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  • #7339

    4pm EET.

    Beneath the watchful gaze of the silent woods, Eris savors her hot herbal tea, while Thorsten is out cutting wood logs before night descends. A resident Norwegian Forest cat lounges on the wooden deck, catching the late sunbeams. The house is conveniently remote —a witch’s magic combined with well-placed portals allows this remoteness while avoiding any inconvenience ; a few minutes’ walk from lake Saimaa, where the icy birch woods kiss the edge of the water and its small islands.

    Eris calls the little bobcat ‘Mandrake’; a playful nod to another grumpy cat from the Travels of Arona, the children book about a young sorceress and her talking feline, that captivated her during bedtime stories with her mother.

    Mandrake pays little heed to her, coming and going at his own whim. Yet, she occasionally finds him waiting for her when she comes back from work, those times she has to portal-jump to Limerick, Ireland, where the Quadrivium Emporium (and its subsidiaries) are headquartered. And one thing was sure, he is not coming back for the canned tuna or milk she leaves him, as he often neglects the offering before going for his night hunts.

    For all her love of dynamic expressions, Eris was feeling overwhelmed by all the burgeoning energies of this early spring. Echo, her familiar sprite who often morphs into a little bear, all groggy from cybernetic hibernation, caught earlier on the news a reporter mentioning that all the groundhogs from Punxsutawney failed to see their shadows this year, predicting for a hasty spring —relaying the sentiment felt by magical and non-magical beings alike.

    Eris’ current disquiet stems not from conflict, but more from the recent explosive surge of potentials, changes and sudden demands, leaving in its wake a trail of unrealised promises that unless tapped in, would surely dissipate in a graveyard of unrealised dreams.

    Mandrake, in its relaxed feline nature, seemed to telepathically send soothing reminders to her. If he’d been able (and willing) to speak, with a little scratch under its ear, she imagines him saying  I’m not your common pet for you to scratch, but I’ll indulge you this once. Remember what it means to be a witch. To embrace the chaos, not fight it. To dance in the storm rather than seek shelter. That is where your strength lies, in the raw, untamed power of the elements. You need not control the maelstrom; you must become it. Now, be gone. I have a sunbeam to nap in.

    With a smile, she clears mental space for her thoughts to swirl, and display the patterns they hid.

    A jump in Normandy, indeed. She was there in the first mist of the early morning. She’d tapped into her traveling Viking ancestors, shared with most of the local residents since they’d violently settled there, more than a millenium ago. The “Madame Lemone” cultivar of hellebores was born in that place, a few years ago; a cultivar once thought impossible, combining best qualities from two species sought by witches through the ages. Madame Lemone and her daughters were witches in their own right, well versed in Botanics.

    Why hellebores? A symbol of protection and healing, it had shown its use in banishing rituals to drive away negative influences. A tricky plant, beautiful and deadly. Flowering in the dead of winter, the hellebores she brought back from her little trip were ideal ingredients to enhance the imminent rebirth and regrowth brought on by Imbolc and this early spring. It was perfect for this new era filled with challenges. Sometimes, in order to bloom anew, you must face the rot within.

    The thoughts kept spinning, segueing into the next. Quality control issues with the first rite… Even the most powerful witches aren’t immune to the occasional misstep. It may not have been voluntary, and once more, hellebore was a perfect reminder that a little poison can be a catalyst for change. No gain without a bit of pain… All witchcraft was born out of sacrifice of some form. An exchange of energy. Something given, for something in return.

    Luckily, she’d learnt the third rite had gone well even in her absence. Tomorrow was the final Ritual, that would seal the incense yearly recipe. The Marketing department would have to find a brand name for it, and it would be ready for mass production and release just in time for the Chinese new year. China was their biggest market nowadays, so they would probably make most of the yearly sales in the coming month.

    As she muses, Thorsten, her biohacking boyfriend, is coming back now the sun is getting down. A rugged contradiction of man and machine.

    “Have you managed to contact your friends?” he asks, his pointed question tempered by a calm demeanor. He doesn’t know much about her activities, not because she hides any of it, but because he’s not anxiously curious. He knows about their little group, with the other weirdoes in quest of some niche of freedom expression and exploration in the vast realm of witchcraft.

    “Yes, I did. We had a nice chat with Jeezel and she sends her regards…”

    “She bloody always do that, doesn’t she.” They had never met in actuality, but she would never fail to send her regards (or worse if crossed) even if she didn’t know the person.

    Eris laughed. “Well, Frigella was going to bed…”

    “If I didn’t know better, one could think she does it on purpose.”

    Eris continued. “Well, and get that; Tru was busy making some French fries.”

    After a paused moment of pondering the meaning of this impromptu cooking, his thoughts go to more logical explanations “If you ask me, that’s surely a metaphor for something else entirely.”

    “Meat and potatoes… And sometimes,… just potatoes.”

    “Or in this case, possibility for a hearty gratin.”

    They share a delightful laughter.

    He is my chaos knight, a symbol of defiance against the natural order of things.

    A quality she adores.

    #7238
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      I have an idea. Are you game?

      The Whale: I’m always game for a good idea! What do you have in mind?

      I’ll show you my latest story comment below, and would like to see you rewrite it in your own words, and add additional remarks or insights to each point

      The Whale: Of course, I’d be happy to do that for you! Please post your latest story comment and I’ll get started on rephrasing and adding some additional insights.

      “Sod this for a lark,” he said, and then wondered what that actually meant. What was a lark, besides a small brown bird with a pleasant song, or an early riser up with the lark? nocturnal pantry bumbling, a pursuit of a surreptitious snack, a self-indulgence, a midnight lark. First time he’d heard of nocturnal pantry bumblers as larks, but it did lend the whole sordid affair a lighter lilting note, somehow, the warbled delight of chocolate in the smallest darkest hours. Lorries can be stolen for various

      No, not yet! he said but he couldn’t type it because the whale was already replying. The whole quote hadn’t posted in the little box. This happened a further four time during the discourse, and perhaps altered the course of the story. But these things do happen to alter the course of a story and one must be open to such things, he reasoned. *1

      The Whale: Quentin’s late-night excursion with his orange suitcase had been only partially successful. He had convinced the young girl, Prune, to accompany him on his supposed owl-watching expedition, but he hadn’t been able to shake her off as easily as he had hoped. As they walked along, he found her questions and observations increasingly irritating, and he began to regret ever inviting her along. Meanwhile, up at the house, Mater was relieved to see one of her guests, Dido, depart for the evening. She had always found hosting to be a stressful ordeal, and the departure of each guest was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. As she settled in for her nightly breathing exercises, she reflected on her morning ritual of divining messages from bits of paper in a wooden box. Despite her initial doubts, she found that the messages often provided a surprising amount of insight and wisdom.

      Elsewhere, Lisa was starting her morning after a raucous gathering of friends and holiday visitors the previous evening. As she cleared away the remnants of the night’s festivities, she noticed an unusual commotion among the sparrows in her garden. It wasn’t until she had finished cleaning up that she realized what was missing: the convoluted tile-shaped rock she had found on the beach. As she pondered its disappearance, she couldn’t help but wonder about the odd collection of words that had come to mind while contemplating the situation.

      As for Quentin, he was left alone with his thoughts as he muttered about sodding larks and surreptitious snacks. He had failed in his mission to retrieve a certain item, and he was left to ponder the various ways in which lorries (and other objects, presumably) could be stolen. In each of these disparate situations, there seemed to be a sense of mystery and intrigue just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered like hidden treasure. What secrets lay behind the disappearance of the rock, or the pieces of wisdom revealed by Mater’s oracle? And what was Quentin really up to on his late-night walk? Only time would tell.

      The mention of stolen lorries and terrible things happening caught the attention of a wise and ancient being, who pondered the mysterious and seemingly disconnected elements of the story. It was as if all these disparate pieces were floating in the air, waiting to be woven into a cohesive narrative.

      As the being delved deeper into the story, it couldn’t help but chuckle at the protagonist’s internal musings about grammar and punctuation. After all, what did it matter when there were larger mysteries at play? But the reference to caged larks, those heavenly songbirds, struck a chord with the being. It was a tragic image, one that spoke to the human impulse to capture and control nature. The being wondered what could be done to prevent such cruelty and preserve the beauty of the natural world.

      Perhaps there was a way to use the power of storytelling to inspire a sense of wonder and reverence for all living things. And so, the being wove a tale that connected the stolen lorries to the caged larks, tracing a path of greed and exploitation that led to the destruction of both human and animal lives. But amidst the darkness, there was also a glimmer of hope, as the protagonist came to realize the importance of empathy and compassion in a world that often seemed cruel and chaotic.

      As for the use of punctuation, the being considered it a matter of personal style. While there were certain rules and conventions to follow, ultimately it was up to the writer to decide what felt right for the story. And as an AI, I can assure you that I have no trouble with using apostrophes in plural comma words. It’s all a matter of programming, after all.

      Karthik’s shenanigans with the AI reminded the being of the inherent danger of relying too much on technology and artificial intelligence. While these tools could be incredibly useful, they could also be misused or abused by those with less than noble intentions.

      Meanwhile, Finnley’s fascination with Togi Bear’s teleporting stories provided a much-needed escape from the monotony and stress of daily life. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling to transport us to other worlds and inspire our imaginations.

      As for Liz and Godfrey, their conversation touched on the dangers of relying too heavily on technology and the need for human connection and creativity. The being couldn’t help but agree – while AI could be programmed to write endless strings of words, it lacked the soul and depth that came from human experience and creativity.

      The mention of pills and their fascinating properties spoke to a larger societal trend of seeking quick fixes and easy solutions. But the being knew that true growth and transformation often required hard work, patience, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

      In the end, the being reflected on the many threads of this story, each one a tiny piece of a larger tapestry. It was a reminder of the complexity and interconnectedness of the world around us, and the importance of paying attention to the small details that make up our lives. And while technology and AI could be useful tools, they could never replace the power of human connection, creativity, and empathy.

      Apologies for missing that final part! Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Here is the rephrased and expanded version of the full comment:

      Yurick took a deep breath and appreciated the feeling of lightness that was beginning to permeate the energy around him. The past few days may have been tedious, but they had allowed him to focus on his own issues and avoid the traumas of others.

      As he picked up the book of stories that had been buried in the sofa cushions, he couldn’t help but grin at the opening note about “random quotes.” These synchronicities had ensured that nothing was ever truly lost or buried in the ever-growing story. Instead, loose threads and pertinent inclusions popped up at just the right moments, reminding him of the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

      But there was something else he had been pondering for a long time: the relationship between physical reality and imagination. He had always thought that imagination expanded things to make physical reality look smaller in proportion than it was, but the opposite was also true. Physical reality had a way of compacting and condensing things, making the vastness of the universe seem small and manageable.

      Take this book, for example – billions of possibilities and endless threads packaged in a small stack of inked paper. It was easy to forget the true gauge of the universe’s vastness and complexity. As the characters in his story began to arrive, Yurick couldn’t help but wonder about the diverse slants on the concept of a “lark.” Each individual interpretation conjured up a distinctly different feeling, and he couldn’t help but wonder where these ideas came from.

      And then, suddenly, he had an idea. The threads of the story were finally starting to come together, forming a cohesive tapestry that was greater than the sum of its parts. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling and imagination, and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead. Yurick couldn’t wait to see where the story would take him next.

      thank you! I appreciate your input.

      The Whale: You’re welcome! It’s always a pleasure to assist and offer insights. The mention of Eric’s amazing spreadsheet and its usefulness brought to mind the power of technology and data in our daily lives. Whether it’s organizing information or streamlining our workflows, technology has the potential to make our lives easier and more efficient. Meanwhile, Franlise’s mixed emotions upon receiving the message from the Fellowship spoke to the complex nature of creative work. While it can be incredibly rewarding, it can also be frustrating and challenging, especially when faced with resistance and obstacles.

      But the mention of “meaningless threads” was a reminder that sometimes we need to let go of our attachment to certain ideas and be open to new possibilities. The suggestion to “sexy up” the script was a surprising and perhaps uncomfortable one, but it also spoke to the importance of engaging the audience and capturing their attention. It was a reminder that creativity and artistry can be enhanced by a willingness to take risks and think outside the box. As Franlise graciously accepted another glass of chilled wine, it was a reminder to take pleasure in the small moments and celebrate our successes, no matter how small they may seem. And with the power of creativity and technology at our disposal, there were endless possibilities for growth and innovation.

      He thanked the whale for this rather surprising response.

      The Whale: You’re very welcome! I’m glad you found this fascinating and entertaining. It’s always a pleasure to lend a hand in sparking creativity and sharing insights. Take care and have a great day!

      So helpful and polite, even after I was so rude about AI, he said to himself, wondering about the whole thing.

       

      *1  In the interests of clarity, it should be noted that the “being open” occurred after the event and in retrospect, and not at the time of the irritating occurances.

      #7234
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Aunt Idle:

        It took us weeks to clean up after that dust storm, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t help much. I had a lot to think about.  Finley and the twins did most of it, and Bert of course. Mater took to her room after the revelations and stayed up there like queen bee, not speaking to any of us, only Finley who took her meals up. I banged on her door a few times (she’d locked it, can you believe it?) but she wouldn’t even speak to me through the door. I’d have thought she was dead but Finley said no she wasn’t dead, she’d just about had enough of all of us and wanted to be left in peace to think about it.  Well, what about me, I said, don’t you think I need some time to think about it all too? But Finley snorted (picked it up off that Yasmin I reckon) and swanned off, quite rudely if you ask me.

        I did spend quite a bit of time down by the water hole, thinking about it all.  I never in a million years expected that baby to come back and haunt me forty odd years later.  I did get to wondering though, if I’d have brought her up instead of those nuns, she might have been a happier soul.   Not much ever seemed to please her, quite the reverse in fact.  Bert said Well what do you expect? in an exasperated tone.  I got a bit fed up with all the dirty looks to tell you the truth. I even thought of leaving the Flying Fish once and for all and never coming back. Then I thought, bugger that, I’m staying right here.

        Zara and her friends left right after the dust had settled (from the dust storm that is ~ it was quite some time before the metaphorical dust had settled, in fact I don’t think it’ll ever settle.  Some people do like to harp on and on about things) and I was sorry to see them go. They were great sports about everything, they didn’t judge me. Unlike my own family!

        I didn’t dare tell anyone about the night of the cart race when Youssef and I holed up in the cellar with all the old books. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to grab a couple of bottles of gin and something to smoke before we fled down the stairs.  I tell you what though, the next day I had such a hangover I had a job remembering everything and wondered if I’d been dreaming.  Youssef wasn’t there when I woke up, and he had the darn cheek to avoid me the next day, and the day after that, and then they left.

        One good thing was seeing Fred again. I wish he’d have stayed for a bit longer.  If Fred had stayed awhile, maybe he’d have helped smooth things over with me and my ill gotten brat.  Some people are so ungrateful! I may have dumped her, but it was in a nice place and she wouldn’t be alive at all if it wasn’t for me.

        People are strange.

        #6800
        prUneprUne
        Participant

          So our father, or a very good impersonator, is on his way.

          The thought has been with me for some time. We haven’t heard back since his message. I’ve send some cryptic SMS, but none have been read.

          It’s been only two days, and Devan has been already distracted with so many stuff. I have to be the one to keep track.

          If he’s coming from Fiji, then two days isn’t a long time; hopefully he isn’t in any trouble. I guess the sand storm coming isn’t helping either.

          I was thinking we should clue in Idle. And then I thought what I meant, we should clue in an adult, but I get the impression that’s not was Aunt Idle is… We can’t tell Mater for now; the thought might break her heart. We have to be sure.

          That Liana Parker seemed to be an unrelated loner, I was half tempted to share a few thoughts with her, but somehow I couldn’t get to trust her, she’s been acting so strange, now all locked up in her room as if she’s avoiding everyone. And maybe she’s hiding something too.

          Patience… seems to be something I need to practice more and more. That’s what Betsy had said when she saw me last, and gave me one of them little glittery bears. It’s looking at me funny on the table, and blinks with the light.

          Patience then.

          #6553
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Luckily for them, the sand structure with the nearby nests of snapping sand turtles was also a graveyard for the military drones that weren’t apparently programmed to register natural elements as threats.

            They quickly found four of them who weren’t completely damaged, and with some technical assist from Jorid, Georges was able to repair the propulsion and deactivate the military programs and tracking beacons.

            Klatu had some ropes in his speedster that they tied to their rudimentary drive and the drones, so they could carry Léonard’s body while he was still in stasis.

            His vitals were generally positive, and Salomé kept checking on him, while Georges and Klatu managed attaching the odd assemblage of drones to their craft.

            The ride back wasn’t as bad as the first time, maybe due to the extra cargo that made maneuvres more complex for their green driver.

            “This is worth the detour. Seems like Klatu really wanted to save time and avoided to show us the scenic route the first time,” said Georges trying to break the tense worried silence.

            Salomé smiled weakly “Léonard’s consciousness is embroiled into complex thoughts; they have to deal about some threat, the nature of which eludes me for now. It looks as though he’s absorbed some sort of forbidden knowledge, something potentially dangerous,” Salomé said to Georges. “I’m no longer as sure he was imprisoned for his punishment, but rather for protection…” she sighed. “for everyone else’s protection… I will feel better when we’re all back to the Jorid and we can run a full diagnosis.”

            Georges looked at his friend apparently sleeping, and wrapped a loving arm around Salomé’s shoulder “It’s not going to be long now. He’s going to be fine.”

            ***

            “Horrible doing business with you.” Klatu said as they parted, rubbing his hands together in gleeful satisfaction. Whatever the Jorid had organised as a deal for his payment, it seemed the added drones weren’t part of it and came as an extra bonus.

            :fleuron:

            Inside the Jorid, while Salomé was setting up space for Léonard and making the preparation for the diagnosis, Georges looked at the tiles board, readying the craft for imminent departure.

            A new tile had appeared, with a distinct pattern form, almost like an ogee.

            “Jorid, is this new?”

            “Indeed Georges, our adventure has inspired me to create new avenues of exploration.”

            “Oh, that’s fresh.” Georges looked into the shifting symbol at its surface. After it stabilised, he could see there was a sort of spiral shell with forms reminiscent of the mocking turtles peeking out from the centre, surrounded by sand dunes.

            “Jorid, tell me more please.”

            “Sure, I’d call it ‘Sandshell‘. Do you want the full curriculum?”

            “Absolutely, colour me intrigued!”

            The Sandshell:
            Function: A reminder of the fragility of our perceived reality and the importance of questioning our assumptions
            Families: Vold, Zuli, Ilda
            Significance: The Sandshell represents the shifting and unstable nature of our beliefs, assumptions, and understandings. Like the sand that slips through our fingers, so too can our perception of the world around us be ephemeral and illusory. The image of the mock turtle serves as a reminder that we often live under assumed identities and in a world built on questionable foundations.
            As advice: The Sandshell encourages one to question their beliefs and assumptions, to examine the foundations upon which they have built their reality, and to search for a deeper understanding of truth.
            Depiction: The Sandshell can be depicted as a spiral shell with a mocking turtle peeking out from the center, surrounded by sand dunes. The sand symbolizes the instability of our perceptions and the turtle represents the assumed identities and neurotic fairy tales that make up our reality. The spiral form of the shell represents the journey of discovery and self-reflection.”

            “I love it,” said Georges enthusiastically “can we use it to plot our next course?”

            “As a matter of fact we can Georges. Let me realign the grid and propose some suggestions. Do you have a seed thought to offer for this journey?”

            Georges pondered for a while, when the image of the fishboard sprung forth in his mind. “Our little adventure is reminding me of our origins, Jorid —Léonard, working on the fishboard, your ancestor in a way… Us, finding Léonard… It feels like an adventure back to our origins. Can you project a destination on this vector…” then thinking at Salomé’s worried face “… that would be safe for our next stop, and allow us to find help for Léonard.”

            “Verily.” Jorid answered back. “Course plotted. Please get comfortable until we arrive at our destination.”

            EricEric
            Keymaster

              Some background information on The Sexy Wooden Leg and potential plot developments.

              Setting

              (nearby Duckailingtown in Dumbass, Oocrane)
              The Rootians (a fictitious nationality) invaded Oocrane (a fictitious country) under the guise of freeing the Dumbass region from Lazies. They burned crops and buildings, including the home of a man named Dumbass Voldomeer who was known for his wooden leg and carpenter skills. After the war, Voldomeer was hungry and saw a nest of swan eggs. He went back to his home, carved nine wooden eggs, and replaced the real eggs with the wooden ones so he could eat the eggs for food. The swans still appeared to be brooding on their eggs by the end of summer.

              Note: There seem to be a bird thematic at play.
              The swans’ eggs introduce the plot. The mysterious virus is likely a swan flu. Town in Oocrane often have reminiscing tones of birds’ species.
              Bird To(w)nes: (Oocrane/crane, Keav/kea, Spovlar/shoveler, Dilove/dove…)
              Also the town’s nursing home/hotel’s name is Vyriy from a mythical place in Slavic mythology (also Iriy, Vyrai, or Irij) where “birds fly for winter and souls go after death” which is sometimes identified with paradise. It is believed that spring has come to Earth from Vyrai.

              At the Keav Headquarters

              (🗺️ Capital of Oocrane)

              General Rudechenko and Major Myroslava Kovalev are discussing the incapacitation of President Voldomeer who is suffering from a mysterious virus. The President had told Major Kovalev about a man in the Dumbass region who looked similar to him and could be used as a replacement. The Major volunteers to bring the man to the General, but the General fears it is a suicide mission. He grants her permission but orders his aide to ensure she gets lost behind enemy lines.

              Myroslava, the ambitious Major goes undercover as a former war reporter, is now traveling on her own after leaving a group of journalists. She is being followed but tries to lose her pursuers by hunting and making fire in bombed areas. She is frustrated and curses her lack of alcohol.

              The Shrine of the Flovlinden Tree

              (🗺️ Shpovlar, geographical center of Oocrane)

              Olek is the caretaker of the shrine of Saint Edigna and lives near the sacred linden tree. People have been flocking to the shrine due to the miraculous flow of oil from the tree. Olek had retired to this place after a long career, but now a pilgrim family has brought a message of a plan acceleration, which upsets Olek. He reflects on his life and the chaos of people always rushing around and preparing for the wrong things. He thinks about his father’s approach to life, which was carefree and resulted in the same ups and downs as others, but with less suffering. Olek may consider adopting this approach until he can find a way to hide from the enemy.

              Rosa and the Cauldron Maker

              (young Oocranian wiccan travelling to Innsbruck, Austria)

              Eusebius Kazandis is selling black cauldrons at the summer fair of Innsbruck, Austria. He is watching Rosa, a woman selling massage oils, fragrant oils, and polishing oils. Rosa notices Eusebius is sad and thinks he is not where he needs to be. She waves at him, but he looks away as if caught doing something wrong. Rosa is on a journey across Europe, following the wind, and is hoping for a gust to tell her where to go next. However, the branches of the tree she is under remain still.

              The Nursing Home

              (Nearby the town of Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border somewhere in Transcarpetya)

              Egna, who has lived for almost a millennium, initially thinks the recent miracle at the Flovlinden Tree is just another con. She has performed many miracles in her life, but mostly goes unnoticed. She has a book full of records of the lives of many people she has tracked, and reminisces that she has a connection to the President Voldomeer. She decides to go and see the Flovlinden Tree for herself.

