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  • #7375

    “The very image of a spy from a cheap novel. Perched behind his newspaper, peering through holes like a child with a telescope. He’s a creature of shadows, blending into the background, always watching, never seen. He thinks himself clever, but he’s as subtle as a cat in a fishbowl. He’s drawn to Frigella like a moth to a flame, but can’t shake off his ingrained caution. Intrigued yet wary, like a mouse sniffing a piece of cheese in a trap. He needs to make up his mind before his tail gets caught.”

    “What’s on your mind, Needles?” Frigella inquired of her hedgehog familiar.

    “Nothing,” replied the hedgehog cryptically, returning happily to his strawberry snack. “But you’ll soon find out…”

    Cedric Spellbind found himself woefully unprepared for what was coming after the jump into the weird glowing vortex. On a hunch, he’d followed the enigmatic Miss O’Green. Something about her, her diaphaneous looks…

    His wool tweed cap wasn’t the best attire for wherever he had jumped into. The damp smells, the warm humid air filled with electricity —something told him he wasn’t in Limerick any more,… but where.

    The group Ms Frigella was with had moved swiftly, nonchalantly going in the streets after the boisterous tall figure with the black curly wig had made a string of light glow on the ground, evanescent trail they followed unhesitant to somewhere only them seemed to know.

    He was struggling to keep the pace. At some point, the blue-haired one had turned suspiciously casting her glance, and he’d managed to dart in a nearby alley. They’d resumed their stroll, but she’d done something after that, some sort of dark magic that made their group seem to disappear in a fog, the sounds they made suddenly all muffled.

    Accustomed to tracking witches, he’d discreetly put a findmystuff tracker on the bag. Wherever that bag would go, he would follow. He opted to let them proceed unhindered, for now.

    He checked his phone. He couldn’t catch the signs in the streets during his shadowing. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he’d emerged from the vortex, so he was surely in another country. The SMS he’d received confirmed that hypothesis: he was in Brazil.

    5 missed calls. His mother… He couldn’t call her back now, it would cost him a fortune, and his witch tracking wasn’t exactly paying the bills. She would hate him for it, but she would have to wait. Maybe a bit of worrying for him wasn’t bad. One could hope.

    His last witch hunt hadn’t been the most successful. Bulgarian witches were fierce. To be honest, it had been a fiasco, and he was posted in Limerick as a consequence —on desk job only. He knew there were worse places to be, but he was missing the action of the field… He shouldn’t have followed these witches, but again, following orders had never been his strong suit.

    #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.

    #7222

    In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Very well, let us focus a bit on an overarching mystery.

      So, Xavier is working on this program he calls AL (for Alternate Life), for a company we know little about.

      Meanwhile, the game they’re playing on, Orbs of Madjourneys seems to direct them to certain quests which subtly influence their activities. For instance, after playing the game, a succession of events got the four of them booking a trip to the Flying fish Inn in the middle of Australian outback (Zara is living in Australia unlike the others).

      Let’s assume the Game had somehow detected some unlawful or immoral activities being conducted, and has started to drop clues to influence these 4 gamers, selected because of their unique connexions and some of their special skills to get to reveal and bring the mystery to light.

      Zara has an explorer mind, free-spirited, jumping right in. It’s suggested she was assigned group leadership for this round of game, while taking care of a group doesn’t come naturally for her. Yasmin is talented and it is said she is the brains of the team and also a competent actress, which may come in play at some point. Youssef is a journalist, and works for Miss Tartiflate, owner of THE Blog, a blog with a soul – unlike rival blog from Botty Banworth, the lady millionaire, who is sponsoring the Carts & Lager festival at the town of the Flying Fish Inn, next to the mines. Xavier has a bit of a monkey mind, but is also good at drawing connections; he’s a programmer for AL.

      Which brings us to the group quest. The current hunch is that there is some shenanigan at play in the old collapsed mines of the town, where some key characters were lost in the past. One of them being Fred, a sci-fi writer who disappeared to Fiji to protect his family (the owners of the Flying Fish Inn) a decade or so ago. It’s suggested by the last poem found in the game that it may have something to do with illegal underground water drilling —possibly for frivolous usages of a select few elite, like maintaining a golf green nearby or other things.

      If that is on the right track, we need to accelerate the path of discovery of these mysteries for our 4 characters. The game will suggest additional clues to their quests, so that they can use their skills during the Carts & Lager Festival to discover the truth, while remaining out of harm’s way.

      Here are some additional clues that the game will suggest to our four characters:

      Zara:

      “To find the truth, you must first seek the light.” 🌞🔍🕯️💡🔦
      “The answer lies beneath the surface.” 🕳️🔍👀🌊💧

      Yasmin:

      “All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.” 🌍🎭🤹‍♀️👥🕺
      “Sometimes, the truth is hidden in plain sight.” 👀🔍🤫🧐🕵️‍♀️

      Youssef:

      “Words have power, and the pen is mightier than the sword.” 📝🗡️💪📚👨‍💻
      “The truth may be hidden in the most unexpected of places.” 🤔🕵️‍♂️🔍🧩🕰️

      Xavier:

      “The truth is a puzzle waiting to be solved.” 🧩🔍🤔🕵️‍♂️💡
      “Sometimes, the smallest details can lead to the biggest discoveries.” 🔍👀🔬🧐🔎

      What are potential outcomes for our 4 characters in game and in real life.
      How are they going to work together to unravel the mystery and discover the truth.

      There are several potential outcomes for our 4 characters as they work together to unravel the truth about the collapsed mines and the illegal underground water drilling.

      In the game, they may encounter various obstacles and puzzles to solve, such as deciphering codes and finding hidden passages. They will need to work together and use their unique skills to uncover the truth and prevent any further harm.

      In real life, they may need to conduct research and gather information about the history of the town and its residents. They may also need to interview locals and investigate any suspicious activity related to the water drilling. They will need to be careful not to draw too much attention to themselves, as the perpetrators may try to silence them.

      If they are successful in their quest, they may uncover a conspiracy involving powerful people in the town and beyond who are profiting from the illegal water drilling. They may also discover the fate of Fred, the missing writer, and other key characters. The truth may have a significant impact on the future of the town and its residents.

      To work together effectively, each of the characters will need to utilize their unique skills and strengths. Zara’s exploratory nature may help them discover hidden clues and passages, while Yasmin’s intellect and acting abilities may allow her to gain access to key information and people. Youssef’s journalistic skills and connection to Miss Tartiflate may provide them with insider knowledge and resources, and Xavier’s ability to draw connections and work with technology may help them piece together the puzzle.

      Overall, by working together and using their skills in both the game and real life, our 4 characters may uncover a significant truth and make a positive impact on the town and its residents.

      #7220
      DevanDevan
      Participant

        At 10:30am, the air is buzzing with excitement. As the first race is going to start soon. There has been no signs of a dust storm and everyone seem to have forgotten about it. The participants are cheering and getting ready for the race while groups of tourists are wandering about, taking pictures of the teams and the folks in costume. People came from as far as Mexico, Italy and Macedonia.

        Because of the harsh conditions, miners were usually males back in the days. But there have always been teams at our little town’s festival ready to include women and children because they were usually lighter and it was easier to push the carts around on the tracks. Since a few years, there even have been full female teams, and they were pretty good too.

        Prune arrives with her new fancy reflex camera she got at her last birthday. She wants to take our picture in front of our cart. At Joe and Callum’s surprise, I try to talk her into joining our team and be part of the fun. I get out of the cart a spare hat and a wig I had prepared for her, but she says today she’s doing a reportage about the festival. I know she wants to be on the lookout for our father, and keep an eye on the Inn’s guests. She told me yesterday something was off with that Liana Parker who kept snooping around and asking questions to townsfolk about Howard and Fred. And, she heard the two other girls talking about Liana being a Finli and a nun.

        I frown. I haven’t told the boys anything about my father or suspicious guests with false names. Prune knows I’m not too keen about letting my little sister following people around on her own. I told her something could go wrong, but she brushed it aside explaining it was the perfect occasion because people wouldn’t pay attention to someone taking random pictures during a festival. She’s got a point, but I’m still her big brother. I had to try.

        She asks us to strike a pose in front of our cart and tells a few jokes. When we laugh she takes a picture of our all male team, I’m the one in the center, Callum’s on the left and Joe on the right. I’m glad despite all the concern, I look like I’m having fun.

        Checking her camera screen, Prune says: “You guys remind me of the Clockwork Orange with your hats, but more colourful and less creepy.”

        Callum and Joe look at each other, each having one eyebrow raised. I snort. I’m sure they don’t understand the reference.

        “You’re ok,” she tells them. “It means people will notice and remember you.”

        “Spread the word! We’ll crush them all!” Callum shouts.

        Prune looks at me. “You’re still frowning,” she says. “It’ll be fine.”

        “Ok,” I say. “But at least take the hat. You can’t dress as yourself during a Cart and Lager festival, or you’ll pop out of the crowd.”

        She raises her eyes to the sky and sighs. Then, she takes the orange hat from my hands and puts it on her head.

        “There, happy? Consider that an endorsement of your team,” she says with a wink.

        Joe and Callum hoot and whistle loudly. “Miss serious is running wild! Anything can happen today.”

        We all laugh. Their enthusiasm is contagious.

        “Hey! You’re mother is about to talk,” says Joe to Callum. “She’s hot.”

        “Don’t speak about my mother like that.”

        The mayor has climbed on the central stage and she’s talking with an all dressed up woman with a big hat that makes her look like the Queen of England. She sure seems out of place in our little town’s festival. Flanked by two bodyguards in black, I guess it’s Botty Banworth who’s provided that expensive sound system the mayor’s trying to use. “One, two, three… Is it working? Yes. Ok. All the participants are expected to bring their cart to the depart lane. We’re about to start. In the meantime let me introduce Miss Banworth who’s been very generous and allowed our festival to get to another level. She’s going to help us rehabilitate the abandoned mines and open a museum.”

        A roar from the crowd. The woman’s lips are so thin and red that the smile she puts on her face looks like it’s just been made with a razor blade. I shiver. She’s the Queen of England turned by a vampire.

        Someone bumps into my back and knocks the air out of my lungs. I almost fall on my sister.

        “Hey! Watch out!” says Callum.

        I catch my breath and look up. It’s Betsy, dressed as a miner too, with extra sequins and gummy stars on her dungarees. She looks confused and mutters some excuses but doesn’t stop. She walks as if she has had a few lagers already.

        “Hey, Betsy,” calls Prune. “You seem like you just saw a ghost.”

        “Someone… near the mines… It can’t be…” says Betsy.

        “Who did you see near the mines?” shouts my sister.

        With the noise around us, I almost didn’t hear Betsy’s answer.

        Fred… Howard… It can’t be. I need Idle’s cakes,” she says before disappearing in the crowd.

        I look at Prune. I see in her eyes we’re thinking the same thing. Dad’s really here. We nod at the same time and I move my lips: “Be careful.” She nods.

        “You three, win,” she tells us before leaving.

        “You heard her?” I asked Callum and Joe. “Let’s move our limo.”  As we approach the tracks with the other participants, a gush of wind almost knock my hat off my head. There is some commotion coming from the central stage. A guy climbed up and is shouting something  that I don’t understand, pointing at the sky behind us. When I look back like everyone, tourists and teams, I understand.

        “Dust! Dust’s coming!”

        And right from the direction of the abandoned mines. Dad what did you get yourself into?

        It’s 10:55am and I’m pretty sure we’ll have to put off the race.

        #7165
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          Mater having a moan:

          It’s a funny old world.

          At my age, you’d think I’d be able to put my feet up and watch the world go by for a bit, wouldn’t you? God knows, don’t I deserve it? Truth is, I’m still holding things together here. With a bit of practical help from Finly of course, who we all agree is a trouper even if she is a Kiwi.

          Sometimes, it occurs to me I should just let go and see where the dice lands … what will be will be …  que sera sera … that sort of thing. Place will fall apart if I do though.

          The kids don’t really care. And why would they at their age? Idle’s all talk about how she does this and that but the evidence is sadly lacking … she’s making a fool of herself with one of the new fellas, all goggle-eyed and tarting herself up more than ever. It’s embarrassing but I’m done telling her.

          Since we got on that bnb site the bookings have tripled. Idle says I’ve got to be pleasant to people or we’ll get a bad review. Did my head in being pleasant to that toffee-nose one who won’t take her sunglasses off. That’s just plain bad manners! Another thing, she calls herself Liana but it sure takes her a while to answer to the name. Finly says she’s noticed the same. We’re keeping a close eye on that one.

          And now sounds like the cart race in a dust storm is going ahead. I tell you right now, Finly is not going to be pleased about that.

          #6540

          In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Update & clarifications on the characters:

            Looking at the avatars that Zara, Youssef, Xavier and Yasmin are using in VR.

            Full name or real name in RL :: name in VR (@nickhandle) description of avatar.

            • Zara Patara-Smythe :: Zara (@zaraloon) is a 25-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in a sleek ponytail, dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline. She stands at 5’6″ and has a toned and athletic build. She usually wears practical clothing that allows her to move around easily, such as cargo pants and a tank top.
            • Xavier Olafsson :: Xavier (@xavimunk) is a 27-year-old man of Norwegian and Danish descent. He has blonde hair that he keeps in a messy style, blue eyes, and a charming smile. He stands at 6’1″ and has a lean build. He is always seen wearing a colorful and bold clothing, such as a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.
            • Yasmin Ahmed :: Yasmin (@yasminowl) is a 23-year-old woman of Egyptian descent. She has long, black hair that she keeps in a tight braid, dark brown eyes and a round face. She stands at 5’4″ and has a petite build. She usually wears conservative clothing, such as long skirts and blouses.
            • Youssef Ali :: Youssef (@youssefbear) is a 26-year-old man of half Yemeni, half Norwegian descent. He has short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes and a square jawline. He stands at 6’2″ and has a muscular build. He usually wears comfortable clothing such as a t-shirt and jeans, and always has a backpack on his shoulder.

            Full descriptions for real-life Zara, Yasmin, Youssef, Xavier:

            Real Life Zara Patara-Smythe :: Zara is a 57-year-old woman who is an adventurous traveler and a passionate hobbyist. She has a full mane of gorgeous auburn hair that she keeps in a sleek ponytail, sparkling green eyes, and a warm smile that puts others at ease. She is of mixed heritage, her mother was Indian and her father was British. She is well-educated and well-off, either through an inheritance or a supportive and understanding husband. Zara is a lover of art, music, and history, and spends much of her time indulging in her passions. She is always eager to explore new places and meet new people, and her adventurous spirit often leads her to travel off the beaten path.

            Real Life Yasmin Ahmed :: Yasmin is a 32-year-old woman who is kind, nurturing, and always puts others first. She has long, black hair that she keeps in a tight braid, almond-shaped brown eyes, and a warm smile that lights up a room. Born in Egypt, she grew up in a close-knit family and values the importance of community. She is a talented actress, who has kept her career a secret from those closest to her, in order to pursue a more fulfilling life working with children. Yasmin currently volunteers at an orphanage in Fiji, where she devotes herself to helping children in need.

            Real Life Youssef Ali :: Youssef is a 34-year-old man who is driven, confident, and always up for a challenge. He has short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a square jawline that gives him a strong and determined look. Born to a Yemeni father and a Norwegian mother, he has a unique blend of cultures that has shaped his world view. Youssef is a talented blogger, who has traveled the world in search of new and interesting stories to share with his audience. He is always on the go, with a backpack on his shoulder, ready for his next adventure.

            Real Life Xavier Olafsson :: Xavier is a 36-year-old man who is bright, cheerful, and always looking for the positive in every situation. He has blonde hair that he keeps in a messy style, blue eyes, and a charming smile that never fails to win people over. Born to Norwegian and Danish parents, he has a love for the sea and an appreciation for the finer things in life. Xavier is an AI developer, who is working on a project he calls AL. He is always eager to share his ideas with others and is constantly seeking new and exciting opportunities.

            #6489

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            It was a pleasant 25 degrees as Zara stepped off the plane. The flat red land stretched as far as the eye could see, and although she prefered a more undulating terrain there was something awe inspiring about this vast landscape. It was quite a contrast from the past few hours spent inside mine tunnels.

            Bert, a weatherbeaten man of indeterminate advanced age, was there to meet her as arranged and led her to the car, a battered old four wheel drive.  Although clearly getting on in years, he was tall and spry and dressed in practical working clothes.

            “Welcome to Alice,” he said, taking her bag and putting in on the back seat.  “I expect you’ll be wanting to know a bit about the place.”

            “How long have you lived here?” Zara asked, as Bert settled into the creaky drivers seat and started the car.

            Bert gave her a funny look and replied “Longer than a ducks ass.”  Zara had never heard that expression before; she assumed it meant a long time but didn’t like to pursue the question.

            “All this land belongs to the Arrernte,” he said, pronouncing it Arrunda.  “The local aboriginals.  1862 when we got here. Well,” Bert turned to give Zara a lopsided smile, “Not me personally, I aint quite that old.”

            Zara chuckled politely as Bert continued, “It got kinda busy around these parts round 1887 with the gold.”

            “Oh, are there mines near here?”  Zara asked with some excitement.

            Bert gave her a sharp look. “Oh there’s mines alright. Abandoned now though, and dangerous. Dangerous places, old mines.  You’ll be more interested in the hiking trails than those old mines, some real nice hiking and rock gorges, and it’s a nice temperature this time of year.”

            Bert lapsed into silence for a few minutes, frowning.

            “If you’da been arriving back then, you’da been on a camel train, that’s how they did it back then. Camel trains.   They do camel tours for tourists nowadays.”

            “Do you get many tourists?”

            “Too dang many tourists if you ask me, Alice is full of them, and Ayers Rock’s crawling with ’em these days. We don’t get many out our way though.” Bert snorted, reminding Zara of Yasmin. “Our visitors like an off the beaten track kind of holiday, know what I mean?” Bert gave Zara another sideways lopsided smile.  “I reckon you’ll like it at The Flying Fish Inn.  Down to earth, know what I mean? Down to earth and off the wall.”  He laughed heartily at that and Zara wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she laughed too.

            “Sounds great.”

