularly to this
      stretch of road for I had heard that there was a shallow lake at which game congregates,
      and at which I had great hopes of seeing elephants. We had come too late in the
      season though, the lake was dry and there were only piles of elephant droppings to
      prove that elephant had recently been there in numbers. Ngassamet, though no beauty
      spot, was interesting. We saw more elaborate editions of the wells already described, and as this area
      is rich in cattle we saw the aristocrats of the Masai. You cannot conceive of a more arrogant looking male than a young Masai brave striding by on sandalled feet, unselfconscious in all his glory. All the young men wore the casually draped traditional ochre blanket and carried one or more spears. But here belts and long knife sheaths of scarlet leather seem to be the fashion. Here fringes do not seem to be the thing. Most of these young Masai had their hair drawn smoothly back and twisted in a pointed queue, the whole plastered with a smooth coating of red clay. Some tied their horn shaped queues over their heads
      so that the tip formed a deep Satanic peak on the brow. All these young men wore the traditional
      copper earrings and I saw one or two with copper bracelets and one with a necklace of brightly coloured
      beads.

      It so happened that, on the day of our visit to Ngassamet, there had been a
      baraza (meeting) which was attended by all the local headmen and elders. These old
      men came to pay their respects to George and a more shrewd and rascally looking
      company I have never seen, George told me that some of these men own up to three
      thousand head of cattle and more. The chief was as fat and Rabelasian as his second in
      command was emaciated, bucktoothed and prim. The Chief shook hands with George
      and greeted me and settled himself on the wall of the resthouse porch opposite
      George. The lesser headmen, after politely greeting us, grouped themselves in a
      semi circle below the steps with their ‘aides’ respectfully standing behind them. I
      remained sitting in the only chair and watched the proceedings with interest and
      amusement.

      These old Masai, I noticed, cared nothing for adornment. They had proved
      themselves as warriors in the past and were known to be wealthy and influential so did
      not need to make any display. Most of them had their heads comfortably shaved and
      wore only a drab blanket or goatskin cloak. Their only ornaments were earrings whose
      effect was somewhat marred by the serviceable and homely large safety pin that
      dangled from the lobe of one ear. All carried staves instead of spears and all, except for
      Buckteeth and one blind old skeleton of a man, appeared to have a keenly developed
      sense of humour.

      “Mummy?” asked John in an urgent whisper, “Is that old blind man nearly dead?”
      “Yes dear”, said I, “I expect he’ll soon die.” “What here?” breathed John in a tone of
      keen anticipation and, until the meeting broke up and the old man left, he had John’s
      undivided attention.

      After local news and the game situation had been discussed, the talk turned to the
      war. “When will the war end?” moaned the fat Chief. “We have made great gifts of cattle
      to the War Funds, we are taxed out of existence.” George replied with the Ki-Swahili
      equivalent of ‘Sez you!’. This sally was received with laughter and the old fellows rose to
      go. They made their farewells and dignified exits, pausing on their way to stare at our
      pink and white Henry, who sat undismayed in his push chair giving them stare for stare
      from his striking grey eyes.

      Towards evening some Masai, prompted no doubt by our native servants,
      brought a sheep for sale. It was the last night of the fast of Ramadan and our
      Mohammedan boys hoped to feast next day at our expense. Their faces fell when
      George refused to buy the animal. “Why should I pay fifteen shillings for a sheep?” he
      asked, “Am I not the Bwana Nyama and is not the bush full of my sheep?” (Bwana
      Nyama is the native name for a Game Ranger, but means literally, ‘Master of the meat’)
      George meant that he would shoot a buck for the men next day, but this incident was to
      have a strange sequel. Ngassamet resthouse consists of one room so small we could
      not put up all our camp beds and George and I slept on the cement floor which was
      unkind to my curves. The night was bitterly cold and all night long hyaenas screeched
      hideously outside. So we rose at dawn without reluctance and were on our way before it
      was properly light.