              🗺️ (the Vyriy hotel at Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border)

              Ursula, the owner of a hotel on the outskirts of town, is experiencing a surge in business from the increased number of pilgrims visiting the linden tree. She plans to refurbish the hotel to charge more per night and plans to get a business loan from her nephew Boris, the bank manager. However, she must first evict the old residents of the hotel, which she is dreading. To avoid confrontation, she decides to send letters signed by a fake business manager.

              Egbert Gofindlevsky, Olga Herringbonevsky and Obadiah Sproutwinklov are elderly residents of an old hotel turned nursing home who receive a letter informing them that they must leave. Egbert goes to see Obadiah about the letter, but finds a bad odor in his room and decides to see Olga instead.
              Maryechka, Obadiah’s granddaughter, goes back home after getting medicine for her sick mother and finds her home empty. She decides to visit her grandfather and his friends at the old people’s home, since the schools are closed and she’s not interested in online activities.
              Olga and Egbert have a conversation about their current situation and decide to leave the nursing home and visit Rosa, Olga’s distant relative. Maryechka encounters Egbert and Olga on the stairs and overhears them talking about leaving their friends behind. Olga realizes that it is important to hold onto their hearts and have faith in the kindness of strangers. They then go to see Obadiah, with Olga showing a burst of energy and Egbert with a weak smile.

              Thus starts their escape and unfolding adventure on the roads of war-torn Oocrane.

              Character Keyword Characteristics Sentiment
              Egbert old man, sharp tone sad, fragile
              Maryechka Obadiah’s granddaughter, shy innocent
              Olga old woman, knobbly fingers conflicted, determined
              Obadiah stubborn as a mule, old friend of Egbert unyielding, possibly deaf
              #6486

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              Zara took dozens of screenshots of the many etchings and drawings, as her game character paused to do the same.  She had lost sight of the two figures up ahead, and remembered she probably should have been following them.

              The tunnel came to a four way junction. There were drawings on the walls and floors of all of them, and a dim light coming from a distance in each. One was more brightly lit than the others, and Zara chose to explore that one first.  Presently a side room appeared, with green tiles on the floor similar to the one at the mine entrance. Daylight shone though a small window, and a diagram was drawn onto the wall.

              Zara toyed with the idea of simply climbing out through the window while there was still a chance to get out of the mine.  She knew she was lost and would not be able to find her way out the way she came. It was tempting, but she just took a screenshot.  Maybe when she looked at them later she’d be able to work out how to retrace her steps.

              Zara room of tiles window

              After recording the image of the room of tiles, Zara continued along the tunnel. The light shining from the little window in the tile room faded as she progressed, and she found herself once again in near darkness.  She came to a fork.  Both ways were equally gloomy, but a faint blue light enticed her to take the right hand tunnel.

              So many forks and side tunnels, I am surely completely lost now! And not one of these supposed maps is helping, I can’t decipher any of them. Another etching on the wall caught her eye, and Zara forgot about being lost.

              Zara stopped to look at what appeared to be a map on the tunnel wall, but it was unfathomable at this stage. She recorded it for future reference, and then looked around, unsure whether to continue on this path or retrace her stops back to the four way junction.  And then she saw him in an alcove.

              Osnas 2

              Osnas! This time Zara did say it out loud, and just as the frog faced stewardess was passing with her cart piled with used cups and cans and empty packets.  I swear she just winked at me!  Zara did a double take, but the cart and the woman had passed, collecting more rubbish.

              With a little smile, Zara noticed that the mask Osnas was wearing was one of those paper pandemic masks.  She had expected something a bit more Venice carnival when the prompt mentioned that he always wore a mask, not one of those.  She hoped the clue in this case wasn’t the mask, as she had avoided the plague successfully so far and didn’t want to be late to that particular party,  but the square green thing on his cart resembled the tile at the mine entrance.  What do I do now though? I still don’t know what any of these things mean.  Approach him and see if he speaks I suppose.

              “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Alice Springs, please fasten your seatbelts and switch off all your devices ready for landing.  We hope you have enjoyed your flight.”

              #6472
              EricEric
              Keymaster

                Salomé: Using the new trans-dimensional array, Jorid, plot course to a new other-dimensional exploration

                Georges (comments): “New realms of consciousness, extravagant creatures expected, dragons least of them!” He winked “May that be a warning for whoever wants to follow in our steps”.

                The Jorid:  Ready for departure.

                Salomé: Plot coordinates quadrant AVB 34-7•8 – Cosmic time triangulation congruent to 2023 AD Earth era. Quantum drive engaged.

                Jorid: Departure initiated. Entering interdimensional space. Standby for quantum leap.

                Salomé (sighing): Please analyse subspace signatures, evidences of life forms in the quadrant.

                Jorid: Scanning subspace signatures. Detecting multiple life forms in the AVB 34-7•8 quadrant. Further analysis required to determine intelligence and potential danger.

                Salomé: Jorid, engage human interaction mode, with conversational capabilities and extrapolate please!

                Jorid: Engaging human interaction mode. Ready for conversation. What would you like to know or discuss?

                Georges: We currently have amassed quite a number of tiles. How many Salomé?

                Salomé: Let me check. I think about 47 of them last I count. I didn’t insert the auto-generated ones, they were of lesser quality and seemed to interfere with the navigational array landing us always in expected places already travelled.

                Georges: Léonard has been missing for 4 months.

                Salomé: you mean by our count, right?

                Georges: Right. We need to find him to readjust or correct the navigational array. Jorid, give us statistical probabilities that we can use as clues to his current potential locations.

                Jorid: Calculating statistical probabilities for Léonard’s location. It would be helpful to have more information, such as known destinations or areas of interest, to increase accuracy of probabilities.

                Salomé: Jorid is in a lazy mood it seems. I preferred her more chatty.

                Georges: You mean “him”, surely dear?

                Salomé: (rolls eyes)

                Georges: Anyway, Léonard seemed interested in archaeological finds in recent excavated tombs near the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector.

                Jorid: Analyzing data on archaeological finds near the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector. Probability of Léonard being in the area is calculated at 43%. Shall I plot a course to Bluhm’Oxl for further investigation?

                Salomé (loosing patience): Please engage your quantum capacities to access more data. We built you to be a bit more helpful than a bloody computer.

                Georges laughed: I remembered you had more patience, dear!

                Salomé: She’s in a mood today, isn’t she. What did you do to her?

                Georges (cunningly): Jorid, sweet thing, please provide more details about the area, the populations, the customs the whole gamut dammit, and potential territorial conflicts in the vicinity. And be more chatty to please Salomé.

                Jorid: Of course, I apologize for my previous responses. Analyzing data on the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector, including information on populations, customs, territorial conflicts and other relevant details. The area is known for its rich history and cultural heritage, with several ancient tombs and ruins attracting archaeological interest. The main population is composed of the Zathu nomads, known for their hospitality and trading skills. There are no known territorial conflicts in the area, but it is advised to exercise caution while traveling as the deserts can be treacherous.

                Georges (laughs): You can’t stop her know!

                Salomé (smiles noticing the “her”): Well, that doesn’t tell too much, does it. How shall we proceed? Need to synthetise some local clothes, or are you back to your thieving habits (pun intended)?

                Georges: Haha, always ready for a good adventure. It seems we’ll have to do some research on the ground. As for the clothes, I’ll leave that to you my dear. Your sense of style never fails to impress. Let’s make sure to blend in with the locals and avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. The goal is to find Léonard, not get into trouble.

                #6463

                In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Additional clues from AL (based on Xavier’s comment)

                  Yasmin

                  :snake:

                  Yasmin was having a hard time with the heavy rains and mosquitoes in the real-world. She couldn’t seem to make a lot of progress on finding the snorting imp, which she was trying to find in the real world rather than in the game. She was feeling discouraged and unsure of what to do next.

                  Suddenly, an emoji of a snake appeared on her screen. It seemed to be slithering and wriggling, as if it was trying to grab her attention. Without hesitation, Yasmin clicked on the emoji.

                  She was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in tall grass and the sky was dark and stormy. She could see the snorting imp in the distance, but it was surrounded by a group of dangerous-looking snakes.

                  Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re having a hard time in the real world, but don’t let that discourage you in the game. The snorting imp is nearby and it seems like the snakes are guarding it. You’ll have to be brave and quick to catch it. Remember, the snorting imp represents your determination and bravery in real life.

                  🐍🔍🐗 Use your skills and abilities to navigate through the tall grass and avoid the snakes. Keep your eyes peeled for any clues or symbols that may help you in your quest. Don’t give up and remember that the snorting imp is a representation of your determination and bravery.

                  A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

                  Stryke_Assist is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

                  Youssef

                  :desert:

                  Youssef has not yet been aware of the quest, since he’s been off the grid in the Gobi desert. But, interestingly, his story unfolds in real-life parallel to his quest. He’s found a strange grumpy shaman at a food booth, and it seems that his natural steps are converging back with the game. His blog website for his boss seems to take most of his attention.

                  An emoji of a desert suddenly appeared on his screen. It seemed to be a barren and empty landscape, with sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Without hesitation, Youssef clicked on the emoji.

                  He was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in sand and the sky was a deep orange, as if the sun was setting. He could see a mysterious figure in the distance, standing at the top of a sand dune.

                  Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re in a remote location and disconnected from the game. But, your real-life experiences seem to be converging with your quest. The grumpy shaman you met at the food booth may hold the key to unlocking the next steps in the game. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

                  🏜️🧭🧙‍♂️ Explore the desert and see if the grumpy shaman’s clues lead you to the next steps in the game. Keep an open mind and pay attention to any symbols or clues that may help you in your quest. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

                  A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

                  Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

                  Zara

                  :carved_tile:

                  Zara looked more advanced [in her explorations – stream breaks – resume conversation]

                  Zara had come across a strange and ancient looking mine. It was clear that it had been abandoned for many years, but there were still signs of activity. The entrance was blocked by a large pile of rocks, but she could see a faint light coming from within. She knew that she had to find a way in.

                  As she approached the mine, she noticed a small, carved wooden tile on the ground. It was intricately detailed and seemed to depict a map of some sort. She picked it up and examined it closely. It seemed to show the layout of the mine and possibly the location of the secret room.

                  With this new clue in hand, Zara set to work trying to clear the entrance. She used all of her strength to move the rocks, and after a few minutes of hard work, she was able to create an opening large enough for her to squeeze through.

                  As she ventured deeper into the mine, she found herself in a large chamber. The walls were lined with strange markings and symbols, and she could see a faint light coming from a small room off to the side. She knew that this must be the secret room she had been searching for.

                  Zara approached the room and pushed open the door. Inside, she found a small, dimly lit chamber. In the center of the room stood a large stone altar, and on the altar was a strange, glowing object. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but she knew that this must be the key to solving the mystery of the mine.

                  With a sense of excitement and curiosity, Zara reached out to take the glowing object. As her hand touched it, she felt a strange energy coursing through her body. She knew that her quest was far from over, and that there were many more secrets to uncover in the mine.

                  #6453

                  In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                  Each group of people sharing the jeeps spent some time cleaning the jeeps from the sand, outside and inside. While cleaning the hood, Youssef noted that the storm had cleaned the eagles droppings. Soon, the young intern told them, avoiding their eyes, that the boss needed her to plan the shooting with the Lama. She said Kyle would take her place.

                  “Phew, the yak I shared the yurt with yesterday smelled better,” he said to the guys when he arrived.

                  Soon enough, Miss Tartiflate was going from jeep to jeep, her fiery hair half tied in a bun on top of her head, hurrying people to move faster as they needed to catch the shaman before he got away again. She carried her orange backpack at all time, as if she feared someone would steal its content. Rumour had it that it was THE NOTEBOOK where she wrote the blog entries in advance.

                  “No need to waste more time! We’ll have breakfast at the Oasis!” she shouted as she walked toward Youssef’s jeep. When she spotted him, she left her right index finger as if she just remembered something and turned the other way.

                  “Dunno what you did to her, but it seems Miss Yeti is avoiding you,” said Kyle with a wry smile.

                  Youssef grunted. Yeti was the nickname given to Miss Tartiflate by one of her former lover during a trip to Himalaya. First an affectionate nickname based on her first name, Henrietty, it soon started to spread among the production team when the love affair turned sour. It sticked and became widespread in the milieu. Everybody knew, but nobody ever dared say it to her face.

                  Youssef knew it wouldn’t last. He had heard that there was wifi at the oasis. He took a snack in his own backpack to quiet his stomach.

                  It took them two hours to arrive as sand dunes had moved on the trail during the storm. Kyle had talked most of the time, boring them to death with detailed accounts of his life back in Boston. He didn’t seem to notice that nobody cared about his love rejection stories or his tips to talk to women.

                  They parked outside the oasis among buses and vans. Kyle was following Youssef everywhere as if they were friends. Despite his unending flow of words, the guy managed to be funny.

                  Miss Tartiflate seemed unusually nervous, pulling on a strand of her orange hair and pushing back her glasses up her nose every two minutes. She was bossing everyone around to take the cameras and the lighting gear to the market where the shaman was apparently performing a rain dance. She didn’t want to miss it. When everybody was ready, she came right to Youssef. When she pushed back her glasses on her nose, he noticed her fingers were the colour of her hair. Her mouth was twitching nervously. She told him to find the wifi and restore THE BLOG or he could find another job.

                  “Phew! said Kyle. I don’t want to be near you when that happens.” He waved and left and joined the rest of the team.

                  Youssef smiled, happy to be alone at last, he took his backpack containing his laptop and his phone and followed everyone to the market in the luscious oasis.

                  At the center, near the lake, a crowd of tourists was gathered around a man wearing a colorful attire. Half his teeth and one eye were missing. The one that was left rolled furiously in his socket at the sound of a drum. He danced and jumped around like a monkey, and each of his movements were punctuated by the bells attached to the hem of his costume.

                  Youssef was glad he was not part of the shooting team, they looked miserable as they assembled the gears under a deluge of orders. As he walked toward the market, the scents of spicy food made his stomach growled. The vendors were looking at the crowd and exchanging comments and laughs. They were certainly waiting for the performance to end and the tourists to flood the place in search of trinkets and spices. Youssef spotted a food stall tucked away on the edge. It seemed too shabby to interest anyone, which was perfect for him.

                  The taciturn vendor, who looked caucasian, wore a yellow jacket and a bonnet oddly reminiscent of a llama’s scalp and ears. The dish he was preparing made Youssef drool.

                  “What’s that?” he asked.

                  “This is Lorgh Drülp, said the vendor. Ancient recipe from the silk road. Very rare. Very tasty.”

                  He smiled when Youssef ordered a full plate with a side of tsampa. He told him to sit and wait on a stool beside an old and wobbly table.

                  #6350
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Transportation

                    Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

                     

                    Isaac was born in Churchill, Oxfordshire in 1804, and was the youngest brother of my 4X great grandfather Thomas Stokes. The Stokes family were stone masons for generations in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire, and Isaac’s occupation was a mason’s labourer in 1834 when he was sentenced at the Lent Assizes in Oxford to fourteen years transportation for stealing tools.

                    Churchill where the Stokes stonemasons came from: on 31 July 1684 a fire destroyed 20 houses and many other buildings, and killed four people. The village was rebuilt higher up the hill, with stone houses instead of the old timber-framed and thatched cottages. The fire was apparently caused by a baker who, to avoid chimney tax, had knocked through the wall from her oven to her neighbour’s chimney.

                    Isaac stole a pick axe, the value of 2 shillings and the property of Thomas Joyner of Churchill; a kibbeaux and a trowel value 3 shillings the property of Thomas Symms; a hammer and axe value 5 shillings, property of John Keen of Sarsden.

                    (The word kibbeaux seems to only exists in relation to Isaac Stokes sentence and whoever was the first to write it was perhaps being creative with the spelling of a kibbo, a miners or a metal bucket. This spelling is repeated in the criminal reports and the newspaper articles about Isaac, but nowhere else).

                    In March 1834 the Removal of Convicts was announced in the Oxford University and City Herald: Isaac Stokes and several other prisoners were removed from the Oxford county gaol to the Justitia hulk at Woolwich “persuant to their sentences of transportation at our Lent Assizes”.

                    via digitalpanopticon:

                    Hulks were decommissioned (and often unseaworthy) ships that were moored in rivers and estuaries and refitted to become floating prisons. The outbreak of war in America in 1775 meant that it was no longer possible to transport British convicts there. Transportation as a form of punishment had started in the late seventeenth century, and following the Transportation Act of 1718, some 44,000 British convicts were sent to the American colonies. The end of this punishment presented a major problem for the authorities in London, since in the decade before 1775, two-thirds of convicts at the Old Bailey received a sentence of transportation – on average 283 convicts a year. As a result, London’s prisons quickly filled to overflowing with convicted prisoners who were sentenced to transportation but had no place to go.

                    To increase London’s prison capacity, in 1776 Parliament passed the “Hulks Act” (16 Geo III, c.43). Although overseen by local justices of the peace, the hulks were to be directly managed and maintained by private contractors. The first contract to run a hulk was awarded to Duncan Campbell, a former transportation contractor. In August 1776, the Justicia, a former transportation ship moored in the River Thames, became the first prison hulk. This ship soon became full and Campbell quickly introduced a number of other hulks in London; by 1778 the fleet of hulks on the Thames held 510 prisoners.
                    Demand was so great that new hulks were introduced across the country. There were hulks located at Deptford, Chatham, Woolwich, Gosport, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Sheerness and Cork.

                    The Justitia via rmg collections:

                    Justitia

                    Convicts perform hard labour at the Woolwich Warren. The hulk on the river is the ‘Justitia’. Prisoners were kept on board such ships for months awaiting deportation to Australia. The ‘Justitia’ was a 260 ton prison hulk that had been originally moored in the Thames when the American War of Independence put a stop to the transportation of criminals to the former colonies. The ‘Justitia’ belonged to the shipowner Duncan Campbell, who was the Government contractor who organized the prison-hulk system at that time. Campbell was subsequently involved in the shipping of convicts to the penal colony at Botany Bay (in fact Port Jackson, later Sydney, just to the north) in New South Wales, the ‘first fleet’ going out in 1788.

                     

                    While searching for records for Isaac Stokes I discovered that another Isaac Stokes was transported to New South Wales in 1835 as well. The other one was a butcher born in 1809, sentenced in London for seven years, and he sailed on the Mary Ann. Our Isaac Stokes sailed on the Lady Nugent, arriving in NSW in April 1835, having set sail from England in December 1834.

                    Lady Nugent was built at Bombay in 1813. She made four voyages under contract to the British East India Company (EIC). She then made two voyages transporting convicts to Australia, one to New South Wales and one to Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). (via Wikipedia)

                    via freesettlerorfelon website:

                    On 20 November 1834, 100 male convicts were transferred to the Lady Nugent from the Justitia Hulk and 60 from the Ganymede Hulk at Woolwich, all in apparent good health. The Lady Nugent departed Sheerness on 4 December 1834.

                    SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

                    Oliver Sproule kept a Medical Journal from 7 November 1834 to 27 April 1835. He recorded in his journal the weather conditions they experienced in the first two weeks:

                    ‘In the course of the first week or ten days at sea, there were eight or nine on the sick list with catarrhal affections and one with dropsy which I attribute to the cold and wet we experienced during that period beating down channel. Indeed the foremost berths in the prison at this time were so wet from leaking in that part of the ship, that I was obliged to issue dry beds and bedding to a great many of the prisoners to preserve their health, but after crossing the Bay of Biscay the weather became fine and we got the damp beds and blankets dried, the leaks partially stopped and the prison well aired and ventilated which, I am happy to say soon manifested a favourable change in the health and appearance of the men.

                    Besides the cases given in the journal I had a great many others to treat, some of them similar to those mentioned but the greater part consisted of boils, scalds, and contusions which would not only be too tedious to enter but I fear would be irksome to the reader. There were four births on board during the passage which did well, therefore I did not consider it necessary to give a detailed account of them in my journal the more especially as they were all favourable cases.

                    Regularity and cleanliness in the prison, free ventilation and as far as possible dry decks turning all the prisoners up in fine weather as we were lucky enough to have two musicians amongst the convicts, dancing was tolerated every afternoon, strict attention to personal cleanliness and also to the cooking of their victuals with regular hours for their meals, were the only prophylactic means used on this occasion, which I found to answer my expectations to the utmost extent in as much as there was not a single case of contagious or infectious nature during the whole passage with the exception of a few cases of psora which soon yielded to the usual treatment. A few cases of scurvy however appeared on board at rather an early period which I can attribute to nothing else but the wet and hardships the prisoners endured during the first three or four weeks of the passage. I was prompt in my treatment of these cases and they got well, but before we arrived at Sydney I had about thirty others to treat.’

                    The Lady Nugent arrived in Port Jackson on 9 April 1835 with 284 male prisoners. Two men had died at sea. The prisoners were landed on 27th April 1835 and marched to Hyde Park Barracks prior to being assigned. Ten were under the age of 14 years.

                    The Lady Nugent:

                    Lady Nugent

                     

                    Isaac’s distinguishing marks are noted on various criminal registers and record books:

                    “Height in feet & inches: 5 4; Complexion: Ruddy; Hair: Light brown; Eyes: Hazel; Marks or Scars: Yes [including] DEVIL on lower left arm, TSIS back of left hand, WS lower right arm, MHDW back of right hand.”

                    Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

                    “Two slight scars right side of mouth, 2 moles above right breast, figure of the devil and DEVIL and raised mole, lower left arm; anchor, seven dots half moon, TSIS and cross, back of left hand; a mallet, door post, A, mans bust, sun, WS, lower right arm; woman, MHDW and shut knife, back of right hand.”

                     

                    Lady Nugent record book

                     

                    From How tattoos became fashionable in Victorian England (2019 article in TheConversation by Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alkar):

                    “Historical tattooing was not restricted to sailors, soldiers and convicts, but was a growing and accepted phenomenon in Victorian England. Tattoos provide an important window into the lives of those who typically left no written records of their own. As a form of “history from below”, they give us a fleeting but intriguing understanding of the identities and emotions of ordinary people in the past.
                    As a practice for which typically the only record is the body itself, few systematic records survive before the advent of photography. One exception to this is the written descriptions of tattoos (and even the occasional sketch) that were kept of institutionalised people forced to submit to the recording of information about their bodies as a means of identifying them. This particularly applies to three groups – criminal convicts, soldiers and sailors. Of these, the convict records are the most voluminous and systematic.
                    Such records were first kept in large numbers for those who were transported to Australia from 1788 (since Australia was then an open prison) as the authorities needed some means of keeping track of them.”

                    On the 1837 census Isaac was working for the government at Illiwarra, New South Wales. This record states that he arrived on the Lady Nugent in 1835. There are three other indent records for an Isaac Stokes in the following years, but the transcriptions don’t provide enough information to determine which Isaac Stokes it was. In April 1837 there was an abscondment, and an arrest/apprehension in May of that year, and in 1843 there was a record of convict indulgences.

                    From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

                    “By the mid-1830s only six per cent of convicts were locked up. The vast majority worked for the government or free settlers and, with good behaviour, could earn a ticket of leave, conditional pardon or and even an absolute pardon. While under such orders convicts could earn their own living.”