            “Family run, see, makes a difference.  No fancy airs and graces, no traffic ~ well, not much of anything really, just beautiful scenery and peace and quiet.  Aunt Idle thinks she’s in charge but me and old Mater do most of it, well Finly does most of it to be honest, and you dropped lucky coming now, the twins have just decorated the bedrooms. Real nice they look now, they fancied doing some dreamtime murials on the walls.  The twins are Idle’s neices, Clove and Corrie, turned out nice girls, despite everything.”

            “Despite ….?”

            “What? Oh, living in the outback. Youngsters usually leave and head for the cities.  Prune’s the youngest gal, she’s a real imp, that one, a real character.  And Devan calls by regular to see Mater, he works at the gas station.”

            “Are they all Idle’s neices and nephews? Where are their parents?”  Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, Zara thought when she saw Bert’s face.

            “Long gone, mate, long since gone from round here.  We’ve taken good care of ’em.”  Bert turned off the road onto a dirt road.  “Only another five minutes now.  We’re outside the town a bit, but there aint much in town anyway. Population 79, our town. About right for a decent sized town if you ask me.”

            Bert rounded a bend in a eucalyptus grove and announced, “Here we are, then, the Flying Fish Inn.”  He parked the car and retrieved Zara’s bag from the back seat.  “Take a seat on the verandah and I’ll find Idle to show you to your room and get you a drink.  Oh, and don’t be put off by Idle’s appearance, she’s a sweetheart really.”

            Flying Fish Inn

             

            Aunt Idle was nowhere to be found though, having decided to go for a walk on impulse, quite forgetting the arrival of the first guest.    She saw Bert’s car approaching the hotel from her vantage point on a low hill, which reminded her she should be getting back.  It was a lovely evening and she didn’t rush.

            Aunt Idle walk

             

            Bert found Mater in the dining room gazing out of the window.  “Where the bloody hell is Idle? The guest’s outside on the verandah.”

            “She’s taken herself off for a walk, can you believe it?” sighed Mater.

            “Yep” Bert replied, “I can.  Which room’s she in? Can you show her to her room?”

            “Yes of course, Bert. Perhaps you’d see to getting a drink for her.”

            Mater dining room

            #6410

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            Real-life Xavier was marveling at the new AL (Artificial Life) developments on this project he’d been working on. It’s been great at tidying the plot, confusing as the plot started to become with Real-life characters named the same as their Quirky counterparts ones.

            Real-life Zara had not managed to remain off the computer for very long, despite her grand claims to the contrary. She’d made quick work of introducing a new player in the game, a reporter in an obscure newspaper, who’d seemed quirky enough to be their guide in the new game indeed. It was difficult to see if hers was a nickname or nom de plume, but strangely enough, she also named her own character the same as her name in the papers. Interestingly, Zara and Glimmer had some friends in common in Australia, where RL Zara was living at the moment.

            Anyways… “Clever ALXavier smiled when he saw the output on the screen. “Yasmin will love a little tidiness; even if she is the brains of the group, she has always loved the help.”

            Meanwhile, in the real world, Youssef was on his own adventure in Mongolia, trying to uncover the mystery of the Thi Gang. He had been hearing whispers and rumors about the ancient and powerful group, and he was determined to find out the truth. He had been traveling through the desert for weeks, following leads and piecing together clues, and he was getting closer to the truth.

            Zara, Xavier, and Yasmin, on the other hand, were scattered around the world. Zara was in Australia, working on a conservation project and trying to save a group of endangered animals. Xavier was in Europe, working on a new project for a technology company. And Yasmin was in Asia, volunteering at a children’s hospital.

            Despite being physically separated, the four friends kept in touch through video calls and messages. They were all excited about the upcoming adventure in the Land of the Quirks and the possibility of discovering their inner quirks. They were also looking forward to their trip to the Flying Fish Inn, where they hoped to find some clues about the game and their characters.

            In the game, Glimmer Gambol’s interactions with the other characters will be taking place in the confines of the Land of the Quirks. As she is the one who has been playing the longest and has the most experience, she will probably be the one to lead the group and guide them through the game. She also has some information that the others don’t know about yet, and she will probably reveal it at the right time.

            As the game and the real-world adventures are intertwined, the characters will have to navigate both worlds and find a way to balance them. They will have to use their unique skills and personalities to overcome challenges and solve puzzles, both in the game and in the real world. It will be an exciting and unpredictable journey, full of surprises and twists.

            #6268
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued part 9

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbeya 1st November 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #6266
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 7

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                Dearest Family,

                George arrived today to take us home to Mbulu but Sister Marianne will not allow
                me to travel for another week as I had a bit of a set back after baby’s birth. At first I was
                very fit and on the third day Sister stripped the bed and, dictionary in hand, started me
                off on ante natal exercises. “Now make a bridge Mrs Rushby. So. Up down, up down,’
                whilst I obediently hoisted myself aloft on heels and head. By the sixth day she
                considered it was time for me to be up and about but alas, I soon had to return to bed
                with a temperature and a haemorrhage. I got up and walked outside for the first time this
                morning.

                I have had lots of visitors because the local German settlers seem keen to see
                the first British baby born in the hospital. They have been most kind, sending flowers
                and little German cards of congratulations festooned with cherubs and rather sweet. Most
                of the women, besides being pleasant, are very smart indeed, shattering my illusion that
                German matrons are invariably fat and dowdy. They are all much concerned about the
                Czecko-Slovakian situation, especially Sister Marianne whose home is right on the
                border and has several relations who are Sudentan Germans. She is ant-Nazi and
                keeps on asking me whether I think England will declare war if Hitler invades Czecko-
                Slovakia, as though I had inside information.

                George tells me that he has had a grass ‘banda’ put up for us at Mbulu as we are
                both determined not to return to those prison-like quarters in the Fort. Sister Marianne is
                horrified at the idea of taking a new baby to live in a grass hut. She told George,
                “No,No,Mr Rushby. I find that is not to be allowed!” She is an excellent Sister but rather
                prim and George enjoys teasing her. This morning he asked with mock seriousness,
                “Sister, why has my wife not received her medal?” Sister fluttered her dictionary before
                asking. “What medal Mr Rushby”. “Why,” said George, “The medal that Hitler gives to
                women who have borne four children.” Sister started a long and involved explanation
                about the medal being only for German mothers whilst George looked at me and
                grinned.

                Later. Great Jubilation here. By the noise in Sister Marianne’s sitting room last night it
                sounded as though the whole German population had gathered to listen to the wireless
                news. I heard loud exclamations of joy and then my bedroom door burst open and
                several women rushed in. “Thank God “, they cried, “for Neville Chamberlain. Now there
                will be no war.” They pumped me by the hand as though I were personally responsible
                for the whole thing.

                George on the other hand is disgusted by Chamberlain’s lack of guts. Doesn’t
                know what England is coming to these days. I feel too content to concern myself with
                world affairs. I have a fine husband and four wonderful children and am happy, happy,
                happy.

                Eleanor.

                Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                Dearest Family,

                Here we are, comfortably installed in our little green house made of poles and
                rushes from a nearby swamp. The house has of course, no doors or windows, but
                there are rush blinds which roll up in the day time. There are two rooms and a little porch
                and out at the back there is a small grass kitchen.

                Here we have the privacy which we prize so highly as we are screened on one
                side by a Forest Department plantation and on the other three sides there is nothing but
                the rolling countryside cropped bare by the far too large herds of cattle and goats of the
                Wambulu. I have a lovely lazy time. I still have Kesho-Kutwa and the cook we brought
                with us from the farm. They are both faithful and willing souls though not very good at
                their respective jobs. As one of these Mbeya boys goes on safari with George whose
                job takes him from home for three weeks out of four, I have taken on a local boy to cut
                firewood and heat my bath water and generally make himself useful. His name is Saa,
                which means ‘Clock’

                We had an uneventful but very dusty trip from Oldeani. Johnny Jo travelled in his
                pram in the back of the boxbody and got covered in dust but seems none the worst for
                it. As the baby now takes up much of my time and Kate was showing signs of
                boredom, I have engaged a little African girl to come and play with Kate every morning.
                She is the daughter of the head police Askari and a very attractive and dignified little
                person she is. Her name is Kajyah. She is scrupulously clean, as all Mohammedan
                Africans seem to be. Alas, Kajyah, though beautiful, is a bore. She simply does not
                know how to play, so they just wander around hand in hand.

                There are only two drawbacks to this little house. Mbulu is a very windy spot so
                our little reed house is very draughty. I have made a little tent of sheets in one corner of
                the ‘bedroom’ into which I can retire with Johnny when I wish to bathe or sponge him.
                The other drawback is that many insects are attracted at night by the lamp and make it
                almost impossible to read or sew and they have a revolting habit of falling into the soup.
                There are no dangerous wild animals in this area so I am not at all nervous in this
                flimsy little house when George is on safari. Most nights hyaenas come around looking
                for scraps but our dogs, Fanny and Paddy, soon see them off.

                Eleanor.

                Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                Dearest Family,

                Great news! a vacancy has occurred in the Game Department. George is to
                transfer to it next month. There will be an increase in salary and a brighter prospect for
                the future. It will mean a change of scene and I shall be glad of that. We like Mbulu and
                the people here but the rains have started and our little reed hut is anything but water
                tight.

                Before the rain came we had very unpleasant dust storms. I think I told you that
                this is a treeless area and the grass which normally covers the veldt has been cropped
                to the roots by the hungry native cattle and goats. When the wind blows the dust
                collects in tall black columns which sweep across the country in a most spectacular
                fashion. One such dust devil struck our hut one day whilst we were at lunch. George
                swept Kate up in a second and held her face against his chest whilst I rushed to Johnny
                Jo who was asleep in his pram, and stooped over the pram to protect him. The hut
                groaned and creaked and clouds of dust blew in through the windows and walls covering
                our persons, food, and belongings in a black pall. The dogs food bowls and an empty
                petrol tin outside the hut were whirled up and away. It was all over in a moment but you
                should have seen what a family of sweeps we looked. George looked at our blackened
                Johnny and mimicked in Sister Marianne’s primmest tones, “I find that this is not to be
                allowed.”

                The first rain storm caught me unprepared when George was away on safari. It
                was a terrific thunderstorm. The quite violent thunder and lightening were followed by a
                real tropical downpour. As the hut is on a slight slope, the storm water poured through
                the hut like a river, covering the entire floor, and the roof leaked like a lawn sprinkler.
                Johnny Jo was snug enough in the pram with the hood raised, but Kate and I had a
                damp miserable night. Next morning I had deep drains dug around the hut and when
                George returned from safari he managed to borrow an enormous tarpaulin which is now
                lashed down over the roof.

                It did not rain during the next few days George was home but the very next night
                we were in trouble again. I was awakened by screams from Kate and hurriedly turned up
                the lamp to see that we were in the midst of an invasion of siafu ants. Kate’s bed was
                covered in them. Others appeared to be raining down from the thatch. I quickly stripped
                Kate and carried her across to my bed, whilst I rushed to the pram to see whether
                Johnny Jo was all right. He was fast asleep, bless him, and slept on through all the
                commotion, whilst I struggled to pick all the ants out of Kate’s hair, stopping now and
                again to attend to my own discomfort. These ants have a painful bite and seem to
                choose all the most tender spots. Kate fell asleep eventually but I sat up for the rest of
                the night to make sure that the siafu kept clear of the children. Next morning the servants
                dispersed them by laying hot ash.

                In spite of the dampness of the hut both children are blooming. Kate has rosy
                cheeks and Johnny Jo now has a fuzz of fair hair and has lost his ‘old man’ look. He
                reminds me of Ann at his age.

                Eleanor.

                Iringa. 30th November 1938

                Dearest Family,

                Here we are back in the Southern Highlands and installed on the second floor of
                another German Fort. This one has been modernised however and though not so
                romantic as the Mbulu Fort from the outside, it is much more comfortable.We are all well
                and I am really proud of our two safari babies who stood up splendidly to a most trying
                journey North from Mbulu to Arusha and then South down the Great North Road to
                Iringa where we expect to stay for a month.

                At Arusha George reported to the headquarters of the Game Department and
                was instructed to come on down here on Rinderpest Control. There is a great flap on in
                case the rinderpest spread to Northern Rhodesia and possibly onwards to Southern
                Rhodesia and South Africa. Extra veterinary officers have been sent to this area to
                inoculate all the cattle against the disease whilst George and his African game Scouts will
                comb the bush looking for and destroying diseased game. If the rinderpest spreads,
                George says it may be necessary to shoot out all the game in a wide belt along the
                border between the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and Northern Rhodesia, to
                prevent the disease spreading South. The very idea of all this destruction sickens us
                both.

                George left on a foot safari the day after our arrival and I expect I shall be lucky if I
                see him occasionally at weekends until this job is over. When rinderpest is under control
                George is to be stationed at a place called Nzassa in the Eastern Province about 18
                miles from Dar es Salaam. George’s orderly, who is a tall, cheerful Game Scout called
                Juma, tells me that he has been stationed at Nzassa and it is a frightful place! However I
                refuse to be depressed. I now have the cheering prospect of leave to England in thirty
                months time when we will be able to fetch Ann and George and be a proper family
                again. Both Ann and George look happy in the snapshots which mother-in-law sends
                frequently. Ann is doing very well at school and loves it.

                To get back to our journey from Mbulu. It really was quite an experience. It
                poured with rain most of the way and the road was very slippery and treacherous the
                120 miles between Mbulu and Arusha. This is a little used earth road and the drains are
                so blocked with silt as to be practically non existent. As usual we started our move with
                the V8 loaded to capacity. I held Johnny on my knee and Kate squeezed in between
                George and me. All our goods and chattels were in wooden boxes stowed in the back
                and the two houseboys and the two dogs had to adjust themselves to the space that
                remained. We soon ran into trouble and it took us all day to travel 47 miles. We stuck
                several times in deep mud and had some most nasty skids. I simply clutched Kate in
                one hand and Johnny Jo in the other and put my trust in George who never, under any
                circumstances, loses his head. Poor Johnny only got his meals when circumstances
                permitted. Unfortunately I had put him on a bottle only a few days before we left Mbulu
                and, as I was unable to buy either a primus stove or Thermos flask there we had to
                make a fire and boil water for each meal. Twice George sat out in the drizzle with a rain
                coat rapped over his head to protect a miserable little fire of wet sticks drenched with
                paraffin. Whilst we waited for the water to boil I pacified John by letting him suck a cube
                of Tate and Lyles sugar held between my rather grubby fingers. Not at all according to
                the book.

                That night George, the children and I slept in the car having dumped our boxes
                and the two servants in a deserted native hut. The rain poured down relentlessly all night
                and by morning the road was more of a morass than ever. We swerved and skidded
                alarmingly till eventually one of the wheel chains broke and had to be tied together with
                string which constantly needed replacing. George was so patient though he was wet
                and muddy and tired and both children were very good. Shortly before reaching the Great North Road we came upon Jack Gowan, the Stock Inspector from Mbulu. His car
                was bogged down to its axles in black mud. He refused George’s offer of help saying
                that he had sent his messenger to a nearby village for help.

                I hoped that conditions would be better on the Great North Road but how over
                optimistic I was. For miles the road runs through a belt of ‘black cotton soil’. which was
                churned up into the consistency of chocolate blancmange by the heavy lorry traffic which
                runs between Dodoma and Arusha. Soon the car was skidding more fantastically than
                ever. Once it skidded around in a complete semi circle so George decided that it would
                be safer for us all to walk whilst he negotiated the very bad patches. You should have
                seen me plodding along in the mud and drizzle with the baby in one arm and Kate
                clinging to the other. I was terrified of slipping with Johnny. Each time George reached
                firm ground he would return on foot to carry Kate and in this way we covered many bad
                patches.We were more fortunate than many other travellers. We passed several lorries
                ditched on the side of the road and one car load of German men, all elegantly dressed in
                lounge suits. One was busy with his camera so will have a record of their plight to laugh
                over in the years to come. We spent another night camping on the road and next day
                set out on the last lap of the journey. That also was tiresome but much better than the
                previous day and we made the haven of the Arusha Hotel before dark. What a picture
                we made as we walked through the hall in our mud splattered clothes! Even Johnny was
                well splashed with mud but no harm was done and both he and Kate are blooming.
                We rested for two days at Arusha and then came South to Iringa. Luckily the sun
                came out and though for the first day the road was muddy it was no longer so slippery
                and the second day found us driving through parched country and along badly
                corrugated roads. The further South we came, the warmer the sun which at times blazed
                through the windscreen and made us all uncomfortably hot. I have described the country
                between Arusha and Dodoma before so I shan’t do it again. We reached Iringa without
                mishap and after a good nights rest all felt full of beans.

                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                You will be surprised to note that we are back on the farm! At least the children
                and I are here. George is away near the Rhodesian border somewhere, still on
                Rinderpest control.

                I had a pleasant time at Iringa, lots of invitations to morning tea and Kate had a
                wonderful time enjoying the novelty of playing with children of her own age. She is not
                shy but nevertheless likes me to be within call if not within sight. It was all very suburban
                but pleasant enough. A few days before Christmas George turned up at Iringa and
                suggested that, as he would be working in the Mbeya area, it might be a good idea for
                the children and me to move to the farm. I agreed enthusiastically, completely forgetting
                that after my previous trouble with the leopard I had vowed to myself that I would never
                again live alone on the farm.

                Alas no sooner had we arrived when Thomas, our farm headman, brought the
                news that there were now two leopards terrorising the neighbourhood, and taking dogs,
                goats and sheep and chickens. Traps and poisoned bait had been tried in vain and he
                was sure that the female was the same leopard which had besieged our home before.
                Other leopards said Thomas, came by stealth but this one advertised her whereabouts
                in the most brazen manner.

                George stayed with us on the farm over Christmas and all was quiet at night so I
                cheered up and took the children for walks along the overgrown farm paths. However on
                New Years Eve that darned leopard advertised her presence again with the most blood
                chilling grunts and snarls. Horrible! Fanny and Paddy barked and growled and woke up
                both children. Kate wept and kept saying, “Send it away mummy. I don’t like it.” Johnny
                Jo howled in sympathy. What a picnic. So now the whole performance of bodyguards
                has started again and ‘till George returns we confine our exercise to the garden.
                Our little house is still cosy and sweet but the coffee plantation looks very
                neglected. I wish to goodness we could sell it.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                After three months of moving around with two small children it is heavenly to be
                settled in our own home, even though Nzassa is an isolated spot and has the reputation
                of being unhealthy.

