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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.

    #7230
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Snapshots for creative sparks from random bits and bobs.

      #6517

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      After Youssef retrieved his luggage in Alice Springs, he was swarmed with freelance tour guides trying to sell him trips. You would buy a ticket out of any one of them just to get rid of the others, he thought. With a few hungry growls, he managed to frighten most of them, with a touch of indifference he lost the rest. Except one. A short Indian looking man wearing a red cap and a moustache. He seemed to have an infinite talkative energy at his disposal, able to erode the strongest wills. The temperature was hotter than Youssef had expected, here it was the end of summer, and he was hungry. The man started to get on his nerves.

      The list of tours was endless. Uluru, scenic bushwalking trails, beautiful gardens, a historical tour, a costumed historical tour, a few national parks, and even his cousins’ restaurant. He reminded Youssef of his own father, always offering guests (and especially his visiting kids) another fruit, a pastry, some coffee, chocolate ? You sure you don’t want any chocolate? If the man was tenacious, Youssef had had training with his father. But this man seemed to mistake silence and indifference for agreement. Did he really think Youssef was going to buy one of his tours ?

      “The ghost town! You have to see Arltunga, said the man. An old mining ghost town, certainly an American like you like ghost towns. And buried treasure. Arltunga has buried treasure somewhere. You can find it. I know where to find a map.”

      Youssef wondered if it was another one of the game’s fluke that his quest was apparently bleeding into his real life again. And if there was a map, why hasn’t the treasure been found already? He checked at the back of his mind for the presence of that crazy old lady. Nope, not there. He decided to refuse the call this time. He just wanted to get to that F…ing Fish Inn in Crowshollow and meet with his friends.

      “NO, he growled, frightening a group of tourists passing by, but not the tour operator. No ghost town! We have plenty in America.” Thinking of the game and his last challenge for the previous quest, he said in desperation : “I just want to find a red scarf!” and he knew inside himself and many years attempting to resist his old man, that the short Indian man had won.

      “If you want to find a red scarf, you go to Silk Road, said the man bobbing his head. My cousin’s shop, you find everything there only.”

      Youssef sighed. He thought there were only two ways to take it. The first one was that he had fallen into a trap and try to find a way to get out of it. But it might be sticky and uncomfortable for everyone. So he decided it was the other way around and that it was part of the game. Why wouldn’t he use this as an opportunity for adventure. Wasn’t that what Xavier always said about roads less traveled ?

      “Where is your cousin’s shop? he asked. And where’s that restaurant of your cousin’s? I’m starving.”

      The little man smiled broadly.

      “Same place. Two brothers. Shop next to restaurant in Todd Mall. You’re lucky! Follow me.”

      #6511
      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Potential Plot Arch

        The uncovered box in the garden of Bob & Clara is a Time Capsule which was actually buried in the future, but mistakenly sent to the past. It has symbols etched on it, that activate some nano-technology.
        Due to its contact with it, Bob starts recovering his memories, while retaining the hallucinations of his dead wife Jane, which actually become more credible and intense.

        Will Tarkin is actually a time traveler from the future, who came to live a simple life in the past, selling stone gargoyles at the local supermarket and rediscovering the ways of his ancestors.

        With the box being found and opened at the wrong time, it creates unwanted attention from the Time Dragglers who need to intervene to prevent alterations of the timeline.
        Contents of the box are in part encoded books of stories from local families and would have revealed important things about the past, Jane’s death, and Clara’s future.

        With Bob recovering his memories, it’s revealed Jane and Bob were actually also refugees from the future, but had aged naturally in the past, which is why Will seemed to recognize Bob. Bob was living in hiding from the Time Police, but with the box discovery, it changes everything. The box being opened at the wrong time disrupts the natural flow of events and starts causing unexpected consequences. This creates a complex web of relationships and events that must be untangled and understood in order to move forward.

        With his recovering of mental capacities, Bob partners with Will in order to restore the natural flow of time, even if it means his mental health will deteriorate again, which he is happy to do while continuing to live the rest of his life span with his daughter.

        Potential developments

        Clara Meets the Mysterious Will

        Nora finally reaches the little village where Clara and Bob live and is greeted by a man named Will
        Will seems to know Bob from somewhere
        Clara starts to feel suspicious of Will’s intentions and begins to investigate

        The Power of Memories

        Bob starts to have flashbacks of his past and begins to remember the connection between him, Will, and the mysterious time capsule
        Bob realizes that Jane, his wife, had been keeping something from him and that the time capsule holds the key to unlocking the truth
        Jane appears to Bob and urges him to tell Clara about their past and the significance of the time capsule

        The Truth Behind the Capsule

        Nora, Clara, and Bob finally find the answers they’ve been searching for by opening the time capsule
        The contents of the capsule reveal a shocking truth about Jane’s past and the reason behind her death
        They learn that Jane was part of a secret society that protected ancient knowledge and artifacts and that the time capsule was meant to be opened at a specific time
        The group realizes that they were meant to find the capsule and continue Jane’s work in protecting the knowledge and artifacts

        The Ties Between Living and Dead

        Bob comes to terms with Jane’s death and the role she played in their lives
        Clara and Bob grow closer as they work together to continue Jane’s work and preserve the knowledge and artifacts
        The group encounters obstacles but with the help of the spirits of the past, they are able to overcome them and succeed in their mission

        A Realization of the Past and Present

        Clara, Bob, and Nora come to realize the power of memories and how they shape our present and future
        They also learn that things never truly remain buried and that the past always finds a way to resurface
        The group successfully preserves the knowledge and artifacts, ensuring that they will be passed down for generations to come
        The story ends with Clara, Bob, and Nora sitting by the fire, reflecting on their journey and the lessons they’ve learned.