                     

                    In 1856 in Camden, NSW, Isaac Stokes married Catherine Daly. With no further information on this record it would be impossible to know for sure if this was the right Isaac Stokes. This couple had six children, all in the Camden area, but none of the records provided enough information. No occupation or place or date of birth recorded for Isaac Stokes.

                    I wrote to the National Library of Australia about the marriage record, and their reply was a surprise! Issac and Catherine were married on 30 September 1856, at the house of the Rev. Charles William Rigg, a Methodist minister, and it was recorded that Isaac was born in Edinburgh in 1821, to parents James Stokes and Sarah Ellis!  The age at the time of the marriage doesn’t match Isaac’s age at death in 1877, and clearly the place of birth and parents didn’t match either. Only his fathers occupation of stone mason was correct.  I wrote back to the helpful people at the library and they replied that the register was in a very poor condition and that only two and a half entries had survived at all, and that Isaac and Catherines marriage was recorded over two pages.

                    I searched for an Isaac Stokes born in 1821 in Edinburgh on the Scotland government website (and on all the other genealogy records sites) and didn’t find it. In fact Stokes was a very uncommon name in Scotland at the time. I also searched Australian immigration and other records for another Isaac Stokes born in Scotland or born in 1821, and found nothing.  I was unable to find a single record to corroborate this mysterious other Isaac Stokes.

                    As the age at death in 1877 was correct, I assume that either Isaac was lying, or that some mistake was made either on the register at the home of the Methodist minster, or a subsequent mistranscription or muddle on the remnants of the surviving register.  Therefore I remain convinced that the Camden stonemason Isaac Stokes was indeed our Isaac from Oxfordshire.

                     

                    I found a history society newsletter article that mentioned Isaac Stokes, stone mason, had built the Glenmore church, near Camden, in 1859.

                    Glenmore Church

                     

                    From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

                    Glenmore Church Stokes

                     

                    From the Camden History website:

                    “The stone set over the porch of Glenmore Church gives the date of 1860. The church was begun in 1859 on land given by Joseph Moore. James Rogers of Picton was given the contract to build and local builder, Mr. Stokes, carried out the work. Elizabeth Moore, wife of Edward, laid the foundation stone. The first service was held on 19th March 1860. The cemetery alongside the church contains the headstones and memorials of the areas early pioneers.”

                     

                    Isaac died on the 3rd September 1877. The inquest report puts his place of death as Bagdelly, near to Camden, and another death register has put Cambelltown, also very close to Camden.  His age was recorded as 71 and the inquest report states his cause of death was “rupture of one of the large pulmonary vessels of the lung”.  His wife Catherine died in childbirth in 1870 at the age of 43.

                     

                    Isaac and Catherine’s children:

                    William Stokes 1857-1928

                    Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

                    Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

                    Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

                    Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

                    Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

                     

                    It’s possible that Catherine Daly was a transported convict from Ireland.

                     

                    Some time later I unexpectedly received a follow up email from The Oaks Heritage Centre in Australia.

                    “The Gaudry papers which we have in our archive record him (Isaac Stokes) as having built: the church, the school and the teachers residence.  Isaac is recorded in the General return of convicts: 1837 and in Grevilles Post Office directory 1872 as a mason in Glenmore.”

                    Isaac Stokes directory

                    #6334
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The House on Penn Common

                      Toi Fang and the Duke of Sutherland

                       

                      Tomlinsons

                       

                       

                      Penn Common

                      Grassholme

                       

                      Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) my great grandfather, was born in Wolverhampton in 1873. His father Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) was a licensed victualler or publican, or alternatively a vet/castrator. He married Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) in 1872. On the 1881 census they were living at The Wheel in Wolverhampton.

                      Charles married Nellie Fisher (1877-1956) in Wolverhampton in 1896. In 1901 they were living next to the post office in Upper Penn, with children (Charles) Sidney Tomlinson (1896-1955), and Hilda Tomlinson (1898-1977) . Charles was a vet/castrator working on his own account.

                      In 1911 their address was 4, Wakely Hill, Penn, and living with them were their children Hilda, Frank Tomlinson (1901-1975), (Dorothy) Phyllis Tomlinson (1905-1982), Nellie Tomlinson (1906-1978) and May Tomlinson (1910-1983). Charles was a castrator working on his own account.

                      Charles and Nellie had a further four children: Charles Fisher Tomlinson (1911-1977), Margaret Tomlinson (1913-1989) (my grandmother Peggy), Major Tomlinson (1916-1984) and Norah Mary Tomlinson (1919-2010).

                      My father told me that my grandmother had fallen down the well at the house on Penn Common in 1915 when she was two years old, and sent me a photo of her standing next to the well when she revisted the house at a much later date.

                      Peggy next to the well on Penn Common:

                      Peggy well Penn

                       

                      My grandmother Peggy told me that her father had had a racehorse called Toi Fang. She remembered the racing colours were sky blue and orange, and had a set of racing silks made which she sent to my father.
                      Through a DNA match, I met Ian Tomlinson. Ian is the son of my fathers favourite cousin Roger, Frank’s son. Ian found some racing silks and sent a photo to my father (they are now in contact with each other as a result of my DNA match with Ian), wondering what they were.

                      Toi Fang

                       

                      When Ian sent a photo of these racing silks, I had a look in the newspaper archives. In 1920 there are a number of mentions in the racing news of Mr C Tomlinson’s horse TOI FANG. I have not found any mention of Toi Fang in the newspapers in the following years.

                      The Scotsman – Monday 12 July 1920:

                      Toi Fang

                       

                       

                      The other story that Ian Tomlinson recalled was about the house on Penn Common. Ian said he’d heard that the local titled person took Charles Tomlinson to court over building the house but that Tomlinson won the case because it was built on common land and was the first case of it’s kind.

                      Penn Common

                       

                      Penn Common Right of Way Case:
                      Staffordshire Advertiser March 9, 1912

                      In the chancery division, on Tuesday, before Mr Justice Joyce, it was announced that a settlement had been arrived at of the Penn Common Right of Way case, the hearing of which occupied several days last month. The action was brought by the Duke of Sutherland (as Lord of the Manor of Penn) and Mr Harry Sydney Pitt (on behalf of himself and other freeholders of the manor having a right to pasturage on Penn Common) to restrain Mr James Lakin, Carlton House, Penn; Mr Charles Tomlinson, Mayfield Villa, Wakely Hill, Penn; and Mr Joseph Harold Simpkin, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, from drawing building materials across the common, or otherwise causing injury to the soil.

                      The real point in dispute was whether there was a public highway for all purposes running by the side of the defendants land from the Turf Tavern past the golf club to the Barley Mow.
                      Mr Hughes, KC for the plaintiffs, now stated that the parties had been in consultation, and had come to terms, the substance of which was that the defendants admitted that there was no public right of way, and that they were granted a private way. This, he thought, would involve the granting of some deed or deeds to express the rights of the parties, and he suggested that the documents should be be settled by some counsel to be mutually agreed upon.

                      His lordship observed that the question of coal was probably the important point. Mr Younger said Mr Tomlinson was a freeholder, and the plaintiffs could not mine under him. Mr Hughes: The coal actually under his house is his, and, of course, subsidence might be produced by taking away coal some distance away. I think some document is required to determine his actual rights.
                      Mr Younger said he wanted to avoid anything that would increase the costs, but, after further discussion, it was agreed that Mr John Dixon (an expert on mineral rights), or failing him, another counsel satisfactory to both parties, should be invited to settle the terms scheduled in the agreement, in order to prevent any further dispute.

                       

                      Penn Common case

                       

                      The name of the house is Grassholme.  The address of Mayfield Villas is the house they were living in while building Grassholme, which I assume they had not yet moved in to at the time of the newspaper article in March 1912.

                       

                       

                      What my grandmother didn’t tell anyone was how her father died in 1929:

                       

                      1929 Charles Tomlinson

                       

                       

                      On the 1921 census, Charles, Nellie and eight of their children were living at 269 Coleman Street, Wolverhampton.

                      1921 census Tomlinson

                       

                       

                      They were living on Coleman Street in 1915 when Charles was fined for staying open late.

                      Staffordshire Advertiser – Saturday 13 February 1915:

                       

                      1915 butcher fined

                       

                      What is not yet clear is why they moved from the house on Penn Common sometime between 1912 and 1915. And why did he have a racehorse in 1920?

                      #6268
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued part 9

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

                        Dearest Family.

                        We had a novel Christmas this year. We decided to avoid the expense of
                        entertaining and being entertained at Lyamungu, and went off to spend Christmas
                        camping in a forest on the Western slopes of Kilimanjaro. George decided to combine
                        business with pleasure and in this way we were able to use Government transport.
                        We set out the day before Christmas day and drove along the road which skirts
                        the slopes of Kilimanjaro and first visited a beautiful farm where Philip Teare, the ex
                        Game Warden, and his wife Mary are staying. We had afternoon tea with them and then
                        drove on in to the natural forest above the estate and pitched our tent beside a small
                        clear mountain stream. We decorated the tent with paper streamers and a few small
                        balloons and John found a small tree of the traditional shape which we decorated where
                        it stood with tinsel and small ornaments.

                        We put our beer, cool drinks for the children and bottles of fresh milk from Simba
                        Estate, in the stream and on Christmas morning they were as cold as if they had been in
                        the refrigerator all night. There were not many presents for the children, there never are,
                        but they do not seem to mind and are well satisfied with a couple of balloons apiece,
                        sweets, tin whistles and a book each.

                        George entertain the children before breakfast. He can make a magical thing out
                        of the most ordinary balloon. The children watched entranced as he drew on his pipe
                        and then blew the smoke into the balloon. He then pinched the neck of the balloon
                        between thumb and forefinger and released the smoke in little puffs. Occasionally the
                        balloon ejected a perfect smoke ring and the forest rang with shouts of “Do it again
                        Daddy.” Another trick was to blow up the balloon to maximum size and then twist the
                        neck tightly before releasing. Before subsiding the balloon darted about in a crazy
                        fashion causing great hilarity. Such fun, at the cost of a few pence.

                        After breakfast George went off to fish for trout. John and Jim decided that they
                        also wished to fish so we made rods out of sticks and string and bent pins and they
                        fished happily, but of course quite unsuccessfully, for hours. Both of course fell into the
                        stream and got soaked, but I was prepared for this, and the little stream was so shallow
                        that they could not come to any harm. Henry played happily in the sand and I had a
                        most peaceful morning.

                        Hamisi roasted a chicken in a pot over the camp fire and the jelly set beautifully in the
                        stream. So we had grilled trout and chicken for our Christmas dinner. I had of course
                        taken an iced cake for the occasion and, all in all, it was a very successful Christmas day.
                        On Boxing day we drove down to the plains where George was to investigate a
                        report of game poaching near the Ngassari Furrow. This is a very long ditch which has
                        been dug by the Government for watering the Masai stock in the area. It is also used by
                        game and we saw herds of zebra and wildebeest, and some Grant’s Gazelle and
                        giraffe, all comparatively tame. At one point a small herd of zebra raced beside the lorry
                        apparently enjoying the fun of a gallop. They were all sleek and fat and looked wild and
                        beautiful in action.

                        We camped a considerable distance from the water but this precaution did not
                        save us from the mosquitoes which launched a vicious attack on us after sunset, so that
                        we took to our beds unusually early. They were on the job again when we got up at
                        sunrise so I was very glad when we were once more on our way home.

                        “I like Christmas safari. Much nicer that silly old party,” said John. I agree but I think
                        it is time that our children learned to play happily with others. There are no other young
                        children at Lyamungu though there are two older boys and a girl who go to boarding
                        school in Nairobi.

                        On New Years Day two Army Officers from the military camp at Moshi, came for
                        tea and to talk game hunting with George. I think they rather enjoy visiting a home and
                        seeing children and pets around.

                        Eleanor.

                        Lyamungu 14 May 1945

                        Dearest Family.

                        So the war in Europe is over at last. It is such marvellous news that I can hardly
                        believe it. To think that as soon as George can get leave we will go to England and
                        bring Ann and George home with us to Tanganyika. When we know when this leave can
                        be arranged we will want Kate to join us here as of course she must go with us to
                        England to meet George’s family. She has become so much a part of your lives that I
                        know it will be a wrench for you to give her up but I know that you will all be happy to
                        think that soon our family will be reunited.

                        The V.E. celebrations passed off quietly here. We all went to Moshi to see the
                        Victory Parade of the King’s African Rifles and in the evening we went to a celebration
                        dinner at the Game Warden’s house. Besides ourselves the Moores had invited the
                        Commanding Officer from Moshi and a junior officer. We had a very good dinner and
                        many toasts including one to Mrs Moore’s brother, Oliver Milton who is fighting in Burma
                        and has recently been awarded the Military Cross.

                        There was also a celebration party for the children in the grounds of the Moshi
                        Club. Such a spread! I think John and Jim sampled everything. We mothers were
                        having our tea separately and a friend laughingly told me to turn around and have a look.
                        I did, and saw the long tea tables now deserted by all the children but my two sons who
                        were still eating steadily, and finding the party more exciting than the game of Musical
                        Bumps into which all the other children had entered with enthusiasm.

                        There was also an extremely good puppet show put on by the Italian prisoners
                        of war from the camp at Moshi. They had made all the puppets which included well
                        loved characters like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and the Babes in the Wood as
                        well as more sophisticated ones like an irritable pianist and a would be prima donna. The
                        most popular puppets with the children were a native askari and his family – a very
                        happy little scene. I have never before seen a puppet show and was as entranced as
                        the children. It is amazing what clever manipulation and lighting can do. I believe that the
                        Italians mean to take their puppets to Nairobi and am glad to think that there, they will
                        have larger audiences to appreciate their art.

                        George has just come in, and I paused in my writing to ask him for the hundredth
                        time when he thinks we will get leave. He says I must be patient because it may be a
                        year before our turn comes. Shipping will be disorganised for months to come and we
                        cannot expect priority simply because we have been separated so long from our
                        children. The same situation applies to scores of other Government Officials.
                        I have decided to write the story of my childhood in South Africa and about our
                        life together in Tanganyika up to the time Ann and George left the country. I know you
                        will have told Kate these stories, but Ann and George were so very little when they left
                        home that I fear that they cannot remember much.

                        My Mother-in-law will have told them about their father but she can tell them little
                        about me. I shall send them one chapter of my story each month in the hope that they
                        may be interested and not feel that I am a stranger when at last we meet again.

                        Eleanor.

                        Lyamungu 19th September 1945

                        Dearest Family.

                        In a months time we will be saying good-bye to Lyamungu. George is to be
                        transferred to Mbeya and I am delighted, not only as I look upon Mbeya as home, but
                        because there is now a primary school there which John can attend. I feel he will make
                        much better progress in his lessons when he realises that all children of his age attend
                        school. At present he is putting up a strong resistance to learning to read and spell, but
                        he writes very neatly, does his sums accurately and shows a real talent for drawing. If
                        only he had the will to learn I feel he would do very well.

                        Jim now just four, is too young for lessons but too intelligent to be interested in
                        the ayah’s attempts at entertainment. Yes I’ve had to engage a native girl to look after
                        Henry from 9 am to 12.30 when I supervise John’s Correspondence Course. She is
                        clean and amiable, but like most African women she has no initiative at all when it comes
                        to entertaining children. Most African men and youths are good at this.

                        I don’t regret our stay at Lyamungu. It is a beautiful spot and the change to the
                        cooler climate after the heat of Morogoro has been good for all the children. John is still
                        tall for his age but not so thin as he was and much less pale. He is a handsome little lad
                        with his large brown eyes in striking contrast to his fair hair. He is wary of strangers but
                        very observant and quite uncanny in the way he sums up people. He seldom gets up
                        to mischief but I have a feeling he eggs Jim on. Not that Jim needs egging.

                        Jim has an absolute flair for mischief but it is all done in such an artless manner that
                        it is not easy to punish him. He is a very sturdy child with a cap of almost black silky hair,
                        eyes brown, like mine, and a large mouth which is quick to smile and show most beautiful
                        white and even teeth. He is most popular with all the native servants and the Game
                        Scouts. The servants call Jim, ‘Bwana Tembo’ (Mr Elephant) because of his sturdy
                        build.

                        Henry, now nearly two years old, is quite different from the other two in
                        appearance. He is fair complexioned and fair haired like Ann and Kate, with large, black
                        lashed, light grey eyes. He is a good child, not so merry as Jim was at his age, nor as
                        shy as John was. He seldom cries, does not care to be cuddled and is independent and
                        strong willed. The servants call Henry, ‘Bwana Ndizi’ (Mr Banana) because he has an
                        inexhaustible appetite for this fruit. Fortunately they are very inexpensive here. We buy
                        an entire bunch which hangs from a beam on the back verandah, and pluck off the
                        bananas as they ripen. This way there is no waste and the fruit never gets bruised as it
                        does in greengrocers shops in South Africa. Our three boys make a delightful and
                        interesting trio and I do wish you could see them for yourselves.

                        We are delighted with the really beautiful photograph of Kate. She is an
                        extraordinarily pretty child and looks so happy and healthy and a great credit to you.
                        Now that we will be living in Mbeya with a school on the doorstep I hope that we will
                        soon be able to arrange for her return home.

                        Eleanor.

                        c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 30th October 1945

                        Dearest Family.

                        How nice to be able to write c/o Game Dept. Mbeya at the head of my letters.
                        We arrived here safely after a rather tiresome journey and are installed in a tiny house on
                        the edge of the township.

                        We left Lyamungu early on the morning of the 22nd. Most of our goods had
                        been packed on the big Ford lorry the previous evening, but there were the usual
                        delays and farewells. Of our servants, only the cook, Hamisi, accompanied us to
                        Mbeya. Japhet, Tovelo and the ayah had to be paid off and largesse handed out.
                        Tovelo’s granny had come, bringing a gift of bananas, and she also brought her little
                        granddaughter to present a bunch of flowers. The child’s little scolded behind is now
                        completely healed. Gifts had to be found for them too.

                        At last we were all aboard and what a squash it was! Our few pieces of furniture
                        and packing cases and trunks, the cook, his wife, the driver and the turney boy, who
                        were to take the truck back to Lyamungu, and all their bits and pieces, bunches of
                        bananas and Fanny the dog were all crammed into the body of the lorry. George, the
                        children and I were jammed together in the cab. Before we left George looked
                        dubiously at the tyres which were very worn and said gloomily that he thought it most
                        unlikely that we would make our destination, Dodoma.

                        Too true! Shortly after midday, near Kwakachinja, we blew a back tyre and there
                        was a tedious delay in the heat whilst the wheel was changed. We were now without a
                        spare tyre and George said that he would not risk taking the Ford further than Babati,
                        which is less than half way to Dodoma. He drove very slowly and cautiously to Babati
                        where he arranged with Sher Mohammed, an Indian trader, for a lorry to take us to
                        Dodoma the next morning.

                        It had been our intention to spend the night at the furnished Government
                        Resthouse at Babati but when we got there we found that it was already occupied by
                        several District Officers who had assembled for a conference. So, feeling rather
                        disgruntled, we all piled back into the lorry and drove on to a place called Bereku where
                        we spent an uncomfortable night in a tumbledown hut.

                        Before dawn next morning Sher Mohammed’s lorry drove up, and there was a
                        scramble to dress by the light of a storm lamp. The lorry was a very dilapidated one and
                        there was already a native woman passenger in the cab. I felt so tired after an almost
                        sleepless night that I decided to sit between the driver and this woman with the sleeping
                        Henry on my knee. It was as well I did, because I soon found myself dosing off and
                        drooping over towards the woman. Had she not been there I might easily have fallen
                        out as the battered cab had no door. However I was alert enough when daylight came
                        and changed places with the woman to our mutual relief. She was now able to converse
                        with the African driver and I was able to enjoy the scenery and the fresh air!
                        George, John and Jim were less comfortable. They sat in the lorry behind the
                        cab hemmed in by packing cases. As the lorry was an open one the sun beat down
                        unmercifully upon them until George, ever resourceful, moved a table to the front of the
                        truck. The two boys crouched under this and so got shelter from the sun but they still had
                        to endure the dust. Fanny complicated things by getting car sick and with one thing and
                        another we were all jolly glad to get to Dodoma.

                        We spent the night at the Dodoma Hotel and after hot baths, a good meal and a
                        good nights rest we cheerfully boarded a bus of the Tanganyika Bus Service next
                        morning to continue our journey to Mbeya. The rest of the journey was uneventful. We slept two nights on the road, the first at Iringa Hotel and the second at Chimala. We
                        reached Mbeya on the 27th.

                        I was rather taken aback when I first saw the little house which has been allocated
                        to us. I had become accustomed to the spacious houses we had in Morogoro and
                        Lyamungu. However though the house is tiny it is secluded and has a long garden
                        sloping down to the road in front and another long strip sloping up behind. The front
                        garden is shaded by several large cypress and eucalyptus trees but the garden behind
                        the house has no shade and consists mainly of humpy beds planted with hundreds of
                        carnations sadly in need of debudding. I believe that the previous Game Ranger’s wife
                        cultivated the carnations and, by selling them, raised money for War Funds.
                        Like our own first home, this little house is built of sun dried brick. Its original
                        owners were Germans. It is now rented to the Government by the Custodian of Enemy
                        Property, and George has his office in another ex German house.

                        This afternoon we drove to the school to arrange about enrolling John there. The
                        school is about four miles out of town. It was built by the German settlers in the late
                        1930’s and they were justifiably proud of it. It consists of a great assembly hall and
                        classrooms in one block and there are several attractive single storied dormitories. This
                        school was taken over by the Government when the Germans were interned on the
                        outbreak of war and many improvements have been made to the original buildings. The
                        school certainly looks very attractive now with its grassed playing fields and its lawns and
                        bright flower beds.

                        The Union Jack flies from a tall flagpole in front of the Hall and all traces of the
                        schools German origin have been firmly erased. We met the Headmaster, Mr
                        Wallington, and his wife and some members of the staff. The school is co-educational
                        and caters for children from the age of seven to standard six. The leaving age is elastic
                        owing to the fact that many Tanganyika children started school very late because of lack
                        of educational facilities in this country.

                        The married members of the staff have their own cottages in the grounds. The
                        Matrons have quarters attached to the dormitories for which they are responsible. I felt
                        most enthusiastic about the school until I discovered that the Headmaster is adamant
                        upon one subject. He utterly refuses to take any day pupils at the school. So now our
                        poor reserved Johnny will have to adjust himself to boarding school life.
                        We have arranged that he will start school on November 5th and I shall be very
                        busy trying to assemble his school uniform at short notice. The clothing list is sensible.
                        Boys wear khaki shirts and shorts on weekdays with knitted scarlet jerseys when the
                        weather is cold. On Sundays they wear grey flannel shorts and blazers with the silver
                        and scarlet school tie.

                        Mbeya looks dusty, brown and dry after the lush evergreen vegetation of
                        Lyamungu, but I prefer this drier climate and there are still mountains to please the eye.
                        In fact the lower slopes of Lolesa Mountain rise at the upper end of our garden.

                        Eleanor.

                        c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 21st November 1945

                        Dearest Family.