      George had decided that it would be foolhardy to return home by our outward
      route as he did not care to risk another crossing of the suspension bridge. So we
      returned to Nabarera and there turned onto a little used track which would eventually take
      us to the Great North Road a few miles South of Arusha. There was not much game
      about but I saw Oryx which I had not previously seen. Soon it grew intolerably hot and I
      think all of us but George were dozing when he suddenly stopped the lorry and pointed
      to the right. “Mpishi”, he called to the cook, “There’s your sheep!” True enough, on that
      dreary thorn covered plain,with not another living thing in sight, stood a fat black sheep.

      There was an incredulous babbling from the back of the lorry. Every native
      jumped to the ground and in no time at all the wretched sheep was caught and
      slaughtered. I felt sick. “Oh George”, I wailed, “The poor lost sheep! I shan’t eat a scrap
      of it.” George said nothing but went and had a look at the sheep and called out to me,
      “Come and look at it. It was kindness to kill the poor thing, the vultures have been at it
      already and the hyaenas would have got it tonight.” I went reluctantly and saw one eye
      horribly torn out, and small deep wounds on the sheep’s back where the beaks of the
      vultures had cut through the heavy fleece. Poor thing! I went back to the lorry more
      determined than ever not to eat mutton on that trip. The Scouts and servants had no
      such scruples. The fine fat sheep had been sent by Allah for their feast day and that was
      the end of it.

      “ ‘Mpishi’ is more convinced than ever that I am a wizard”, said George in
      amusement as he started the lorry. I knew what he meant. Several times before George
      had foretold something which had later happened. Pure coincidence, but strange enough
      to give rise to a legend that George had the power to arrange things. “What happened
      of course”, explained George, “Is that a flock of Masai sheep was driven to market along
      this track yesterday or the day before. This one strayed and was not missed.”

      The day grew hotter and hotter and for long miles we looked out for a camping
      spot but could find little shade and no trace of water anywhere. At last, in the early
      afternoon we reached another pokey little rest house and asked for water. “There is no
      water here,” said the native caretaker. “Early in the morning there is water in a well nearby
      but we are allowed only one kerosene tin full and by ten o’clock the well is dry.” I looked
      at George in dismay for we were all so tired and dusty. “Where do the Masai from the
      village water their cattle then?” asked George. “About two miles away through the bush.
      If you take me with you I shall show you”, replied the native.

      So we turned off into the bush and followed a cattle track even more tortuous than
      the one to Lolbeni. Two Scouts walked ahead to warn us of hazards and I stretched my
      arm across the open window to fend off thorns. Henry screamed with fright and hunger.
      But George’s efforts to reach water went unrewarded as we were brought to a stop by
      a deep donga. The native from the resthouse was apologetic. He had mistaken the
      path, perhaps if we turned back we might find it. George was beyond speech. We
      lurched back the way we had come and made our camp under the first large tree we
      could find. Then off went our camp boys on foot to return just before dark with the water.
      However they were cheerful for there was an unlimited quantity of dry wood for their fires
      and meat in plenty for their feast. Long after George and I left our campfire and had gone
      to bed, we could see the cheerful fires of the boys and hear their chatter and laughter.
      I woke in the small hours to hear the insane cackling of hyaenas gloating over a
      find. Later I heard scuffling around the camp table, I peered over the tailboard of the lorry
      and saw George come out of his tent. What are you doing?” I whispered. “Looking for
      something to throw at those bloody hyaenas,” answered George for all the world as
      though those big brutes were tomcats on the prowl. Though the hyaenas kept up their
      concert all night the children never stirred, nor did any of them wake at night throughout
      the safari.

      Early next morning I walked across to the camp kitchen to enquire into the loud
      lamentations coming from that quarter. “Oh Memsahib”, moaned the cook, “We could
      not sleep last night for the bad hyaenas round our tents. They have taken every scrap of
      meat we had left over from the feast., even the meat we had left to smoke over the fire.”
      Jim, who of our three young sons is the cook’s favourite commiserated with him. He said
      in Ki-Swahili, which he speaks with great fluency, “Truly those hyaenas are very bad
      creatures. They also robbed us. They have taken my hat from the table and eaten the
      new soap from the washbowl.