        #6509
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Table of characters:

          Characters Keyword Characteristics Sentiment
          Clara Woman in her late 40s, VanGogh’s owner Inquisitive, curious
          VanGogh Clara’s dog Curious
          Grandpa Bob Clara’s grandfather, widowed, early signs of dementia Skeptical, anxious
          Nora Clara’s friend, amateur archaeologist, nicknamed Alienor by Clara Adventure-seeking
          Jane Grandpa Bob’s wife, Clara’s mother, only Bob seem to see her, possibly a hallucination Teasing
          Julienne / Mr. Willets Neighbors of Clara & Bob
          Bubbles (Time-dragglers squad, alternate timeline) Junior drag-queen, reporting to Linda Pol (office manager) adventurous, brave, concerned
          Will After Nora encountered a man with a white donkey, she awakes in a cottage. Will is introduced later, and drugs Nora unbeknownst to her. Later Bob & Clara come at his doorstep (they know him as the gargoyle statues selling man from the market), looking for her friend. Affable, mysterious, hiding secrets

          Some connecting threads:

          1. The discovery of a mysterious pear-shaped box with inscriptions by Clara and her grandfather.
          2. Clara sending photos of the artifact to Nora (Alienor), an amateur archaeologist.
          3. Nora’s journey from her place to reach the location where the box was discovered and her encounter with a man with a donkey (Will?).
          4. Grandpa Bob’s anxious behavior and the confusion over the torn piece of paper with a phone number.
          5. The parallel timeline of a potential breach in the timelines in Linda Pol’s office.
          6. The search for VanGogh and the discovery of a map tucked into his collar.
          7. The suggestion from Jane that Clara should be told something.
          8. Nora awakes at a cottage and spends time with Will who drugs her soup. Bob & Clara show up later, looking for her.
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            A background on the excavated mysteries from Twists and One Return From the Time Capsule.

            BACKGROUND CONTENT: Focus is on key protagonists:

            • Clara (a woman in her late 40s, taking care of her father, living the two of them with her Malinois dog VanGogh),
            • her father Bob (a widowed man with early stage dementia, who can see and speak to his dead wife Jane)
            • and Nora (nicknamed Alienor, Clara’s friend, a local thrill-seeking artist and amateur archaeologist)

            in an story of discovery around a mystery of a box (which is a Time Capsule found by Clara’s dog VanGogh) during a time and place of travel restrictions (and possibly time-travel restrictions).

            Tone of story is curious and engrossed with a mystery of the ages, some supernatural grounded in plausibility, looking for connecting dots with the past sometimes long gone, and a present that slips away in our memories.

            An encounter with the mysterious Will (possibly Will Tarkin), who seems nice and seductive yet acts unscrupulously and manipulative (seemingly recognising Bob from somewhere), could be the key to a big reveal, and possible links to Jane’s pasts. All while struggling to keep away the nosy neighbour.
            The conclusion will bring some realisations about the power of memories, the ties between living and dead, and how things never remain buried for long.

            #6460

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            The vendor was preparing the Lorgh Drülp with the dexterity of a Japanese sushi chef. A piece of yak, tons of spices, minced vegetables, and some other ingredients that Youssef couldn’t recognise. He turned his attention to the shaman’s performance. The team was trying to follow the man’s erratic moves under Miss Tartiflate’s supervision.  Youssef could hear her shouting to Kyle to get closer shots. It reminded him that he had to get an internet connection.

            “Is there a wifi?” asked Youssef to the vendor. The man bobbed his head and pointed at the table with a knife just as big as a machete. Impressed by the size of the blade, Youssef almost didn’t see the tattoo on the vendor’s forearm. The man resumed his cooking swiftly and his long yellow sleeve hid the tattoo. Youssef touched his screen to look at his exchange with Xavier. He searched for the screenshot he had taken of the Thi Gang’s message. There it was. The mummy skull with Darth Vador’s helmet. The same as the man’s tattoo. Xavier’s last message was about the translation being an ancient silk road recipe. They had thought it a fluke in AL’s algorithm. Youssef glanced at the vendor and his knife. Could he be part of Thi Gang?

            Youssef didn’t have time to think of a plan when the vendor put a tray with the Lorgh Drülp and little balls of tsampa on the table. The man pointed with his finger at the menu on the table, uncovering his forearm, it was the same as the Thi Gang logo.

            “Wifi on menu,” the man said. “Tsampa, good for you…”

            A commotion at the market place interrupted them. Apparently Kyle had gone too close and the shaman had crashed into him and the rest of the team. The man was cursing every one of them and Miss Tartiflate was apparently trying to calm him down by offering him snack bars. But the shaman kept brandishing an ugly sceptre that looked like a giant chicken foot covered in greasy fur, while cursing them with broken english. The tourists were all brandishing their phones, not missing a thing, ready to send their videos on TrickTruck. The shaman left angrily, ignoring all attempts at conciliation. There would be no reportage.

            “Hahaha, tourists, they believe anything they see,” said the vendor before returning to his stove and his knife.

            Despite his hunger, Youssef thought he’d better hurry with the wifi, now that the crew was out of work, he would be the target of Miss Tartiflate’s frustration. Furthermore, he wanted to lay low and not attract the vendor’s attention.

            3235 messages from his friends. How would he ever catch up?
            Among them, messages from Xavier. Youssef sighed of relief when he read that his friend had regained full access of the website and updated the system to fix a security flaw that allowed Thi Gang to gain access in the first place. But he growled when his friend continued with the bad news. There was some damage done to the content of THE BLOG.