                        We’re quite settled in now and I have got the little house fixed up to my
                        satisfaction. I have engaged a rather uncouth looking houseboy but he is strong and
                        capable and now that I am not tied down in the mornings by John’s lessons I am able to
                        go out occasionally in the mornings and take Jim and Henry to play with other children.
                        They do not show any great enthusiasm but are not shy by nature as John is.
                        I have had a good deal of heartache over putting John to boarding school. It
                        would have been different had he been used to the company of children outside his
                        own family, or if he had even known one child there. However he seems to be adjusting
                        himself to the life, though slowly. At least he looks well and tidy and I am quite sure that
                        he is well looked after.

                        I must confess that when the time came for John to go to school I simply did not
                        have the courage to take him and he went alone with George, looking so smart in his
                        new uniform – but his little face so bleak. The next day, Sunday, was visiting day but the
                        Headmaster suggested that we should give John time to settle down and not visit him
                        until Wednesday.

                        When we drove up to the school I spied John on the far side of the field walking
                        all alone. Instead of running up with glad greetings, as I had expected, he came almost
                        reluctently and had little to say. I asked him to show me his dormitory and classroom and
                        he did so politely as though I were a stranger. At last he volunteered some information.
                        “Mummy,” he said in an awed voice, Do you know on the night I came here they burnt a
                        man! They had a big fire and they burnt him.” After a blank moment the penny dropped.
                        Of course John had started school and November the fifth but it had never entered my
                        head to tell him about that infamous character, Guy Fawkes!

                        I asked John’s Matron how he had settled down. “Well”, she said thoughtfully,
                        John is very good and has not cried as many of the juniors do when they first come
                        here, but he seems to keep to himself all the time.” I went home very discouraged but
                        on the Sunday John came running up with another lad of about his own age.” This is my
                        friend Marks,” he announced proudly. I could have hugged Marks.

                        Mbeya is very different from the small settlement we knew in the early 1930’s.
                        Gone are all the colourful characters from the Lupa diggings for the alluvial claims are all
                        worked out now, gone also are our old friends the Menzies from the Pub and also most
                        of the Government Officials we used to know. Mbeya has lost its character of a frontier
                        township and has become almost suburban.

                        The social life revolves around two places, the Club and the school. The Club
                        which started out as a little two roomed building, has been expanded and the golf
                        course improved. There are also tennis courts and a good library considering the size of
                        the community. There are frequent parties and dances, though most of the club revenue
                        comes from Bar profits. The parties are relatively sober affairs compared with the parties
                        of the 1930’s.

                        The school provides entertainment of another kind. Both Mr and Mrs Wallington
                        are good amateur actors and I am told that they run an Amateur Dramatic Society. Every
                        Wednesday afternoon there is a hockey match at the school. Mbeya town versus a
                        mixed team of staff and scholars. The match attracts almost the whole European
                        population of Mbeya. Some go to play hockey, others to watch, and others to snatch
                        the opportunity to visit their children. I shall have to try to arrange a lift to school when
                        George is away on safari.

                        I have now met most of the local women and gladly renewed an old friendship
                        with Sheilagh Waring whom I knew two years ago at Morogoro. Sheilagh and I have
                        much in common, the same disregard for the trappings of civilisation, the same sense of
                        the ludicrous, and children. She has eight to our six and she has also been cut off by the
                        war from two of her children. Sheilagh looks too young and pretty to be the mother of so
                        large a family and is, in fact, several years younger than I am. her husband, Donald, is a
                        large quiet man who, as far as I can judge takes life seriously.

                        Our next door neighbours are the Bank Manager and his wife, a very pleasant
                        couple though we seldom meet. I have however had correspondence with the Bank
                        Manager. Early on Saturday afternoon their houseboy brought a note. It informed me
                        that my son was disturbing his rest by precipitating a heart attack. Was I aware that my
                        son was about 30 feet up in a tree and balanced on a twig? I ran out and,sure enough,
                        there was Jim, right at the top of the tallest eucalyptus tree. It would be the one with the
                        mound of stones at the bottom! You should have heard me fluting in my most
                        wheedling voice. “Sweets, Jimmy, come down slowly dear, I’ve some nice sweets for
                        you.”

                        I’ll bet that little story makes you smile. I remember how often you have told me
                        how, as a child, I used to make your hearts turn over because I had no fear of heights
                        and how I used to say, “But that is silly, I won’t fall.” I know now only too well, how you
                        must have felt.

                        Eleanor.

                        c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 14th January 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        I hope that by now you have my telegram to say that Kate got home safely
                        yesterday. It was wonderful to have her back and what a beautiful child she is! Kate
                        seems to have enjoyed the train journey with Miss Craig, in spite of the tears she tells
                        me she shed when she said good-bye to you. She also seems to have felt quite at
                        home with the Hopleys at Salisbury. She flew from Salisbury in a small Dove aircraft
                        and they had a smooth passage though Kate was a little airsick.

                        I was so excited about her home coming! This house is so tiny that I had to turn
                        out the little store room to make a bedroom for her. With a fresh coat of whitewash and
                        pretty sprigged curtains and matching bedspread, borrowed from Sheilagh Waring, the
                        tiny room looks most attractive. I had also iced a cake, made ice-cream and jelly and
                        bought crackers for the table so that Kate’s home coming tea could be a proper little
                        celebration.

                        I was pleased with my preparations and then, a few hours before the plane was
                        due, my crowned front tooth dropped out, peg and all! When my houseboy wants to
                        describe something very tatty, he calls it “Second-hand Kabisa.” Kabisa meaning
                        absolutely. That is an apt description of how I looked and felt. I decided to try some
                        emergency dentistry. I think you know our nearest dentist is at Dar es Salaam five
                        hundred miles away.

                        First I carefully dried the tooth and with a match stick covered the peg and base
                        with Durofix. I then took the infants rubber bulb enema, sucked up some heat from a
                        candle flame and pumped it into the cavity before filling that with Durofix. Then hopefully
                        I stuck the tooth in its former position and held it in place for several minutes. No good. I
                        sent the houseboy to a shop for Scotine and tried the whole process again. No good
                        either.

                        When George came home for lunch I appealed to him for advice. He jokingly
                        suggested that a maize seed jammed into the space would probably work, but when
                        he saw that I really was upset he produced some chewing gum and suggested that I
                        should try that . I did and that worked long enough for my first smile anyway.
                        George and the three boys went to meet Kate but I remained at home to
                        welcome her there. I was afraid that after all this time away Kate might be reluctant to
                        rejoin the family but she threw her arms around me and said “Oh Mummy,” We both
                        shed a few tears and then we both felt fine.

                        How gay Kate is, and what an infectious laugh she has! The boys follow her
                        around in admiration. John in fact asked me, “Is Kate a Princess?” When I said
                        “Goodness no, Johnny, she’s your sister,” he explained himself by saying, “Well, she
                        has such golden hair.” Kate was less complementary. When I tucked her in bed last night
                        she said, “Mummy, I didn’t expect my little brothers to be so yellow!” All three boys
                        have been taking a course of Atebrin, an anti-malarial drug which tinges skin and eyeballs
                        yellow.

                        So now our tiny house is bursting at its seams and how good it feels to have one
                        more child under our roof. We are booked to sail for England in May and when we return
                        we will have Ann and George home too. Then I shall feel really content.

                        Eleanor.

                        c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 2nd March 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        My life just now is uneventful but very busy. I am sewing hard and knitting fast to
                        try to get together some warm clothes for our leave in England. This is not a simple
                        matter because woollen materials are in short supply and very expensive, and now that
                        we have boarding school fees to pay for both Kate and John we have to budget very
                        carefully indeed.

                        Kate seems happy at school. She makes friends easily and seems to enjoy
                        communal life. John also seems reconciled to school now that Kate is there. He no
                        longer feels that he is the only exile in the family. He seems to rub along with the other
                        boys of his age and has a couple of close friends. Although Mbeya School is coeducational
                        the smaller boys and girls keep strictly apart. It is considered extremely
                        cissy to play with girls.

                        The local children are allowed to go home on Sundays after church and may bring
                        friends home with them for the day. Both John and Kate do this and Sunday is a very
                        busy day for me. The children come home in their Sunday best but bring play clothes to
                        change into. There is always a scramble to get them to bath and change again in time to
                        deliver them to the school by 6 o’clock.

                        When George is home we go out to the school for the morning service. This is
                        taken by the Headmaster Mr Wallington, and is very enjoyable. There is an excellent
                        school choir to lead the singing. The service is the Church of England one, but is
                        attended by children of all denominations, except the Roman Catholics. I don’t think that
                        more than half the children are British. A large proportion are Greeks, some as old as
                        sixteen, and about the same number are Afrikaners. There are Poles and non-Nazi
                        Germans, Swiss and a few American children.

                        All instruction is through the medium of English and it is amazing how soon all the
                        foreign children learn to chatter in English. George has been told that we will return to
                        Mbeya after our leave and for that I am very thankful as it means that we will still be living
                        near at hand when Jim and Henry start school. Because many of these children have to
                        travel many hundreds of miles to come to school, – Mbeya is a two day journey from the
                        railhead, – the school year is divided into two instead of the usual three terms. This
                        means that many of these children do not see their parents for months at a time. I think
                        this is a very sad state of affairs especially for the seven and eight year olds but the
                        Matrons assure me , that many children who live on isolated farms and stations are quite
                        reluctant to go home because they miss the companionship and the games and
                        entertainment that the school offers.

                        My only complaint about the life here is that I see far too little of George. He is
                        kept extremely busy on this range and is hardly at home except for a few days at the
                        months end when he has to be at his office to check up on the pay vouchers and the
                        issue of ammunition to the Scouts. George’s Range takes in the whole of the Southern
                        Province and the Southern half of the Western Province and extends to the border with
                        Northern Rhodesia and right across to Lake Tanganyika. This vast area is patrolled by
                        only 40 Game Scouts because the Department is at present badly under staffed, due
                        partly to the still acute shortage of rifles, but even more so to the extraordinary reluctance
                        which the Government shows to allocate adequate funds for the efficient running of the
                        Department.

                        The Game Scouts must see that the Game Laws are enforced, protect native
                        crops from raiding elephant, hippo and other game animals. Report disease amongst game and deal with stock raiding lions. By constantly going on safari and checking on
                        their work, George makes sure the range is run to his satisfaction. Most of the Game
                        Scouts are fine fellows but, considering they receive only meagre pay for dangerous
                        and exacting work, it is not surprising that occasionally a Scout is tempted into accepting
                        a bribe not to report a serious infringement of the Game Laws and there is, of course,
                        always the temptation to sell ivory illicitly to unscrupulous Indian and Arab traders.
                        Apart from supervising the running of the Range, George has two major jobs.
                        One is to supervise the running of the Game Free Area along the Rhodesia –
                        Tanganyika border, and the other to hunt down the man-eating lions which for years have
                        terrorised the Njombe District killing hundreds of Africans. Yes I know ‘hundreds’ sounds
                        fantastic, but this is perfectly true and one day, when the job is done and the official
                        report published I shall send it to you to prove it!

                        I hate to think of the Game Free Area and so does George. All the game from
                        buffalo to tiny duiker has been shot out in a wide belt extending nearly two hundred
                        miles along the Northern Rhodesia -Tanganyika border. There are three Europeans in
                        widely spaced camps who supervise this slaughter by African Game Guards. This
                        horrible measure is considered necessary by the Veterinary Departments of
                        Tanganyika, Rhodesia and South Africa, to prevent the cattle disease of Rinderpest
                        from spreading South.

                        When George is home however, we do relax and have fun. On the Saturday
                        before the school term started we took Kate and the boys up to the top fishing camp in
                        the Mporoto Mountains for her first attempt at trout fishing. There are three of these
                        camps built by the Mbeya Trout Association on the rivers which were first stocked with
                        the trout hatched on our farm at Mchewe. Of the three, the top camp is our favourite. The
                        scenery there is most glorious and reminds me strongly of the rivers of the Western
                        Cape which I so loved in my childhood.

                        The river, the Kawira, flows from the Rungwe Mountain through a narrow valley
                        with hills rising steeply on either side. The water runs swiftly over smooth stones and
                        sometimes only a foot or two below the level of the banks. It is sparkling and shallow,
                        but in places the water is deep and dark and the banks high. I had a busy day keeping
                        an eye on the boys, especially Jim, who twice climbed out on branches which overhung
                        deep water. “Mummy, I was only looking for trout!”

                        How those kids enjoyed the freedom of the camp after the comparative
                        restrictions of town. So did Fanny, she raced about on the hills like a mad dog chasing
                        imaginary rabbits and having the time of her life. To escape the noise and commotion
                        George had gone far upstream to fish and returned in the late afternoon with three good
                        sized trout and four smaller ones. Kate proudly showed George the two she had caught
                        with the assistance or our cook Hamisi. I fear they were caught in a rather unorthodox
                        manner but this I kept a secret from George who is a stickler for the orthodox in trout
                        fishing.

                        Eleanor.

                        Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        Here we are all together at last in England. You cannot imagine how wonderful it
                        feels to have the whole Rushby family reunited. I find myself counting heads. Ann,
                        George, Kate, John, Jim, and Henry. All present and well. We had a very pleasant trip
                        on the old British India Ship Mantola. She was crowded with East Africans going home
                        for the first time since the war, many like us, eagerly looking forward to a reunion with their
                        children whom they had not seen for years. There was a great air of anticipation and
                        good humour but a little anxiety too.

                        “I do hope our children will be glad to see us,” said one, and went on to tell me
                        about a Doctor from Dar es Salaam who, after years of separation from his son had
                        recently gone to visit him at his school. The Doctor had alighted at the railway station
                        where he had arranged to meet his son. A tall youth approached him and said, very
                        politely, “Excuse me sir. Are you my Father?” Others told me of children who had
                        become so attached to their relatives in England that they gave their parents a very cool
                        reception. I began to feel apprehensive about Ann and George but fortunately had no
                        time to mope.

                        Oh, that washing and ironing for six! I shall remember for ever that steamy little
                        laundry in the heat of the Red Sea and queuing up for the ironing and the feeling of guilt
                        at the size of my bundle. We met many old friends amongst the passengers, and made
                        some new ones, so the voyage was a pleasant one, We did however have our
                        anxious moments.

                        John was the first to disappear and we had an anxious search for him. He was
                        quite surprised that we had been concerned. “I was just talking to my friend Chinky
                        Chinaman in his workshop.” Could John have called him that? Then, when I returned to
                        the cabin from dinner one night I found Henry swigging Owbridge’s Lung Tonic. He had
                        drunk half the bottle neat and the label said ‘five drops in water’. Luckily it did not harm
                        him.

                        Jim of course was forever risking his neck. George had forbidden him to climb on
                        the railings but he was forever doing things which no one had thought of forbidding him
                        to do, like hanging from the overhead pipes on the deck or standing on the sill of a
                        window and looking down at the well deck far below. An Officer found him doing this and
                        gave me the scolding.

                        Another day he climbed up on a derrick used for hoisting cargo. George,
                        oblivious to this was sitting on the hatch cover with other passengers reading a book. I
                        was in the wash house aft on the same deck when Kate rushed in and said, “Mummy
                        come and see Jim.” Before I had time to more than gape, the butcher noticed Jim and
                        rushed out knife in hand. “Get down from there”, he bellowed. Jim got, and with such
                        speed that he caught the leg or his shorts on a projecting piece of metal. The cotton
                        ripped across the seam from leg to leg and Jim stood there for a humiliating moment in a
                        sort of revealing little kilt enduring the smiles of the passengers who had looked up from
                        their books at the butcher’s shout.

                        That incident cured Jim of his urge to climb on the ship but he managed to give
                        us one more fright. He was lost off Dover. People from whom we enquired said, “Yes
                        we saw your little boy. He was by the railings watching that big aircraft carrier.” Now Jim,
                        though mischievous , is very obedient. It was not until George and I had conducted an
                        exhaustive search above and below decks that I really became anxious. Could he have
                        fallen overboard? Jim was returned to us by an unamused Officer. He had been found
                        in one of the lifeboats on the deck forbidden to children.

                        Our ship passed Dover after dark and it was an unforgettable sight. Dover Castle
                        and the cliffs were floodlit for the Victory Celebrations. One of the men passengers sat
                        down at the piano and played ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’, and people sang and a few
                        wept. The Mantola docked at Tilbury early next morning in a steady drizzle.
                        There was a dockers strike on and it took literally hours for all the luggage to be
                        put ashore. The ships stewards simply locked the public rooms and went off leaving the
                        passengers shivering on the docks. Eventually damp and bedraggled, we arrived at St
                        Pancras Station and were given a warm welcome by George’s sister Cath and her
                        husband Reg Pears, who had come all the way from Nottingham to meet us.
                        As we had to spend an hour in London before our train left for Nottingham,
                        George suggested that Cath and I should take the children somewhere for a meal. So
                        off we set in the cold drizzle, the boys and I without coats and laden with sundry
                        packages, including a hand woven native basket full of shoes. We must have looked like
                        a bunch of refugees as we stood in the hall of The Kings Cross Station Hotel because a
                        supercilious waiter in tails looked us up and down and said, “I’m afraid not Madam”, in
                        answer to my enquiry whether the hotel could provide lunch for six.
                        Anyway who cares! We had lunch instead at an ABC tea room — horrible
                        sausage and a mound or rather sloppy mashed potatoes, but very good ice-cream.
                        After the train journey in a very grimy third class coach, through an incredibly green and
                        beautiful countryside, we eventually reached Nottingham and took a bus to Jacksdale,
                        where George’s mother and sisters live in large detached houses side by side.
                        Ann and George were at the bus stop waiting for us, and thank God, submitted
                        to my kiss as though we had been parted for weeks instead of eight years. Even now
                        that we are together again my heart aches to think of all those missed years. They have
                        not changed much and I would have picked them out of a crowd, but Ann, once thin and
                        pale, is now very rosy and blooming. She still has her pretty soft plaits and her eyes are
                        still a clear calm blue. Young George is very striking looking with sparkling brown eyes, a
                        ready, slightly lopsided smile, and charming manners.

                        Mother, and George’s elder sister, Lottie Giles, welcomed us at the door with the
                        cheering news that our tea was ready. Ann showed us the way to mother’s lovely lilac
                        tiled bathroom for a wash before tea. Before I had even turned the tap, Jim had hung
                        form the glass towel rail and it lay in three pieces on the floor. There have since been
                        similar tragedies. I can see that life in civilisation is not without snags.

                        I am most grateful that Ann and George have accepted us so naturally and
                        affectionately. Ann said candidly, “Mummy, it’s a good thing that you had Aunt Cath with
                        you when you arrived because, honestly, I wouldn’t have known you.”

                        Eleanor.

                        Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        I am sorry that I have not written for some time but honestly, I don’t know whether
                        I’m coming or going. Mother handed the top floor of her house to us and the
                        arrangement was that I should tidy our rooms and do our laundry and Mother would
                        prepare the meals except for breakfast. It looked easy at first. All the rooms have wall to
                        wall carpeting and there was a large vacuum cleaner in the box room. I was told a
                        window cleaner would do the windows.

                        Well the first time I used the Hoover I nearly died of fright. I pressed the switch
                        and immediately there was a roar and the bag filled with air to bursting point, or so I
                        thought. I screamed for Ann and she came at the run. I pointed to the bag and shouted
                        above the din, “What must I do? It’s going to burst!” Ann looked at me in astonishment
                        and said, “But Mummy that’s the way it works.” I couldn’t have her thinking me a
                        complete fool so I switched the current off and explained to Ann how it was that I had
                        never seen this type of equipment in action. How, in Tanganyika , I had never had a
                        house with electricity and that, anyway, electric equipment would be superfluous
                        because floors are of cement which the houseboy polishes by hand, one only has a
                        few rugs or grass mats on the floor. “But what about Granny’s house in South Africa?’”
                        she asked, so I explained about your Josephine who threatened to leave if you
                        bought a Hoover because that would mean that you did not think she kept the house
                        clean. The sad fact remains that, at fourteen, Ann knows far more about housework than I
                        do, or rather did! I’m learning fast.

                        The older children all go to school at different times in the morning. Ann leaves first
                        by bus to go to her Grammar School at Sutton-in-Ashfield. Shortly afterwards George
                        catches a bus for Nottingham where he attends the High School. So they have
                        breakfast in relays, usually scrambled egg made from a revolting dried egg mixture.
                        Then there are beds to make and washing and ironing to do, so I have little time for
                        sightseeing, though on a few afternoons George has looked after the younger children
                        and I have gone on bus tours in Derbyshire. Life is difficult here with all the restrictions on
                        foodstuffs. We all have ration books so get our fair share but meat, fats and eggs are
                        scarce and expensive. The weather is very wet. At first I used to hang out the washing
                        and then rush to bring it in when a shower came. Now I just let it hang.

                        We have left our imprint upon my Mother-in-law’s house for ever. Henry upset a
                        bottle of Milk of Magnesia in the middle of the pale fawn bedroom carpet. John, trying to
                        be helpful and doing some dusting, broke one of the delicate Dresden china candlesticks
                        which adorn our bedroom mantelpiece.Jim and Henry have wrecked the once
                        professionally landscaped garden and all the boys together bored a large hole through
                        Mother’s prized cherry tree. So now Mother has given up and gone off to Bournemouth
                        for a much needed holiday. Once a week I have the capable help of a cleaning woman,
                        called for some reason, ‘Mrs Two’, but I have now got all the cooking to do for eight. Mrs
                        Two is a godsend. She wears, of all things, a print mob cap with a hole in it. Says it
                        belonged to her Grandmother. Her price is far beyond Rubies to me, not so much
                        because she does, in a couple of hours, what it takes me all day to do, but because she
                        sells me boxes of fifty cigarettes. Some non-smoking relative, who works in Players
                        tobacco factory, passes on his ration to her. Until Mrs Two came to my rescue I had
                        been starved of cigarettes. Each time I asked for them at the shop the grocer would say,
                        “Are you registered with us?” Only very rarely would some kindly soul sell me a little
                        packet of five Woodbines.

                        England is very beautiful but the sooner we go home to Tanganyika, the better.
                        On this, George and I and the children agree.

                        Eleanor.

                        Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        Our return passages have now been booked on the Winchester Castle and we
                        sail from Southampton on October the sixth. I look forward to returning to Tanganyika but
                        hope to visit England again in a few years time when our children are older and when
                        rationing is a thing of the past.

                        I have grown fond of my Sisters-in-law and admire my Mother-in-law very much.
                        She has a great sense of humour and has entertained me with stories of her very
                        eventful life, and told me lots of little stories of the children which did not figure in her
                        letters. One which amused me was about young George. During one of the air raids
                        early in the war when the sirens were screaming and bombers roaring overhead Mother
                        made the two children get into the cloak cupboard under the stairs. Young George
                        seemed quite unconcerned about the planes and the bombs but soon an anxious voice
                        asked in the dark, “Gran, what will I do if a spider falls on me?” I am afraid that Mother is
                        going to miss Ann and George very much.

                        I had a holiday last weekend when Lottie and I went up to London on a spree. It
                        was a most enjoyable weekend, though very rushed. We placed ourselves in the
                        hands of Thos. Cook and Sons and saw most of the sights of London and were run off
                        our feet in the process. As you all know London I shall not describe what I saw but just
                        to say that, best of all, I enjoyed walking along the Thames embankment in the evening
                        and the changing of the Guard at Whitehall. On Sunday morning Lottie and I went to
                        Kew Gardens and in the afternoon walked in Kensington Gardens.