      Our last day in the bush was a pleasantly lazy one. We drove through country
      that grew more open and less dry as we approached Arusha. We pitched our camp
      near a large dam, and the water was a blessed sight after a week of scorched country.
      On the plains to the right of our camp was a vast herd of native cattle enjoying a brief
      rest after their long day trek through Masailand. They were destined to walk many more
      weary miles before reaching their destination, a meat canning factory in Kenya.
      The ground to the left of the camp rose gently to form a long low hill and on the
      grassy slopes we could see wild ostriches and herds of wildebeest, zebra and
      antelope grazing amicably side by side. In the late afternoon I watched the groups of
      zebra and wildebeest merge into one. Then with a wildebeest leading, they walked
      down the slope in single file to drink at the vlei . When they were satisfied, a wildebeest
      once more led the herd up the trail. The others followed in a long and orderly file, and
      vanished over the hill to their evening pasture.

      When they had gone, George took up his shotgun and invited John to
      accompany him to the dam to shoot duck. This was the first time John had acted as
      retriever but he did very well and proudly helped to carry a mixed bag of sand grouse
      and duck back to camp.

      Next morning we turned into the Great North Road and passed first through
      carefully tended coffee shambas and then through the township of Arusha, nestling at
      the foot of towering Mount Meru. Beyond Arusha we drove through the Usa River
      settlement where again coffee shambas and European homesteads line the road, and
      saw before us the magnificent spectacle of Kilimanjaro unveiled, its white snow cap
      gleaming in the sunlight. Before mid day we were home. “Well was it worth it?” enquired
      George at lunch. “Lovely,” I replied. ”Let’s go again soon.” Then thinking regretfully of
      our absent children I sighed, “If only Ann, George, and Kate could have gone with us
      too.”

      Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

      Dearest Family.

      Mummy wants to know how I fill in my time with George away on safari for weeks
      on end. I do believe that you all picture me idling away my days, waited on hand and
      foot by efficient servants! On the contrary, life is one rush and the days never long
      enough.

      To begin with, our servants are anything but efficient, apart from our cook, Hamisi
      Issa, who really is competent. He suffers from frustration because our budget will not run
      to elaborate dishes so there is little scope for his culinary art. There is one masterpiece
      which is much appreciated by John and Jim. Hamisi makes a most realistic crocodile out
      of pastry and stuffs its innards with minced meat. This revolting reptile is served on a
      bed of parsley on my largest meat dish. The cook is a strict Mohammedan and
      observes all the fasts and daily prayers and, like all Mohammedans he is very clean in
      his person and, thank goodness, in the kitchen.

      His wife is his pride and joy but not his helpmate. She does absolutely nothing
      but sit in a chair in the sun all day, sipping tea and smoking cigarettes – a more
      expensive brand than mine! It is Hamisi who sweeps out their quarters, cooks
      delectable curries for her, and spends more than he can afford on clothing and trinkets for
      his wife. She just sits there with her ‘Mona Lisa’ smile and her painted finger and toe
      nails, doing absolutely nothing.

      The thing is that natives despise women who do work and this applies especially
      to their white employers. House servants much prefer a Memsahib who leaves
      everything to them and is careless about locking up her pantry. When we first came to
      Lyamungu I had great difficulty in employing a houseboy. A couple of rather efficient
      ones did approach me but when they heard the wages I was prepared to pay and that
      there was no number 2 boy, they simply were not interested. Eventually I took on a
      local boy called Japhet who suits me very well except that his sight is not good and he
      is extremely hard on the crockery. He tells me that he has lost face by working here
      because his friends say that he works for a family that is too mean to employ a second
      boy. I explained that with our large family we simply cannot afford to pay more, but this
      didn’t register at all. Japhet says “But Wazungu (Europeans) all have money. They just
      have to get it from the Bank.”

      The third member of our staff is a strapping youth named Tovelo who helps both
      cook and boy, and consequently works harder than either. What do I do? I chivvy the
      servants, look after the children, supervise John’s lessons, and make all my clothing and
      the children’s on that blessed old hand sewing machine.