            To console himself, Youssef started to eat a ball of tsampa. It was sweet and tasted like rose. He took a second and spit it out almost immediately. There was a piece of paper inside. He smoothed it and discovered a series of five pictograms.

            🧔🌮🔍🔑🏞️

            The first one was like a hologram and kept changing into six horizontal bars. The second one, looking like a tako bell, kept reversing side. Youssef raised his head to call the vendor and nobody was there. He got up and looked for the guy, Thi Gang or not, he needed some answers. Voices came from behind the curtain at the back of the stall. Youssef walked around the stall and saw the shaman and the vendor exchanging clothes. The caucasian man was now wearing the colourful costume and the drum. When he saw Youssef, he smiled and waved his hand, making the bells from the hem ring. Then he turned around and left, whistling an air that sounded strangely like the music of the Game. Youssef was about to run after him when a hand grasped his shirt.

            “Please! Tell me at least that THE BLOG is up and running!” said an angry voice.

            #6368
            EricEric
            Keymaster

              Something in the style of FPooh:

              Arona heard the music growing louder as she approached the source of the sound. She could see a group of people gathered around a large fire, the flickering light casting shadows on the faces of the dancers. She hesitated for a moment, remembering the isolation of her journey and wondering if she was ready to be among people again. But the music was too inviting, and she found herself drawn towards the group.

              As she neared the fire, she saw a young man playing a flute, the music flowing from his fingers with a fluid grace that captivated her. He looked up as she approached, and their eyes met. She could see the surprise and curiosity in his gaze, and she smiled, feeling a sense of connection she had not felt in a long time.

              Fiona was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the children play. She had brought her sketchbook with her, but for once she didn’t feel the urge to draw. Instead she watched the children’s laughter, feeling content and at peace. Suddenly, she saw a young girl running towards her, a look of pure joy on her face. The girl stopped in front of her and held out a flower, offering it to Fiona with a smile.

              Taken aback, Fiona took the flower and thanked the girl. The girl giggled and ran off to join her friends. Fiona looked down at the flower in her hand, and she felt a sense of inspiration, like a spark igniting within her. She opened her sketchbook and began to draw, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders and the magic of creativity flowing through her.

              Minky led the group of misfits towards the emporium, his bowler hat bobbing on his head. He chattered excitedly, telling stories of the wondrous items to be found within Mr Jib’s store. Yikesy followed behind, still lost in his thoughts of Arona and feeling a sense of dread at the thought of buying a bowler hat. The green fairy flitted along beside him, her wings a blur of movement as she chattered with the parrot perched on her shoulder.

              As they reached the emporium, they were disappointed to find it closed. But Minky refused to be discouraged, and he led them to a nearby cafe where they could sit and enjoy some tea and cake while they wait for the emporium to open. The green fairy was delighted, and she ordered a plate of macarons, smiling as she tasted the sweetness of the confections.

              About creativity & everyday magic

              Fiona had always been drawn to the magic of creativity, the way a blank page could be transformed into a world of wonder and beauty. But lately, she had been feeling stuck, unable to find the spark that ignited her imagination. She would sit with her sketchbook, pencil in hand, and nothing would come to her.

              She started to question her abilities, wondering if she had lost the magic of her art. She spent long hours staring at her blank pages, feeling a weight on her chest that seemed to be growing heavier every day.

              But then she remembered the green fairy’s tears and Yikesy’s longing for Arona, and she realized that the magic of creativity wasn’t something that could be found only in art. It was all around her, in the everyday moments of life.

              She started to look for the magic in the small things, like the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, or the way a child’s laughter could light up a room. She found it in the way a stranger’s smile could lift her spirits, and in the way a simple cup of tea could bring her comfort.

              And as she started to see the magic in the everyday, she found that the weight on her chest lifted and the spark of inspiration returned. She picked up her pencil and began to draw, feeling the magic flowing through her once again.

              She understand that creativity blocks aren’t a destination, but just a step, just like the bowler hat that Minky had bought for them all, a bit of everyday magic, nothing too fancy but a sense of belonging, a sense of who they are and where they are going. And she let her pencil flow, with the hopes that one day, they will all find their way home.

              #6352
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Birmingham Bootmaker

                Samuel Jones 1816-1875

                 

                Samuel Jones the elder was born in Belfast circa 1779.  He is one of just two direct ancestors found thus far born in Ireland.  Samuel married Jane Elizabeth Brooker (born in St Giles, London) on the 25th January 1807 at St George, Hanover Square in London.  Their first child Mary was born in 1808 in London, and then the family moved to Birmingham. Mary was my 3x great grandmother.

                But this chapter is about her brother Samuel Jones.  I noticed that on a number of other trees on the Ancestry site, Samuel Jones was a convict transported to Australia, but this didn’t tally with the records I’d found for Samuel in Birmingham.  In fact another Samuel Jones born at the same time in the same place was transported, but his occupation was a baker.  Our Samuel Jones was a bootmaker like his father.

                Samuel was born on 28th January 1816 in Birmingham and baptised at St Phillips on the 19th August of that year, the fourth child and first son of Samuel the elder and Jane’s eleven children.

                On the 1839 electoral register a Samuel Jones owned a property on Colmore Row, Birmingham.

                Samuel Jones, bootmaker of 15, Colmore Row is listed in the 1849 Birmingham post office directory, and in the 1855 White’s Directory.