                We travelled by car from Mbeya to Dodoma by now a very familiar stretch of
                country, but from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam by train which made a nice change. We
                spent two nights and a day in the Splendid Hotel in Dar es Salaam, George had some
                official visits to make and I did some shopping and we took the children to the beach.
                The bay is so sheltered that the sea is as calm as a pond and the water warm. It is
                wonderful to see the sea once more and to hear tugs hooting and to watch the Arab
                dhows putting out to sea with their oddly shaped sails billowing. I do love the bush, but
                I love the sea best of all, as you know.

                We made an early start for Nzassa on the 3rd. For about four miles we bowled
                along a good road. This brought us to a place called Temeke where George called on
                the District Officer. His house appears to be the only European type house there. The
                road between Temeke and the turn off to Nzassa is quite good, but the six mile stretch
                from the turn off to Nzassa is a very neglected bush road. There is nothing to be seen
                but the impenetrable bush on both sides with here and there a patch of swampy
                ground where rice is planted in the wet season.

                After about six miles of bumpy road we reached Nzassa which is nothing more
                than a sandy clearing in the bush. Our house however is a fine one. It was originally built
                for the District Officer and there is a small court house which is now George’s office. The
                District Officer died of blackwater fever so Nzassa was abandoned as an administrative
                station being considered too unhealthy for Administrative Officers but suitable as
                Headquarters for a Game Ranger. Later a bachelor Game Ranger was stationed here
                but his health also broke down and he has been invalided to England. So now the
                healthy Rushbys are here and we don’t mean to let the place get us down. So don’t
                worry.

                The house consists of three very large and airy rooms with their doors opening
                on to a wide front verandah which we shall use as a living room. There is also a wide
                back verandah with a store room at one end and a bathroom at the other. Both
                verandahs and the end windows of the house are screened my mosquito gauze wire
                and further protected by a trellis work of heavy expanded metal. Hasmani, the Game
                Scout, who has been acting as caretaker, tells me that the expanded metal is very
                necessary because lions often come out of the bush at night and roam around the
                house. Such a comforting thought!

                On our very first evening we discovered how necessary the mosquito gauze is.
                After sunset the air outside is thick with mosquitos from the swamps. About an acre of
                land has been cleared around the house. This is a sandy waste because there is no
                water laid on here and absolutely nothing grows here except a rather revolting milky
                desert bush called ‘Manyara’, and a few acacia trees. A little way from the house there is
                a patch of citrus trees, grape fruit, I think, but whether they ever bear fruit I don’t know.
                The clearing is bordered on three sides by dense dusty thorn bush which is
                ‘lousy with buffalo’ according to George. The open side is the road which leads down to
                George’s office and the huts for the Game Scouts. Only Hasmani and George’s orderly
                Juma and their wives and families live there, and the other huts provide shelter for the
                Game Scouts from the bush who come to Nzassa to collect their pay and for a short
                rest. I can see that my daily walk will always be the same, down the road to the huts and
                back! However I don’t mind because it is far too hot to take much exercise.

                The climate here is really tropical and worse than on the coast because the thick
                bush cuts us off from any sea breeze. George says it will be cooler when the rains start
                but just now we literally drip all day. Kate wears nothing but a cotton sun suit, and Johnny
                a napkin only, but still their little bodies are always moist. I have shorn off all Kate’s lovely
                shoulder length curls and got George to cut my hair very short too.

                We simply must buy a refrigerator. The butter, and even the cheese we bought
                in Dar. simply melted into pools of oil overnight, and all our meat went bad, so we are
                living out of tins. However once we get organised I shall be quite happy here. I like this
                spacious house and I have good servants. The cook, Hamisi Issa, is a Swahili from Lindi
                whom we engaged in Dar es Salaam. He is a very dignified person, and like most
                devout Mohammedan Cooks, keeps both his person and the kitchen spotless. I
                engaged the house boy here. He is rather a timid little body but is very willing and quite
                capable. He has an excessively plain but cheerful wife whom I have taken on as ayah. I
                do not really need help with the children but feel I must have a woman around just in
                case I go down with malaria when George is away on safari.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                George’s birthday and we had a special tea party this afternoon which the
                children much enjoyed. We have our frig now so I am able to make jellies and provide
                them with really cool drinks.

                Our very first visitor left this morning after spending only one night here. He is Mr
                Ionides, the Game Ranger from the Southern Province. He acted as stand in here for a
                short while after George’s predecessor left for England on sick leave, and where he has
                since died. Mr Ionides returned here to hand over the range and office formally to
                George. He seems a strange man and is from all accounts a bit of a hermit. He was at
                one time an Officer in the Regular Army but does not look like a soldier, he wears the
                most extraordinary clothes but nevertheless contrives to look top-drawer. He was
                educated at Rugby and Sandhurst and is, I should say, well read. Ionides told us that he
                hated Nzassa, particularly the house which he thinks sinister and says he always slept
                down in the office.

                The house, or at least one bedroom, seems to have the same effect on Kate.
                She has been very nervous at night ever since we arrived. At first the children occupied
                the bedroom which is now George’s. One night, soon after our arrival, Kate woke up
                screaming to say that ‘something’ had looked at her through the mosquito net. She was
                in such a hysterical state that inspite of the heat and discomfort I was obliged to crawl into
                her little bed with her and remained there for the rest of the night.

                Next night I left a night lamp burning but even so I had to sit by her bed until she
                dropped off to sleep. Again I was awakened by ear-splitting screams and this time
                found Kate standing rigid on her bed. I lifted her out and carried her to a chair meaning to
                comfort her but she screeched louder than ever, “Look Mummy it’s under the bed. It’s
                looking at us.” In vain I pointed out that there was nothing at all there. By this time
                George had joined us and he carried Kate off to his bed in the other room whilst I got into
                Kate’s bed thinking she might have been frightened by a rat which might also disturb
                Johnny.

                Next morning our houseboy remarked that he had heard Kate screaming in the
                night from his room behind the kitchen. I explained what had happened and he must
                have told the old Scout Hasmani who waylaid me that afternoon and informed me quite
                seriously that that particular room was haunted by a ‘sheitani’ (devil) who hates children.
                He told me that whilst he was acting as caretaker before our arrival he one night had his
                wife and small daughter in the room to keep him company. He said that his small
                daughter woke up and screamed exactly as Kate had done! Silly coincidence I
                suppose, but such strange things happen in Africa that I decided to move the children
                into our room and George sleeps in solitary state in the haunted room! Kate now sleeps
                peacefully once she goes to sleep but I have to stay with her until she does.

                I like this house and it does not seem at all sinister to me. As I mentioned before,
                the rooms are high ceilinged and airy, and have cool cement floors. We have made one
                end of the enclosed verandah into the living room and the other end is the playroom for
                the children. The space in between is a sort of no-mans land taken over by the dogs as
                their special territory.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                George is on safari down in the Rufigi River area. He is away for about three
                weeks in the month on this job. I do hate to see him go and just manage to tick over until
                he comes back. But what fun and excitement when he does come home.
                Usually he returns after dark by which time the children are in bed and I have
                settled down on the verandah with a book. The first warning is usually given by the
                dogs, Fanny and her son Paddy. They stir, sit up, look at each other and then go and sit
                side by side by the door with their noses practically pressed to the mosquito gauze and
                ears pricked. Soon I can hear the hum of the car, and so can Hasmani, the old Game
                Scout who sleeps on the back verandah with rifle and ammunition by his side when
                George is away. When he hears the car he turns up his lamp and hurries out to rouse
                Juma, the houseboy. Juma pokes up the fire and prepares tea which George always
                drinks whist a hot meal is being prepared. In the meantime I hurriedly comb my hair and
                powder my nose so that when the car stops I am ready to rush out and welcome
                George home. The boy and Hasmani and the garden boy appear to help with the
                luggage and to greet George and the cook, who always accompanies George on
                Safari. The home coming is always a lively time with much shouting of greetings.
                ‘Jambo’, and ‘Habari ya safari’, whilst the dogs, beside themselves with excitement,
                rush around like lunatics.

                As though his return were not happiness enough, George usually collects the
                mail on his way home so there is news of Ann and young George and letters from you
                and bundles of newspapers and magazines. On the day following his return home,
                George has to deal with official mail in the office but if the following day is a weekday we
                all, the house servants as well as ourselves, pile into the boxbody and go to Dar es
                Salaam. To us this means a mornings shopping followed by an afternoon on the beach.
                It is a bit cooler now that the rains are on but still very humid. Kate keeps chubby
                and rosy in spite of the climate but Johnny is too pale though sturdy enough. He is such
                a good baby which is just as well because Kate is a very demanding little girl though
                sunny tempered and sweet. I appreciate her company very much when George is
                away because we are so far off the beaten track that no one ever calls.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                You all seem to wonder how I can stand the loneliness and monotony of living at
                Nzassa when George is on safari, but really and truly I do not mind. Hamisi the cook
                always goes on safari with George and then the houseboy Juma takes over the cooking
                and I do the lighter housework. the children are great company during the day, and when
                they are settled for the night I sit on the verandah and read or write letters or I just dream.
                The verandah is entirely enclosed with both wire mosquito gauze and a trellis
                work of heavy expanded metal, so I am safe from all intruders be they human, animal, or
                insect. Outside the air is alive with mosquitos and the cicadas keep up their monotonous
                singing all night long. My only companions on the verandah are the pale ghecco lizards
                on the wall and the two dogs. Fanny the white bull terrier, lies always near my feet
                dozing happily, but her son Paddy, who is half Airedale has a less phlegmatic
                disposition. He sits alert and on guard by the metal trellis work door. Often a lion grunts
                from the surrounding bush and then his hackles rise and he stands up stiffly with his nose
                pressed to the door. Old Hasmani from his bedroll on the back verandah, gives a little
                cough just to show he is awake. Sometimes the lions are very close and then I hear the
                click of a rifle bolt as Hasmani loads his rifle – but this is usually much later at night when
                the lights are out. One morning I saw large pug marks between the wall of my bedroom
                and the garage but I do not fear lions like I did that beastly leopard on the farm.
                A great deal of witchcraft is still practiced in the bush villages in the
                neighbourhood. I must tell you about old Hasmani’s baby in connection with this. Last
                week Hasmani came to me in great distress to say that his baby was ‘Ngongwa sana ‘
                (very ill) and he thought it would die. I hurried down to the Game Scouts quarters to see
                whether I could do anything for the child and found the mother squatting in the sun
                outside her hut with the baby on her lap. The mother was a young woman but not an
                attractive one. She appeared sullen and indifferent compared with old Hasmani who
                was very distressed. The child was very feverish and breathing with difficulty and
                seemed to me to be suffering from bronchitis if not pneumonia. I rubbed his back and
                chest with camphorated oil and dosed him with aspirin and liquid quinine. I repeated the
                treatment every four hours, but next day there was no apparent improvement.
                In the afternoon Hasmani begged me to give him that night off duty and asked for
                a loan of ten shillings. He explained to me that it seemed to him that the white man’s
                medicine had failed to cure his child and now he wished to take the child to the local witch
                doctor. “For ten shillings” said Hasmani, “the Maganga will drive the devil out of my
                child.” “How?” asked I. “With drums”, said Hasmani confidently. I did not know what to
                do. I thought the child was too ill to be exposed to the night air, yet I knew that if I
                refused his request and the child were to die, Hasmani and all the other locals would hold
                me responsible. I very reluctantly granted his request. I was so troubled by the matter
                that I sent for George’s office clerk. Daniel, and asked him to accompany Hasmani to the
                ceremony and to report to me the next morning. It started to rain after dark and all night
                long I lay awake in bed listening to the drums and the light rain. Next morning when I
                went out to the kitchen to order breakfast I found a beaming Hasmani awaiting me.
                “Memsahib”, he said. “My child is well, the fever is now quite gone, the Maganga drove
                out the devil just as I told you.” Believe it or not, when I hurried to his quarters after
                breakfast I found the mother suckling a perfectly healthy child! It may be my imagination
                but I thought the mother looked pretty smug.The clerk Daniel told me that after Hasmani
                had presented gifts of money and food to the ‘Maganga’, the naked baby was placed
                on a goat skin near the drums. Most of the time he just lay there but sometimes the witch
                doctor picked him up and danced with the child in his arms. Daniel seemed reluctant to
                talk about it. Whatever mumbo jumbo was used all this happened a week ago and the
                baby has never looked back.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                Dearest Family,

                Did I tell you that one of George’s Game Scouts was murdered last month in the
                Maneromango area towards the Rufigi border. He was on routine patrol, with a porter
                carrying his bedding and food, when they suddenly came across a group of African
                hunters who were busy cutting up a giraffe which they had just killed. These hunters were
                all armed with muzzle loaders, spears and pangas, but as it is illegal to kill giraffe without
                a permit, the Scout went up to the group to take their names. Some argument ensued
                and the Scout was stabbed.

                The District Officer went to the area to investigate and decided to call in the Police
                from Dar es Salaam. A party of police went out to search for the murderers but after
                some days returned without making any arrests. George was on an elephant control
                safari in the Bagamoyo District and on his return through Dar es Salaam he heard of the
                murder. George was furious and distressed to hear the news and called in here for an
                hour on his way to Maneromango to search for the murderers himself.

                After a great deal of strenuous investigation he arrested three poachers, put them
                in jail for the night at Maneromango and then brought them to Dar es Salaam where they
                are all now behind bars. George will now have to prosecute in the Magistrate’s Court
                and try and ‘make a case’ so that the prisoners may be committed to the High Court to
                be tried for murder. George is convinced of their guilt and justifiably proud to have
                succeeded where the police failed.

                George had to borrow handcuffs for the prisoners from the Chief at
                Maneromango and these he brought back to Nzassa after delivering the prisoners to
                Dar es Salaam so that he may return them to the Chief when he revisits the area next
                week.

                I had not seen handcuffs before and picked up a pair to examine them. I said to
                George, engrossed in ‘The Times’, “I bet if you were arrested they’d never get
                handcuffs on your wrist. Not these anyway, they look too small.” “Standard pattern,”
                said George still concentrating on the newspaper, but extending an enormous relaxed
                left wrist. So, my dears, I put a bracelet round his wrist and as there was a wide gap I
                gave a hard squeeze with both hands. There was a sharp click as the handcuff engaged
                in the first notch. George dropped the paper and said, “Now you’ve done it, my love,
                one set of keys are in the Dar es Salaam Police Station, and the others with the Chief at
                Maneromango.” You can imagine how utterly silly I felt but George was an angel about it
                and said as he would have to go to Dar es Salaam we might as well all go.

                So we all piled into the car, George, the children and I in the front, and the cook
                and houseboy, immaculate in snowy khanzus and embroidered white caps, a Game
                Scout and the ayah in the back. George never once complain of the discomfort of the
                handcuff but I was uncomfortably aware that it was much too tight because his arm
                above the cuff looked red and swollen and the hand unnaturally pale. As the road is so
                bad George had to use both hands on the wheel and all the time the dangling handcuff
                clanked against the dashboard in an accusing way.

                We drove straight to the Police Station and I could hear the roars of laughter as
                George explained his predicament. Later I had to put up with a good deal of chaffing
                and congratulations upon putting the handcuffs on George.

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 5th August 1939

                Dearest Family,

                George made a point of being here for Kate’s fourth birthday last week. Just
                because our children have no playmates George and I always do all we can to make
                birthdays very special occasions. We went to Dar es Salaam the day before the
                birthday and bought Kate a very sturdy tricycle with which she is absolutely delighted.
                You will be glad to know that your parcels arrived just in time and Kate loved all your
                gifts especially the little shop from Dad with all the miniature tins and packets of
                groceries. The tea set was also a great success and is much in use.

                We had a lively party which ended with George and me singing ‘Happy
                Birthday to you’, and ended with a wild game with balloons. Kate wore her frilly white net
                party frock and looked so pretty that it seemed a shame that there was no one but us to
                see her. Anyway it was a good party. I wish so much that you could see the children.
                Kate keeps rosy and has not yet had malaria. Johnny Jo is sturdy but pale. He
                runs a temperature now and again but I am not sure whether this is due to teething or
                malaria. Both children of course take quinine every day as George and I do. George
                quite frequently has malaria in spite of prophylactic quinine but this is not surprising as he
                got the germ thoroughly established in his system in his early elephant hunting days. I
                get it too occasionally but have not been really ill since that first time a month after my
                arrival in the country.

                Johnny is such a good baby. His chief claim to beauty is his head of soft golden
                curls but these are due to come off on his first birthday as George considers them too
                girlish. George left on safari the day after the party and the very next morning our wood
                boy had a most unfortunate accident. He was chopping a rather tough log when a chip
                flew up and split his upper lip clean through from mouth to nostril exposing teeth and
                gums. A truly horrible sight and very bloody. I cleaned up the wound as best I could
                and sent him off to the hospital at Dar es Salaam on the office bicycle. He wobbled
                away wretchedly down the road with a white cloth tied over his mouth to keep off the
                dust. He returned next day with his lip stitched and very swollen and bearing a
                resemblance to my lip that time I used the hair remover.

                Eleanor.

                Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                Dearest Family,

                So now another war has started and it has disrupted even our lives. We have left
                Nzassa for good. George is now a Lieutenant in the King’s African Rifles and the children
                and I are to go to a place called Morogoro to await further developments.
                I was glad to read in today’s paper that South Africa has declared war on
                Germany. I would have felt pretty small otherwise in this hotel which is crammed full of
                men who have been called up for service in the Army. George seems exhilarated by
                the prospect of active service. He is bursting out of his uniform ( at the shoulders only!)
                and all too ready for the fray.

                The war came as a complete surprise to me stuck out in the bush as I was without
                wireless or mail. George had been away for a fortnight so you can imagine how
                surprised I was when a messenger arrived on a bicycle with a note from George. The
                note informed me that war had been declared and that George, as a Reserve Officer in
                the KAR had been called up. I was to start packing immediately and be ready by noon
                next day when George would arrive with a lorry for our goods and chattels. I started to
                pack immediately with the help of the houseboy and by the time George arrived with
                the lorry only the frig remained to be packed and this was soon done.