      The folk on this station entertain a good deal but we usually decline invitations
      because we simply cannot afford to reciprocate. However, last Saturday night I invited
      two couples to drinks and dinner. This was such an unusual event that the servants and I
      were thrown into a flurry. In the end the dinner went off well though it ended in disaster. In
      spite of my entreaties and exhortations to Japhet not to pile everything onto the tray at
      once when clearing the table, he did just that. We were starting our desert and I was
      congratulating myself that all had gone well when there was a frightful crash of breaking
      china on the back verandah. I excused myself and got up to investigate. A large meat
      dish, six dinner plates and four vegetable dishes lay shattered on the cement floor! I
      controlled my tongue but what my eyes said to Japhet is another matter. What he said
      was, “It is not my fault Memsahib. The handle of the tray came off.”

      It is a curious thing about native servants that they never accept responsibility for
      a mishap. If they cannot pin their misdeeds onto one of their fellow servants then the responsibility rests with God. ‘Shauri ya Mungu’, (an act of God) is a familiar cry. Fatalists
      can be very exasperating employees.

      The loss of my dinner service is a real tragedy because, being war time, one can
      buy only china of the poorest quality made for the native trade. Nor was that the final
      disaster of the evening. When we moved to the lounge for coffee I noticed that the
      coffee had been served in the battered old safari coffee pot instead of the charming little
      antique coffee pot which my Mother-in-law had sent for our tenth wedding anniversary.
      As there had already been a disturbance I made no comment but resolved to give the
      cook a piece of my mind in the morning. My instructions to the cook had been to warm
      the coffee pot with hot water immediately before serving. On no account was he to put
      the pewter pot on the hot iron stove. He did and the result was a small hole in the base
      of the pot – or so he says. When I saw the pot next morning there was a two inch hole in
      it.

      Hamisi explained placidly how this had come about. He said he knew I would be
      mad when I saw the little hole so he thought he would have it mended and I might not
      notice it. Early in the morning he had taken the pewter pot to the mechanic who looks
      after the Game Department vehicles and had asked him to repair it. The bright individual
      got busy with the soldering iron with the most devastating result. “It’s his fault,” said
      Hamisi, “He is a mechanic, he should have known what would happen.”
      One thing is certain, there will be no more dinner parties in this house until the war
      is ended.

      The children are well and so am I, and so was George when he left on his safari
      last Monday.

      Much love,
      Eleanor.

       

      #6266
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        continued part 7

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

        Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

        Dearest Family,

        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 JanetJohn’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.

        Eleanor.

         

        #6265
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued  ~ part 6

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Mchewe 6th June 1937

          Dearest Family,

          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.

          Eleanor.

          #6222
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            George Gilman Rushby: The Cousin Who Went To Africa

            The portrait of the woman has “mother of Catherine Housley, Smalley” written on the back, and one of the family photographs has “Francis Purdy” written on the back. My first internet search was “Catherine Housley Smalley Francis Purdy”. Easily found was the family tree of George (Mike) Rushby, on one of the genealogy websites. It seemed that it must be our family, but the African lion hunter seemed unlikely until my mother recalled her father had said that he had a cousin who went to Africa. I also noticed that the lion hunter’s middle name was Gilman ~ the name that Catherine Housley’s daughter ~ my great grandmother, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy ~ adopted, from her aunt and uncle who brought her up.

            I tried to contact George (Mike) Rushby via the ancestry website, but got no reply. I searched for his name on Facebook and found a photo of a wildfire in a place called Wardell, in Australia, and he was credited with taking the photograph. A comment on the photo, which was a few years old, got no response, so I found a Wardell Community group on Facebook, and joined it. A very small place, population some 700 or so, and I had an immediate response on the group to my question. They knew Mike, exchanged messages, and we were able to start emailing. I was in the chair at the dentist having an exceptionally long canine root canal at the time that I got the message with his email address, and at that moment the song Down in Africa started playing.

            Mike said it was clever of me to track him down which amused me, coming from the son of an elephant and lion hunter.  He didn’t know why his father’s middle name was Gilman, and was not aware that Catherine Housley’s sister married a Gilman.

            Mike Rushby kindly gave me permission to include his family history research in my book.  This is the story of my grandfather George Marshall’s cousin.  A detailed account of George Gilman Rushby’s years in Africa can be found in another chapter called From Tanganyika With Love; the letters Eleanor wrote to her family.