                On the 1851 census, Samuel was an unmarried bootmaker employing sixteen men at 15, Colmore Row.  A 9 year old nephew Henry Harris was living with him, and his mother Ruth Harris, as well as a female servant.  Samuel’s sister Ruth was born in 1818 and married Henry Harris in 1840. Henry died in 1848.

                Samuel was a 45 year old bootmaker at 15 Colmore Row on the 1861 census, living with Maria Walcot, a 26 year old domestic servant.

                In October 1863 Samuel married Maria Walcot at St Philips in Birmingham.  They don’t appear to have had any children as none appear on the 1871 census, where Samuel and Maria are living at the same address, with another female servant and two male lodgers by the name of Messant from Ipswich.

                Marriage of Samuel Jones and Maria Walcot:

                1863 Samuel Jones

                 

                In 1864 Samuel’s father died.  Samuel the son is mentioned in the probate records as one of the executors: “Samuel Jones of Colmore Row Birmingham in the county of Warwick boot and shoe manufacturer the son”.

                1864 Samuel Jones

                 

                Indeed it could hardly be clearer that this Samuel Jones was not the convict transported to Australia in 1834!

                 

                In 1867 Samuel Jones, bootmaker, was mentioned in the Birmingham Daily Gazette with regard to an unfortunate incident involving his American lodger, Cory McFarland.  The verdict was accidental death.

                Birmingham Daily Gazette – Friday 05 April 1867:

                Cory McFarland 1

                 

                I asked a Birmingham history group for an old photo of Colmore Row. This photo is circa 1870 and number 15 is furthest from the camera.  The businesses on the street at the time were as follows:

                7 homeopathic chemist George John Morris. 8 surgeon dentist Frederick Sims. 9 Saul & Walter Samuel, Australian merchants. Surgeons occupied 10, pawnbroker John Aaron at 11 & 12. 15 boot & shoemaker. 17 auctioneer…

                Colmore Row 1870

                 

                from Bird’s Eye View of Birmingham, 1886:

                Birmingham 1886

                #6338
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Albert Parker Edwards

                  1876-1930

                  Albert Parker Edwards

                   

                  Albert Parker Edwards, my great grandfather, was born in Aston, Warwickshire in 1876.  On the 1881 census he was living with his parents Enoch and Amelia in Bournebrook, Northfield, Worcestershire.  Enoch was a button tool maker at the time of the census.

                  In 1890 Albert was indentured in an apprenticeship as a pawnbroker in Tipton, Staffordshire.

                  1890 indenture

                   

                  On the 1891 census Albert was a lodger in Tipton at the home of Phoebe Levy, pawnbroker, and Alberts occupation was an apprentice.

                  Albert married Annie Elizabeth Stokes in 1898 in Evesham, and their first son, my grandfather Albert Garnet Edwards (1898-1950), was born six months later in Crabbs Cross.  On the 1901 census, Annie was in hospital as a patient and Albert was living at Crabbs Cross with a boarder, his brother Garnet Edwards.  Their two year old son Albert Garnet was staying with his uncle Ralph, Albert Parkers brother, also in Crabbs Cross.

                  Albert and Annie kept the Cricketers Arms hotel on Beoley Road in Redditch until around 1920. They had a further four children while living there: Doris May Edwards (1902-1974),  Ralph Clifford Edwards (1903-1988),  Ena Flora Edwards (1908-1983) and Osmond Edwards (1910-2000).

                   

                  In 1906 Albert was assaulted during an incident in the Cricketers Arms.

                  Bromsgrove & Droitwich Messenger – Saturday 18 August 1906:

                  1906 incident

                  1906 assault

                   

                  In 1910 a gold medal was given to Albert Parker Edwards by Mr. Banks, a policeman, in Redditch for saving the life of his two children from drowning in a brook on the Proctor farm which adjoined The Cricketers Arms.  The story my father heard was that policeman Banks could not persuade the town of Redditch to come up with an award for Albert Parker Edwards so policeman Banks did it himself.  William Banks, police constable, was living on Beoley Road on the 1911 census. His son Thomas was aged 5 and his daughter Frances was 8.  It seems that when the father retired from the police he moved to Worcester. Thomas went into the hotel business and in 1939 was the manager of the Abbey hotel in Kenilworth. Frances married Edward Pardoe and was living along Redditch Road, Alvechurch in 1939.

                  My grandmother Peggy had the gold medal put on a gold chain for me in the 1970s.  When I left England in the 1980s, I gave it back to her for safekeeping. When she died, the medal on the chain ended up in my fathers possession, who claims to have no knowledge that it was once given to me!

                  The medal:

                  1910 medal

                  Albert Parker Edwards wearing the medal:

                  APE wearing medal

                   

                  In 1921 Albert was at the The Royal Exchange hotel in Droitwich:

                  Royal Exchange

                   

                  Between 1922 and 1927 Albert kept the Bear Hotel in Evesham:

                  APE Bear

                  The Bear

                   

                  Then Albert and Annie moved to the Red Lion at Astwood Bank:

                  Red Lion

                   

                  Albert in the garden behind the Red Lion:

                  APE Red Lion

                   

                  They stayed at the Red Lion until Albert Parker Edwards died on the 11th of February, 1930 aged 53.

                  APE probate

                  #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

                        #6254
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The Gladstone Connection

                          My grandmother had said that we were distantly related to Gladstone the prime minister. Apparently Grandma’s mothers aunt had a neice that was related to him, or some combination of aunts and nieces on the Gretton side. I had not yet explored all the potential great grandmothers aunt’s nieces looking for this Gladstone connection, but I accidentally found a Gladstone on the tree on the Gretton side.