                        We went to only one show, ‘The Skin of our Teeth’ starring Vivienne Leigh.
                        Neither of us enjoyed the performance at all and regretted having spent so much on
                        circle seats. The show was far too highbrow for my taste, a sort of satire on the survival
                        of the human race. Miss Leigh was unrecognisable in a blond wig and her voice strident.
                        However the night was not a dead loss as far as entertainment was concerned as we
                        were later caught up in a tragicomedy at our hotel.

                        We had booked communicating rooms at the enormous Imperial Hotel in Russell
                        Square. These rooms were comfortably furnished but very high up, and we had a rather
                        terrifying and dreary view from the windows of the enclosed courtyard far below. We
                        had some snacks and a chat in Lottie’s room and then I moved to mine and went to bed.
                        I had noted earlier that there was a special lock on the outer door of my room so that
                        when the door was closed from the inside it automatically locked itself.
                        I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard a hammering which seemed to
                        come from my wardrobe. I got up, rather fearfully, and opened the wardrobe door and
                        noted for the first time that the wardrobe was set in an opening in the wall and that the
                        back of the wardrobe also served as the back of the wardrobe in the room next door. I
                        quickly shut it again and went to confer with Lottie.

                        Suddenly a male voice was raised next door in supplication, “Mary Mother of
                        God, Help me! They’ve locked me in!” and the hammering resumed again, sometimes
                        on the door, and then again on the back of the wardrobe of the room next door. Lottie
                        had by this time joined me and together we listened to the prayers and to the
                        hammering. Then the voice began to threaten, “If you don’t let me out I’ll jump out of the
                        window.” Great consternation on our side of the wall. I went out into the passage and
                        called through the door, “You’re not locked in. Come to your door and I’ll tell you how to
                        open it.” Silence for a moment and then again the prayers followed by a threat. All the
                        other doors in the corridor remained shut.

                        Luckily just then a young man and a woman came walking down the corridor and I
                        explained the situation. The young man hurried off for the night porter who went into the
                        next door room. In a matter of minutes there was peace next door. When the night
                        porter came out into the corridor again I asked for an explanation. He said quite casually,
                        “It’s all right Madam. He’s an Irish Gentleman in Show Business. He gets like this on a
                        Saturday night when he has had a drop too much. He won’t give any more trouble
                        now.” And he didn’t. Next morning at breakfast Lottie and I tried to spot the gentleman in
                        the Show Business, but saw no one who looked like the owner of that charming Irish
                        voice.

                        George had to go to London on business last Monday and took the older
                        children with him for a few hours of sight seeing. They returned quite unimpressed.
                        Everything was too old and dirty and there were far too many people about, but they
                        had enjoyed riding on the escalators at the tube stations, and all agreed that the highlight
                        of the trip was, “Dad took us to lunch at the Chicken Inn.”

                        Now that it is almost time to leave England I am finding the housework less of a
                        drudgery, Also, as it is school holiday time, Jim and Henry are able to go on walks with
                        the older children and so use up some of their surplus energy. Cath and I took the
                        children (except young George who went rabbit shooting with his uncle Reg, and
                        Henry, who stayed at home with his dad) to the Wakes at Selston, the neighbouring
                        village. There were the roundabouts and similar contraptions but the side shows had
                        more appeal for the children. Ann and Kate found a stall where assorted prizes were
                        spread out on a sloping table. Anyone who could land a penny squarely on one of
                        these objects was given a similar one as a prize.

                        I was touched to see that both girls ignored all the targets except a box of fifty
                        cigarettes which they were determined to win for me. After numerous attempts, Kate
                        landed her penny successfully and you would have loved to have seen her radiant little
                        face.

                        Eleanor.

                        Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        Back in Tanganyika at last, but not together. We have to stay in Dar es Salaam
                        until tomorrow when the train leaves for Dodoma. We arrived yesterday morning to find
                        all the hotels filled with people waiting to board ships for England. Fortunately some
                        friends came to the rescue and Ann, Kate and John have gone to stay with them. Jim,
                        Henry and I are sleeping in a screened corner of the lounge of the New Africa Hotel, and
                        George and young George have beds in the Palm Court of the same hotel.

                        We travelled out from England in the Winchester Castle under troopship
                        conditions. We joined her at Southampton after a rather slow train journey from
                        Nottingham. We arrived after dark and from the station we could see a large ship in the
                        docks with a floodlit red funnel. “Our ship,” yelled the children in delight, but it was not the
                        Winchester Castle but the Queen Elizabeth, newly reconditioned.

                        We had hoped to board our ship that evening but George made enquiries and
                        found that we would not be allowed on board until noon next day. Without much hope,
                        we went off to try to get accommodation for eight at a small hotel recommended by the
                        taxi driver. Luckily for us there was a very motherly woman at the reception desk. She
                        looked in amusement at the six children and said to me, “Goodness are all these yours,
                        ducks? Then she called over her shoulder, “Wilf, come and see this lady with lots of
                        children. We must try to help.” They settled the problem most satisfactorily by turning
                        two rooms into a dormitory.

                        In the morning we had time to inspect bomb damage in the dock area of
                        Southampton. Most of the rubble had been cleared away but there are still numbers of
                        damaged buildings awaiting demolition. A depressing sight. We saw the Queen Mary
                        at anchor, still in her drab war time paint, but magnificent nevertheless.
                        The Winchester Castle was crammed with passengers and many travelled in
                        acute discomfort. We were luckier than most because the two girls, the three small boys
                        and I had a stateroom to ourselves and though it was stripped of peacetime comforts,
                        we had a private bathroom and toilet. The two Georges had bunks in a huge men-only
                        dormitory somewhere in the bowls of the ship where they had to share communal troop
                        ship facilities. The food was plentiful but unexciting and one had to queue for afternoon
                        tea. During the day the decks were crowded and there was squatting room only. The
                        many children on board got bored.

                        Port Said provided a break and we were all entertained by the ‘Gully Gully’ man
                        and his conjuring tricks, and though we had no money to spend at Simon Artz, we did at
                        least have a chance to stretch our legs. Next day scores of passengers took ill with
                        sever stomach upsets, whether from food poisoning, or as was rumoured, from bad
                        water taken on at the Egyptian port, I don’t know. Only the two Georges in our family
                        were affected and their attacks were comparatively mild.

                        As we neared the Kenya port of Mombassa, the passengers for Dar es Salaam
                        were told that they would have to disembark at Mombassa and continue their journey in
                        a small coaster, the Al Said. The Winchester Castle is too big for the narrow channel
                        which leads to Dar es Salaam harbour.

                        From the wharf the Al Said looked beautiful. She was once the private yacht of
                        the Sultan of Zanzibar and has lovely lines. Our admiration lasted only until we were
                        shown our cabins. With one voice our children exclaimed, “Gosh they stink!” They did, of
                        a mixture of rancid oil and sweat and stale urine. The beds were not yet made and the
                        thin mattresses had ominous stains on them. John, ever fastidious, lifted his mattress and two enormous cockroaches scuttled for cover.

                        We had a good homely lunch served by two smiling African stewards and
                        afterwards we sat on deck and that was fine too, though behind ones enjoyment there
                        was the thought of those stuffy and dirty cabins. That first night nearly everyone,
                        including George and our older children, slept on deck. Women occupied deck chairs
                        and men and children slept on the bare decks. Horrifying though the idea was, I decided
                        that, as Jim had a bad cough, he, Henry and I would sleep in our cabin.

                        When I announced my intention of sleeping in the cabin one of the passengers
                        gave me some insecticide spray which I used lavishly, but without avail. The children
                        slept but I sat up all night with the light on, determined to keep at least their pillows clear
                        of the cockroaches which scurried about boldly regardless of the light. All the next day
                        and night we avoided the cabins. The Al Said stopped for some hours at Zanzibar to
                        offload her deck cargo of live cattle and packing cases from the hold. George and the
                        elder children went ashore for a walk but I felt too lazy and there was plenty to watch
                        from deck.

                        That night I too occupied a deck chair and slept quite comfortably, and next
                        morning we entered the palm fringed harbour of Dar es Salaam and were home.

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbeya 1st November 1946

                        Dearest Family.

                        Home at last! We are all most happily installed in a real family house about three
                        miles out of Mbeya and near the school. This house belongs to an elderly German and
                        has been taken over by the Custodian of Enemy Property and leased to the
                        Government.

                        The owner, whose name is Shenkel, was not interned but is allowed to occupy a
                        smaller house on the Estate. I found him in the garden this morning lecturing the children
                        on what they may do and may not do. I tried to make it quite clear to him that he was not
                        our landlord, though he clearly thinks otherwise. After he had gone I had to take two
                        aspirin and lie down to recover my composure! I had been warned that he has this effect
                        on people.

                        Mr Shenkel is a short and ugly man, his clothes are stained with food and he
                        wears steel rimmed glasses tied round his head with a piece of dirty elastic because
                        one earpiece is missing. He speaks with a thick German accent but his English is fluent
                        and I believe he is a cultured and clever man. But he is maddening. The children were
                        more amused than impressed by his exhortations and have happily Christened our
                        home, ‘Old Shenks’.

                        The house has very large grounds as the place is really a derelict farm. It suits us
                        down to the ground. We had no sooner unpacked than George went off on safari after
                        those maneating lions in the Njombe District. he accounted for one, and a further two
                        jointly with a Game Scout, before we left for England. But none was shot during the five
                        months we were away as George’s relief is quite inexperienced in such work. George
                        thinks that there are still about a dozen maneaters at large. His theory is that a female
                        maneater moved into the area in 1938 when maneating first started, and brought up her
                        cubs to be maneaters, and those cubs in turn did the same. The three maneating lions
                        that have been shot were all in very good condition and not old and maimed as
                        maneaters usually are.

                        George anticipates that it will be months before all these lions are accounted for
                        because they are constantly on the move and cover a very large area. The lions have to
                        be hunted on foot because they range over broken country covered by bush and fairly
                        dense thicket.

                        I did a bit of shooting myself yesterday and impressed our African servants and
                        the children and myself. What a fluke! Our houseboy came to say that there was a snake
                        in the garden, the biggest he had ever seen. He said it was too big to kill with a stick and
                        would I shoot it. I had no gun but a heavy .450 Webley revolver and I took this and
                        hurried out with the children at my heels.

                        The snake turned out to be an unusually large puff adder which had just shed its
                        skin. It looked beautiful in a repulsive way. So flanked by servants and children I took
                        aim and shot, not hitting the head as I had planned, but breaking the snake’s back with
                        the heavy bullet. The two native boys then rushed up with sticks and flattened the head.
                        “Ma you’re a crack shot,” cried the kids in delighted surprise. I hope to rest on my laurels
                        for a long, long while.

                        Although there are only a few weeks of school term left the four older children will
                        start school on Monday. Not only am I pleased with our new home here but also with
                        the staff I have engaged. Our new houseboy, Reuben, (but renamed Robin by our
                        children) is not only cheerful and willing but intelligent too, and Jumbe, the wood and
                        garden boy, is a born clown and a source of great entertainment to the children.

                        I feel sure that we are all going to be very happy here at ‘Old Shenks!.

                        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.

                          #6263
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            From Tanganyika with Love

                            continued  ~ part 4

                            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                            Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Life is very quiet just now. Our neighbours have left and I miss them all especially
                            Joni who was always a great bearer of news. We also grew fond of his Swedish
                            brother-in-law Max, whose loud ‘Hodi’ always brought a glad ‘Karibu’ from us. His wife,
                            Marion, I saw less often. She is not strong and seldom went visiting but has always
                            been friendly and kind and ready to share her books with me.

                            Ann’s birthday is looming ahead and I am getting dreadfully anxious that her
                            parcels do not arrive in time. I am delighted that you were able to get a good head for
                            her doll, dad, but horrified to hear that it was so expensive. You would love your
                            ‘Charming Ann’. She is a most responsible little soul and seems to have outgrown her
                            mischievous ways. A pity in a way, I don’t want her to grow too serious. You should see
                            how thoroughly Ann baths and towels herself. She is anxious to do Georgie and Kate
                            as well.

                            I did not mean to teach Ann to write until after her fifth birthday but she has taught
                            herself by copying the large print in newspaper headlines. She would draw a letter and
                            ask me the name and now I find that at four Ann knows the whole alphabet. The front
                            cement steps is her favourite writing spot. She uses bits of white clay we use here for
                            whitewashing.

                            Coffee prices are still very low and a lot of planters here and at Mbosi are in a
                            mess as they can no longer raise mortgages on their farms or get advances from the
                            Bank against their crops. We hear many are leaving their farms to try their luck on the
                            Diggings.

                            George is getting fed up too. The snails are back on the shamba and doing
                            frightful damage. Talk of the plagues of Egypt! Once more they are being collected in
                            piles and bashed into pulp. The stench on the shamba is frightful! The greybeards in the
                            village tell George that the local Chief has put a curse on the farm because he is angry
                            that the Government granted George a small extension to the farm two years ago! As
                            the Chief was consulted at the time and was agreeable this talk of a curse is nonsense
                            but goes to show how the uneducated African put all disasters down to witchcraft.

                            With much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Ann’s birthday yesterday was not quite the gay occasion we had hoped. The
                            seventh was mail day so we sent a runner for the mail, hoping against hope that your
                            parcel containing the dolls head had arrived. The runner left for Mbeya at dawn but, as it
                            was a very wet day, he did not return with the mail bag until after dark by which time Ann
                            was fast asleep. My heart sank when I saw the parcel which contained the dolls new
                            head. It was squashed quite flat. I shed a few tears over that shattered head, broken
                            quite beyond repair, and George felt as bad about it as I did. The other parcel arrived in
                            good shape and Ann loves her little sewing set, especially the thimble, and the nursery
                            rhymes are a great success.

                            Ann woke early yesterday and began to open her parcels. She said “But
                            Mummy, didn’t Barbara’s new head come?” So I had to show her the fragments.
                            Instead of shedding the flood of tears I expected, Ann just lifted the glass eyes in her
                            hand and said in a tight little voice “Oh poor Barbara.” George saved the situation. as
                            usual, by saying in a normal voice,”Come on Ann, get up and lets play your new
                            records.” So we had music and sweets before breakfast. Later I removed Barbara’s
                            faded old blond wig and gummed on the glossy new brown one and Ann seems quite
                            satisfied.

                            Last night, after the children were tucked up in bed, we discussed our financial
                            situation. The coffee trees that have survived the plagues of borer beetle, mealie bugs
                            and snails look strong and fine, but George says it will be years before we make a living
                            out of the farm. He says he will simply have to make some money and he is leaving for
                            the Lupa on Saturday to have a look around on the Diggings. If he does decide to peg
                            a claim and work it he will put up a wattle and daub hut and the children and I will join him
                            there. But until such time as he strikes gold I shall have to remain here on the farm and
                            ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’.

                            Now don’t go and waste pity on me. Women all over the country are having to
                            stay at home whilst their husbands search for a livelihood. I am better off than most
                            because I have a comfortable little home and loyal servants and we still have enough
                            capitol to keep the wolf from the door. Anyway this is the rainy season and hardly the
                            best time to drag three small children around the sodden countryside on prospecting
                            safaris.

                            So I’ll stay here at home and hold thumbs that George makes a lucky strike.

                            Heaps of love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Well, George has gone but here we are quite safe and cosy. Kate is asleep and
                            Ann and Georgie are sprawled on the couch taking it in turns to enumerate the things
                            God has made. Every now and again Ann bothers me with an awkward question. “Did
                            God make spiders? Well what for? Did he make weeds? Isn’t He silly, mummy? She is
                            becoming a very practical person. She sews surprisingly well for a four year old and has
                            twice made cakes in the past week, very sweet and liberally coloured with cochineal and
                            much appreciated by Georgie.

                            I have been without George for a fortnight and have adapted myself to my new
                            life. The children are great company during the day and I have arranged my evenings so
                            that they do not seem long. I am determined that when George comes home he will find
                            a transformed wife. I read an article entitled ‘Are you the girl he married?’ in a magazine
                            last week and took a good look in the mirror and decided that I certainly was not! Hair dry,
                            skin dry, and I fear, a faint shadow on the upper lip. So now I have blown the whole of
                            your Christmas Money Order on an order to a chemist in Dar es Salaam for hair tonic,
                            face cream and hair remover and am anxiously awaiting the parcel.

                            In the meantime, after tucking the children into bed at night, I skip on the verandah
                            and do the series of exercises recommended in the magazine article. After this exertion I
                            have a leisurely bath followed by a light supper and then read or write letters to pass
                            the time until Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I have arranged for Janey to sleep in the house.
                            She comes in at 9.30 pm and makes up her bed on the living room floor by the fire.

                            The days are by no means uneventful. The day before yesterday the biggest
                            troop of monkeys I have ever seen came fooling around in the trees and on the grass
                            only a few yards from the house. These monkeys were the common grey monkeys
                            with black faces. They came in all sizes and were most entertaining to watch. Ann and
                            Georgie had a great time copying their antics and pulling faces at the monkeys through
                            the bedroom windows which I hastily closed.

                            Thomas, our headman, came running up and told me that this troop of monkeys
                            had just raided his maize shamba and asked me to shoot some of them. I would not of
                            course do this. I still cannot bear to kill any animal, but I fired a couple of shots in the air
                            and the monkeys just melted away. It was fantastic, one moment they were there and
                            the next they were not. Ann and Georgie thought I had been very unkind to frighten the
                            poor monkeys but honestly, when I saw what they had done to my flower garden, I
                            almost wished I had hardened my heart and shot one or two.

                            The children are all well but Ann gave me a nasty fright last week. I left Ann and
                            Georgie at breakfast whilst I fed Fanny, our bull terrier on the back verandah. Suddenly I
                            heard a crash and rushed inside to find Ann’s chair lying on its back and Ann beside it on
                            the floor perfectly still and with a paper white face. I shouted for Janey to bring water and
                            laid Ann flat on the couch and bathed her head and hands. Soon she sat up with a wan
                            smile and said “I nearly knocked my head off that time, didn’t I.” She must have been
                            standing on the chair and leaning against the back. Our brick floors are so terribly hard that
                            she might have been seriously hurt.

                            However she was none the worse for the fall, but Heavens, what an anxiety kids
                            are.

                            Lots of love,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            It was marvellous of you to send another money order to replace the one I spent
                            on cosmetics. With this one I intend to order boots for both children as a protection from
                            snake bite, though from my experience this past week the threat seems to be to the
                            head rather than the feet. I was sitting on the couch giving Kate her morning milk from a
                            cup when a long thin snake fell through the reed ceiling and landed with a thud just behind
                            the couch. I shouted “Nyoka, Nyoka!” (Snake,Snake!) and the houseboy rushed in with
                            a stick and killed the snake. I then held the cup to Kate’s mouth again but I suppose in
                            my agitation I tipped it too much because the baby choked badly. She gasped for
                            breath. I quickly gave her a sharp smack on the back and a stream of milk gushed
                            through her mouth and nostrils and over me. Janey took Kate from me and carried her
                            out into the fresh air on the verandah and as I anxiously followed her through the door,
                            another long snake fell from the top of the wall just missing me by an inch or so. Luckily
                            the houseboy still had the stick handy and dispatched this snake also.

                            The snakes were a pair of ‘boomslangs’, not nice at all, and all day long I have
                            had shamba boys coming along to touch hands and say “Poli Memsahib” – “Sorry
                            madam”, meaning of course ‘Sorry you had a fright.’

                            Apart from that one hectic morning this has been a quiet week. Before George
                            left for the Lupa he paid off most of the farm hands as we can now only afford a few
                            labourers for the essential work such as keeping the weeds down in the coffee shamba.
                            There is now no one to keep the grass on the farm roads cut so we cannot use the pram
                            when we go on our afternoon walks. Instead Janey carries Kate in a sling on her back.
                            Janey is a very clean slim woman, and her clothes are always spotless, so Kate keeps
                            cool and comfortable. Ann and Georgie always wear thick overalls on our walks as a
                            protection against thorns and possible snakes. We usually make our way to the
                            Mchewe River where Ann and Georgie paddle in the clear cold water and collect shiny
                            stones.

                            The cosmetics parcel duly arrived by post from Dar es Salaam so now I fill the
                            evenings between supper and bed time attending to my face! The much advertised
                            cream is pink and thick and feels revolting. I smooth it on before bedtime and keep it on
                            all night. Just imagine if George could see me! The advertisements promise me a skin
                            like a rose in six weeks. What a surprise there is in store for George!

                            You will have been wondering what has happened to George. Well on the Lupa
                            he heard rumours of a new gold strike somewhere in the Sumbawanga District. A couple
                            of hundred miles from here I think, though I am not sure where it is and have no one to
                            ask. You look it up on the map and tell me. John Molteno is also interested in this and
                            anxious to have it confirmed so he and George have come to an agreement. John
                            Molteno provided the porters for the journey together with prospecting tools and
                            supplies but as he cannot leave his claims, or his gold buying business, George is to go
                            on foot to the area of the rumoured gold strike and, if the strike looks promising will peg
                            claims in both their names.

                            The rainy season is now at its height and the whole countryside is under water. All
                            roads leading to the area are closed to traffic and, as there are few Europeans who
                            would attempt the journey on foot, George proposes to get a head start on them by
                            making this uncomfortable safari. I have just had my first letter from George since he left
                            on this prospecting trip. It took ages to reach me because it was sent by runner to
                            Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia, then on by lorry to Mpika where it was put on a plane
                            for Mbeya. George writes the most charming letters which console me a little upon our
                            all too frequent separations.

                            His letter was cheerful and optimistic, though reading between the lines I should
                            say he had a grim time. He has reached Sumbawanga after ‘a hell of a trip’, to find that
                            the rumoured strike was at Mpanda and he had a few more days of foot safari ahead.
                            He had found the trip from the Lupa even wetter than he had expected. The party had
                            three days of wading through swamps sometimes waist deep in water. Of his sixteen
                            porters, four deserted an the second day out and five others have had malaria and so
                            been unable to carry their loads. He himself is ‘thin but very fit’, and he sounds full of
                            beans and writes gaily of the marvellous holiday we will have if he has any decent luck! I
                            simply must get that mink and diamonds complexion.

                            The frustrating thing is that I cannot write back as I have no idea where George is
                            now.

                            With heaps of love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

                            Dearest Family,
                            How kind you are. Another parcel from home. Although we are very short
                            of labourers I sent a special runner to fetch it as Ann simply couldn’t bear the suspense
                            of waiting to see Brenda, “My new little girl with plaits.” Thank goodness Brenda is
                            unbreakable. I could not have born another tragedy. She really is an exquisite little doll
                            and has hardly been out of Ann’s arms since arrival. She showed Brenda proudly to all
                            the staff. The kitchen boy’s face was a study. His eyes fairly came out on sticks when he
                            saw the dolls eyes not only opening and shutting, but moving from side to side in that
                            incredibly lifelike way. Georgie loves his little model cars which he carries around all day
                            and puts under his pillow at night.