                Throughout the morning Game Scouts had been arriving from outlying parts of
                the District. I don’t think they had the least idea where they were supposed to go or
                whom they were to fight but were ready to fight anybody, anywhere, with George.
                They all looked very smart in well pressed uniforms hung about with water bottles and
                ammunition pouches. The large buffalo badge on their round pill box hats absolutely
                glittered with polish. All of course carried rifles and when George arrived they all lined up
                and they looked most impressive. I took some snaps but unfortunately it was drizzling
                and they may not come out well.

                We left Nzassa without a backward glance. We were pretty fed up with it by
                then. The children and I are spending a few days here with George but our luggage, the
                dogs, and the houseboys have already left by train for Morogoro where a small house
                has been found for the children and me.

                George tells me that all the German males in this Territory were interned without a
                hitch. The whole affair must have been very well organised. In every town and
                settlement special constables were sworn in to do the job. It must have been a rather
                unpleasant one but seems to have gone without incident. There is a big transit camp
                here at Dar for the German men. Later they are to be sent out of the country, possibly to
                Rhodesia.

                The Indian tailors in the town are all terribly busy making Army uniforms, shorts
                and tunics in khaki drill. George swears that they have muddled their orders and he has
                been given the wrong things. Certainly the tunic is far too tight. His hat, a khaki slouch hat
                like you saw the Australians wearing in the last war, is also too small though it is the
                largest they have in stock. We had a laugh over his other equipment which includes a
                small canvas haversack and a whistle on a black cord. George says he feels like he is
                back in his Boy Scouting boyhood.

                George has just come in to say the we will be leaving for Morogoro tomorrow
                afternoon.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 14th September 1939

                Dearest Family,

                Morogoro is a complete change from Nzassa. This is a large and sprawling
                township. The native town and all the shops are down on the flat land by the railway but
                all the European houses are away up the slope of the high Uluguru Mountains.
                Morogoro was a flourishing town in the German days and all the streets are lined with
                trees for coolness as is the case in other German towns. These trees are the flamboyant
                acacia which has an umbrella top and throws a wide but light shade.

                Most of the houses have large gardens so they cover a considerable area and it
                is quite a safari for me to visit friends on foot as our house is on the edge of this area and
                the furthest away from the town. Here ones house is in accordance with ones seniority in
                Government service. Ours is a simple affair, just three lofty square rooms opening on to
                a wide enclosed verandah. Mosquitoes are bad here so all doors and windows are
                screened and we will have to carry on with our daily doses of quinine.

                George came up to Morogoro with us on the train. This was fortunate because I
                went down with a sharp attack of malaria at the hotel on the afternoon of our departure
                from Dar es Salaam. George’s drastic cure of vast doses of quinine, a pillow over my
                head, and the bed heaped with blankets soon brought down the temperature so I was
                fit enough to board the train but felt pretty poorly on the trip. However next day I felt
                much better which was a good thing as George had to return to Dar es Salaam after two
                days. His train left late at night so I did not see him off but said good-bye at home
                feeling dreadful but trying to keep the traditional stiff upper lip of the wife seeing her
                husband off to the wars. He hopes to go off to Abyssinia but wrote from Dar es Salaam
                to say that he is being sent down to Rhodesia by road via Mbeya to escort the first
                detachment of Rhodesian white troops.

                First he will have to select suitable camping sites for night stops and arrange for
                supplies of food. I am very pleased as it means he will be safe for a while anyway. We
                are both worried about Ann and George in England and wonder if it would be safer to
                have them sent out.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 4th November 1939

                Dearest Family,

                My big news is that George has been released from the Army. He is very
                indignant and disappointed because he hoped to go to Abyssinia but I am terribly,
                terribly glad. The Chief Secretary wrote a very nice letter to George pointing out that he
                would be doing a greater service to his country by his work of elephant control, giving
                crop protection during the war years when foodstuffs are such a vital necessity, than by
                doing a soldiers job. The Government plan to start a huge rice scheme in the Rufiji area,
                and want George to control the elephant and hippo there. First of all though. he must go
                to the Southern Highlands Province where there is another outbreak of Rinderpest, to
                shoot out diseased game especially buffalo, which might spread the disease.

                So off we go again on our travels but this time we are leaving the two dogs
                behind in the care of Daniel, the Game Clerk. Fanny is very pregnant and I hate leaving
                her behind but the clerk has promised to look after her well. We are taking Hamisi, our
                dignified Swahili cook and the houseboy Juma and his wife whom we brought with us
                from Nzassa. The boy is not very good but his wife makes a cheerful and placid ayah
                and adores Johnny.

                Eleanor.

                Iringa 8th December 1939

                Dearest Family,

                The children and I are staying in a small German house leased from the
                Custodian of Enemy Property. I can’t help feeling sorry for the owners who must be in
                concentration camps somewhere.George is away in the bush dealing with the
                Rinderpest emergency and the cook has gone with him. Now I have sent the houseboy
                and the ayah away too. Two days ago my houseboy came and told me that he felt
                very ill and asked me to write a ‘chit’ to the Indian Doctor. In the note I asked the Doctor
                to let me know the nature of his complaint and to my horror I got a note from him to say
                that the houseboy had a bad case of Venereal Disease. Was I horrified! I took it for
                granted that his wife must be infected too and told them both that they would have to
                return to their home in Nzassa. The boy shouted and the ayah wept but I paid them in
                lieu of notice and gave them money for the journey home. So there I was left servant
                less with firewood to chop, a smokey wood burning stove to control, and of course, the
                two children.

                To add to my troubles Johnny had a temperature so I sent for the European
                Doctor. He diagnosed malaria and was astonished at the size of Johnny’s spleen. He
                said that he must have had suppressed malaria over a long period and the poor child
                must now be fed maximum doses of quinine for a long time. The Doctor is a fatherly
                soul, he has been recalled from retirement to do this job as so many of the young
                doctors have been called up for service with the army.

                I told him about my houseboy’s complaint and the way I had sent him off
                immediately, and he was very amused at my haste, saying that it is most unlikely that
                they would have passed the disease onto their employers. Anyway I hated the idea. I
                mean to engage a houseboy locally, but will do without an ayah until we return to
                Morogoro in February.

                Something happened today to cheer me up. A telegram came from Daniel which
                read, “FLANNEL HAS FIVE CUBS.”

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 10th March 1940

                Dearest Family,

                We are having very heavy rain and the countryside is a most beautiful green. In
                spite of the weather George is away on safari though it must be very wet and
                unpleasant. He does work so hard at his elephant hunting job and has got very thin. I
                suppose this is partly due to those stomach pains he gets and the doctors don’t seem
                to diagnose the trouble.

                Living in Morogoro is much like living in a country town in South Africa, particularly
                as there are several South African women here. I go out quite often to morning teas. We
                all take our war effort knitting, and natter, and are completely suburban.
                I sometimes go and see an elderly couple who have been interred here. They
                are cold shouldered by almost everyone else but I cannot help feeling sorry for them.
                Usually I go by invitation because I know Mrs Ruppel prefers to be prepared and
                always has sandwiches and cake. They both speak English but not fluently and
                conversation is confined to talking about my children and theirs. Their two sons were
                students in Germany when war broke out but are now of course in the German Army.
                Such nice looking chaps from their photographs but I suppose thorough Nazis. As our
                conversation is limited I usually ask to hear a gramophone record or two. They have a
                large collection.

                Janet, the ayah whom I engaged at Mbeya, is proving a great treasure. She is a
                trained hospital ayah and is most dependable and capable. She is, perhaps, a little strict
                but the great thing is that I can trust her with the children out of my sight.
                Last week I went out at night for the first time without George. The occasion was
                a farewell sundowner given by the Commissioner of Prisoners and his wife. I was driven
                home by the District Officer and he stopped his car by the back door in a large puddle.
                Ayah came to the back door, storm lamp in hand, to greet me. My escort prepared to
                drive off but the car stuck. I thought a push from me might help, so without informing the
                driver, I pushed as hard as I could on the back of the car. Unfortunately the driver
                decided on other tactics. He put the engine in reverse and I was knocked flat on my back
                in the puddle. The car drove forward and away without the driver having the least idea of
                what happened. The ayah was in quite a state, lifting me up and scolding me for my
                stupidity as though I were Kate. I was a bit shaken but non the worse and will know
                better next time.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 14th July 1940

                Dearest Family,

                How good it was of Dad to send that cable to Mother offering to have Ann and
                George to live with you if they are accepted for inclusion in the list of children to be
                evacuated to South Africa. It would be wonderful to know that they are safely out of the
                war zone and so much nearer to us but I do dread the thought of the long sea voyage
                particularly since we heard the news of the sinking of that liner carrying child evacuees to
                Canada. I worry about them so much particularly as George is so often away on safari.
                He is so comforting and calm and I feel brave and confident when he is home.
                We have had no news from England for five weeks but, when she last wrote,
                mother said the children were very well and that she was sure they would be safe in the
                country with her.

                Kate and John are growing fast. Kate is such a pretty little girl, rosy in spite of the
                rather trying climate. I have allowed her hair to grow again and it hangs on her shoulders
                in shiny waves. John is a more slightly built little boy than young George was, and quite
                different in looks. He has Dad’s high forehead and cleft chin, widely spaced brown eyes
                that are not so dark as mine and hair that is still fair and curly though ayah likes to smooth it
                down with water every time she dresses him. He is a shy child, and although he plays
                happily with Kate, he does not care to play with other children who go in the late
                afternoons to a lawn by the old German ‘boma’.

                Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves
                to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go
                too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea
                and always calls JanetJohn’s ayah”. One morning I went to a knitting session at a
                neighbours house. We are all knitting madly for the troops. As there were several other
                women in the lounge and no other children, I installed Kate in the dining room with a
                colouring book and crayons. My hostess’ black dog was chained to the dining room
                table leg, but as he and Kate are on friendly terms I was not bothered by this.
                Some time afterwards, during a lull in conversation, I heard a strange drumming
                noise coming from the dining room. I went quickly to investigate and, to my horror, found
                Kate lying on her back with the dog chain looped around her neck. The frightened dog
                was straining away from her as far as he could get and the chain was pulled so tightly
                around her throat that she could not scream. The drumming noise came from her heels
                kicking in a panic on the carpet.

                Even now I do not know how Kate got herself into this predicament. Luckily no
                great harm was done but I think I shall do my knitting at home in future.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 16th November 1940

                Dearest Family,

                I much prefer our little house on the hillside to the larger one we had down below.
                The only disadvantage is that the garden is on three levels and both children have had
                some tumbles down the steps on the tricycle. John is an extremely stoical child. He
                never cries when he hurts himself.

                I think I have mentioned ‘Morningside’ before. It is a kind of Resthouse high up in
                the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro. Jess Howe-Browne, who runs the large
                house as a Guest House, is a wonderful woman. Besides running the boarding house
                she also grows vegetables, flowers and fruit for sale in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam.
                Her guests are usually women and children from Dar es Salaam who come in the hot
                season to escape the humidity on the coast. Often the mothers leave their children for
                long periods in Jess Howe-Browne’s care. There is a road of sorts up the mountain side
                to Morningside, but this is so bad that cars do not attempt it and guests are carried up
                the mountain in wicker chairs lashed to poles. Four men carry an adult, and two a child,
                and there are of course always spare bearers and they work in shifts.

                Last week the children and I went to Morningside for the day as guests. John
                rode on my lap in one chair and Kate in a small chair on her own. This did not please
                Kate at all. The poles are carried on the bearers shoulders and one is perched quite high.
                The motion is a peculiar rocking one. The bearers chant as they go and do not seem
                worried by shortness of breath! They are all hillmen of course and are, I suppose, used
                to trotting up and down to the town.

                Morningside is well worth visiting and we spent a delightful day there. The fresh
                cool air is a great change from the heavy air of the valley. A river rushes down the
                mountain in a series of cascades, and the gardens are shady and beautiful. Behind the
                property is a thick indigenous forest which stretches from Morningside to the top of the
                mountain. The house is an old German one, rather in need of repair, but Jess has made
                it comfortable and attractive, with some of her old family treasures including a fine old
                Grandfather clock. We had a wonderful lunch which included large fresh strawberries and
                cream. We made the return journey again in the basket chairs and got home before dark.
                George returned home at the weekend with a baby elephant whom we have
                called Winnie. She was rescued from a mud hole by some African villagers and, as her
                mother had abandoned her, they took her home and George was informed. He went in
                the truck to fetch her having first made arrangements to have her housed in a shed on the
                Agriculture Department Experimental Farm here. He has written to the Game Dept
                Headquarters to inform the Game Warden and I do not know what her future will be, but
                in the meantime she is our pet. George is afraid she will not survive because she has
                had a very trying time. She stands about waist high and is a delightful creature and quite
                docile. Asian and African children as well as Europeans gather to watch her and George
                encourages them to bring fruit for her – especially pawpaws which she loves.
                Whilst we were there yesterday one of the local ladies came, very smartly
                dressed in a linen frock, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. She watched fascinated
                whilst Winnie neatly split a pawpaw and removed the seeds with her trunk, before
                scooping out the pulp and putting it in her mouth. It was a particularly nice ripe pawpaw
                and Winnie enjoyed it so much that she stretched out her trunk for more. The lady took
                fright and started to run with Winnie after her, sticky trunk outstretched. Quite an
                entertaining sight. George managed to stop Winnie but not before she had left a gooey
                smear down the back of the immaculate frock.

                Eleanor.

                 

                #6265
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued  ~ part 6

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Mchewe 6th June 1937

                  Dearest Family,

                  Home again! We had an uneventful journey. Kate was as good as gold all the
                  way. We stopped for an hour at Bulawayo where we had to change trains but
                  everything was simplified for me by a very pleasant man whose wife shared my
                  compartment. Not only did he see me through customs but he installed us in our new
                  train and his wife turned up to see us off with magazines for me and fruit and sweets for
                  Kate. Very, very kind, don’t you think?

                  Kate and I shared the compartment with a very pretty and gentle girl called
                  Clarice Simpson. She was very worried and upset because she was going home to
                  Broken Hill in response to a telegram informing her that her young husband was
                  dangerously ill from Blackwater Fever. She was very helpful with Kate whose
                  cheerfulness helped Clarice, I think, though I, quite unintentionally was the biggest help
                  at the end of our journey. Remember the partial dentures I had had made just before
                  leaving Cape Town? I know I shall never get used to the ghastly things, I’ve had them
                  two weeks now and they still wobble. Well this day I took them out and wrapped them
                  in a handkerchief, but when we were packing up to leave the train I could find the
                  handkerchief but no teeth! We searched high and low until the train had slowed down to
                  enter Broken Hill station. Then Clarice, lying flat on the floor, spied the teeth in the dark
                  corner under the bottom bunk. With much stretching she managed to retrieve the
                  dentures covered in grime and fluff. My look of horror, when I saw them, made young
                  Clarice laugh. She was met at the station by a very grave elderly couple. I do wonder
                  how things turned out for her.

                  I stayed overnight with Kate at the Great Northern Hotel, and we set off for
                  Mbeya by plane early in the morning. One of our fellow passengers was a young
                  mother with a three week old baby. How ideas have changed since Ann was born. This
                  time we had a smooth passage and I was the only passenger to get airsick. Although
                  there were other women passengers it was a man once again, who came up and
                  offered to help. Kate went off with him amiably and he entertained her until we touched
                  down at Mbeya.

                  George was there to meet us with a wonderful surprise, a little red two seater
                  Ford car. She is a bit battered and looks a bit odd because the boot has been
                  converted into a large wooden box for carrying raw salt, but she goes like the wind.
                  Where did George raise the cash to buy a car? Whilst we were away he found a small
                  cave full of bat guano near a large cave which is worked by a man called Bob Sargent.
                  As Sargent did not want any competition he bought the contents of the cave from
                  George giving him the small car as part payment.

                  It was lovely to return to our little home and find everything fresh and tidy and the
                  garden full of colour. But it was heartbreaking to go into the bedroom and see George’s
                  precious forgotten boots still standing by his empty bed.

                  With much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe 25th June 1937

                  Dearest Family,

                  Last Friday George took Kate and me in the little red Ford to visit Mr Sargent’s
                  camp on the Songwe River which cuts the Mbeya-Mbosi road. Mr Sargent bought
                  Hicky-Wood’s guano deposit and also our small cave and is making a good living out of
                  selling the bat guano to the coffee farmers in this province. George went to try to interest
                  him in a guano deposit near Kilwa in the Southern Province. Mr Sargent agreed to pay
                  25 pounds to cover the cost of the car trip and pegging costs. George will make the trip
                  to peg the claim and take samples for analysis. If the quality is sufficiently high, George
                  and Mr Sargent will go into partnership. George will work the claim and ship out the
                  guano from Kilwa which is on the coast of the Southern Province of Tanganyika. So now
                  we are busy building castles in the air once more.

                  On Saturday we went to Mbeya where George had to attend a meeting of the
                  Trout Association. In the afternoon he played in a cricket match so Kate and I spent the
                  whole day with the wife of the new Superintendent of Police. They have a very nice
                  new house with lawns and a sunken rose garden. Kate had a lovely romp with Kit, her
                  three year old son.

                  Mrs Wolten also has two daughters by a previous marriage. The elder girl said to
                  me, “Oh Mrs Rushby your husband is exactly like the strong silent type of man I
                  expected to see in Africa but he is the only one I have seen. I think he looks exactly like
                  those men in the ‘Barney’s Tobacco’ advertisements.”

                  I went home with a huge pile of magazines to keep me entertained whilst
                  George is away on the Kilwa trip.

                  Lots of love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe 9th July 1937

                  Dearest Family,

                  George returned on Monday from his Kilwa safari. He had an entertaining
                  tale to tell.