                          I was wandering around randomly looking at the hints for other people that had my grandparents in their trees to see who they were and how they were connected, and noted a couple of photos of Orgills. Richard Gretton, grandma’s mother Florence Nightingale Gretton’s father,  married Sarah Orgill. Sarah’s brother John Orgill married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone. It was the photographs that caught my eye, but then I saw the Gladstone name, and that she was born in Liverpool. Her father was William Gladstone born 1809 in Liverpool, just like the prime minister. And his father was John Gladstone, just like the prime minister.

                          But the William Gladstone in our family tree was a millwright, who emigrated to Australia with his wife and two children rather late in life at the age of 54, in 1863. He died three years later when he was thrown out of a cart in 1866. This was clearly not William Gladstone the prime minister.

                          John Orgill emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. Their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

                          John Orgill 1835-1911 (Florence Nightingale Gretton’s mothers brother)

                          John Orgill

                          Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926

                          Elizabeth Mary Gladstone

                           

                          I did not think that the link to Gladstone the prime minister was true, until I found an article in the Australian newspapers while researching the family of John Orgill for the Australia chapter.

                          In the Letters to the Editor in The Argus, a Melbourne newspaper, dated 8 November 1921:

                          Gladstone

                           

                          THE GLADSTONE FAMILY.
                          TO THE EDITOR OF THE ARGUS.
                          Sir,—I notice to-day a reference to the
                          death of Mr. Robert Gladstone, late of
                          Wooltonvale. Liverpool, who, together
                          with estate in England valued at £143,079,
                          is reported to have left to his children
                          (five sons and seven daughters) estate
                          valued at £4,300 in Victoria. It may be
                          of interest to some of your readers to
                          know that this Robert Gladstone was a
                          son of the Gladstone family to which
                          the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, the
                          famous Prime Minister, belonged, some
                          members of which are now resident in Aus-
                          tralia. Robert Gladstone’s father (W. E.
                          Gladstone’s cousin), Stuart Gladstone, of
                          Liverpool, owned at one time the estates
                          of Noorat and Glenormiston, in Victoria,
                          to which he sent Neil Black as manager.
                          Mr. Black, who afterwards acquired the
                          property, called one of his sons “Stuart
                          Gladstone” after his employer. A nephew
                          of Stuart Gladstone (and cousin of
                          Robert Gladstone, of Wooltonvale), Robert
                          Cottingham, by name “Bobbie” came out
                          to Australia to farm at Noorat, but was
                          killed in a horse accident when only 21,
                          and was the first to be buried in the new
                          cemetery at Noorat. A brother, of “Bob-
                          bie,” “Fred” by name, was well known
                          in the early eighties as an overland
                          drover, taking stock for C. B. Fisher to
                          the far north. Later on he married and
                          settled in Melbourne, but left during the
                          depressing time following the bursting of
                          the boom, to return to Queensland, where,
                          in all probability, he still resides. A sister
                          of “Bobbie” and “Fred” still lives in the
                          neighbourhood of Melbourne. Their
                          father, Montgomery Gladstone, who was in
                          the diplomatic service, and travelled about
                          a great deal, was a brother of Stuart Glad-
                          stone, the owner of Noorat, and a full
                          cousin of William Ewart Gladstone, his
                          father, Robert, being a brother of W. E.
                          Gladstone’s father, Sir John, of Liverpool.
                          The wife of Robert Gladstone, of Woolton-
                          vale, Ella Gladstone by name, was also
                          his second cousin, being the daughter of
                          Robertson Gladstone, of Courthaize, near
                          Liverpool, W. E. Gladstone’s older
                          brother.
                          A cousin of Sir John Gladstone
                          (W. E. G.’s father), also called John, was
                          a foundry owner in Castledouglas, and the
                          inventor of the first suspension bridge, a
                          model of which was made use of in the
                          erection of the Menai Bridge connecting
                          Anglesea with the mainland, and was after-
                          wards presented to the Liverpool Stock
                          Exchange by the inventor’s cousin, Sir
                          John. One of the sons of this inventive
                          engineer, William by name, left England
                          in 1863 with his wife and son and daugh-
                          ter, intending to settle in New Zealand,
                          but owing to the unrest caused there by
                          the Maori war, he came instead to Vic-
                          toria, and bought land near Dandenong.
                          Three years later he was killed in a horse
                          accident, but his name is perpetuated in
                          the name “Gladstone road” in Dandenong.
                          His daughter afterwards married, and lived
                          for many years in Gladstone House, Dande-
                          nong, but is now widowed and settled in
                          Gippsland. Her three sons and four daugh-
                          ters are all married and perpetuating the
                          Gladstone family in different parts of Aus-
                          tralia. William’s son (also called Wil-
                          liam), who came out with his father,
                          mother, and sister in 1863 still lives in the
                          Fix this textneighbourhood of Melbourne, with his son
                          and grandson. An aunt of Sir John Glad-
                          stone (W. E. G.’s father), Christina Glad-
                          stone by name, married a Mr. Somerville,
                          of Biggar. One of her great-grandchildren
                          is Professor W. P. Paterson, of Edinburgh
                          University, another is a professor in the
                          West Australian University, and a third
                          resides in Melbourne. Yours. &c.

                          Melbourne, Nov.7, FAMILY TREE

                           

                          According to the Old Dandenong website:

                          Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).”

                          The story of the Orgill’s continues in the chapter on Australia.