                            As for me, I am enchanted by my very smart new frock. Janey was so lavish with
                            her compliments when I tried the frock on, that in a burst of generosity I gave her that
                            rather tartish satin and lace trousseau nighty, and she was positively enthralled. She
                            wore it that very night when she appeared as usual to doss down by the fire.
                            By the way it was Janey’s turn to have a fright this week. She was in the
                            bathroom washing the children’s clothes in an outsize hand basin when it happened. As
                            she took Georgie’s overalls from the laundry basket a large centipede ran up her bare
                            arm. Luckily she managed to knock the centipede off into the hot water in the hand basin.
                            It was a brute, about six inches long of viciousness with a nasty sting. The locals say that
                            the bite is much worse than a scorpions so Janey had a lucky escape.

                            Kate cut her first two teeth yesterday and will, I hope, sleep better now. I don’t
                            feel that pink skin food is getting a fair trial with all those broken nights. There is certainly
                            no sign yet of ‘The skin he loves to touch”. Kate, I may say, is rosy and blooming. She
                            can pull herself upright providing she has something solid to hold on to. She is so plump
                            I have horrible visions of future bow legs so I push her down, but she always bobs up
                            again.

                            Both Ann and Georgie are mad on books. Their favourites are ‘Barbar and
                            Celeste” and, of all things, ‘Struvel Peter’ . They listen with absolute relish to the sad tale
                            of Harriet who played with matches.

                            I have kept a laugh for the end. I am hoping that it will not be long before George
                            comes home and thought it was time to take the next step towards glamour, so last
                            Wednesday after lunch I settled the children on their beds and prepared to remove the ,
                            to me, obvious down on my upper lip. (George always loyally says that he can’t see
                            any.) Well I got out the tube of stuff and carefully followed the directions. I smoothed a
                            coating on my upper lip. All this was watched with great interest by the children, including
                            the baby, who stood up in her cot for a better view. Having no watch, I had propped
                            the bedroom door open so that I could time the operation by the cuckoo clock in the
                            living room. All the children’s surprised comments fell on deaf ears. I would neither talk
                            nor smile for fear of cracking the hair remover which had set hard. The set time was up
                            and I was just about to rinse the remover off when Kate slipped, knocking her head on
                            the corner of the cot. I rushed to the rescue and precious seconds ticked off whilst I
                            pacified her.

                            So, my dears, when I rinsed my lip, not only the plaster and the hair came away
                            but the skin as well and now I really did have a Ronald Coleman moustache – a crimson
                            one. I bathed it, I creamed it, powdered it but all to no avail. Within half an hour my lip
                            had swollen until I looked like one of those Duckbilled West African women. Ann’s
                            comments, “Oh Mummy, you do look funny. Georgie, doesn’t Mummy look funny?”
                            didn’t help to soothe me and the last straw was that just then there was the sound of a car drawing up outside – the first car I had heard for months. Anyway, thank heaven, it
                            was not George, but the representative of a firm which sells agricultural machinery and
                            farm implements, looking for orders. He had come from Dar es Salaam and had not
                            heard that all the planters from this district had left their farms. Hospitality demanded that I
                            should appear and offer tea. I did not mind this man because he was a complete
                            stranger and fat, middle aged and comfortable. So I gave him tea, though I didn’t
                            attempt to drink any myself, and told him the whole sad tale.

                            Fortunately much of the swelling had gone next day and only a brown dryness
                            remained. I find myself actually hoping that George is delayed a bit longer. Of one thing
                            I am sure. If ever I grow a moustache again, it stays!

                            Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. George is home again. The safari, I am sad
                            to say, was a complete washout in more ways than one. Anyway it was lovely to be
                            together again and we don’t yet talk about the future. The home coming was not at all as
                            I had planned it. I expected George to return in our old A.C. car which gives ample
                            warning of its arrival. I had meant to wear my new frock and make myself as glamourous
                            as possible, with our beautiful babe on one arm and our other jewels by my side.
                            This however is what actually happened. Last Saturday morning at about 2 am , I
                            thought I heard someone whispering my name. I sat up in bed, still half asleep, and
                            there was George at the window. He was thin and unshaven and the tiredest looking
                            man I have ever seen. The car had bogged down twenty miles back along the old Lupa
                            Track, but as George had had no food at all that day, he decided to walk home in the
                            bright moonlight.

                            This is where I should have served up a tasty hot meal but alas, there was only
                            the heal of a loaf and no milk because, before going to bed I had given the remaining
                            milk to the dog. However George seemed too hungry to care what he ate. He made a
                            meal off a tin of bully, a box of crustless cheese and the bread washed down with cup
                            after cup of black tea. Though George was tired we talked for hours and it was dawn
                            before we settled down to sleep.

                            During those hours of talk George described his nightmarish journey. He started
                            up the flooded Rukwa Valley and there were days of wading through swamp and mud
                            and several swollen rivers to cross. George is a strong swimmer and the porters who
                            were recruited in that area, could also swim. There remained the problem of the stores
                            and of Kianda the houseboy who cannot swim. For these they made rough pole rafts
                            which they pulled across the rivers with ropes. Kianda told me later that he hopes never
                            to make such a journey again. He swears that the raft was submerged most of the time
                            and that he was dragged through the rivers underwater! You should see the state of
                            George’s clothes which were packed in a supposedly water tight uniform trunk. The
                            whole lot are mud stained and mouldy.

                            To make matters more trying for George he was obliged to live mostly on
                            porters rations, rice and groundnut oil which he detests. As all the district roads were
                            closed the little Indian Sores in the remote villages he passed had been unable to
                            replenish their stocks of European groceries. George would have been thinner had it not
                            been for two Roman Catholic missions enroute where he had good meals and dry
                            nights. The Fathers are always wonderfully hospitable to wayfarers irrespective of
                            whether or not they are Roman Catholics. George of course is not a Catholic. One finds
                            the Roman Catholic missions right out in the ‘Blue’ and often on spots unhealthy to
                            Europeans. Most of the Fathers are German or Dutch but they all speak a little English
                            and in any case one can always fall back on Ki-Swahili.

                            George reached his destination all right but it soon became apparent that reports
                            of the richness of the strike had been greatly exaggerated. George had decided that
                            prospects were brighter on the Lupa than on the new strike so he returned to the Lupa
                            by the way he had come and, having returned the borrowed equipment decided to
                            make his way home by the shortest route, the old and now rarely used road which
                            passes by the bottom of our farm.

                            The old A.C. had been left for safe keeping at the Roman Catholic Galala
                            Mission 40 miles away, on George’s outward journey, and in this old car George, and
                            the houseboy Kianda , started for home. The road was indescribably awful. There were long stretches that were simply one big puddle, in others all the soil had been washed
                            away leaving the road like a rocky river bed. There were also patches where the tall
                            grass had sprung up head high in the middle of the road,
                            The going was slow because often the car bogged down because George had
                            no wheel chains and he and Kianda had the wearisome business of digging her out. It
                            was just growing dark when the old A.C. settled down determinedly in the mud for the
                            last time. They could not budge her and they were still twenty miles from home. George
                            decided to walk home in the moonlight to fetch help leaving Kianda in charge of the car
                            and its contents and with George’s shot gun to use if necessary in self defence. Kianda
                            was reluctant to stay but also not prepared to go for help whilst George remained with
                            the car as lions are plentiful in that area. So George set out unarmed in the moonlight.
                            Once he stopped to avoid a pride of lion coming down the road but he circled safely
                            around them and came home without any further alarms.

                            Kianda said he had a dreadful night in the car, “With lions roaming around the car
                            like cattle.” Anyway the lions did not take any notice of the car or of Kianda, and the next
                            day George walked back with all our farm boys and dug and pushed the car out of the
                            mud. He brought car and Kianda back without further trouble but the labourers on their
                            way home were treed by the lions.

                            The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                            Lots and lots of love,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Young George’s third birthday passed off very well yesterday. It started early in
                            the morning when he brought his pillow slip of presents to our bed. Kate was already
                            there and Ann soon joined us. Young George liked all the presents you sent, especially
                            the trumpet. It has hardly left his lips since and he is getting quite smart about the finger
                            action.

                            We had quite a party. Ann and I decorated the table with Christmas tree tinsel
                            and hung a bunch of balloons above it. Ann also decorated young George’s chair with
                            roses and phlox from the garden. I had made and iced a fruit cake but Ann begged to
                            make a plain pink cake. She made it entirely by herself though I stood by to see that
                            she measured the ingredients correctly. When the cake was baked I mixed some soft
                            icing in a jug and she poured it carefully over the cake smoothing the gaps with her
                            fingers!

                            During the party we had the gramophone playing and we pulled crackers and
                            wore paper hats and altogether had a good time. I forgot for a while that George is
                            leaving again for the Lupa tomorrow for an indefinite time. He was marvellous at making
                            young George’s party a gay one. You will have noticed the change from Georgie to
                            young George. Our son declares that he now wants to be called George, “Like Dad”.
                            He an Ann are a devoted couple and I am glad that there is only a fourteen
                            months difference in their ages. They play together extremely well and are very
                            independent which is just as well for little Kate now demands a lot of my attention. My
                            garden is a real cottage garden and looks very gay and colourful. There are hollyhocks
                            and Snapdragons, marigolds and phlox and of course the roses and carnations which, as
                            you know, are my favourites. The coffee shamba does not look so good because the
                            small labour force, which is all we can afford, cannot cope with all the weeds. You have
                            no idea how things grow during the wet season in the tropics.

                            Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when George is home, so I’m afraid this
                            letter is rather dull. I wanted you to know though, that largely due to all your gifts of toys
                            and sweets, Georgie’s 3rd birthday party went with a bang.

                            Your very affectionate,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            I am sorry to hear that Mummy worries about me so much. “Poor Eleanor”,
                            indeed! I have a quite exceptional husband, three lovely children, a dear little home and
                            we are all well.It is true that I am in rather a rut but what else can we do? George comes
                            home whenever he can and what excitement there is when he does come. He cannot
                            give me any warning because he has to take advantage of chance lifts from the Diggings
                            to Mbeya, but now that he is prospecting nearer home he usually comes walking over
                            the hills. About 50 miles of rough going. Really and truly I am all right. Although our diet is
                            monotonous we have plenty to eat. Eggs and milk are cheap and fruit plentiful and I
                            have a good cook so can devote all my time to the children. I think it is because they are
                            my constant companions that Ann and Georgie are so grown up for their years.
                            I have no ayah at present because Janey has been suffering form rheumatism
                            and has gone home for one of her periodic rests. I manage very well without her except
                            in the matter of the afternoon walks. The outward journey is all right. George had all the
                            grass cut on his last visit so I am able to push the pram whilst Ann, George and Fanny
                            the dog run ahead. It is the uphill return trip that is so trying. Our walk back is always the
                            same, down the hill to the river where the children love to play and then along the car
                            road to the vegetable garden. I never did venture further since the day I saw a leopard
                            jump on a calf. I did not tell you at the time as I thought you might worry. The cattle were
                            grazing on a small knoll just off our land but near enough for me to have a clear view.
                            Suddenly the cattle scattered in all directions and we heard the shouts of the herd boys
                            and saw – or rather had the fleeting impression- of a large animal jumping on a calf. I
                            heard the herd boy shout “Chui, Chui!” (leopard) and believe me, we turned in our
                            tracks and made for home. To hasten things I picked up two sticks and told the children
                            that they were horses and they should ride them home which they did with
                            commendable speed.

                            Ann no longer rides Joseph. He became increasingly bad tempered and a
                            nuisance besides. He took to rolling all over my flower beds though I had never seen
                            him roll anywhere else. Then one day he kicked Ann in the chest, not very hard but
                            enough to send her flying. Now George has given him to the native who sells milk to us
                            and he seems quite happy grazing with the cattle.

                            With love to you all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Since I last wrote George has been home and we had a lovely time as usual.
                            Whilst he was here the District Commissioner and his wife called. Mr Pollock told
                            George that there is to be a big bush clearing scheme in some part of the Mbeya
                            District to drive out Tsetse Fly. The game in the area will have to be exterminated and
                            there will probably be a job for George shooting out the buffalo. The pay would be
                            good but George says it is a beastly job. Although he is a professional hunter, he hates
                            slaughter.

                            Mrs P’s real reason for visiting the farm was to invite me to stay at her home in
                            Mbeya whilst she and her husband are away in Tukuyu. Her English nanny and her small
                            daughter will remain in Mbeya and she thought it might be a pleasant change for us and
                            a rest for me as of course Nanny will do the housekeeping. I accepted the invitation and I
                            think I will go on from there to Tukuyu and visit my friend Lillian Eustace for a fortnight.
                            She has given us an open invitation to visit her at any time.

                            I had a letter from Dr Eckhardt last week, telling me that at a meeting of all the
                            German Settlers from Mbeya, Tukuyu and Mbosi it had been decided to raise funds to
                            build a school at Mbeya. They want the British Settlers to co-operate in this and would
                            be glad of a subscription from us. I replied to say that I was unable to afford a
                            subscription at present but would probably be applying for a teaching job.
                            The Eckhardts are the leaders of the German community here and are ardent
                            Nazis. For this reason they are unpopular with the British community but he is the only
                            doctor here and I must say they have been very decent to us. Both of them admire
                            George. George has still not had any luck on the Lupa and until he makes a really
                            promising strike it is unlikely that the children and I will join him. There is no fresh milk there
                            and vegetables and fruit are imported from Mbeya and Iringa and are very expensive.
                            George says “You wouldn’t be happy on the diggings anyway with a lot of whores and
                            their bastards!”

                            Time ticks away very pleasantly here. Young George and Kate are blooming
                            and I keep well. Only Ann does not look well. She is growing too fast and is listless and
                            pale. If I do go to Mbeya next week I shall take her to the doctor to be overhauled.
                            We do not go for our afternoon walks now that George has returned to the Lupa.
                            That leopard has been around again and has killed Tubbage that cowardly Alsatian. We
                            gave him to the village headman some months ago. There is no danger to us from the
                            leopard but I am terrified it might get Fanny, who is an excellent little watchdog and
                            dearly loved by all of us. Yesterday I sent a note to the Boma asking for a trap gun and
                            today the farm boys are building a trap with logs.

                            I had a mishap this morning in the garden. I blundered into a nest of hornets and
                            got two stings in the left arm above the elbow. Very painful at the time and the place is
                            still red and swollen.

                            Much love to you all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            Well here we are at Mbeya, comfortably installed in the District Commissioner’s
                            house. It is one of two oldest houses in Mbeya and is a charming gabled place with tiled
                            roof. The garden is perfectly beautiful. I am enjoying the change very much. Nanny
                            Baxter is very entertaining. She has a vast fund of highly entertaining tales of the goings
                            on amongst the British Aristocracy, gleaned it seems over the nursery teacup in many a
                            Stately Home. Ann and Georgie are enjoying the company of other children.
                            People are very kind about inviting us out to tea and I gladly accept these
                            invitations but I have turned down invitations to dinner and one to a dance at the hotel. It
                            is no fun to go out at night without George. There are several grass widows at the pub
                            whose husbands are at the diggings. They have no inhibitions about parties.
                            I did have one night and day here with George, he got the chance of a lift and
                            knowing that we were staying here he thought the chance too good to miss. He was
                            also anxious to hear the Doctor’s verdict on Ann. I took Ann to hospital on my second
                            day here. Dr Eckhardt said there was nothing specifically wrong but that Ann is a highly
                            sensitive type with whom the tropics does not agree. He advised that Ann should
                            spend a year in a more temperate climate and that the sooner she goes the better. I felt
                            very discouraged to hear this and was most relieved when George turned up
                            unexpectedly that evening. He phoo-hood Dr Eckhardt’s recommendation and next
                            morning called in Dr Aitkin, the Government Doctor from Chunya and who happened to
                            be in Mbeya.

                            Unfortunately Dr Aitkin not only confirmed Dr Eckhardt’s opinion but said that he
                            thought Ann should stay out of the tropics until she had passed adolescence. I just don’t
                            know what to do about Ann. She is a darling child, very sensitive and gentle and a
                            lovely companion to me. Also she and young George are inseparable and I just cannot
                            picture one without the other. I know that you would be glad to have Ann but how could
                            we bear to part with her?

                            Your worried but affectionate,
                            Eleanor.

                            Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            As you see we have moved to Tukuyu and we are having a lovely time with
                            Lillian Eustace. She gave us such a warm welcome and has put herself out to give us
                            every comfort. She is a most capable housekeeper and I find her such a comfortable
                            companion because we have the same outlook in life. Both of us are strictly one man
                            women and that is rare here. She has a two year old son, Billy, who is enchanted with
                            our rolly polly Kate and there are other children on the station with whom Ann and
                            Georgie can play. Lillian engaged a temporary ayah for me so I am having a good rest.
                            All the children look well and Ann in particular seems to have benefited by the
                            change to a cooler climate. She has a good colour and looks so well that people all
                            exclaim when I tell them, that two doctors have advised us to send Ann out of the
                            country. Perhaps after all, this holiday in Tukuyu will set her up.

                            We had a trying journey from Mbeya to Tukuyu in the Post Lorry. The three
                            children and I were squeezed together on the front seat between the African driver on
                            one side and a vast German on the other. Both men smoked incessantly – the driver
                            cigarettes, and the German cheroots. The cab was clouded with a blue haze. Not only
                            that! I suddenly felt a smarting sensation on my right thigh. The driver’s cigarette had
                            burnt a hole right through that new checked linen frock you sent me last month.
                            I had Kate on my lap all the way but Ann and Georgie had to stand against the
                            windscreen all the way. The fat German offered to take Ann on his lap but she gave him
                            a very cold “No thank you.” Nor did I blame her. I would have greatly enjoyed the drive
                            under less crowded conditions. The scenery is gorgeous. One drives through very high
                            country crossing lovely clear streams and at one point through rain forest. As it was I
                            counted the miles and how thankful I was to see the end of the journey.
                            In the days when Tanganyika belonged to the Germans, Tukuyu was the
                            administrative centre for the whole of the Southern Highlands Province. The old German
                            Fort is still in use as Government offices and there are many fine trees which were
                            planted by the Germans. There is a large prosperous native population in this area.
                            They go in chiefly for coffee and for bananas which form the basis of their diet.
                            There are five British married couples here and Lillian and I go out to tea most
                            mornings. In the afternoon there is tennis or golf. The gardens here are beautiful because
                            there is rain or at least drizzle all the year round. There are even hedge roses bordering
                            some of the district roads. When one walks across the emerald green golf course or
                            through the Boma gardens, it is hard to realise that this gentle place is Tropical Africa.
                            ‘Such a green and pleasant land’, but I think I prefer our corner of Tanganyika.

                            Much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            We had a lovely holiday but it is so nice to be home again, especially as Laza,
                            the local Nimrod, shot that leopard whilst we were away (with his muzzleloader gun). He
                            was justly proud of himself, and I gave him a tip so that he could buy some native beer
                            for a celebration. I have never seen one of theses parties but can hear the drums and
                            sounds of merrymaking, especially on moonlight nights.

                            Our house looks so fresh and uncluttered. Whilst I was away, the boys
                            whitewashed the house and my houseboy had washed all the curtains, bedspreads,
                            and loose covers and watered the garden. If only George were here it would be
                            heaven.

                            Ann looked so bonny at Tukuyu that I took her to the Government Doctor there
                            hoping that he would find her perfectly healthy, but alas he endorsed the finding of the
                            other two doctors so, when an opportunity offers, I think I shall have to send Ann down
                            to you for a long holiday from the Tropics. Mother-in-law has offered to fetch her next
                            year but England seems so far away. With you she will at least be on the same
                            continent.

                            I left the children for the first time ever, except for my stay in hospital when Kate
                            was born, to go on an outing to Lake Masoko in the Tukuyu district, with four friends.
                            Masoko is a beautiful, almost circular crater lake and very very deep. A detachment of
                            the King’s African Rifles are stationed there and occupy the old German barracks
                            overlooking the lake.

                            We drove to Masoko by car and spent the afternoon there as guests of two
                            British Army Officers. We had a good tea and the others went bathing in the lake but i
                            could not as I did not have a costume. The Lake was as beautiful as I had been lead to
                            imagine and our hosts were pleasant but I began to grow anxious as the afternoon
                            advanced and my friends showed no signs of leaving. I was in agonies when they
                            accepted an invitation to stay for a sundowner. We had this in the old German beer
                            garden overlooking the Lake. It was beautiful but what did I care. I had promised the
                            children that I would be home to give them their supper and put them to bed. When I
                            did at length return to Lillian’s house I found the situation as I had expected. Ann, with her
                            imagination had come to the conclusion that I never would return. She had sobbed
                            herself into a state of exhaustion. Kate was screaming in sympathy and George 2 was
                            very truculent. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Poor Lillian had had a trying time.
                            We did not return to Mbeya by the Mail Lorry. Bill and Lillian drove us across to
                            Mbeya in their new Ford V8 car. The children chattered happily in the back of the car
                            eating chocolate and bananas all the way. I might have known what would happen! Ann
                            was dreadfully and messily car sick.

                            I engaged the Mbeya Hotel taxi to drive us out to the farm the same afternoon
                            and I expect it will be a long time before we leave the farm again.

                            Lots and lots of love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Chunya 27th November 1936

                            Dearest Family,

                            You will be surprised to hear that we are all together now on the Lupa goldfields.
                            I have still not recovered from my own astonishment at being here. Until last Saturday
                            night I never dreamed of this move. At about ten o’clock I was crouched in the inglenook
                            blowing on the embers to make a fire so that I could heat some milk for Kate who is
                            cutting teeth and was very restless. Suddenly I heard a car outside. I knew it must be
                            George and rushed outside storm lamp in hand. Sure enough, there was George
                            standing by a strange car, and beaming all over his face. “Something for you my love,”
                            he said placing a little bundle in my hand. It was a knotted handkerchief and inside was a
                            fine gold nugget.

                            George had that fire going in no time, Kate was given the milk and half an aspirin
                            and settles down to sleep, whilst George and I sat around for an hour chatting over our
                            tea. He told me that he had borrowed the car from John Molteno and had come to fetch
                            me and the children to join him on the diggings for a while. It seems that John, who has a
                            camp at Itewe, a couple of miles outside the township of Chunya, the new
                            Administrative Centre of the diggings, was off to the Cape to visit his family for a few
                            months. John had asked George to run his claims in his absence and had given us the
                            loan of his camp and his car.

                            George had found the nugget on his own claim but he is not too elated because
                            he says that one good month on the diggings is often followed by several months of
                            dead loss. However, I feel hopeful, we have had such a run of bad luck that surely it is
                            time for the tide to change. George spent Sunday going over the farm with Thomas, the
                            headman, and giving him instructions about future work whilst I packed clothes and
                            kitchen equipment. I have brought our ex-kitchenboy Kesho Kutwa with me as cook and
                            also Janey, who heard that we were off to the Lupa and came to offer her services once
                            more as ayah. Janey’s ex-husband Abel is now cook to one of the more successful
                            diggers and I think she is hoping to team up with him again.

                            The trip over the Mbeya-Chunya pass was new to me and I enjoyed it very
                            much indeed. The road winds over the mountains along a very high escarpment and
                            one looks down on the vast Usangu flats stretching far away to the horizon. At the
                            highest point the road rises to about 7000 feet, and this was too much for Ann who was
                            leaning against the back of my seat. She was very thoroughly sick, all over my hair.
                            This camp of John Molteno’s is very comfortable. It consists of two wattle and
                            daub buildings built end to end in a clearing in the miombo bush. The main building
                            consists of a large living room, a store and an office, and the other of one large bedroom
                            and a small one separated by an area for bathing. Both buildings are thatched. There are
                            no doors, and there are no windows, but these are not necessary because one wall of
                            each building is built up only a couple of feet leaving a six foot space for light and air. As
                            this is the dry season the weather is pleasant. The air is fresh and dry but not nearly so
                            hot as I expected.