                  Before he approached Mr Sargent about going shares in the Kilwa guano
                  deposit he first approached a man on the Lupa who had done very well out of a small
                  gold reef. This man, however said he was not interested so you can imagine how
                  indignant George was when he started on his long trip, to find himself being trailed by
                  this very man and a co-driver in a powerful Ford V8 truck. George stopped his car and
                  had some heated things to say – awful threats I imagine as to what would happen to
                  anyone who staked his claim. Then he climbed back into our ancient little two seater and
                  went off like a bullet driving all day and most of the night. As the others took turns in
                  driving you can imagine what a feat it was for George to arrive in Kilwa ahead of them.
                  When they drove into Kilwa he met them with a bright smile and a bit of bluff –
                  quite justifiable under the circumstances I think. He said, you chaps can have a rest now,
                  you’re too late.” He then whipped off and pegged the claim. he brought some samples
                  of guano back but until it has been analysed he will not know whether the guano will be
                  an economic proposition or not. George is not very hopeful. He says there is a good
                  deal of sand mixed with the guano and that much of it was damp.

                  The trip was pretty eventful for Kianda, our houseboy. The little two seater car
                  had been used by its previous owner for carting bags of course salt from his salt pans.
                  For this purpose the dicky seat behind the cab had been removed, and a kind of box
                  built into the boot of the car. George’s camp kit and provisions were packed into this
                  open box and Kianda perched on top to keep an eye on the belongings. George
                  travelled so fast on the rough road that at some point during the night Kianda was
                  bumped off in the middle of the Game Reserve. George did not notice that he was
                  missing until the next morning. He concluded, quite rightly as it happened, that Kianda
                  would be picked up by the rival truck so he continued his journey and Kianda rejoined
                  him at Kilwa.

                  Believe it or not, the same thing happened on the way back but fortunately this
                  time George noticed his absence. He stopped the car and had just started back on his
                  tracks when Kianda came running down the road still clutching the unlighted storm lamp
                  which he was holding in his hand when he fell. The glass was not even cracked.
                  We are finding it difficult just now to buy native chickens and eggs. There has
                  been an epidemic amongst the poultry and one hesitates to eat the survivors. I have a
                  brine tub in which I preserve our surplus meat but I need the chickens for soup.
                  I hope George will be home for some months. He has arranged to take a Mr
                  Blackburn, a wealthy fruit farmer from Elgin, Cape, on a hunting safari during September
                  and October and that should bring in some much needed cash. Lillian Eustace has
                  invited Kate and me to spend the whole of October with her in Tukuyu.
                  I am so glad that you so much enjoy having Ann and George with you. We miss
                  them dreadfully. Kate is a pretty little girl and such a little madam. You should hear the
                  imperious way in which she calls the kitchenboy for her meals. “Boy Brekkis, Boy Lunch,
                  and Boy Eggy!” are her three calls for the day. She knows no Ki-Swahili.

                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe 8th October 1937

                  Dearest Family,

                  I am rapidly becoming as superstitious as our African boys. They say the wild
                  animals always know when George is away from home and come down to have their
                  revenge on me because he has killed so many.

                  I am being besieged at night by a most beastly leopard with a half grown cub. I
                  have grown used to hearing leopards grunt as they hunt in the hills at night but never
                  before have I had one roaming around literally under the windows. It has been so hot at
                  night lately that I have been sleeping with my bedroom door open onto the verandah. I
                  felt quite safe because the natives hereabouts are law-abiding and in any case I always
                  have a boy armed with a club sleeping in the kitchen just ten yards away. As an added
                  precaution I also have a loaded .45 calibre revolver on my bedside table, and Fanny
                  our bullterrier, sleeps on the mat by my bed. I am also looking after Barney, a fine
                  Airedale dog belonging to the Costers. He slept on a mat by the open bedroom door
                  near a dimly burning storm lamp.

                  As usual I went to sleep with an easy mind on Monday night, but was awakened
                  in the early hours of Tuesday by the sound of a scuffle on the front verandah. The noise
                  was followed by a scream of pain from Barney. I jumped out of bed and, grabbing the
                  lamp with my left hand and the revolver in my right, I rushed outside just in time to see
                  two animal figures roll over the edge of the verandah into the garden below. There they
                  engaged in a terrific tug of war. Fortunately I was too concerned for Barney to be
                  nervous. I quickly fired two shots from the revolver, which incidentally makes a noise like
                  a cannon, and I must have startled the leopard for both animals, still locked together,
                  disappeared over the edge of the terrace. I fired two more shots and in a few moments
                  heard the leopard making a hurried exit through the dry leaves which lie thick under the
                  wild fig tree just beyond the terrace. A few seconds later Barney appeared on the low
                  terrace wall. I called his name but he made no move to come but stood with hanging
                  head. In desperation I rushed out, felt blood on my hands when I touched him, so I
                  picked him up bodily and carried him into the house. As I regained the verandah the boy
                  appeared, club in hand, having been roused by the shots. He quickly grasped what had
                  happened when he saw my blood saturated nightie. He fetched a bowl of water and a
                  clean towel whilst I examined Barney’s wounds. These were severe, the worst being a
                  gaping wound in his throat. I washed the gashes with a strong solution of pot permang
                  and I am glad to say they are healing remarkably well though they are bound to leave
                  scars. Fanny, very prudently, had taken no part in the fighting except for frenzied barking
                  which she kept up all night. The shots had of course wakened Kate but she seemed
                  more interested than alarmed and kept saying “Fanny bark bark, Mummy bang bang.
                  Poor Barney lots of blood.”

                  In the morning we inspected the tracks in the garden. There was a shallow furrow
                  on the terrace where Barney and the leopard had dragged each other to and fro and
                  claw marks on the trunk of the wild fig tree into which the leopard climbed after I fired the
                  shots. The affair was of course a drama after the Africans’ hearts and several of our
                  shamba boys called to see me next day to make sympathetic noises and discuss the
                  affair.

                  I went to bed early that night hoping that the leopard had been scared off for
                  good but I must confess I shut all windows and doors. Alas for my hopes of a restful
                  night. I had hardly turned down the lamp when the leopard started its terrifying grunting
                  just under the bedroom windows. If only she would sniff around quietly I should not
                  mind, but the noise is ghastly, something like the first sickening notes of a braying
                  donkey, amplified here by the hills and the gorge which is only a stones throw from the
                  bedroom. Barney was too sick to bark but Fanny barked loud enough for two and the more
                  frantic she became the hungrier the leopard sounded. Kate of course woke up and this
                  time she was frightened though I assured her that the noise was just a donkey having
                  fun. Neither of us slept until dawn when the leopard returned to the hills. When we
                  examined the tracks next morning we found that the leopard had been accompanied by
                  a fair sized cub and that together they had prowled around the house, kitchen, and out
                  houses, visiting especially the places to which the dogs had been during the day.
                  As I feel I cannot bear many more of these nights, I am sending a note to the
                  District Commissioner, Mbeya by the messenger who takes this letter to the post,
                  asking him to send a game scout or an armed policeman to deal with the leopard.
                  So don’t worry, for by the time this reaches you I feel sure this particular trouble
                  will be over.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe 17th October 1937

                  Dearest Family,

                  More about the leopard I fear! My messenger returned from Mbeya to say that
                  the District Officer was on safari so he had given the message to the Assistant District
                  Officer who also apparently left on safari later without bothering to reply to my note, so
                  there was nothing for me to do but to send for the village Nimrod and his muzzle loader
                  and offer him a reward if he could frighten away or kill the leopard.

                  The hunter, Laza, suggested that he should sleep at the house so I went to bed
                  early leaving Laza and his two pals to make themselves comfortable on the living room
                  floor by the fire. Laza was armed with a formidable looking muzzle loader, crammed I
                  imagine with nuts and bolts and old rusty nails. One of his pals had a spear and the other
                  a panga. This fellow was also in charge of the Petromax pressure lamp whose light was
                  hidden under a packing case. I left the campaign entirely to Laza’s direction.
                  As usual the leopard came at midnight stealing down from the direction of the
                  kitchen and announcing its presence and position with its usual ghastly grunts. Suddenly
                  pandemonium broke loose on the back verandah. I heard the roar of the muzzle loader
                  followed by a vigourous tattoo beaten on an empty paraffin tin and I rushed out hoping
                  to find the dead leopard. however nothing of the kind had happened except that the
                  noise must have scared the beast because she did not return again that night. Next
                  morning Laza solemnly informed me that, though he had shot many leopards in his day,
                  this was no ordinary leopard but a “sheitani” (devil) and that as his gun was no good
                  against witchcraft he thought he might as well retire from the hunt. Scared I bet, and I
                  don’t blame him either.

                  You can imagine my relief when a car rolled up that afternoon bringing Messers
                  Stewart and Griffiths, two farmers who live about 15 miles away, between here and
                  Mbeya. They had a note from the Assistant District Officer asking them to help me and
                  they had come to set up a trap gun in the garden. That night the leopard sniffed all
                  around the gun and I had the added strain of waiting for the bang and wondering what I
                  should do if the beast were only wounded. I conjured up horrible visions of the two little
                  totos trotting up the garden path with the early morning milk and being horribly mauled,
                  but I needn’t have worried because the leopard was far too wily to be caught that way.
                  Two more ghastly nights passed and then I had another visitor, a Dr Jackson of
                  the Tsetse Department on safari in the District. He listened sympathetically to my story
                  and left his shotgun and some SSG cartridges with me and instructed me to wait until the
                  leopard was pretty close and blow its b—– head off. It was good of him to leave his
                  gun. George always says there are three things a man should never lend, ‘His wife, his
                  gun and his dog.’ (I think in that order!)I felt quite cheered by Dr Jackson’s visit and sent
                  once again for Laza last night and arranged a real show down. In the afternoon I draped
                  heavy blankets over the living room windows to shut out the light of the pressure lamp
                  and the four of us, Laza and his two stooges and I waited up for the leopard. When we
                  guessed by her grunts that she was somewhere between the kitchen and the back door
                  we all rushed out, first the boy with the panga and the lamp, next Laza with his muzzle
                  loader, then me with the shotgun followed closely by the boy with the spear. What a
                  farce! The lamp was our undoing. We were blinded by the light and did not even
                  glimpse the leopard which made off with a derisive grunt. Laza said smugly that he knew
                  it was hopeless to try and now I feel tired and discouraged too.

                  This morning I sent a runner to Mbeya to order the hotel taxi for tomorrow and I
                  shall go to friends in Mbeya for a day or two and then on to Tukuyu where I shall stay
                  with the Eustaces until George returns from Safari.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe 18th November 1937

                  My darling Ann,

                  Here we are back in our own home and how lovely it is to have Daddy back from
                  safari. Thank you very much for your letter. I hope by now you have got mine telling you
                  how very much I liked the beautiful tray cloth you made for my birthday. I bet there are
                  not many little girls of five who can embroider as well as you do, darling. The boy,
                  Matafari, washes and irons it so carefully and it looks lovely on the tea tray.

                  Daddy and I had some fun last night. I was in bed and Daddy was undressing
                  when we heard a funny scratching noise on the roof. I thought it was the leopard. Daddy
                  quickly loaded his shotgun and ran outside. He had only his shirt on and he looked so
                  funny. I grabbed the loaded revolver from the cupboard and ran after Dad in my nightie
                  but after all the rush it was only your cat, Winnie, though I don’t know how she managed
                  to make such a noise. We felt so silly, we laughed and laughed.

                  Kate talks a lot now but in such a funny way you would laugh to her her. She
                  hears the houseboys call me Memsahib so sometimes instead of calling me Mummy
                  she calls me “Oompaab”. She calls the bedroom a ‘bippon’ and her little behind she
                  calls her ‘sittendump’. She loves to watch Mandawi’s cattle go home along the path
                  behind the kitchen. Joseph your donkey, always leads the cows. He has a lazy life now.
                  I am glad you had such fun on Guy Fawkes Day. You will be sad to leave
                  Plumstead but I am sure you will like going to England on the big ship with granny Kate.
                  I expect you will start school when you get to England and I am sure you will find that
                  fun.

                  God bless my dear little girl. Lots of love from Daddy and Kate,
                  and Mummy

                  Mchewe 18th November 1937

                  Hello George Darling,

                  Thank you for your lovely drawing of Daddy shooting an elephant. Daddy says
                  that the only thing is that you have drawn him a bit too handsome.

                  I went onto the verandah a few minutes ago to pick a banana for Kate from the
                  bunch hanging there and a big hornet flew out and stung my elbow! There are lots of
                  them around now and those stinging flies too. Kate wears thick corduroy dungarees so
                  that she will not get her fat little legs bitten. She is two years old now and is a real little
                  pickle. She loves running out in the rain so I have ordered a pair of red Wellingtons and a
                  tiny umbrella from a Nairobi shop for her Christmas present.

                  Fanny’s puppies have their eyes open now and have very sharp little teeth.
                  They love to nip each other. We are keeping the fiercest little one whom we call Paddy
                  but are giving the others to friends. The coffee bushes are full of lovely white flowers
                  and the bees and ants are very busy stealing their honey.

                  Yesterday a troop of baboons came down the hill and Dad shot a big one to
                  scare the others off. They are a nuisance because they steal the maize and potatoes
                  from the native shambas and then there is not enough food for the totos.
                  Dad and I are very proud of you for not making a fuss when you went to the
                  dentist to have that tooth out.

                  Bye bye, my fine little son.
                  Three bags full of love from Kate, Dad and Mummy.

                  Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  here is some news that will please you. George has been offered and has
                  accepted a job as Forester at Mbulu in the Northern Province of Tanganyika. George
                  would have preferred a job as Game Ranger, but though the Game Warden, Philip
                  Teare, is most anxious to have him in the Game Department, there is no vacancy at
                  present. Anyway if one crops up later, George can always transfer from one
                  Government Department to another. Poor George, he hates the idea of taking a job. He
                  says that hitherto he has always been his own master and he detests the thought of
                  being pushed around by anyone.

                  Now however he has no choice. Our capitol is almost exhausted and the coffee
                  market shows no signs of improving. With three children and another on the way, he
                  feels he simply must have a fixed income. I shall be sad to leave this little farm. I love
                  our little home and we have been so very happy here, but my heart rejoices at the
                  thought of overseas leave every thirty months. Now we shall be able to fetch Ann and
                  George from England and in three years time we will all be together in Tanganyika once
                  more.

                  There is no sale for farms so we will just shut the house and keep on a very small
                  labour force just to keep the farm from going derelict. We are eating our hens but will
                  take our two dogs, Fanny and Paddy with us.

                  One thing I shall be glad to leave is that leopard. She still comes grunting around
                  at night but not as badly as she did before. I do not mind at all when George is here but
                  until George was accepted for this forestry job I was afraid he might go back to the
                  Diggings and I should once more be left alone to be cursed by the leopard’s attentions.
                  Knowing how much I dreaded this George was most anxious to shoot the leopard and
                  for weeks he kept his shotgun and a powerful torch handy at night.

                  One night last week we woke to hear it grunting near the kitchen. We got up very
                  quietly and whilst George loaded the shotgun with SSG, I took the torch and got the
                  heavy revolver from the cupboard. We crept out onto the dark verandah where George
                  whispered to me to not switch on the torch until he had located the leopard. It was pitch
                  black outside so all he could do was listen intently. And then of course I spoilt all his
                  plans. I trod on the dog’s tin bowl and made a terrific clatter! George ordered me to
                  switch on the light but it was too late and the leopard vanished into the long grass of the
                  Kalonga, grunting derisively, or so it sounded.

                  She never comes into the clearing now but grunts from the hillside just above it.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Journeys end at last. here we are at Mbulu, installed in our new quarters which are
                  as different as they possibly could be from our own cosy little home at Mchewe. We
                  live now, my dears, in one wing of a sort of ‘Beau Geste’ fort but I’ll tell you more about
                  it in my next letter. We only arrived yesterday and have not had time to look around.
                  This letter will tell you just about our trip from Mbeya.

                  We left the farm in our little red Ford two seater with all our portable goods and
                  chattels plus two native servants and the two dogs. Before driving off, George took one
                  look at the flattened springs and declared that he would be surprised if we reached
                  Mbeya without a breakdown and that we would never make Mbulu with the car so
                  overloaded.

                  However luck was with us. We reached Mbeya without mishap and at one of the
                  local garages saw a sturdy used Ford V8 boxbody car for sale. The garage agreed to
                  take our small car as part payment and George drew on our little remaining capitol for the
                  rest. We spent that night in the house of the Forest Officer and next morning set out in
                  comfort for the Northern Province of Tanganyika.

                  I had done the journey from Dodoma to Mbeya seven years before so was
                  familiar with the scenery but the road was much improved and the old pole bridges had
                  been replaced by modern steel ones. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We
                  avoided hotels and camped by the road and she found this great fun.
                  The road beyond Dodoma was new to me and very interesting country, flat and
                  dry and dusty, as little rain falls there. The trees are mostly thorn trees but here and there
                  one sees a giant baobab, weird trees with fantastically thick trunks and fat squat branches
                  with meagre foliage. The inhabitants of this area I found interesting though. They are
                  called Wagogo and are a primitive people who ape the Masai in dress and customs
                  though they are much inferior to the Masai in physique. They are also great herders of
                  cattle which, rather surprisingly, appear to thrive in that dry area.

                  The scenery alters greatly as one nears Babati, which one approaches by a high
                  escarpment from which one has a wonderful view of the Rift Valley. Babati township
                  appears to be just a small group of Indian shops and shabby native houses, but I
                  believe there are some good farms in the area. Though the little township is squalid,
                  there is a beautiful lake and grand mountains to please the eye. We stopped only long
                  enough to fill up with petrol and buy some foodstuffs. Beyond Babati there is a tsetse
                  fly belt and George warned our two native servants to see that no tsetse flies settled on
                  the dogs.

                  We stopped for the night in a little rest house on the road about 80 miles from
                  Arusha where we were to spend a few days with the Forest Officer before going on to
                  Mbulu. I enjoyed this section of the road very much because it runs across wide plains
                  which are bounded on the West by the blue mountains of the Rift Valley wall. Here for
                  the first time I saw the Masai on their home ground guarding their vast herds of cattle. I
                  also saw their strange primitive hovels called Manyattas, with their thorn walled cattle
                  bomas and lots of plains game – giraffe, wildebeest, ostriches and antelope. Kate was
                  wildly excited and entranced with the game especially the giraffe which stood gazing
                  curiously and unafraid of us, often within a few yards of the road.