                          #6240
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Phyllis Ellen Marshall

                            1909 – 1983

                            Phyllis Marshall

                             

                            Phyllis, my grandfather George Marshall’s sister, never married. She lived in her parents home in Love Lane, and spent decades of her later life bedridden, living alone and crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. She had her bed in the front downstairs room, and had cords hanging by her bed to open the curtains, turn on the tv and so on, and she had carers and meals on wheels visit her daily. The room was dark and grim, but Phyllis was always smiling and cheerful.  Phyllis loved the Degas ballerinas and had a couple of prints on the walls.

                            I remember visiting her, but it has only recently registered that this was my great grandparents house. When I was a child, we visited her and she indicated a tin on a chest of drawers and said I could take a biscuit. It was a lemon puff, and was the stalest biscuit I’d ever had. To be polite I ate it. Then she offered me another one! I declined, but she thought I was being polite and said “Go on! You can have another!” I ate another one, and have never eaten a lemon puff since that day.

                            Phyllis’s nephew Bryan Marshall used to visit her regularly. I didn’t realize how close they were until recently, when I resumed contact with Bryan, who emigrated to USA in the 1970s following a successful application for a job selling stained glass windows and church furnishings.

                            I asked on a Stourbridge facebook group if anyone remembered her.

                            AF  Yes I remember her. My friend and I used to go up from Longlands school every Friday afternoon to do jobs for her. I remember she had a record player and we used to put her 45rpm record on Send in the Clowns for her. Such a lovely lady. She had her bed in the front room.

                            KW I remember very clearly a lady in a small house in Love Lane with alley at the left hand.  I was intrigued by this lady who used to sit with the front door open and she was in a large chair of some sort. I used to see people going in and out and the lady was smiling. I was young then (31) and wondered how she coped but my sense was she had lots of help.  I’ve never forgotten that lady in Love Lane sitting in the open door way I suppose when it was warm enough.

                            LR I used to deliver meals on wheels to her lovely lady.

                            I sent Bryan the comments from the Stourbridge group and he replied:

                            Thanks Tracy. I don’t recognize the names here but lovely to see such kind comments.
                            In the early 70’s neighbors on Corser Street, Mr. & Mrs. Walter Braithwaite would pop around with occasional visits and meals. Walter was my piano teacher for awhile when I was in my early twenties. He was a well known music teacher at Rudolph Steiner School (former Elmfield School) on Love Lane. A very fine school. I seem to recall seeing a good article on Walter recently…perhaps on the Stourbridge News website. He was very well known.
                            I’m ruminating about life with my Aunt Phyllis. We were very close. Our extra special time was every Saturday at 5pm (I seem to recall) we’d watch Doctor Who. Right from the first episode. We loved it. Likewise I’d do the children’s crossword out of Woman’s Realm magazine…always looking to win a camera but never did ! She opened my mind to the Bible, music and ballet. She once got tickets and had a taxi take us into Birmingham to see the Bolshoi Ballet…at a time when they rarely left their country. It was a very big deal in the early 60’s. ! I’ve many fond memories about her and grandad which I’ll share in due course. I’d change the steel needle on the old record player, following each play of the 78rpm records…oh my…another world.

                            Bryan continues reminiscing about Phyllis in further correspondence:

                            Yes, I can recall those two Degas prints. I don’t know much of Phyllis’ early history other than she was a hairdresser in Birmingham. I want to say at John Lewis, for some reason (so there must have been a connection and being such a large store I bet they did have a salon?)
                            You will know that she had severe and debilitating rheumatoid arthritis that eventually gnarled her hands and moved through her body. I remember strapping on her leg/foot braces and hearing her writhe in pain as I did so but she wanted to continue walking standing/ getting up as long as she could. I’d take her out in the wheelchair and I can’t believe I say it along …but down Stanley Road!! (I had subsequent nightmares about what could have happened to her, had I tripped or let go!) She loved Mary Stevens Park, the swans, ducks and of course Canadian geese. Was grateful for everything in creation. As I used to go over Hanbury Hill on my visit to Love Lane, she would always remind me to smell the “sea-air” as I crested the hill.
                            In the earlier days she smoked cigarettes with one of those long filters…looking like someone from the twenties.

                            I’ll check on “Send in the clowns”. I do recall that music. I remember also she loved to hear Neil Diamond. Her favorites in classical music gave me an appreciation of Elgar and Delius especially. She also loved ballet music such as Swan Lake and Nutcracker. Scheherazade and La Boutique Fantastic also other gems.
                            When grandad died she and aunt Dorothy shared more about grandma (who died I believe when John and I were nine-months old…therefore early 1951). Grandma (Mary Ann Gilman Purdy) played the piano and loved Strauss and Offenbach. The piano in the picture you sent had a bad (wonky) leg which would fall off and when we had the piano at 4, Mount Road it was rather dangerous. In any event my parents didn’t want me or others “banging on it” for fear of waking the younger brothers so it disappeared at sometime.
                            By the way, the dog, Flossy was always so rambunctious (of course, she was a JRT!) she was put on the stairway which fortunately had a door on it. Having said that I’ve always loved dogs so was very excited to see her and disappointed when she was not around. 

                            Phyllis with her parents William and Mary Marshall, and Flossie the dog in the garden at Love Lane:

                            Phyllis William and Mary Marshall

                             

                            Bryan continues:

                            I’ll always remember the early days with the outside toilet with the overhead cistern caked in active BIG spider webs. I used to have to light a candle to go outside, shielding the flame until destination. In that space I’d set the candle down and watch the eery shadows move from side to side whilst…well anyway! Then I’d run like hell back into the house. Eventually the kitchen wall was broken through so it became an indoor loo. Phew!
                            In the early days the house was rented for ten-shillings a week…I know because I used to take over a ten-bob-note to a grumpy lady next door who used to sign the receipt in the rent book. Then, I think she died and it became available for $600.00 yes…the whole house for $600.00 but it wasn’t purchased then. Eventually aunt Phyllis purchased it some years later…perhaps when grandad died.