            George Gilman Rushby:

            George Gilman Rushby

             

            The story of George Gilman Rushby 1900-1969, as told by his son Mike:

            George Gilman Rushby:
            Elephant hunter,poacher, prospector, farmer, forestry officer, game ranger, husband to Eleanor, and father of 6 children who now live around the world.

            George Gilman Rushby was born in Nottingham on 28 Feb 1900 the son of Catherine Purdy and John Henry Payling Rushby. But John Henry died when his son was only one and a half years old, and George shunned his drunken bullying stepfather Frank Freer and was brought up by Gypsies who taught him how to fight and took him on regular poaching trips. His love of adventure and his ability to hunt were nurtured at an early stage of his life.
            The family moved to Eastwood, where his mother Catherine owned and managed The Three Tuns Inn, but when his stepfather died in mysterious circumstances, his mother married a wealthy bookmaker named Gregory Simpson. He could afford to send George to Worksop College and to Rugby School. This was excellent schooling for George, but the boarding school environment, and the lack of a stable home life, contributed to his desire to go out in the world and do his own thing. When he finished school his first job was as a trainee electrician with Oaks & Co at Pye Bridge. He also worked part time as a motor cycle mechanic and as a professional boxer to raise the money for a voyage to South Africa.

            In May 1920 George arrived in Durban destitute and, like many others, living on the beach and dependant upon the Salvation Army for a daily meal. However he soon got work as an electrical mechanic, and after a couple of months had earned enough money to make the next move North. He went to Lourenco Marques where he was appointed shift engineer for the town’s power station. However he was still restless and left the comfort of Lourenco Marques for Beira in August 1921.

            Beira was the start point of the new railway being built from the coast to Nyasaland. George became a professional hunter providing essential meat for the gangs of construction workers building the railway. He was a self employed contractor with his own support crew of African men and began to build up a satisfactory business. However, following an incident where he had to shoot and kill a man who attacked him with a spear in middle of the night whilst he was sleeping, George left the lower Zambezi and took a paddle steamer to Nyasaland (Malawi). On his arrival in Karongo he was encouraged to shoot elephant which had reached plague proportions in the area – wrecking African homes and crops, and threatening the lives of those who opposed them.

            His next move was to travel by canoe the five hundred kilometre length of Lake Nyasa to Tanganyika, where he hunted for a while in the Lake Rukwa area, before walking through Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) to the Congo. Hunting his way he overachieved his quota of ivory resulting in his being charged with trespass, the confiscation of his rifles, and a fine of one thousand francs. He hunted his way through the Congo to Leopoldville then on to the Portuguese enclave, near the mouth of the mighty river, where he worked as a barman in a rough and tough bar until he received a message that his old friend Lumb had found gold at Lupa near Chunya. George set sail on the next boat for Antwerp in Belgium, then crossed to England and spent a few weeks with his family in Jacksdale before returning by sea to Dar es Salaam. Arriving at the gold fields he pegged his claim and almost immediately went down with blackwater fever – an illness that used to kill three out of four within a week.

            When he recovered from his fever, George exchanged his gold lease for a double barrelled .577 elephant rifle and took out a special elephant control licence with the Tanganyika Government. He then headed for the Congo again and poached elephant in Northern Rhodesia from a base in the Congo. He was known by the Africans as “iNyathi”, or the Buffalo, because he was the most dangerous in the long grass. After a profitable hunting expedition in his favourite hunting ground of the Kilombera River he returned to the Congo via Dar es Salaam and Mombassa. He was after the Kabalo district elephant, but hunting was restricted, so he set up his base in The Central African Republic at a place called Obo on the Congo tributary named the M’bomu River. From there he could make poaching raids into the Congo and the Upper Nile regions of the Sudan. He hunted there for two and a half years. He seldom came across other Europeans; hunters kept their own districts and guarded their own territories. But they respected one another and he made good and lasting friendships with members of that small select band of adventurers.