                  Finally we came across the greatest thrill of all, my first view of Mt Meru the extinct
                  volcano about 16,000 feet high which towers over Arusha township. The approach to
                  Arusha is through flourishing coffee plantations very different alas from our farm at Mchewe. George says that at Arusha coffee growing is still a paying proposition
                  because here the yield of berry per acre is much higher than in the Southern highlands
                  and here in the North the farmers have not such heavy transport costs as the railway runs
                  from Arusha to the port at Tanga.

                  We stayed overnight at a rather second rate hotel but the food was good and we
                  had hot baths and a good nights rest. Next day Tom Lewis the Forest Officer, fetched
                  us and we spent a few days camping in a tent in the Lewis’ garden having meals at their
                  home. Both Tom and Lillian Lewis were most friendly. Tom lewis explained to George
                  what his work in the Mbulu District was to be, and they took us camping in a Forest
                  Reserve where Lillian and her small son David and Kate and I had a lovely lazy time
                  amidst beautiful surroundings. Before we left for Mbulu, Lillian took me shopping to buy
                  material for curtains for our new home. She described the Forest House at Mbulu to me
                  and it sounded delightful but alas, when we reached Mbulu we discovered that the
                  Assistant District Officer had moved into the Forest House and we were directed to the
                  Fort or Boma. The night before we left Arusha for Mbulu it rained very heavily and the
                  road was very treacherous and slippery due to the surface being of ‘black cotton’ soil
                  which has the appearance and consistency of chocolate blancmange, after rain. To get to
                  Mbulu we had to drive back in the direction of Dodoma for some 70 miles and then turn
                  to the right and drive across plains to the Great Rift Valley Wall. The views from this
                  escarpment road which climbs this wall are magnificent. At one point one looks down
                  upon Lake Manyara with its brilliant white beaches of soda.

                  The drive was a most trying one for George. We had no chains for the wheels
                  and several times we stuck in the mud and our two houseboys had to put grass and
                  branches under the wheels to stop them from spinning. Quite early on in the afternoon
                  George gave up all hope of reaching Mbulu that day and planned to spend the night in
                  a little bush rest camp at Karatu. However at one point it looked as though we would not
                  even reach this resthouse for late afternoon found us properly bogged down in a mess
                  of mud at the bottom of a long and very steep hill. In spite of frantic efforts on the part of
                  George and the two boys, all now very wet and muddy, the heavy car remained stuck.
                  Suddenly five Masai men appeared through the bushes beside the road. They
                  were all tall and angular and rather terrifying looking to me. Each wore only a blanket
                  knotted over one shoulder and all were armed with spears. They lined up by the side of
                  the road and just looked – not hostile but simply aloof and supercilious. George greeted
                  them and said in Ki-Swahili, “Help to push and I will reward you.” But they said nothing,
                  just drawing back imperceptibly to register disgust at the mere idea of manual labour.
                  Their expressions said quite clearly “A Masai is a warrior and does not soil his hands.”
                  George then did something which startled them I think, as much as me. He
                  plucked their spears from their hands one by one and flung them into the back of the
                  boxbody. “Now push!” he said, “And when we are safely out of the mud you shall have
                  your spears back.” To my utter astonishment the Masai seemed to applaud George’s
                  action. I think they admire courage in a man more than anything else. They pushed with a
                  will and soon we were roaring up the long steep slope. “I can’t stop here” quoth George
                  as up and up we went. The Masai were in mad pursuit with their blankets streaming
                  behind. They took a very steep path which was a shortcut to the top. They are certainly
                  amazing athletes and reached the top at the same time as the car. Their route of course
                  was shorter but much more steep, yet they came up without any sign of fatigue to claim
                  their spears and the money which George handed out with a friendly grin. The Masai
                  took the whole episode in good heart and we parted on the most friendly terms.

                  After a rather chilly night in the three walled shack, we started on the last lap of our
                  journey yesterday morning in bright weather and made the trip to Mbulu without incident.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Mbulu is an attractive station but living in this rather romantic looking fort has many
                  disadvantages. Our quarters make up one side of the fort which is built up around a
                  hollow square. The buildings are single storied but very tall in the German manner and
                  there is a tower on one corner from which the Union Jack flies. The tower room is our
                  sitting room, and one has very fine views from the windows of the rolling country side.
                  However to reach this room one has to climb a steep flight of cement steps from the
                  court yard. Another disadvantage of this tower room is that there is a swarm of bees in
                  the roof and the stray ones drift down through holes in the ceiling and buzz angrily
                  against the window panes or fly around in a most menacing manner.

                  Ours are the only private quarters in the Fort. Two other sides of the Fort are
                  used as offices, storerooms and court room and the fourth side is simply a thick wall with
                  battlements and loopholes and a huge iron shod double door of enormous thickness
                  which is always barred at sunset when the flag is hauled down. Two Police Askari always
                  remain in the Fort on guard at night. The effect from outside the whitewashed fort is very
                  romantic but inside it is hardly homely and how I miss my garden at Mchewe and the
                  grass and trees.

                  We have no privacy downstairs because our windows overlook the bare
                  courtyard which is filled with Africans patiently waiting to be admitted to the courtroom as
                  witnesses or spectators. The outside windows which overlook the valley are heavily
                  barred. I can only think that the Germans who built this fort must have been very scared
                  of the local natives.

                  Our rooms are hardly cosy and are furnished with typical heavy German pieces.
                  We have a vast bleak bedroom, a dining room and an enormous gloomy kitchen in
                  which meals for the German garrison were cooked. At night this kitchen is alive with
                  gigantic rats but fortunately they do not seem to care for the other rooms. To crown
                  everything owls hoot and screech at night on the roof.

                  On our first day here I wandered outside the fort walls with Kate and came upon a
                  neatly fenced plot enclosing the graves of about fifteen South African soldiers killed by
                  the Germans in the 1914-18 war. I understand that at least one of theses soldiers died in
                  the courtyard here. The story goes, that during the period in the Great War when this fort
                  was occupied by a troop of South African Horse, a German named Siedtendorf
                  appeared at the great barred door at night and asked to speak to the officer in command
                  of the Troop. The officer complied with this request and the small shutter in the door was
                  opened so that he could speak with the German. The German, however, had not come
                  to speak. When he saw the exposed face of the officer, he fired, killing him, and
                  escaped into the dark night. I had this tale on good authority but cannot vouch for it. I do
                  know though, that there are two bullet holes in the door beside the shutter. An unhappy
                  story to think about when George is away, as he is now, and the moonlight throws queer
                  shadows in the court yard and the owls hoot.

                  However though I find our quarters depressing, I like Mbulu itself very much. It is
                  rolling country, treeless except for the plantations of the Forestry Dept. The land is very
                  fertile in the watered valleys but the grass on hills and plains is cropped to the roots by
                  the far too numerous cattle and goats. There are very few Europeans on the station, only
                  Mr Duncan, the District Officer, whose wife and children recently left for England, the
                  Assistant District Officer and his wife, a bachelor Veterinary Officer, a Road Foreman and
                  ourselves, and down in the village a German with an American wife and an elderly
                  Irishman whom I have not met. The Government officials have a communal vegetable
                  garden in the valley below the fort which keeps us well supplied with green stuff. 

                  Most afternoons George, Kate and I go for walks after tea. On Fridays there is a
                  little ceremony here outside the fort. In the late afternoon a little procession of small
                  native schoolboys, headed by a drum and penny whistle band come marching up the
                  road to a tune which sounds like ‘Two lovely black eyes”. They form up below our tower
                  and as the flag is lowered for the day they play ‘God save the King’, and then march off
                  again. It is quite a cheerful little ceremony.

                  The local Africans are a skinny lot and, I should say, a poor tribe. They protect
                  themselves against the cold by wrapping themselves in cotton blankets or a strip of
                  unbleached sheeting. This they drape over their heads, almost covering their faces and
                  the rest is wrapped closely round their bodies in the manner of a shroud. A most
                  depressing fashion. They live in very primitive comfortless houses. They simply make a
                  hollow in the hillside and build a front wall of wattle and daub. Into this rude shelter at night
                  go cattle and goats, men, women, and children.

                  Mbulu village has the usual mud brick and wattle dukas and wattle and daub
                  houses. The chief trader is a Goan who keeps a surprisingly good variety of tinned
                  foodstuffs and also sells hardware and soft goods.

                  The Europeans here have been friendly but as you will have noted there are
                  only two other women on station and no children at all to be companions for Kate.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu 20th June 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Here we are on Safari with George at Babati where we are occupying a rest
                  house on the slopes of Ufiome Mountain. The slopes are a Forest Reserve and
                  George is supervising the clearing of firebreaks in preparation for the dry weather. He
                  goes off after a very early breakfast and returns home in the late afternoon so Kate and I
                  have long lazy days.

                  Babati is a pleasant spot and the resthouse is quite comfortable. It is about a mile
                  from the village which is just the usual collection of small mud brick and corrugated iron
                  Indian Dukas. There are a few settlers in the area growing coffee, or going in for mixed
                  farming but I don’t think they are doing very well. The farm adjoining the rest house is
                  owned by Lord Lovelace but is run by a manager.

                  George says he gets enough exercise clambering about all day on the mountain,
                  so Kate and I do our walking in the mornings when George is busy, and we all relax in
                  the evenings when George returns from his field work. Kate’s favourite walk is to the big
                  block of mtama (sorghum) shambas lower down the hill. There are huge swarms of tiny
                  grain eating birds around waiting the chance to plunder the mtama, so the crops are
                  watched from sunrise to sunset.

                  Crude observation platforms have been erected for this purpose in the centre of
                  each field and the women and the young boys of the family concerned, take it in turn to
                  occupy the platform and scare the birds. Each watcher has a sling and uses clods of
                  earth for ammunition. The clod is placed in the centre of the sling which is then whirled
                  around at arms length. Suddenly one end of the sling is released and the clod of earth
                  flies out and shatters against the mtama stalks. The sling makes a loud whip like crack and
                  the noise is quite startling and very effective in keeping the birds at a safe distance.

                  Eleanor.

                  Karatu 3rd July 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Still on safari you see! We left Babati ten days ago and passed through Mbulu
                  on our way to this spot. We slept out of doors one night beside Lake Tiawa about eight
                  miles from Mbulu. It was a peaceful spot and we enjoyed watching the reflection of the
                  sunset on the lake and the waterhens and duck and pelicans settling down for the night.
                  However it turned piercingly cold after sunset so we had an early supper and then all
                  three of us lay down to sleep in the back of the boxbody (station wagon). It was a tight
                  fit and a real case of ‘When Dad turns, we all turn.’

                  Here at Karatu we are living in a grass hut with only three walls. It is rather sweet
                  and looks like the setting for a Nativity Play. Kate and I share the only camp bed and
                  George and the dogs sleep on the floor. The air here is very fresh and exhilarating and
                  we all feel very fit. George is occupied all day supervising the cutting of firebreaks
                  around existing plantations and the forest reserve of indigenous trees. Our camp is on
                  the hillside and below us lie the fertile wheat lands of European farmers.

                  They are mostly Afrikaners, the descendants of the Boer families who were
                  invited by the Germans to settle here after the Boer War. Most of them are pro-British
                  now and a few have called in here to chat to George about big game hunting. George
                  gets on extremely well with them and recently attended a wedding where he had a
                  lively time dancing at the reception. He likes the older people best as most are great
                  individualists. One fine old man, surnamed von Rooyen, visited our camp. He is a Boer
                  of the General Smuts type with spare figure and bearded face. George tells me he is a
                  real patriarch with an enormous family – mainly sons. This old farmer fought against the
                  British throughout the Boer War under General Smuts and again against the British in the
                  German East Africa campaign when he was a scout and right hand man to Von Lettow. It
                  is said that Von Lettow was able to stay in the field until the end of the Great War
                  because he listened to the advise given to him by von Rooyen. However his dislike for
                  the British does not extend to George as they have a mutual interest in big game
                  hunting.

                  Kate loves being on safari. She is now so accustomed to having me as her nurse
                  and constant companion that I do not know how she will react to paid help. I shall have to
                  get someone to look after her during my confinement in the little German Red Cross
                  hospital at Oldeani.

                  George has obtained permission from the District Commissioner, for Kate and
                  me to occupy the Government Rest House at Oldeani from the end of July until the end
                  of August when my baby is due. He will have to carry on with his field work but will join
                  us at weekends whenever possible.

                  Eleanor.

                  Karatu 12th July 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Not long now before we leave this camp. We have greatly enjoyed our stay
                  here in spite of the very chilly earl mornings and the nights when we sit around in heavy
                  overcoats until our early bed time.

                  Last Sunday I persuaded George to take Kate and me to the famous Ngoro-
                  Ngoro Crater. He was not very keen to do so because the road is very bumpy for
                  anyone in my interesting condition but I feel so fit that I was most anxious to take this
                  opportunity of seeing the enormous crater. We may never be in this vicinity again and in
                  any case safari will not be so simple with a small baby.

                  What a wonderful trip it was! The road winds up a steep escarpment from which
                  one gets a glorious birds eye view of the plains of the Great Rift Valley far, far below.
                  The crater is immense. There is a road which skirts the rim in places and one has quite
                  startling views of the floor of the crater about two thousand feet below.

                  A camp for tourists has just been built in a clearing in the virgin forest. It is most
                  picturesque as the camp buildings are very neatly constructed log cabins with very high
                  pitched thatched roofs. We spent about an hour sitting on the grass near the edge of the
                  crater enjoying the sunshine and the sharp air and really awe inspiring view. Far below us
                  in the middle of the crater was a small lake and we could see large herds of game
                  animals grazing there but they were too far away to be impressive, even seen through
                  George’s field glasses. Most appeared to be wildebeest and zebra but I also picked
                  out buffalo. Much more exciting was my first close view of a wild elephant. George
                  pointed him out to me as we approached the rest camp on the inward journey. He
                  stood quietly under a tree near the road and did not seem to be disturbed by the car
                  though he rolled a wary eye in our direction. On our return journey we saw him again at
                  almost uncomfortably close quarters. We rounded a sharp corner and there stood the
                  elephant, facing us and slap in the middle of the road. He was busily engaged giving
                  himself a dust bath but spared time to give us an irritable look. Fortunately we were on a
                  slight slope so George quickly switched off the engine and backed the car quietly round
                  the corner. He got out of the car and loaded his rifle, just in case! But after he had finished
                  his toilet the elephant moved off the road and we took our chance and passed without
                  incident.

                  One notices the steepness of the Ngoro-Ngoro road more on the downward
                  journey than on the way up. The road is cut into the side of the mountain so that one has
                  a steep slope on one hand and a sheer drop on the other. George told me that a lorry
                  coming down the mountain was once charged from behind by a rhino. On feeling and
                  hearing the bash from behind the panic stricken driver drove off down the mountain as
                  fast as he dared and never paused until he reached level ground at the bottom of the
                  mountain. There was no sign of the rhino so the driver got out to examine his lorry and
                  found the rhino horn embedded in the wooden tail end of the lorry. The horn had been
                  wrenched right off!

                  Happily no excitement of that kind happened to us. I have yet to see a rhino.

                  Eleanor.

                  Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Greetings from a lady in waiting! Kate and I have settled down comfortably in the
                  new, solidly built Government Rest House which comprises one large living room and
                  one large office with a connecting door. Outside there is a kitchen and a boys quarter.
                  There are no resident Government officials here at Oldeani so the office is in use only
                  when the District Officer from Mbulu makes his monthly visit. However a large Union
                  Jack flies from a flagpole in the front of the building as a gentle reminder to the entirely
                  German population of Oldeani that Tanganyika is now under British rule.

                  There is quite a large community of German settlers here, most of whom are
                  engaged in coffee farming. George has visited several of the farms in connection with his
                  forestry work and says the coffee plantations look very promising indeed. There are also
                  a few German traders in the village and there is a large boarding school for German
                  children and also a very pleasant little hospital where I have arranged to have the baby.
                  Right next door to the Rest House is a General Dealers Store run by a couple named
                  Schnabbe. The shop is stocked with drapery, hardware, china and foodstuffs all
                  imported from Germany and of very good quality. The Schnabbes also sell local farm
                  produce, beautiful fresh vegetables, eggs and pure rich milk and farm butter. Our meat
                  comes from a German butchery and it is a great treat to get clean, well cut meat. The
                  sausages also are marvellous and in great variety.

                  The butcher is an entertaining character. When he called round looking for custom I
                  expected him to break out in a yodel any minute, as it was obvious from a glance that
                  the Alps are his natural background. From under a green Tyrollean hat with feather,
                  blooms a round beefy face with sparkling small eyes and such widely spaced teeth that
                  one inevitably thinks of a garden rake. Enormous beefy thighs bulge from greasy
                  lederhosen which are supported by the traditional embroidered braces. So far the
                  butcher is the only cheery German, male or female, whom I have seen, and I have met
                  most of the locals at the Schnabbe’s shop. Most of the men seem to have cultivated
                  the grim Hitler look. They are all fanatical Nazis and one is usually greeted by a raised
                  hand and Heil Hitler! All very theatrical. I always feel like crying in ringing tones ‘God
                  Save the King’ or even ‘St George for England’. However the men are all very correct
                  and courteous and the women friendly. The women all admire Kate and cry, “Ag, das
                  kleine Englander.” She really is a picture with her rosy cheeks and huge grey eyes and
                  golden curls. Kate is having a wonderful time playing with Manfried, the Scnabbe’s small
                  son. Neither understands a word said by the other but that doesn’t seem to worry them.