                            I used to work much in the back garden which was a lovely walled garden with arch-type decorations in the brickwork and semicircular shaped capping bricks. The abundant apple tree. Raspberry and loganberry canes. A gooseberry bush and huge Victoria plum tree on the wall at the bottom of the garden which became a wonderful attraction for wasps! (grandad called the “whasps”). He would stew apples and fruit daily.
                            Do you remember their black and white cat Twinky? Always sat on the pink-screen TV and when she died they were convinced that “that’s wot got ‘er”. Grandad of course loved all his cats and as he aged, he named them all “Billy”.

                            Have you come across the name “Featherstone” in grandma’s name. I don’t recall any details but Dorothy used to recall this. She did much searching of the family history Such a pity she didn’t hand anything on to anyone. She also said that we had a member of the family who worked with James Watt….but likewise I don’t have details.
                            Gifts of chocolates to Phyllis were regular and I became the recipient of the overflow!

                            What a pity Dorothy’s family history research has disappeared!  I have found the Featherstone’s, and the Purdy who worked with James Watt, but I wonder what else Dorothy knew.

                            I mentioned DH Lawrence to Bryan, and the connection to Eastwood, where Bryan’s grandma (and Phyllis’s mother) Mary Ann Gilman Purdy was born, and shared with him the story about Francis Purdy, the Primitive Methodist minister, and about Francis’s son William who invented the miners lamp.

                            He replied:

                            As a nosy young man I was looking through the family bookcase in Love Lane and came across a brown paper covered book. Intrigued, I found “Sons and Lovers” D.H. Lawrence. I knew it was a taboo book (in those days) as I was growing up but now I see the deeper connection. Of course! I know that Phyllis had I think an earlier boyfriend by the name of Maurice who lived in Perry Barr, Birmingham. I think he later married but was always kind enough to send her a book and fond message each birthday (Feb.12). I guess you know grandad’s birthday – July 28. We’d always celebrate those days. I’d usually be the one to go into Oldswinford and get him a cardigan or pullover and later on, his 2oz tins of St. Bruno tobacco for his pipe (I recall the room filled with smoke as he puffed away).
                            Dorothy and Phyllis always spoke of their ancestor’s vocation as a Minister. So glad to have this history! Wow, what a story too. The Lord rescued him from mischief indeed. Just goes to show how God can change hearts…one at a time.
                            So interesting to hear about the Miner’s Lamp. My vicar whilst growing up at St. John’s in Stourbridge was from Durham and each Harvest Festival, there would be a miner’s lamp placed upon the altar as a symbol of the colliery and the bountiful harvest.

                            More recollections from Bryan about the house and garden at Love Lane:

                            I always recall tea around the three legged oak table bedecked with a colorful seersucker cloth. Battenburg cake. Jam Roll. Rich Tea and Digestive biscuits. Mr. Kipling’s exceedingly good cakes! Home-made jam.  Loose tea from the Coronation tin cannister. The ancient mangle outside the back door and the galvanized steel wash tub with hand-operated agitator on the underside of the lid. The hand operated water pump ‘though modernisation allowed for a cold tap only inside, above the single sink and wooden draining board. A small gas stove and very little room for food preparation. Amazing how the Marshalls (×7) managed in this space!

                            The small window over the sink in the kitchen brought in little light since the neighbor built on a bathroom annex at the back of their house, leaving #47 with limited light, much to to upset of grandad and Phyllis. I do recall it being a gloomy place..i.e.the kitchen and back room.

                            The garden was lovely. Long and narrow with privet hedge dividing the properties on the right and the lovely wall on the left. Dorothy planted spectacular lilac bushes against the wall. Vivid blues, purples and whites. Double-flora. Amazing…and with stunning fragrance. Grandad loved older victorian type plants such as foxgloves and comfrey. Forget-me-nots and marigolds (calendulas) in abundance.  Rhubarb stalks. Always plantings of lettuce and other vegetables. Lots of mint too! A large varigated laurel bush outside the front door!

                            Such a pleasant walk through the past. 

                            An autograph book belonging to Phyllis from the 1920s has survived in which each friend painted a little picture, drew a cartoon, or wrote a verse.  This entry is perhaps my favourite:

                            Ripping Time

                            #6239
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              The Photographer

                              Dorothy Mary Marshall

                              1907 – 1983

                               

                              Without doubt we have Dorothy Tooby to thank for the abundance of priceless photographs of the Marshall family.

                              Dorothy Tooby with her father William Marshall, photo by Charles Tooby:

                              Dorothy Tooby William Marshall

                               

                              Dorothy Marshall was born in 1907 in Ashby de la Zouch, Leicestershire. She married Charles Tooby in 1932.  They had no children, and they both had a lifelong interest in photography. Dorothy won many prizes and some of her work is in the Birmingham Archives.  I recall her saying once that men didn’t like it when a woman won the prize, although I don’t think she was referring to Charles!  They always seemed to be a very close couple.

                              Dorothy in a 1934 Jaguar SS1. The company was originally known as Swallow Sidecar Company, became SS Cars Ltd in 1934, and Jaguar Cars Ltd in 1945. This car is mentioned in a James Bond book by Ian Fleming.