            Leaving for Europe via the Congo, George enjoyed a short holiday in Jacksdale with his mother. On his return trip to East Africa he met his future bride in Cape Town. She was 24 year old Eleanor Dunbar Leslie; a high school teacher and daughter of a magistrate who spent her spare time mountaineering, racing ocean yachts, and riding horses. After a whirlwind romance, they were betrothed within 36 hours.

            On 25 July 1930 George landed back in Dar es Salaam. He went directly to the Mbeya district to find a home. For one hundred pounds he purchased the Waizneker’s farm on the banks of the Mntshewe Stream. Eleanor, who had been delayed due to her contract as a teacher, followed in November. Her ship docked in Dar es Salaam on 7 Nov 1930, and they were married that day. At Mchewe Estate, their newly acquired farm, they lived in a tent whilst George with some help built their first home – a lovely mud-brick cottage with a thatched roof. George and Eleanor set about developing a coffee plantation out of a bush block. It was a very happy time for them. There was no electricity, no radio, and no telephone. Newspapers came from London every two months. There were a couple of neighbours within twenty miles, but visitors were seldom seen. The farm was a haven for wild life including snakes, monkeys and leopards. Eleanor had to go South all the way to Capetown for the birth of her first child Ann, but with the onset of civilisation, their first son George was born at a new German Mission hospital that had opened in Mbeya.

            Occasionally George had to leave the farm in Eleanor’s care whilst he went off hunting to make his living. Having run the coffee plantation for five years with considerable establishment costs and as yet no return, George reluctantly started taking paying clients on hunting safaris as a “white hunter”. This was an occupation George didn’t enjoy. but it brought him an income in the days when social security didn’t exist. Taking wealthy clients on hunting trips to kill animals for trophies and for pleasure didn’t amuse George who hunted for a business and for a way of life. When one of George’s trackers was killed by a leopard that had been wounded by a careless client, George was particularly upset.
            The coffee plantation was approaching the time of its first harvest when it was suddenly attacked by plagues of borer beetles and ring barking snails. At the same time severe hail storms shredded the crop. The pressure of the need for an income forced George back to the Lupa gold fields. He was unlucky in his gold discoveries, but luck came in a different form when he was offered a job with the Forestry Department. The offer had been made in recognition of his initiation and management of Tanganyika’s rainbow trout project. George spent most of his short time with the Forestry Department encouraging the indigenous people to conserve their native forests.

            In November 1938 he transferred to the Game Department as Ranger for the Eastern Province of Tanganyika, and over several years was based at Nzasa near Dar es Salaam, at the old German town of Morogoro, and at lovely Lyamungu on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Then the call came for him to be transferred to Mbeya in the Southern Province for there was a serious problem in the Njombe district, and George was selected by the Department as the only man who could possibly fix the problem.

            Over a period of several years, people were being attacked and killed by marauding man-eating lions. In the Wagingombe area alone 230 people were listed as having been killed. In the Njombe district, which covered an area about 200 km by 300 km some 1500 people had been killed. Not only was the rural population being decimated, but the morale of the survivors was so low, that many of them believed that the lions were not real. Many thought that evil witch doctors were controlling the lions, or that lion-men were changing form to kill their enemies. Indeed some wichdoctors took advantage of the disarray to settle scores and to kill for reward.

            By hunting down and killing the man-eaters, and by showing the flesh and blood to the doubting tribes people, George was able to instil some confidence into the villagers. However the Africans attributed the return of peace and safety, not to the efforts of George Rushby, but to the reinstallation of their deposed chief Matamula Mangera who had previously been stood down for corruption. It was Matamula , in their eyes, who had called off the lions.

            Soon after this adventure, George was appointed Deputy Game Warden for Tanganyika, and was based in Arusha. He retired in 1956 to the Njombe district where he developed a coffee plantation, and was one of the first in Tanganyika to plant tea as a major crop. However he sensed a swing in the political fortunes of his beloved Tanganyika, and so sold the plantation and settled in a cottage high on a hill overlooking the Navel Base at Simonstown in the Cape. It was whilst he was there that TV Bulpin wrote his biography “The Hunter is Death” and George wrote his book “No More The Tusker”. He died in the Cape, and his youngest son Henry scattered his ashes at the Southern most tip of Africa where the currents of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet .

            George Gilman Rushby:

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