                  Before he left on safari, George took me to hospital for an examination by the
                  nurse, Sister Marianne. She has not been long in the country and knows very little
                  English but is determined to learn and carried on an animated, if rather quaint,
                  conversation with frequent references to a pocket dictionary. She says I am not to worry
                  because there is not doctor here. She is a very experienced midwife and anyway in an
                  emergency could call on the old retired Veterinary Surgeon for assistance.
                  I asked sister Marianne whether she knew of any German woman or girl who
                  would look after Kate whilst I am in hospital and today a very top drawer German,
                  bearing a strong likeness to ‘Little Willie’, called and offered the services of his niece who
                  is here on a visit from Germany. I was rather taken aback and said, “Oh no Baron, your
                  niece would not be the type I had in mind. I’m afraid I cannot pay much for a companion.”
                  However the Baron was not to be discouraged. He told me that his niece is seventeen
                  but looks twenty, that she is well educated and will make a cheerful companion. Her
                  father wishes her to learn to speak English fluently and that is why the Baron wished her
                  to come to me as a house daughter. As to pay, a couple of pounds a month for pocket
                  money and her keep was all he had in mind. So with some misgivings I agreed to take
                  the niece on as a companion as from 1st August.

                  Eleanor.

                  Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Never a dull moment since my young companion arrived. She is a striking looking
                  girl with a tall boyish figure and very short and very fine dark hair which she wears
                  severely slicked back. She wears tweeds, no make up but has shiny rosy cheeks and
                  perfect teeth – she also,inevitably, has a man friend and I have an uncomfortable
                  suspicion that it is because of him that she was planted upon me. Upon second
                  thoughts though, maybe it was because of her excessive vitality, or even because of
                  her healthy appetite! The Baroness, I hear is in poor health and I can imagine that such
                  abundant health and spirit must have been quite overpowering. The name is Ingeborg,
                  but she is called Mouche, which I believe means Mouse. Someone in her family must
                  have a sense of humour.

                  Her English only needed practice and she now chatters fluently so that I know her
                  background and views on life. Mouche’s father is a personal friend of Goering. He was
                  once a big noise in the German Airforce but is now connected with the car industry and
                  travels frequently and intensively in Europe and America on business. Mouche showed
                  me some snap shots of her family and I must say they look prosperous and charming.
                  Mouche tells me that her father wants her to learn to speak English fluently so that
                  she can get a job with some British diplomat in Cairo. I had immediate thought that I
                  might be nursing a future Mata Hari in my bosom, but this was immediately extinguished
                  when Mouche remarked that her father would like her to marry an Englishman. However
                  it seems that the mere idea revolts her. “Englishmen are degenerates who swill whisky
                  all day.” I pointed out that she had met George, who was a true blue Englishman, but
                  was nevertheless a fine physical specimen and certainly didn’t drink all day. Mouche
                  replied that George is not an Englishman but a hunter, as though that set him apart.
                  Mouche is an ardent Hitler fan and an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth
                  Movement. The house resounds with Hitler youth songs and when she is not singing,
                  her gramophone is playing very stirring marching songs. I cannot understand a word,
                  which is perhaps as well. Every day she does the most strenuous exercises watched
                  with envy by me as my proportions are now those of a circus Big Top. Mouche eats a
                  fantastic amount of meat and I feel it is a blessing that she is much admired by our
                  Tyrollean butcher who now delivers our meat in person and adds as a token of his
                  admiration some extra sausages for Mouche.

                  I must confess I find her stimulating company as George is on safari most of the
                  time and my evenings otherwise would be lonely. I am a little worried though about
                  leaving Kate here with Mouche when I go to hospital. The dogs and Kate have not taken
                  to her. I am trying to prepare Kate for the separation but she says, “She’s not my
                  mummy. You are my dear mummy, and I want you, I want you.” George has got
                  permission from the Provincial Forestry Officer to spend the last week of August here at
                  the Rest House with me and I only hope that the baby will be born during that time.
                  Kate adores her dad and will be perfectly happy to remain here with him.

                  One final paragraph about Mouche. I thought all German girls were domesticated
                  but not Mouche. I have Kesho-Kutwa here with me as cook and I have engaged a local
                  boy to do the laundry. I however expected Mouche would take over making the
                  puddings and pastry but she informed me that she can only bake a chocolate cake and
                  absolutely nothing else. She said brightly however that she would do the mending. As
                  there is none for her to do, she has rescued a large worn handkerchief of George’s and
                  sits with her feet up listening to stirring gramophone records whilst she mends the
                  handkerchief with exquisite darning.

                  Eleanor.

                  Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Just after I had posted my last letter I received what George calls a demi official
                  letter from the District Officer informing me that I would have to move out of the Rest
                  House for a few days as the Governor and his hangers on would be visiting Oldeani
                  and would require the Rest House. Fortunately George happened to be here for a few
                  hours and he arranged for Kate and Mouche and me to spend a few days at the
                  German School as borders. So here I am at the school having a pleasant and restful
                  time and much entertained by all the goings on.

                  The school buildings were built with funds from Germany and the school is run on
                  the lines of a contemporary German school. I think the school gets a grant from the
                  Tanganyika Government towards running expenses, but I am not sure. The school hall is
                  dominated by a more than life sized oil painting of Adolf Hitler which, at present, is
                  flanked on one side by the German Flag and on the other by the Union Jack. I cannot
                  help feeling that the latter was put up today for the Governor’s visit today.
                  The teachers are very amiable. We all meet at mealtimes, and though few of the
                  teachers speak English, the ones who do are anxious to chatter. The headmaster is a
                  scholarly man but obviously anti-British. He says he cannot understand why so many
                  South Africans are loyal to Britain – or rather to England. “They conquered your country
                  didn’t they?” I said that that had never occurred to me and that anyway I was mainly of
                  Scots descent and that loyalty to the crown was natural to me. “But the English
                  conquered the Scots and yet you are loyal to England. That I cannot understand.” “Well I
                  love England,” said I firmly, ”and so do all British South Africans.” Since then we have
                  stuck to English literature. Shakespeare, Lord Byron and Galsworthy seem to be the
                  favourites and all, thank goodness, make safe topics for conversation.
                  Mouche is in her element but Kate and I do not enjoy the food which is typically
                  German and consists largely of masses of fat pork and sauerkraut and unfamiliar soups. I
                  feel sure that the soup at lunch today had blobs of lemon curd in it! I also find most
                  disconcerting the way that everyone looks at me and says, “Bon appetite”, with much
                  smiling and nodding so I have to fight down my nausea and make a show of enjoying
                  the meals.

                  The teacher whose room adjoins mine is a pleasant woman and I take my
                  afternoon tea with her. She, like all the teachers, has a large framed photo of Hitler on her
                  wall flanked by bracket vases of fresh flowers. One simply can’t get away from the man!
                  Even in the dormitories each child has a picture of Hitler above the bed. Hitler accepting
                  flowers from a small girl, or patting a small boy on the head. Even the children use the
                  greeting ‘Heil Hitler’. These German children seem unnaturally prim when compared with
                  my cheerful ex-pupils in South Africa but some of them are certainly very lovely to look
                  at.

                  Tomorrow Mouche, Kate and I return to our quarters in the Rest House and in a
                  few days George will join us for a week.

                  Eleanor.

                  Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  You will all be delighted to hear that we have a second son, whom we have
                  named John. He is a darling, so quaint and good. He looks just like a little old man with a
                  high bald forehead fringed around the edges with a light brown fluff. George and I call
                  him Johnny Jo because he has a tiny round mouth and a rather big nose and reminds us
                  of A.A.Milne’s ‘Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an O’ , but Kate calls him, ‘My brother John’.
                  George was not here when he was born on September 5th, just two minutes
                  before midnight. He left on safari on the morning of the 4th and, of course, that very night
                  the labour pains started. Fortunately Kate was in bed asleep so Mouche walked with
                  me up the hill to the hospital where I was cheerfully received by Sister Marianne who
                  had everything ready for the confinement. I was lucky to have such an experienced
                  midwife because this was a breech birth and sister had to manage single handed. As
                  there was no doctor present I was not allowed even a sniff of anaesthetic. Sister slaved
                  away by the light of a pressure lamp endeavouring to turn the baby having first shoved
                  an inverted baby bath under my hips to raise them.

                  What a performance! Sister Marianne was very much afraid that she might not be
                  able to save the baby and great was our relief when at last she managed to haul him out
                  by the feet. One slap and the baby began to cry without any further attention so Sister
                  wrapped him up in a blanket and took Johnny to her room for the night. I got very little
                  sleep but was so thankful to have the ordeal over that I did not mind even though I
                  heard a hyaena cackling and calling under my window in a most evil way.
                  When Sister brought Johnny to me in the early morning I stared in astonishment.
                  Instead of dressing him in one of his soft Viyella nighties, she had dressed him in a short
                  sleeved vest of knitted cotton with a cotton cloth swayed around his waist sarong
                  fashion. When I protested, “But Sister why is the baby not dressed in his own clothes?”
                  She answered firmly, “I find it is not allowed. A baby’s clotheses must be boiled and I
                  cannot boil clotheses of wool therefore your baby must wear the clotheses of the Red
                  Cross.”

                  It was the same with the bedding. Poor Johnny lies all day in a deep wicker
                  basket with a detachable calico lining. There is no pillow under his head but a vast kind of
                  calico covered pillow is his only covering. There is nothing at all cosy and soft round my
                  poor baby. I said crossly to the Sister, “As every thing must be so sterile, I wonder you
                  don’t boil me too.” This she ignored.

                  When my message reached George he dashed back to visit us. Sister took him
                  first to see the baby and George was astonished to see the baby basket covered by a
                  sheet. “She has the poor little kid covered up like a bloody parrot,” he told me. So I
                  asked him to go at once to buy a square of mosquito netting to replace the sheet.
                  Kate is quite a problem. She behaves like an Angel when she is here in my
                  room but is rebellious when Sister shoos her out. She says she “Hates the Nanny”
                  which is what she calls Mouche. Unfortunately it seems that she woke before midnight
                  on the night Johnny Jo was born to find me gone and Mouche in my bed. According to
                  Mouche, Kate wept all night and certainly when she visited me in the early morning
                  Kate’s face was puffy with crying and she clung to me crying “Oh my dear mummy, why
                  did you go away?” over and over again. Sister Marianne was touched and suggested
                  that Mouche and Kate should come to the hospital as boarders as I am the only patient
                  at present and there is plenty of room. Luckily Kate does not seem at all jealous of the
                  baby and it is a great relief to have here here under my eye.

                  Eleanor.

                  #6262
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued  ~ part 3

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got
                    my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George
                    calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding
                    astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much
                    prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named
                    ‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes
                    ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was.
                    It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has
                    decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am
                    very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on
                    their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of
                    selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of
                    caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is
                    off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in
                    Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come
                    and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really
                    friendly terms with them.

                    Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps
                    the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still
                    reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she
                    has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with
                    the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things.
                    Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks.

                    She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very
                    active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can
                    manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They
                    have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly
                    pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs.
                    Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the
                    shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the
                    baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on
                    Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down
                    the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He
                    grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant
                    stride up the hill, half walking half riding.

                    Very much love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be
                    arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning
                    but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best
                    of what we have.

                    George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening.
                    This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the
                    farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden
                    frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire.

                    Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom
                    which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as
                    there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically
                    to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for
                    Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs
                    whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look.
                    To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day
                    of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the
                    Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane.
                    Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair,
                    normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this
                    because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract
                    attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law.
                    Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting
                    habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look
                    how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration.

                    Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                    your loving but anxious,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare
                    to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the
                    mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very
                    much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface
                    mail has not yet arrived.

                    Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden
                    brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very
                    handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once
                    Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course,
                    was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin-
                    law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to
                    her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her
                    family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the
                    same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but
                    mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley.
                    Perhaps number three will be a Leslie.

                    What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty
                    and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I
                    also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother
                    has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy
                    in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at
                    entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times.
                    Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her
                    room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes.

                    I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook
                    took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers
                    drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here.
                    The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a
                    thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he
                    wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose
                    and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and
                    as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother!
                    A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch
                    so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and
                    not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and
                    cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe.
                    Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when
                    he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the
                    spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by
                    scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible
                    for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of
                    eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get
                    another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe
                    with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what
                    transformations will be worked when I am in hospital.

                    Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because
                    she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large
                    saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house
                    servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first
                    come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist.
                    One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married,
                    mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home
                    like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of
                    George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a
                    month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot.
                    To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom
                    George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky
                    and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet.

                    Very much love to all,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket
                    beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and
                    her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her
                    Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine.
                    I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping
                    successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and
                    carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor
                    wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy.

                    For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for
                    Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple
                    of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of
                    the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So
                    George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering
                    what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering
                    with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into
                    Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I
                    settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby
                    would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank
                    goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she
                    had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights.

                    Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but
                    anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I
                    would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the
                    wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She
                    got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to
                    bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,”
                    and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat
                    spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around
                    to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying
                    warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked
                    “Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and
                    there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor
                    arrived.

                    A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had
                    kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept
                    in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s
                    future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten
                    o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note
                    from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on
                    the sixth to fetch me home.

                    I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What
                    more could anyone possibly want.

                    Lots and lots of love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid
                    and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not
                    so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga
                    being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is
                    dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire
                    her when she is lying alone in her basket.

                    George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and
                    native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts
                    and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house
                    spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge.
                    Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and
                    decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen
                    one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table
                    back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up
                    without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He
                    was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked,
                    enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she
                    left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to
                    push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she
                    put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room
                    exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We
                    looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched
                    the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful,
                    you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to
                    get that sylph-like figure.”

                    When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that
                    live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home.
                    Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the
                    journey.

                    Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly
                    refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have
                    a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants
                    to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit.
                    Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your
                    baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.”

                    Who would be a mother!
                    Eleanor

                    Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at
                    Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George
                    says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam
                    of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful.
                    About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of
                    George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp
                    lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded
                    Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy
                    had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache
                    out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with
                    Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism.

                    I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill
                    with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does
                    George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake
                    for Kate’s ten o’clock feed.

                    I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George
                    to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill
                    with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked.
                    “I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He
                    has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on
                    vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no
                    enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand
                    Alfani.

                    George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This
                    is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is
                    secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned
                    up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme!
                    Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in
                    trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging
                    from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched
                    upwards to support his head.

                    Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have.
                    Lots of love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a
                    good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She
                    arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by
                    the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was
                    dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid
                    Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked
                    “Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember
                    how livid you were, dad?

                    I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said,
                    “What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki-
                    Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate
                    who is thriving and bonny and placid.

                    Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have
                    some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne.
                    Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come
                    into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for
                    ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She
                    disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered
                    Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her
                    former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and
                    her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed
                    and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was.

                    Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching
                    hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children
                    love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much.
                    The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell
                    Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be
                    astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call
                    Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels
                    on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t
                    touch it, it’s hot.”

                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    I take back the disparaging things I said about my new Ayah, because she has
                    proved her worth in an unexpected way. On Wednesday morning I settled Kate in he
                    cot after her ten o’clock feed and sat sewing at the dining room table with Ann and
                    Georgie opposite me, both absorbed in painting pictures in identical seed catalogues.
                    Suddenly there was a terrific bang on the back door, followed by an even heavier blow.
                    The door was just behind me and I got up and opened it. There, almost filling the door
                    frame, stood a huge native with staring eyes and his teeth showing in a mad grimace. In
                    his hand he held a rolled umbrella by the ferrule, the shaft I noticed was unusually long
                    and thick and the handle was a big round knob.

                    I was terrified as you can imagine, especially as, through the gap under the
                    native’s raised arm, I could see the new cook and the kitchen boy running away down to
                    the shamba! I hastily tried to shut and lock the door but the man just brushed me aside.
                    For a moment he stood over me with the umbrella raised as though to strike. Rather
                    fortunately, I now think, I was too petrified to say a word. The children never moved but
                    Tubbage, the Alsatian, got up and jumped out of the window!

                    Then the native turned away and still with the same fixed stare and grimace,
                    began to attack the furniture with his umbrella. Tables and chairs were overturned and
                    books and ornaments scattered on the floor. When the madman had his back turned and
                    was busily bashing the couch, I slipped round the dining room table, took Ann and
                    Georgie by the hand and fled through the front door to the garage where I hid the
                    children in the car. All this took several minutes because naturally the children were
                    terrified. I was worried to death about the baby left alone in the bedroom and as soon
                    as I had Ann and Georgie settled I ran back to the house.

                    I reached the now open front door just as Kianda the houseboy opened the back
                    door of the lounge. He had been away at the river washing clothes but, on hearing of the
                    madman from the kitchen boy he had armed himself with a stout stick and very pluckily,
                    because he is not a robust boy, had returned to the house to eject the intruder. He
                    rushed to attack immediately and I heard a terrific exchange of blows behind me as I
                    opened our bedroom door. You can imagine what my feelings were when I was
                    confronted by an empty cot! Just then there was an uproar inside as all the farm
                    labourers armed with hoes and pangas and sticks, streamed into the living room from the
                    shamba whence they had been summoned by the cook. In no time at all the huge
                    native was hustled out of the house, flung down the front steps, and securely tied up
                    with strips of cloth.

                    In the lull that followed I heard a frightened voice calling from the bathroom.
                    ”Memsahib is that you? The child is here with me.” I hastily opened the bathroom door
                    to find Mary couched in a corner by the bath, shielding Kate with her body. Mary had
                    seen the big native enter the house and her first thought had been for her charge. I
                    thanked her and promised her a reward for her loyalty, and quickly returned to the garage
                    to reassure Ann and Georgie. I met George who looked white and exhausted as well
                    he might having run up hill all the way from the coffee store. The kitchen boy had led him
                    to expect the worst and he was most relieved to find us all unhurt if a bit shaken.
                    We returned to the house by the back way whilst George went to the front and
                    ordered our labourers to take their prisoner and lock him up in the store. George then
                    discussed the whole affair with his Headman and all the labourers after which he reported
                    to me. “The boys say that the bastard is an ex-Askari from Nyasaland. He is not mad as
                    you thought but he smokes bhang and has these attacks. I suppose I should take him to
                    Mbeya and have him up in court. But if I do that you’ll have to give evidence and that will be a nuisance as the car won’t go and there is also the baby to consider.”