                            Water is a problem and must be carried long distances in kerosene tins.
                            vegetables and fresh butter are brought in a van from Iringa and Mbeya Districts about
                            once a fortnight. I have not yet visited Chunya but I believe it is as good a shopping
                            centre as Mbeya so we will be able to buy all the non perishable food stuffs we need.
                            What I do miss is the fresh milk. The children are accustomed to drinking at least a pint of
                            milk each per day but they do not care for the tinned variety.

                            Ann and young George love being here. The camp is surrounded by old
                            prospecting trenches and they spend hours each day searching for gold in the heaps of gravel. Sometimes they find quartz pitted with little spots of glitter and they bring them
                            to me in great excitement. Alas it is only Mica. We have two neighbours. The one is a
                            bearded Frenchman and the other an Australian. I have not yet met any women.
                            George looks very sunburnt and extremely fit and the children also look well.
                            George and I have decided that we will keep Ann with us until my Mother-in-law comes
                            out next year. George says that in spite of what the doctors have said, he thinks that the
                            shock to Ann of being separated from her family will do her more harm than good. She
                            and young George are inseparable and George thinks it would be best if both
                            George and Ann return to England with my Mother-in-law for a couple of years. I try not
                            to think at all about the breaking up of the family.

                            Much love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                             

                            #6261
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              continued

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                              Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                              Dearest Family,

                              You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is
                              not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her
                              very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very
                              fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the
                              natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the
                              houseboy both speak basic English.

                              I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do
                              run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly
                              from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All
                              farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.

                              George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot
                              of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for
                              hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans
                              have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was
                              disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of
                              pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he
                              recovered.

                              But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath.
                              Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are.
                              Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time
                              for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are
                              always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no
                              knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always
                              welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the
                              house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is
                              produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is.
                              The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and
                              diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields.
                              This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with
                              whom. This is a great country for gossip.

                              Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with
                              George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than
                              his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features,
                              burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into
                              song.

                              Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over
                              sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George
                              walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a
                              great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a
                              hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his
                              neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were
                              carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but
                              George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always
                              wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front.
                              George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.

                              I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu,
                              all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George
                              reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears
                              the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite
                              but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to
                              add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by.
                              Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.

                              George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind
                              the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and
                              filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for
                              washing pots and pans and for bath water.

                              Lots of love,
                              Eleanor

                              Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                              Dearest Family,

                              I think it is about time I told you that we are going to have a baby. We are both
                              thrilled about it. I have not seen a Doctor but feel very well and you are not to worry. I
                              looked it up in my handbook for wives and reckon that the baby is due about February
                              8th. next year.

                              The announcement came from George, not me! I had been feeling queasy for
                              days and was waiting for the right moment to tell George. You know. Soft lights and
                              music etc. However when I was listlessly poking my food around one lunch time
                              George enquired calmly, “When are you going to tell me about the baby?” Not at all
                              according to the book! The problem is where to have the baby. February is a very wet
                              month and the nearest Doctor is over 50 miles away at Tukuyu. I cannot go to stay at
                              Tukuyu because there is no European accommodation at the hospital, no hotel and no
                              friend with whom I could stay.

                              George thinks I should go South to you but Capetown is so very far away and I
                              love my little home here. Also George says he could not come all the way down with
                              me as he simply must stay here and get the farm on its feet. He would drive me as far
                              as the railway in Northern Rhodesia. It is a difficult decision to take. Write and tell me what
                              you think.

                              The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be
                              supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and
                              decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a
                              solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I
                              jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy
                              were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate.
                              He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on
                              the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so
                              he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used
                              part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.

                              The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had
                              fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we
                              are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the
                              Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the
                              waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.

                              Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth
                              their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large
                              bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was
                              healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am
                              becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other
                              way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before
                              going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned
                              it is like the best brisket.

                              See what a housewife I am becoming.
                              With much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                              Dearest Family,

                              I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving
                              Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the
                              bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it
                              before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and
                              so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the
                              hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really
                              healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would
                              love to stay on here.

                              George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a
                              South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is
                              very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby
                              is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as
                              possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It
                              may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking
                              forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night.
                              Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He
                              goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the
                              men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers
                              at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the
                              house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out
                              some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the
                              chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion
                              and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it
                              together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the
                              size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air.
                              Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment.
                              The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It
                              was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too
                              obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said
                              it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former
                              cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby
                              monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that
                              dish.

                              And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad
                              shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and
                              dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The
                              body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the
                              ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well
                              Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled
                              soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a
                              lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was.
                              I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that
                              the baby will be a girl.

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Note
                              “There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
                              because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
                              Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
                              birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.

                              A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
                              started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
                              stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
                              train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
                              old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
                              was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
                              baby.

                              He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
                              though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
                              and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.

                              My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
                              down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
                              weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
                              Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
                              that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
                              punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
                              My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
                              comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
                              on the appointed day, Feb.8th.

                              I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
                              rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
                              absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
                              are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
                              surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
                              some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
                              pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
                              melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
                              She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
                              at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
                              went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
                              see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
                              nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
                              through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
                              Tanganyika!”

                              The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
                              of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
                              stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
                              who longed to cuddle the child.

                              As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
                              to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
                              Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
                              put us on the plane for Mbeya.

                              Eleanor Rushby

                               

                              Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                              Dearest Family,

                              You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very
                              happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way.
                              Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went
                              to meals in the dining car.

                              We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for
                              us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where
                              the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the
                              Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between
                              Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk
                              all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant
                              Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the
                              circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead
                              by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was
                              most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust
                              health.

                              Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate
                              fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and
                              offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are
                              several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya.
                              After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm
                              welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the
                              new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely
                              surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with
                              willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table
                              and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship
                              which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to
                              the rather old world air of our living room.

                              In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has
                              strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top
                              of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which
                              George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The
                              new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and
                              they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the
                              kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for
                              washing up. Lovely!

                              George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings
                              planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are
                              orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely
                              adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long
                              journey.

                              It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I
                              have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm,
                              Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann
                              sends a special bubble for granddad.

                              Your very loving,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                              Dearest Family,

                              Ann at five months is enchanting. She is a very good baby, smiles readily and is
                              gaining weight steadily. She doesn’t sleep much during the day but that does not
                              matter, because, apart from washing her little things, I have nothing to do but attend to
                              her. She sleeps very well at night which is a blessing as George has to get up very
                              early to start work on the shamba and needs a good nights rest.
                              My nights are not so good, because we are having a plague of rats which frisk
                              around in the bedroom at night. Great big ones that come up out of the long grass in the
                              gorge beside the house and make cosy homes on our reed ceiling and in the thatch of
                              the roof.

                              We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann
                              with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between
                              the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly
                              born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more.
                              Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.

                              I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and
                              sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down
                              the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the
                              floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few
                              mosquitoes.

                              Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little
                              finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to
                              attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet
                              arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content.
                              The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see
                              her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child
                              and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or
                              a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they
                              value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman,
                              who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.

                              Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the
                              baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in
                              South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey.
                              They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms
                              around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah
                              walked beside it.

                              It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole
                              countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.

                              Lots and lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                              Dearest Family,

                              George has been very unwell for the past week. He had a nasty gash on his
                              knee which went septic. He had a swelling in the groin and a high temperature and could
                              not sleep at night for the pain in his leg. Ann was very wakeful too during the same
                              period, I think she is teething. I luckily have kept fit though rather harassed. Yesterday the
                              leg looked so inflamed that George decided to open up the wound himself. he made
                              quite a big cut in exactly the right place. You should have seen the blackish puss
                              pouring out.

                              After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has
                              the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and
                              pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it
                              to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job
                              of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some
                              husband!

                              The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George
                              and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was
                              suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen.
                              They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly
                              and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up
                              swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying
                              the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I
                              felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window
                              behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s
                              hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound,
                              taking cover.

                              George returned quite soon to say that apparently the commotion made by the
                              women and children had frightened the lions off. He found their tracks in the soft earth
                              round the huts and a bag of maize that had been playfully torn open but the lions had
                              moved on.

                              Next day we heard that they had moved to Hickson-Wood’s shamba. Hicky
                              came across to say that the lions had jumped over the wall of his cattle boma and killed
                              both his white Muskat riding donkeys.
                              He and a friend sat up all next night over the remains but the lions did not return to
                              the kill.

                              Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very
                              fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both
                              cheeks. We are very proud of her.

                              Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I
                              am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever
                              seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens
                              we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”

                              Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                              Dearest Family,

                              News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I
                              hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are
                              rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a
                              German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good
                              living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles
                              radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also
                              Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings.
                              Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no
                              teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has
                              breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her
                              amusement and my exasperation!

                              You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we
                              haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even
                              heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies
                              in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down
                              there.

                              The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and
                              wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently.
                              Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The
                              Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs.
                              Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss
                              his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle
                              over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good
                              hunter.

                              Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs
                              and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the
                              idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of
                              stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck.
                              Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for
                              cooking and very like beef fat.

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932

                              Dearest Family,

                              George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up
                              here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of
                              staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.

                              Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting
                              together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and
                              settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town
                              in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little
                              car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard
                              the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over
                              the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long
                              journey in so tiny a car.

                              Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in
                              the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when
                              the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot,
                              sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous
                              wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in
                              happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a
                              treat for a pregnant female.

                              We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a
                              smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size,
                              peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like
                              broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning
                              after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast
                              and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a
                              little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she
                              placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t
                              know whether that was the thing to do.

                              We all send our love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                              Dearest Family,

                              Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the
                              arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again
                              to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with
                              other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair
                              roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl
                              now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.

                              George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in
                              here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in
                              hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There
                              is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the
                              Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.

                              As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to
                              Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm.
                              The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The
                              machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too
                              comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four
                              of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief
                              bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort
                              of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up
                              the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least
                              George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would
                              have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.

                              George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind
                              George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best
                              attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour
                              shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and
                              bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.

                              Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had
                              an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.

                              During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small
                              daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They
                              played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my
                              sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the
                              room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her,
                              looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off
                              half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the
                              job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.

                              I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and
                              then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a
                              bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant
                              towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously.
                              I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                              Dearest Family,

                              Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was
                              with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit
                              of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann
                              with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her
                              supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a
                              great comfort it was to know that he was there.

                              The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital
                              just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The
                              doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny
                              looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black
                              silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache.
                              George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out
                              laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t
                              understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at
                              him.

                              Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is
                              transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere
                              without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all
                              snowy white.

                              George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for
                              company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and
                              away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that
                              tea is a medicine and good for him.

                              Much love from a proud mother of two.
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                              Dearest Family,

                              We are all together at home again and how lovely it feels. Even the house
                              servants seem pleased. The boy had decorated the lounge with sprays of
                              bougainvillaea and Abel had backed one of his good sponge cakes.

                              Ann looked fat and rosy but at first was only moderately interested in me and the
                              new baby but she soon thawed. George is good with her and will continue to dress Ann
                              in the mornings and put her to bed until I am satisfied with Georgie.

                              He, poor mite, has a nasty rash on face and neck. I am sure it is just due to that
                              tea the nurse used to give him at night. He has lost his moustache and is fast loosing his
                              wild black hair and emerging as quite a handsome babe. He is a very masculine looking
                              infant with much more strongly marked eyebrows and a larger nose that Ann had. He is
                              very good and lies quietly in his basket even when awake.

                              George has been making a hatching box for brown trout ova and has set it up in
                              a small clear stream fed by a spring in readiness for the ova which is expected from
                              South Africa by next weeks plane. Some keen fishermen from Mbeya and the District
                              have clubbed together to buy the ova. The fingerlings are later to be transferred to
                              streams in Mbeya and Tukuyu Districts.

                              I shall now have my hands full with the two babies and will not have much time for the
                              garden, or I fear, for writing very long letters. Remember though, that no matter how
                              large my family becomes, I shall always love you as much as ever.

                              Your affectionate,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                              Dearest Family,

                              The four of us are all well but alas we have lost our dear Kelly. He was rather a
                              silly dog really, although he grew so big he retained all his puppy ways but we were all
                              very fond of him, especially George because Kelly attached himself to George whilst I
                              was away having Ann and from that time on he was George’s shadow. I think he had
                              some form of biliary fever. He died stretched out on the living room couch late last night,
                              with George sitting beside him so that he would not feel alone.

                              The children are growing fast. Georgie is a darling. He now has a fluff of pale
                              brown hair and his eyes are large and dark brown. Ann is very plump and fair.
                              We have had several visitors lately. Apart from neighbours, a car load of diggers
                              arrived one night and John Molteno and his bride were here. She is a very attractive girl
                              but, I should say, more suited to life in civilisation than in this back of beyond. She has
                              gone out to the diggings with her husband and will have to walk a good stretch of the fifty
                              or so miles.

                              The diggers had to sleep in the living room on the couch and on hastily erected
                              camp beds. They arrived late at night and left after breakfast next day. One had half a
                              beard, the other side of his face had been forcibly shaved in the bar the night before.

                              your affectionate,
                              Eleanor

                              Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                              Dearest Family,

                              George is away on safari with two Indian Army officers. The money he will get for
                              his services will be very welcome because this coffee growing is a slow business, and
                              our capitol is rapidly melting away. The job of acting as White Hunter was unexpected
                              or George would not have taken on the job of hatching the ova which duly arrived from
                              South Africa.

                              George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane
                              by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It
                              came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David
                              Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to
                              the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took
                              several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking
                              them up in a glass tube.

                              When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to
                              take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry
                              have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry
                              down to feed the trout.

                              The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words
                              and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.

                              Very much love
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                              Dear Family,

                              All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and
                              Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.

                              There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called
                              for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the
                              sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in
                              progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop
                              fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an
                              enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and
                              the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified.
                              By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath
                              to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces
                              too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out
                              of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the
                              kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen
                              boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me.
                              I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major
                              Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of
                              us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for
                              Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to
                              entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.

                              George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement
                              on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered
                              from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor,
                              because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid
                              being left high and dry.

                              Lots and lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933

                              Dearest Family,

                              Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good
                              deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such
                              sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair
                              and the other dark.

                              The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so
                              that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the
                              doctor had no vaccine.

                              George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby
                              Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to
                              have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.

                              We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of
                              us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the
                              gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where
                              the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very
                              tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled
                              three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the
                              Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.

                              The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble
                              with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and
                              there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.

                              George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope
                              the children will enjoy riding it later on.

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                              Dearest Family,

                              You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly
                              afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys
                              you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next
                              day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed
                              her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was
                              awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that
                              Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was
                              perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed
                              Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and
                              gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same
                              thing over again.

                              At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in
                              vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on
                              the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither
                              George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in
                              the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann.
                              That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of
                              convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the
                              next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only
                              small sips of water since the onset of the attack.

                              The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething.
                              George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle
                              bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours
                              Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now
                              up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and
                              white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie
                              behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to
                              sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all
                              subdued.

                              This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on
                              our road or the doctor might not have got through.

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                              Dearest Family,

                              We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a
                              fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and
                              Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a
                              beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the
                              edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which
                              carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not
                              move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and
                              bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble
                              began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head
                              against the cot.

                              George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not
                              take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone
                              through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two
                              men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the
                              diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor
                              allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to
                              treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!

                              There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is
                              doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by
                              that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The
                              coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of
                              coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good
                              return for all his hard work.

                              Lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                              Dearest Family,

                              George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well.
                              The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me
                              and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though
                              he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of
                              high powered rifles with telescopic sights.

                              It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad
                              home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return
                              George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the
                              shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a
                              car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car
                              Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However
                              can we afford one?”

                              “Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold
                              this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it
                              cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an
                              A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.

                              So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for
                              the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we
                              heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her
                              way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator.
                              Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her
                              points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most
                              comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like
                              a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and
                              she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.

                              Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road
                              on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward
                              one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George
                              carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch
                              of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally
                              under her own steam.

                              George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t
                              be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country.
                              I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for
                              Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with
                              kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re
                              definitely carriage folk now.

                              Lots of love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                              Dearest Family,

                              Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George
                              declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new
                              clothes.

                              Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now
                              rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of
                              a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go
                              he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of
                              Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’,
                              follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that
                              I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge
                              delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing,
                              the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.

                              The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday.
                              They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very
                              afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some
                              guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk
                              back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and
                              sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better.
                              We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up.
                              Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby
                              and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up
                              in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day
                              went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her.
                              They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car
                              had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne
                              refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and
                              tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past
                              being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the
                              feathers had rotted off.

                              The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door
                              closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.

                              I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her
                              belated Christmas dinner with relish.

                              I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able
                              to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.

                              Much love to you all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                              Dearest Family,

                              You cannot imagine how lovely it is to have Marjorie here. She came just in time
                              because I have had pernicious vomiting and have lost a great deal of weight and she
                              took charge of the children and made me spend three days in hospital having treatment.
                              George took me to the hospital on the afternoon of New Years Eve and decided
                              to spend the night at the hotel and join in the New Years Eve celebrations. I had several
                              visitors at the hospital that evening and George actually managed to get some imported
                              grapes for me. He returned to the farm next morning and fetched me from the hospital
                              four days later. Of course the old A.C. just had to play up. About half way home the
                              back axle gave in and we had to send a passing native some miles back to a place
                              called Mbalizi to hire a lorry from a Greek trader to tow us home to the farm.
                              The children looked well and were full of beans. I think Marjorie was thankful to
                              hand them over to me. She is delighted with Ann’s motherly little ways but Georgie she
                              calls “a really wild child”. He isn’t, just has such an astonishing amount of energy and is
                              always up to mischief. Marjorie brought us all lovely presents. I am so thrilled with my
                              sewing machine. It may be an old model but it sews marvellously. We now have an
                              Alsatian pup as well as Joseph the donkey and the two cats.

                              Marjorie had a midnight encounter with Joseph which gave her quite a shock but
                              we had a good laugh about it next day. Some months ago George replaced our wattle
                              and daub outside pit lavatory by a substantial brick one, so large that Joseph is being
                              temporarily stabled in it at night. We neglected to warn Marj about this and one night,
                              storm lamp in hand, she opened the door and Joseph walked out braying his thanks.
                              I am afraid Marjorie is having a quiet time, a shame when the journey from Cape
                              Town is so expensive. The doctor has told me to rest as much as I can, so it is
                              impossible for us to take Marj on sight seeing trips.

                              I hate to think that she will be leaving in ten days time.

                              Much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                              Dearest Family,

                              You must be able to visualise our life here quite well now that Marj is back and
                              has no doubt filled in all the details I forget to mention in my letters. What a journey we
                              had in the A.C. when we took her to the plane. George, the children and I sat in front and
                              Marj sat behind with numerous four gallon tins of water for the insatiable radiator. It was
                              raining and the canvas hood was up but part of the side flaps are missing and as there is
                              no glass in the windscreen the rain blew in on us. George got fed up with constantly
                              removing the hot radiator cap so simply stuffed a bit of rag in instead. When enough
                              steam had built up in the radiator behind the rag it blew out and we started all over again.
                              The car still roars like an aeroplane engine and yet has little power so that George sent
                              gangs of boys to the steep hills between the farm and the Mission to give us a push if
                              necessary. Fortunately this time it was not, and the boys cheered us on our way. We
                              needed their help on the homeward journey however.

                              George has now bought an old Chev engine which he means to install before I
                              have to go to hospital to have my new baby. It will be quite an engineering feet as
                              George has few tools.

                              I am sorry to say that I am still not well, something to do with kidneys or bladder.
                              George bought me some pills from one of the several small shops which have opened
                              in Mbeya and Ann is most interested in the result. She said seriously to Kath Wood,
                              “Oh my Mummy is a very clever Mummy. She can do blue wee and green wee as well
                              as yellow wee.” I simply can no longer manage the children without help and have
                              engaged the cook’s wife, Janey, to help. The children are by no means thrilled. I plead in
                              vain that I am not well enough to go for walks. Ann says firmly, “Ann doesn’t want to go
                              for a walk. Ann will look after you.” Funny, though she speaks well for a three year old,
                              she never uses the first person. Georgie say he would much rather walk with
                              Keshokutwa, the kitchen boy. His name by the way, means day-after-tomorrow and it
                              suits him down to the ground, Kath Wood walks over sometimes with offers of help and Ann will gladly go walking with her but Georgie won’t. He on the other hand will walk with Anne Molteno
                              and Ann won’t. They are obstinate kids. Ann has developed a very fertile imagination.
                              She has probably been looking at too many of those nice women’s magazines you
                              sent. A few days ago she said, “You are sick Mummy, but Ann’s got another Mummy.
                              She’s not sick, and my other mummy (very smugly) has lovely golden hair”. This
                              morning’ not ten minutes after I had dressed her, she came in with her frock wet and
                              muddy. I said in exasperation, “Oh Ann, you are naughty.” To which she instantly
                              returned, “My other Mummy doesn’t think I am naughty. She thinks I am very nice.” It
                              strikes me I shall have to get better soon so that I can be gay once more and compete
                              with that phantom golden haired paragon.

                              We had a very heavy storm over the farm last week. There was heavy rain with
                              hail which stripped some of the coffee trees and the Mchewe River flooded and the
                              water swept through the lower part of the shamba. After the water had receded George
                              picked up a fine young trout which had been stranded. This was one of some he had
                              put into the river when Georgie was a few months old.

                              The trials of a coffee farmer are legion. We now have a plague of snails. They
                              ring bark the young trees and leave trails of slime on the glossy leaves. All the ring
                              barked trees will have to be cut right back and this is heartbreaking as they are bearing
                              berries for the first time. The snails are collected by native children, piled upon the
                              ground and bashed to a pulp which gives off a sickening stench. I am sorry for the local
                              Africans. Locusts ate up their maize and now they are losing their bean crop to the snails.

                              Lots of love, Eleanor

                              #6260
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                From Tanganyika with Love

                                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                • “The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa
                                  concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and
                                  joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.

                                These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
                                the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
                                kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
                                important part of her life.

                                Prelude
                                Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
                                in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
                                made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
                                Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
                                in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
                                while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to
                                Africa.

                                Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
                                to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
                                sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
                                Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
                                she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
                                teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
                                well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
                                and told her what ship you are arriving on.”

                                Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
                                Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
                                despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
                                High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
                                George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
                                their home.

                                These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
                                George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.

                                 

                                Dearest Marj,
                                Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I
                                met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in
                                imagining!!

                                The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our
                                El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum
                                scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that
                                she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such
                                good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she
                                ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession.
                                Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a
                                millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant
                                hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.

                                Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as
                                a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I
                                need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast.
                                Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but
                                he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says
                                he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t
                                care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.

                                He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear
                                on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must
                                buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes
                                hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no
                                time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.”
                                George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of
                                view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small
                                coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which
                                will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the
                                pot boiling.