                              Dorothy Tooby 1934 Jaguar SS1

                               

                              When I was aged four or so, Dorothy and Charles lived next door to us on High Park Avenue in Wollaston.  Dorothy and Charles spent a lot of time with Dorothy’s brother Geoff’s five sons when they were children.  And of course, they took many photographs of them.

                              Bryan, Geoff Marshall, Chris, John, Bobby in the middle, and Jimmy at the front.

                              Geoff Marshall and boys

                               

                              Bobby, photo by Dorothy Tooby

                              Bobby Marshall

                               

                              Bobby was one of Geoff and Mary’s sons.  He was also my first husband, my mothers cousin. He was born in 1954 and died in 2021, not long after I’d resumed contact with his brother Bryan, who emigrated to USA in the 1970’s.

                              #6195

                              Sometimes Bob spoke without his lips. Telepathy is what Jane liked to call it. It’s just thinking that other people can hear, apparently.

                              Bob could hear Jane thinking now and she didn’t sound too pleased. “What’s she doing here?” she hissed in his head.

                              Jane and Julienne never got on. Well, they used to years ago. Then something happened. Something to do with a fruit cake recipe … Bob could never understand the ins and outs of it. They hadn’t spoken much after that. Jane called Julienne the town gossip.

                              “That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Bob reaching out for the offshoots.Goodness knows what he was going to do with them. It was Jane who was the gardener.

                              Clara smirked. “I’ll go and see if Nora is up.”

                              “No, she’s alright,” said Bob sharply. “You stay here. She’ll just be resting up now. It’s all been quite a shock for her I think.”

                              “What’s all this?” asked Julienne. “Someone’s had a shock?”

                              #6191

                              VanGogh darted toward the cypress fence and when close enough started to bark.

                              “Good dog!” said a feminine voice, “You recognised me?” It was Julienne, she was about the same age as Bob and lived in the old vicarage not far from Bob’s house. “I was tending to my raspberry trees and I thought I could bring you some of the offshoots”, she said showing her pink plastic bag. “Hi Clara, I didn’t know you were there,” she added as if she should have.

                              Clara looked at Bob. Not a word, he said with his lips.

                              #6188

                              Reddening, Bob stammered, “Yeah, yes, uh, yeah. Um…”

                              Clara squeezed her grandfathers arm reassuringly.  “We’re looking for my friend Nora.” she interrupted, to give him time to compose himself.  Poor dear was easily flustered these days. Turning to Will, “She was hiking over to visit us and should have arrived yesterday and she’d have passed right by here, but her phone seems to be dead.”

                              Will had to think quickly. If he could keep them both here with Nora long enough to get the box ~ or better yet, replace the contents with something else. Yes, that was it!  He could take a sack of random stuff to put in the box, and they’d never suspect a thing. He was going to hide the contents in a statue anyway, so he didn’t even need the box.

                              Spreading his arms wide in welcome and smiling broadly, he said “This is your lucky day! Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on, Nora’s gone up to take some photos of the old ruin, she’ll be back soon.”

                              Bob and Clara relaxed and returned the smile and allowed themselves to be ushered into the kitchen and seated at the table.

                              Will lit the gas flame under the soup before filling the kettle with water. They’d be too polite to refuse, if he put a bowl in front of them, and if they didn’t drink it, well then he’d have to resort to plan B.  He put a little pinch of powder from a tiny jar into each cup of  tea; it wouldn’t hurt and would likely make them more biddable.  Then the soup would do the trick.

                              Will steered the conversation to pleasant banter about the wildflowers on the way up to the ruins that he’d said Nora was visiting, and the birds that were migrating at this time of year, keeping the topics off anything potentially agitating.  The tea was starting to take effect and Clara and Bob relaxed and enjoyed the conversation.  They sipped the soup without protest, although Bob did grimace a bit at the thought of eating on an agitated stomach. He’d have indigestion for days, but didn’t want to be rude and refuse. He was enjoying the respite from all the vexation,  though, and was quite happy for the moment just to let the man prattle on while he ate the damn soup.

                              “Oh, I think Nora must be back! I just heard her voice!” exclaimed Clara.

                              Will had heard it too, but he said, “That wasn’t Nora, that was the parrot! It’s a fast leaner, and Nora’s been training it to say things….I tell you what, you stay here and finish your soup, and I’ll go and fetch the parrot.”

                              “Parrot? What parrot?” Clara and Bob said in unison.  They both found it inordinately funny and by the time Will had exited the kitchen, locking the door from the outside, they were hooting and wiping the tears of laughter from their cheeks.

                              “What the hell was in that tea!” Clara joked, finishing her soup.

                              What was Nora doing awake already? Will didn’t have to keep her quiet for long, but he needed to keep her quiet now, just until the soup took effect on the others.

                              Either that or find a parrot.

                              #6186

                              Will didn’t like unexpected visitors. What kind of people turned up unannounced nowadays? He was tempted to ignore the knocking but then it is the not knowing that’s the killer. And what if someone gets it in their head to nose around the property?

                              “Yep?” he said opening the door. The pair of them were starting off down the front steps as though they meant to go exploring. He’d been right to answer.

                              “Oh, you are here!” said the girl, turning towards him with a bright smile. “Sorry to just turn up like this …”

                              Will gave her a curt nod and she faltered a little.

                              “Uh, my name is Clara and this is my grandfather, Bob, and we are hoping you can help us … “

                              The old fellow with her, Bob, was staring hard at Will. He looked familiar but Will couldn’t quite place him … he wasn’t local. And he certainly didn’t recognise the girl—very pretty; he would definitely have remembered her.

                              “Have we met somewhere, Bob?” Will asked.

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