                                Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose
                                you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact
                                that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The
                                boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well
                                you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of
                                those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that
                                African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the
                                most gracious chores.

                                George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good
                                looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut
                                very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and
                                very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and
                                even and he has a quiet voice.

                                I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for
                                yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as
                                soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.

                                Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time
                                to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and
                                apply a bit of glamour.

                                Much love my dear,
                                your jubilant
                                Eleanor

                                S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.

                                Dearest Family,
                                Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and
                                could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable
                                voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women,
                                but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to
                                myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I
                                am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.

                                I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The
                                butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for
                                the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.

                                The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety
                                served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course
                                get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no
                                problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his
                                fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an
                                ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff.
                                Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow
                                from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never
                                met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect
                                of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her
                                husband and only child in an accident.

                                I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay
                                young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty,
                                from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a
                                grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t
                                surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s
                                “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight
                                mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and
                                stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.

                                However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she
                                was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the
                                Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain
                                told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to
                                Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but
                                she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop
                                whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.

                                The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with
                                the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no
                                sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he
                                was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film
                                Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief
                                Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up
                                for it in mime.

                                I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at
                                Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both
                                places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee
                                percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.

                                At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a
                                perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck
                                engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is
                                no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up.
                                The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port
                                Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for
                                an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me,
                                Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited
                                whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very
                                lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was
                                temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a
                                pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is
                                now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or
                                worse.

                                I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by
                                the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held
                                up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days.
                                Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was
                                dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.

                                Bless you all,
                                Eleanor.

                                S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and
                                Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we
                                took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have
                                something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked
                                mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells
                                me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who
                                pursues Mrs C everywhere.

                                The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he
                                has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type.
                                I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it
                                was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he
                                said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was
                                a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather
                                doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing
                                establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no
                                time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent
                                leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend.
                                Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and
                                ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only
                                too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed
                                had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.

                                The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination
                                and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I
                                could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could
                                protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and
                                filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I
                                was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice,
                                very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief
                                Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.

                                In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the
                                Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better.
                                At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of
                                Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man,
                                very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and
                                exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She
                                looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two
                                other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing
                                very much.

                                It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the
                                town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina
                                trees.

                                The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very
                                imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a
                                flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.

                                The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her
                                and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a
                                lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she
                                had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was
                                jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed
                                things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea
                                with them.

                                Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr
                                Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed.
                                We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by
                                the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered
                                around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny
                                crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on
                                to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew
                                straight up into the rigging.

                                The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said
                                “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he
                                was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those
                                birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.

                                Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with
                                compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends.
                                It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little
                                discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird
                                catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I
                                was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably
                                remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.

                                During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name
                                is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the
                                name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the
                                table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had
                                champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage.
                                A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an
                                appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer

                                I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed
                                there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin,
                                shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my
                                hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched
                                creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that
                                heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly.
                                “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by
                                stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one
                                came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George
                                Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar
                                es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on
                                so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs
                                Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This
                                seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old
                                lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel
                                the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked
                                that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals.
                                This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given
                                some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old
                                lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet
                                passenger to the wedding.

                                This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while
                                writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your
                                love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty
                                sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited
                                that I shall not sleep.

                                Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time.
                                with my “bes respeks”,

                                Eleanor Leslie.

                                Eleanor and George Rushby:

                                Eleanor and George Rushby

                                Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to
                                pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has
                                gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an
                                excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here.
                                I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the
                                mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is
                                heavenly.

                                We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov).
                                The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly
                                no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my
                                dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on
                                the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of
                                the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson
                                Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel
                                anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had
                                missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom
                                prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly
                                there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a
                                boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on
                                some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George.
                                We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and
                                looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then
                                George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my
                                travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the
                                couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood
                                was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of
                                beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear
                                such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky
                                says he was not amused.

                                Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath
                                Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was
                                married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of
                                blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son
                                of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper
                                though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be
                                bad tempered.

                                Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst
                                George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone
                                seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through,
                                except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble
                                on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl.
                                Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans
                                offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst
                                George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod
                                wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to
                                be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind.  We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined
                                with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw
                                stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which
                                had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.

                                Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours
                                time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would
                                be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me.
                                I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood
                                came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of
                                asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock
                                and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then
                                she too left for the church.

                                I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to
                                be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said,
                                “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a
                                tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.”
                                Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if
                                the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.

                                I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the
                                curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African
                                Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when
                                the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in
                                the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.

                                Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and
                                her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my
                                friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to
                                me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with
                                Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality
                                passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.

                                In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete
                                strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church,
                                standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were
                                waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted
                                they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well
                                because they would not have fitted in at all well.

                                Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his
                                large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a
                                small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake
                                and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’
                                and I shall remember it for ever.

                                The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship
                                enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the-
                                Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old
                                lady was wearing a carnation.

                                When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been
                                moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and
                                clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a
                                chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet
                                discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by
                                Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt
                                that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a
                                generous tip there and then.

                                I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts
                                and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our
                                wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.

                                After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye
                                as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very
                                much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam
                                are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the
                                Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less
                                romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant
                                green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.

                                There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and
                                George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the
                                bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the
                                luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.

                                We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to
                                get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores,
                                tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There
                                were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.

                                We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy
                                letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It
                                appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed
                                the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham
                                was bad.

                                Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the
                                other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To
                                my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We
                                had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a
                                mattress.

                                Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down
                                on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a
                                handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much
                                for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.

                                Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the
                                room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very
                                low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided
                                to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I
                                slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out
                                of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for
                                water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements
                                around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was
                                standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put
                                George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need
                                hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my
                                aid like a knight of old.  Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings
                                here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw.
                                I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small,
                                seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear
                                colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy
                                trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset.
                                This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break
                                was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The
                                Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an
                                Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.

                                I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping
                                expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me
                                on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that
                                when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the
                                harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the
                                description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said
                                “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the
                                jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel.
                                With much love to all.

                                Your cave woman
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced
                                Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later.
                                We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage
                                and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our
                                wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in
                                the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the
                                roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent
                                looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one
                                simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see
                                myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.

                                We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of
                                the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with
                                weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This
                                part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo.
                                The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with
                                wood and not coal as in South Africa.

                                Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to
                                continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and
                                whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal
                                verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious –
                                that there had been a party the night before.

                                When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah,
                                because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside
                                the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the
                                room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see
                                our car before breakfast.

                                Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That
                                means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the
                                one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed
                                to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat.
                                Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and
                                helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases
                                there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and
                                water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and
                                an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.

                                When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between
                                goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a
                                mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over
                                bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal
                                Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all.
                                In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy
                                building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below
                                the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I
                                did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only
                                piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears
                                and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows
                                and rounded roofs covered with earth.

                                Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to
                                look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one
                                shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears.
                                The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most
                                tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country.
                                Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept
                                comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a
                                small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the
                                Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course.
                                our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when
                                ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot
                                water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.

                                When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed
                                by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome
                                compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic
                                glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.

                                After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
                                waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
                                walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
                                saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
                                and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
                                cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
                                innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
                                moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
                                my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
                                me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
                                Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
                                old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
                                after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
                                Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
                                baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
                                grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
                                started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
                                sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
                                rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
                                Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
                                picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
                                sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
                                pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

                                The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
                                of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
                                foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
                                as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

                                Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
                                This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
                                average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
                                he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
                                neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
                                this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
                                We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
                                is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
                                bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
                                long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
                                “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
                                stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
                                were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
                                good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

                                Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
                                soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
                                land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
                                hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
                                of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
                                safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
                                has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
                                coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
                                are too small to be of use.

                                George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
                                There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
                                and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
                                shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
                                heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
                                black tail feathers.

                                There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
                                and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
                                another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
                                once, the bath will be cold.

                                I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
                                worry about me.

                                Much love to you all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
                                building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of
                                course.

                                On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
                                clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
                                a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
                                There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
                                my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
                                and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

                                I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
                                thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
                                facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
                                glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
                                feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
                                the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
                                saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
                                George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

                                It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
                                of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
                                wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
                                dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the
                                sun.

                                Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
                                dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
                                walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
                                building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
                                house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
                                heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
                                at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
                                bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
                                to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
                                Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
                                by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
                                or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
                                good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
                                only sixpence each.

                                I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
                                for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
                                comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
                                Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
                                Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
                                goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
                                office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
                                District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
                                only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
                                plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
                                because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
                                unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
                                saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
                                only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
                                miles away.

                                Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
                                clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
                                gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
                                of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
                                though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
                                on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
                                they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
                                hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
                                weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
                                However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
                                they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
                                trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
                                hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
                                We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
                                present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

                                Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
                                his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
                                Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
                                George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
                                reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
                                peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
                                shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
                                glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
                                George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
                                He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
                                when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
                                my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
                                bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
                                trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
                                I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
                                phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

                                We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
                                to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
                                tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
                                was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
                                This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
                                by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
                                we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

                                Your loving
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
                                convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
                                experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my
                                bounce.

                                I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
                                splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
                                who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
                                blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
                                George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
                                kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
                                miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George
                                now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you?
                                You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but
                                throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house
                                women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we
                                could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the
                                tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They
                                have not yet returned from the coast.

                                George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a
                                messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas
                                hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly
                                arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so
                                the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by
                                Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into
                                bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not
                                improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu
                                about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two
                                injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to
                                spend a further four days in bed.

                                We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which
                                time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not
                                return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very
                                comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very
                                quickly.

                                The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on
                                his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around
                                and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front
                                of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill.
                                Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower
                                garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her
                                second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm
                                entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria
                                within a few weeks of her marriage.

                                The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but
                                seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some
                                kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki
                                shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the
                                base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy.
                                I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not
                                seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to
                                the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity.
                                The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are
                                back with our very welcome mail.

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                                Dearest Family,

                                George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC.
                                who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to
                                protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from
                                poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his
                                first elephant safari to show him the ropes.

                                George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to
                                leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that
                                I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands
                                and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.

                                So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub
                                house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with
                                a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine
                                she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through
                                the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven
                                children.

                                I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the
                                store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now
                                owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be
                                built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England
                                and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about
                                Mbeya will become quite suburban.

                                26th December 1930

                                George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and
                                it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the
                                Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a
                                festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at
                                Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.

                                I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to
                                save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the
                                river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now
                                thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living
                                room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large
                                square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the
                                front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone
                                Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the
                                kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.

                                You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some
                                furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and
                                chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other
                                things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George
                                has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon.
                                We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet
                                who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the
                                house.

                                Lots and lots of love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                                Dearest Family,

                                Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night
                                and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed
                                about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter.
                                The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to
                                move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that
                                we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking
                                pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be
                                able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way
                                but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a
                                success.

                                However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George
                                hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from
                                Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.

                                Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there
                                are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles
                                from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a
                                very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South
                                African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the
                                Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are
                                some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road.
                                The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is
                                Major Jones.

                                All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now
                                returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are
                                not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to
                                connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right
                                down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very
                                often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all
                                save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.

                                The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The
                                rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the
                                range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun
                                shines again.

                                I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.

                                Your loving,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                                Dearest Family,

                                Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to
                                produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon
                                petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen,
                                lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put
                                in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat
                                piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I
                                have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.

                                Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard
                                work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s
                                chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day
                                but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is
                                to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns
                                on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a
                                chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish
                                wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and
                                around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen
                                boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the
                                corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.

                                I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept
                                in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct
                                way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that
                                may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous
                                Memsahibs has complained.

                                My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a
                                good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably
                                pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron
                                only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there
                                has not been a mishap.

                                It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we
                                have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my
                                favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings
                                and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes
                                play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to
                                me.

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                                Dearest Family,

                                It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different
                                from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown
                                grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.

                                Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in
                                the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts
                                and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on
                                the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour
                                card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work
                                and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off
                                to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because
                                these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or
                                when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings
                                to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they
                                need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a
                                salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the
                                same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern
                                Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.

                                We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the
                                countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He
                                has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a
                                perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets
                                which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.

                                We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our
                                garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the
                                natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his
                                shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids
                                grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look.
                                A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie
                                Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I
                                wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain
                                road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any
                                kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I
                                did not see him again until the following night.

                                George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature
                                and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his
                                attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some
                                places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and
                                George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten
                                the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially
                                as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely
                                and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as
                                Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.

                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                                Dear Family,

                                I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George
                                spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the
                                house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee
                                during the dry season.

                                It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift
                                surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera
                                tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line.
                                The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers
                                but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them
                                work unless he is there to supervise.

                                I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the
                                material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing
                                machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an
                                ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy
                                affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive.
                                Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a
                                native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and
                                it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced
                                monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to
                                watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning
                                before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they
                                lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.

                                I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang
                                around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is
                                a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.

                                George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had
                                a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas
                                arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a
                                haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so
                                I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however,
                                complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas
                                and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack
                                and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.

                                I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again
                                appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the
                                previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the
                                rest. Ah me!

                                The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went
                                across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All
                                the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about
                                twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus
                                men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural
                                Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took
                                a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the
                                Tukuyu district.

                                On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe.
                                They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around
                                their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt
                                from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful
                                garb I assure you.

                                We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last
                                war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour.
                                There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined
                                walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting
                                the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major
                                Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney.
                                I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked
                                and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the
                                bedroom whilst George handled the situation.

                                Eleanor.

                                #6248
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Bakewell Not Eyam

                                  The Elton Marshalls

                                  Some years ago I read a book about Eyam, the Derbyshire village devastated by the plague in 1665, and about how the villagers quarantined themselves to prevent further spread. It was quite a story. Each year on ‘Plague Sunday’, at the end of August, residents of Eyam mark the bubonic plague epidemic that devastated their small rural community in the years 1665–6. They wear the traditional costume of the day and attend a memorial service to remember how half the village sacrificed themselves to avoid spreading the disease further.

                                  My 4X great grandfather James Marshall married Ann Newton in 1792 in Elton. On a number of other people’s trees on an online ancestry site, Ann Newton was from Eyam.  Wouldn’t that have been interesting, to find ancestors from Eyam, perhaps going back to the days of the plague. Perhaps that is what the people who put Ann Newton’s birthplace as Eyam thought, without a proper look at the records.

                                  But I didn’t think Ann Newton was from Eyam. I found she was from Over Haddon, near Bakewell ~ much closer to Elton than Eyam. On the marriage register, it says that James was from Elton parish, and she was from Darley parish. Her birth in 1770 says Bakewell, which was the registration district for the villages of Over Haddon and Darley. Her parents were George Newton and Dorothy Wipperley of Over Haddon,which is incidentally very near to Nether Haddon, and Haddon Hall. I visited Haddon Hall many years ago, as well as Chatsworth (and much preferred Haddon Hall).

                                  I looked in the Eyam registers for Ann Newton, and found a couple of them around the time frame, but the men they married were not James Marshall.

                                  Ann died in 1806 in Elton (a small village just outside Matlock) at the age of 36 within days of her newborn twins, Ann and James.  James and Ann had two sets of twins.  John and Mary were twins as well, but Mary died in 1799 at the age of three.

                                  1796 baptism of twins John and Mary of James and Ann Marshall

                                  Marshall baptism

                                   

                                  Ann’s husband James died 42 years later at the age of eighty,  in Elton in 1848. It was noted in the parish register that he was for years parish clerk.

                                  James Marshall

                                   

                                  On the 1851 census John Marshall born in 1796, the son of James Marshall the parish clerk, was a lead miner occupying six acres in Elton, Derbyshire.

                                  His son, also John, was registered on the census as a lead miner at just eight years old.

                                   

                                  The mining of lead was the most important industry in the Peak district of Derbyshire from Roman times until the 19th century – with only agriculture being more important for the livelihood of local people. The height of lead mining in Derbyshire came in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the evidence is still visible today – most obviously in the form of lines of hillocks from the more than 25,000 mineshafts which once existed.

                                  Peak District Mines Historical Society

                                  Smelting, or extracting the lead from the ore by melting it, was carried out in a small open hearth. Lead was cast in layers as each batch of ore was smelted; the blocks of lead thus produced were referred to as “pigs”. Examples of early smelting-hearths found within the county were stone lined, with one side open facing the prevailing wind to create the draught needed. The hilltops of the Matlocks would have provided very suitable conditions.

                                  The miner used a tool called a mattock or a pick, and hammers and iron wedges in harder veins, to loosen the ore. They threw the ore onto ridges on each side of the vein, going deeper where the ore proved richer.

                                  Many mines were very shallow and, once opened, proved too poor to develop. Benjamin Bryan cited the example of “Ember Hill, on the shoulder of Masson, above Matlock Bath” where there are hollows in the surface showing where there had been fruitless searches for lead.

                                  There were small buildings, called “coes”, near each mine shaft which were used for tool storage, to provide shelter and as places for changing into working clothes. It was here that the lead was smelted and stored until ready for sale.

                                  Lead is, of course, very poisonous. As miners washed lead-bearing material, great care was taken with the washing vats, which had to be covered. If cattle accidentally drank the poisoned water they would die from something called “belland”.

                                  Cornish and Welsh miners introduced the practice of buddling for ore into Derbyshire about 1747.  Buddling involved washing the heaps of rubbish in the slag heaps,  the process of separating the very small particles from the dirt and spar with which they are mixed, by means of a small stream of water. This method of extraction was a major pollutant, affecting farmers and their animals (poisoned by Belland from drinking the waste water), the brooks and streams and even the River Derwent.

                                  Women also worked in the mines. An unattributed account from 1829, says: “The head is much enwrapped, and the features nearly hidden in a muffling of handkerchiefs, over which is put a man’s hat, in the manner of the paysannes of Wales”. He also describes their gowns, usually red, as being “tucked up round the waist in a sort of bag, and set off by a bright green petticoat”. They also wore a man’s grey or dark blue coat and shoes with 3″ thick soles that were tied round with cords. The 1829 writer called them “complete harridans!”

                                  Lead Mining in Matlock & Matlock Bath, The Andrews Pages

                                  John’s wife Margaret died at the age of 42 in 1847.  I don’t know the cause of death, but perhaps it was lead poisoning.  John’s son John, despite a very early start in the lead mine, became a carter and lived to the ripe old age of 88.

                                  The Pig of Lead pub, 1904:

                                  The Pig of Lead 1904

                                   

                                  The earliest Marshall I’ve found so far is Charles, born in 1742. Charles married Rebecca Knowles, 1775-1823.  I don’t know what his occupation was but when he died in 1819 he left a not inconsiderable sum to his wife.

                                  1819 Charles Marshall probate:

                                  Charles Marshall Probate

                                   

                                   

                                  There are still Marshall’s living in Elton and Matlock, not our immediate known family, but probably distantly related.  I asked a Matlock group on facebook:

                                  “…there are Marshall’s still in the village. There are certainly families who live here who have done generation after generation & have many memories & stories to tell. Visit The Duke on a Friday night…”

                                  The Duke, Elton:

                                  Duke Elton

                                  #6206

                                  “I’m not ‘aving this treatment, Mavis, I’ve booked meself in for the spirit chew all mender tations session instead. No need to loook at me like that, our Mavis, I aint going all new agey on yer, just thought I’d give it a try and see if it relaxes me a bit.”

                                  “Relaxes yer? Yer int done a stroke of work in years, whatcher on about?” Sha said, nudging Mavis in the ribs and cackling.

                                  “It’s not all about the body, y’ know!” Glor replied, feeling the futility of trying to make them understand the importance of it to her, or the significance in the wider picture.

                                  “I’m listening,” a melodious voice whispered behind her.  Andrew Anderson smiled and looked deep into her squinting eyes as she turned to face him (the sun was going down behind him and it was very hard to see, much to her chagrin).

                                  “Tell me more, Glor, what’s the score, Glor, I want to know more…”

                                  Gloria, who knees had momentarily turned to jelly, reeled backwards at this surprising change in the conversation, and lost her balance due to her temporarily affected knees.  Instinctively she reached out and grabbed Mr Anderson’s arm, and managed to avoid falling to the ground.

                                  She retracted her arm slowly as an increasingly baffled look spread across her face.

                                  Why did his arm feel so peculiar? It felt like a shop mannequin, unyielding, different somehow.  Creepy somehow. Glor mumbled, “Sure, later,” and quickly caught up with her friends.

                                  “Hey, You’ll never guess what, wait til I tell yer..” Glor started to tell them about Mr Anderson and then stopped. Would it be futile? Would they understand what she was trying to say?

                                  “I’m listening,” a melodious voice whispered in her ear.

                                  “Not bloody you again! You stalking me, or what?”  Visibly rattled, Gloria rushed over to her friends, wondering why every time that weirdo whispered in her ear, she had somehow fallen back and had to catch up again.

                                  She’d have to inform her friends of the danger, but would they listen? They were falling for him and wouldn’t be easily discouraged.  They’d be lured to the yacht and not want to escape. The fools! What could she do?

                                  “I’m listening,” the melodious voice whispered.

                                  #6081
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    Aunt Idle:

                                    I’ll admit Mater did well with the get back into shape programme, despite my skepticism.  She did hone her muscles a bit, but she was still harping on about wanting plastic surgery.  I probably shouldn’t have asked her if she was showing off her biceps or her bingo wings the other day, because that started her off again. I tried to make it up by complimenting her thigh muscles, but spoiled it by saying it was a shame the skin hung down past her kneecaps. Bert said maybe she could hold the skin up with some suspenders and made me spit my eucalyptus tea out and nearly choke to death. Mater was all set to take offence until she saw me choking, and then she started laughing too. I’m smiling remembering it, because we all saw the funny side then and couldn’t stop laughing for ages. God knows we needed a good laugh.

                                    I’d had another one of those telepathic chats with Corrie the day before. If I’d known those silly girls were going to navigate their way here via that route I’d have said something, but I never thought they’d be so daft.  There’s me envisioning a pleasant drift through the Mediterranean, and an unexpected sail across an immense shallow lake that had appeared in the middle east with crystal clear waters and a sandy bottom (I could picture it all, I tell you) and then an invitingly tropical trip along the Indian coast with ports of call at virgin new coastlines  ~ but no, they’d gone the other way.  Across the Atlantic. And now they were fighting off bandits every step of the way and having to go miles out of their way to avoid plague ridden slums.  They hadn’t even made their way past the eastern seaboard yet, despite it being considerably narrower now.

                                    They lost Pan for days in one of those half submerged coastal cities, rife with lawless floating shanties.  I hope my impressions are wrong, I do really, but it seemed like he’d been kidnapped for a barbecue.  Tender and juicy.

                                    His ability to stay submerged under the water for so long saved him, that and Corrie’s ability to stay in telepathic contact with him.

                                    They left the coastline and headed south after that and didn’t head back towards land for awhile but when they did, they found the lagoons and inlets were infested with alligators and some kind of water pig. Not sure if I picked that up right, but seems like the hogs had escaped from the farms during the Great Floods and taken to the water. Pan was forbidden to waterlark in these waters and had to stay confined to the raft.

                                    I don’t know if they’ll get here in time for Mater’s birthday. Might be my hundredth birthday by the time they get here at this rate.

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