                    Eventually we decided to leave the man to sleep off the effects of the Bhang
                    until evening when he would be tried before an impromptu court consisting of George,
                    the local Jumbe(Headman) and village Elders, and our own farm boys and any other
                    interested spectators. It was not long before I knew the verdict because I heard the
                    sound of lashes. I was not sorry at all because I felt the man deserved his punishment
                    and so did all the Africans. They love children and despise anyone who harms or
                    frightens them. With great enthusiasm they frog-marched him off our land, and I sincerely
                    hope that that is the last we see or him. Ann and Georgie don’t seem to brood over this
                    affair at all. The man was naughty and he was spanked, a quite reasonable state of
                    affairs. This morning they hid away in the small thatched chicken house. This is a little brick
                    building about four feet square which Ann covets as a dolls house. They came back
                    covered in stick fleas which I had to remove with paraffin. My hens are laying well but
                    they all have the ‘gapes’! I wouldn’t run a chicken farm for anything, hens are such fussy,
                    squawking things.

                    Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things
                    happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the
                    children’s pranks is very tranquil.

                    Lots and lots of love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    The hot winds have dried up the shamba alarmingly and we hope every day for
                    rain. The prices for coffee, on the London market, continue to be low and the local
                    planters are very depressed. Coffee grows well enough here but we are over 400
                    miles from the railway and transport to the railhead by lorry is very expensive. Then, as
                    there is no East African Marketing Board, the coffee must be shipped to England for
                    sale. Unless the coffee fetches at least 90 pounds a ton it simply doesn’t pay to grow it.
                    When we started planting in 1931 coffee was fetching as much as 115 pounds a ton but
                    prices this year were between 45 and 55 pounds. We have practically exhausted our
                    capitol and so have all our neighbours. The Hickson -Woods have been keeping their
                    pot boiling by selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi but now everyone is
                    broke and there is not a market for fertilisers. They are offering their farm for sale at a very
                    low price.

                    Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of
                    returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the
                    Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply
                    here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit.
                    There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine
                    berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning,
                    before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn
                    the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine
                    berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily
                    ceremony of presentation.

                    The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy
                    disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last
                    week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens
                    as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box.
                    The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager
                    anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga
                    and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from
                    several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them
                    forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly
                    didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped
                    once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he
                    would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said
                    than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats
                    climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed
                    ceiling.

                    I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats
                    away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the
                    ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was
                    put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats.

                    I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in
                    this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I
                    have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same
                    reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire.

                    So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say
                    didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children?

                    Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    To set your minds at rest I must tell you that the native who so frightened me and
                    the children is now in jail for attacking a Greek at Mbalizi. I hear he is to be sent back to
                    Rhodesia when he has finished his sentence.

                    Yesterday we had one of our rare trips to Mbeya. George managed to get a couple of
                    second hand tyres for the old car and had again got her to work so we are celebrating our
                    wedding anniversary by going on an outing. I wore the green and fawn striped silk dress
                    mother bought me and the hat and shoes you sent for my birthday and felt like a million
                    dollars, for a change. The children all wore new clothes too and I felt very proud of them.
                    Ann is still very fair and with her refined little features and straight silky hair she
                    looks like Alice in Wonderland. Georgie is dark and sturdy and looks best in khaki shirt
                    and shorts and sun helmet. Kate is a pink and gold baby and looks good enough to eat.
                    We went straight to the hotel at Mbeya and had the usual warm welcome from
                    Ken and Aunty May Menzies. Aunty May wears her hair cut short like a mans and
                    usually wears shirt and tie and riding breeches and boots. She always looks ready to go
                    on safari at a moments notice as indeed she is. She is often called out to a case of illness
                    at some remote spot.

                    There were lots of people at the hotel from farms in the district and from the
                    diggings. I met women I had not seen for four years. One, a Mrs Masters from Tukuyu,
                    said in the lounge, “My God! Last time I saw you , you were just a girl and here you are
                    now with two children.” To which I replied with pride, “There is another one in a pram on
                    the verandah if you care to look!” Great hilarity in the lounge. The people from the
                    diggings seem to have plenty of money to throw around. There was a big party on the
                    go in the bar.

                    One of our shamba boys died last Friday and all his fellow workers and our
                    house boys had the day off to attend the funeral. From what I can gather the local
                    funerals are quite cheery affairs. The corpse is dressed in his best clothes and laid
                    outside his hut and all who are interested may view the body and pay their respects.
                    The heir then calls upon anyone who had a grudge against the dead man to say his say
                    and thereafter hold his tongue forever. Then all the friends pay tribute to the dead man
                    after which he is buried to the accompaniment of what sounds from a distance, very
                    cheerful keening.

                    Most of our workmen are pagans though there is a Lutheran Mission nearby and
                    a big Roman Catholic Mission in the area too. My present cook, however, claims to be
                    a Christian. He certainly went to a mission school and can read and write and also sing
                    hymns in Ki-Swahili. When I first engaged him I used to find a large open Bible
                    prominently displayed on the kitchen table. The cook is middle aged and arrived here
                    with a sensible matronly wife. To my surprise one day he brought along a young girl,
                    very plump and giggly and announced proudly that she was his new wife, I said,”But I
                    thought you were a Christian Jeremiah? Christians don’t have two wives.” To which he
                    replied, “Oh Memsahib, God won’t mind. He knows an African needs two wives – one
                    to go with him when he goes away to work and one to stay behind at home to cultivate
                    the shamba.

                    Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot.

                    With love to all,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind
                    the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The
                    kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under
                    the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both
                    lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the
                    casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I
                    heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann
                    was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well
                    Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.”
                    George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is
                    what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of
                    coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol
                    is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used
                    to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a
                    beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills
                    anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice.
                    We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was
                    delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut
                    into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry.

                    With love to all,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week
                    George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because
                    never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as
                    she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle
                    of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with
                    matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally
                    pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples.

                    As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only
                    Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted
                    to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning
                    the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our
                    house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great
                    muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards
                    behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown
                    flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard.
                    By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and
                    George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had
                    had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and
                    turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded
                    and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my
                    first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has
                    had there is little hope of a decent crop next year.

                    Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children
                    have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable
                    garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas.

                    Eleanor

                    Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                    Dearest Family,

                    I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is
                    back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick
                    during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The
                    children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper
                    decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and
                    it looks beautifully fresh.

                    My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would
                    like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give
                    ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of
                    enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this
                    week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around
                    staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile.
                    Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got
                    wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was
                    cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked
                    “Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from
                    then?”

                    I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could
                    not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be
                    delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel
                    shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall
                    regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I
                    am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the
                    gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but
                    much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression.
                    You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or
                    an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas
                    cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner.
                    Think of us as I shall certainly think of you.

                    Your very loving,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                    Dearest Family,

                    Christmas was fun! The tree looked very gay with its load of tinsel, candles and
                    red crackers and the coloured balloons you sent. All the children got plenty of toys
                    thanks to Grandparents and Aunts. George made Ann a large doll’s bed and I made
                    some elegant bedding, Barbara, the big doll is now permanently bed ridden. Her poor
                    shattered head has come all unstuck and though I have pieced it together again it is a sad
                    sight. If you have not yet chosen a present for her birthday next month would you
                    please get a new head from the Handy House. I enclose measurements. Ann does so
                    love the doll. She always calls her, “My little girl”, and she keeps the doll’s bed beside
                    her own and never fails to kiss her goodnight.

                    We had no guests for Christmas this year but we were quite festive. Ann
                    decorated the dinner table with small pink roses and forget-me-knots and tinsel and the
                    crackers from the tree. It was a wet day but we played the new records and both
                    George and I worked hard to make it a really happy day for the children. The children
                    were hugely delighted when George made himself a revolting set of false teeth out of
                    plasticine and a moustache and beard of paper straw from a chocolate box. “Oh Daddy
                    you look exactly like Father Christmas!” cried an enthralled Ann. Before bedtime we lit
                    all the candles on the tree and sang ‘Away in a Manger’, and then we opened the box of
                    starlights you sent and Ann and Georgie had their first experience of fireworks.
                    After the children went to bed things deteriorated. First George went for his bath
                    and found and killed a large black snake in the bathroom. It must have been in the
                    bathroom when I bathed the children earlier in the evening. Then I developed bad
                    toothache which kept me awake all night and was agonising next day. Unfortunately the
                    bridge between the farm and Mbeya had been washed away and the water was too
                    deep for the car to ford until the 30th when at last I was able to take my poor swollen
                    face to Mbeya. There is now a young German woman dentist working at the hospital.
                    She pulled out the offending molar which had a large abscess attached to it.
                    Whilst the dentist attended to me, Ann and Georgie played happily with the
                    doctor’s children. I wish they could play more often with other children. Dr Eckhardt was
                    very pleased with Margery Kate who at seven months weighs 17 lbs and has lovely
                    rosy cheeks. He admired Ann and told her that she looked just like a German girl. “No I
                    don’t”, cried Ann indignantly, “I’m English!”

                    We were caught in a rain storm going home and as the old car still has no
                    windscreen or side curtains we all got soaked except for the baby who was snugly
                    wrapped in my raincoat. The kids thought it great fun. Ann is growing up fast now. She
                    likes to ‘help mummy’. She is a perfectionist at four years old which is rather trying. She
                    gets so discouraged when things do not turn out as well as she means them to. Sewing
                    is constantly being unpicked and paintings torn up. She is a very sensitive child.
                    Georgie is quite different. He is a man of action, but not silent. He talks incessantly
                    but lisps and stumbles over some words. At one time Ann and Georgie often
                    conversed in Ki-Swahili but they now scorn to do so. If either forgets and uses a Swahili
                    word, the other points a scornful finger and shouts “You black toto”.

                    With 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

                      #6223
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Kate Purdy and the DH Lawrence Connection

                        Catherine (Kate) Purdy 1874-1950  was my grandfather George Marshall’s aunt, and the mother of George Rushby who went to Africa.  The photo is one of our family photos, and we knew that the woman at the back third from the right was an aunt of my grandfather’s. We didn’t know that it was Kate until we saw other photos of her in Mike’s collection.

                        DH Lawrence was born in Eastwood at roughly the same time as my great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy. Apparently his books are based on actual people living in the area at the time, so I read as many of his books as I could find, to help paint the picture of the time and place.  I also found out via an Eastwood facebook group, that he was not well liked there, and still isn’t. They say he was a wife beater, a groper and was cruel to animals, and they did not want a statue of him in their town!

                        Kate Rushby third from right back row:

                        Kate Rushby

                        Kate Rushby’s story as told by her grandson Mike:

                        George’s daughter Catherine (Kate) Purdy grew up in Eastwood and was living at Walnut Tree Lane when, at the age of 21, and on the 24 Sep 1894, she married John Henry Payling Rushby who was a policeman in the Grimsby Police. John Henry left the Police and together they bought a public house “The Three Tuns Inn” at Beggarlee. The establishment was frequented by amongst others, the writer D.H.Lawrence who wrote much of his book “Sons and Lovers” in the Inn. In his book he calls the Inn “The Moon and Stars” and mentions Kate. though not by name.

                        John Henry Rushby had two children, Charlotte and George Gilman Rushby. But a year after the birth of George on 28 Feb 1900, John Henry died at the age of thirty on 13 Sep 1901. He liked to show off his strength to his friends by lifting above his head an oak barrel full of beer. This would have weighed almost 200 kilograms. “He bust his gut” Kate said. He died of peritonitis following a hernia.

                        Following the death of John Henry, Kate managed the Three Tuns Inn on her own. But a regular visitor to the Inn was Frank Freer who was a singer and used to entertain the patrons with his fine baritone voice and by playing the cornet. He and Kate got married, but he turned out to be a drunk who beat his wife and was cruel to her son. They separated and he died from alcoholism, though he may also have been struck on the head with a beer bottle by a person unknown. She then married Mr Gregory Simpson who fathered a daughter Catherine, and then died from gas injuries he suffered on the battlefield in the first world war.

                        Despite her lack of men able to stay the course, Catherine became a very successful business woman. She ran the Three Tuns Inn and later moved to Jacksdale where she owned ”ThePortland Arms Hotel”. She travelled extensively to Europe in times of peace, to Africa several times, and around England frequently. She settled in Selston Lane Jacksdale in a large house bracketed by the homes of her daughters Lottie and Cath. She was a strong and tenacious woman who became the surrogate mother of her grandchildren Ann and George when they were separated from their parents by the second world war.

                        Mike Rushby’s photo of Kate:

                        Kate Purdy Rushby

                         

                         

                        #6156

                        Clara couldn’t sleep. Alienor’s message asking if she knew anyone in the little village was playing on her mind. She knew she knew someone there, but couldn’t remember who it was. The more she tried to remember, the more frustrated she became. It wasn’t that her mind was blank: it was a tense conglomeration of out of focus wisps, if a wisp could be described as tense.

                        Clara glanced at the time ~ almost half past three. Grandpa would be up in a few hours.  She climbed out of bed and padded over to her suitcase, half unpacked on the floor under the window, and extracted the book from the jumble of garments.

                        A stranger had handed her a book in the petrol station forecourt, a woman in a stylish black hat and a long coat.  Wait! What is it? Clara called, but the woman was already inside the back seat of a long sleek car, soundlessly closing the door. Obliged to attend to her transaction, the car slipped away behind Clara’s back.  Thank you, she whispered into the distance of the dark night in the direction the woman had gone.  When she opened her car door, the interior light shone on the book and the word Albina caught her eye. She put the book on the passenger seat and started the car. Her thoughts returned to her journey, and she thought no more about it.

                        Returning to her bed and propping her pillows up behind her head, Clara started to read.

                        This Chrysoprase was a real gargoyle; he even did not need to be described. I just could not understand how he moved if he was made of stone, not to mention how he was able to speak. He was like the Stone Guest from the story Don Juan, though the Stone Guest was a giant statue, and Chrysoprase was only about a meter tall.

                        Chrysoprase said: But we want to pay you honor and Gerard is very hungry.

                        “Most important is wine, don’t forget wine!” – Gerard jumped up.

                        “I’ll call the kitchen” – here the creature named Chrysoprase gets from the depth of his pocket an Iphone and calls.
                        I was absolutely shocked. The Iphone! The latest model! It was not just the latest model, it was a model of the future, which was in the hands of this creature. I said that he was made of stone, no, now he was made of flesh and he was already dressed in wide striped trousers. What is going on? Is it a dream? Only in dreams such metamorphosis can happen.

                        He was made of stone, now he is made of flesh. He was in his natural form, that is, he was not dressed, and now he is wearing designer’s trousers. A phrase came to my mind: “Everything was in confusion in the Oblonsky house.”

                        Contrary to Clara’s expectations ~ reading in bed invariably sent her to sleep after a few paragraphs ~ she found she was wide awake and sitting bolt upright.

                        Of course! Now she remembered who lived in that little village!

                        #6145

                        The moving lorry had been parked outside the Beige House for hours.

                        The driver was furious, as nobody has been able to answer their calls or guide them. At least the manager had let them park in front of the entrance, but it might have been based on a misunderstanding. “That’s for the removal of the Lady’s stuff, is it?” He’d nodded, it was only half a lie, his client was a lady, except she wasn’t moving out. She was moving in.

                        He shouted to his partner who was smoking outside.

                        George! Bloody hell, if this Ms June isn’t picking up the phone or showing up, I’m going to dump all her stuff here, I don’t care how precious is her cargo!”

                        “Come on, Fred! Don’t get mad, you’ve seen how particular she was when we loaded the boat’s content, so full of her sentimental knick-knacks!”

                        “What do you expect? Us keeping all these stone statues that weigh a ton! I don’t care. I tell you, she better show up in the next minutes, or else…”

                        #6088

                        In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                        No sooner had they reached for the drinks in the office cupboard, than the phone rang loudly.

                        Rosamund!” howled Star. “Where is that daft niece of yours, and what good is she if she doesn’t even answer the calls! Rosamund!”

                        “I thought you gave her the afternoon?” Tara mouthed while picking the annoying phone. “Cartwright and Wrexham Private Investigators, can I help you?”

                        Her face frowned. “Herself speaking.”

                        “Yes, we do private investigations. Very successfully I may say. Alright Ma’am, let me check my agenda.” She looked in the air, flipping an imaginary agenda. “Oh, you’re in luck, our 5pm just cancelled. Alright then, see you at our office. Au revoir.”

                        Tara hung up with a smile.

                        Star was busy slurping the mojito while struggling with the mint bits in her teeth. “What? Tell me this instant!”

                        “Our second case! Isn’t it exciting!”

                        “Sure thing, what it is this time? Evil possession?”

                        “Actually, it’s not that far off. Apparently, our ladyship needs a falgrante delicto of adultery. Her husband seems to be a cheating one, and with a twinge of double personality… Or at least that’s what she said.”

                        “Fantastic. Can’t wait for all the juicy details. I’ll go prepare my sequin red dress to set the honey trap darling.”

                        “Good lord, get a hold of yourself Star, it’s only been a day, and you’re ready to jump on the next passing horse as it were.”

                        “Who said you shouldn’t mix pleasure with business.”

                        “Right. Thought that was the reverse…”

                        “Tsk. Just to get the last word.”

                        “Indeed.”

                        #6087

                        In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                        “I knew it!” Tara had gone to investigate early, disguised as an elderly jogger in a velvet teal jogging. “Seemed clear enough that that retirement home was a front…”

                        Later when she came back to the office, she was quizzed by Star, who was still yawning despite the bright sunlight.

                        “So tell me, a front for what?”

                        “Can’t you guess?” Tara said, removing her false teeth.

                        “Nooo?” her hand flew at Star’s mouth and incredulous face.

                        “Yes, hmm-hmm; you guessed right: a time travel agency.”

                        “Oh dangit, they stole my idea! After all the virus pandemic thing, they sure know how to surf the crisis to make a buck. The buying carrots alibi traffic, and now that!”

                        “Yep, guess that people unable to go anywhere for holidays make up for a good clientele. You can imagine the slogans: Celerity: Why go anywhere? When we can send you anywhen! “

                        “And a convenient way of disposing of nosy people too. I hope they didn’t send Uncle Basil to the Dinosaurs, can’t imagine the stench of those Time sewers.”

                        “Oh no, don’t think he was affluent enough, you see. Apparently you pay by the time meter. The further in time, the pricier. And I guess the surest way to dispose of someone would be in the past rather than in the future…”

                        “So Uncle Basil is in the past!”

                        “Exactly.”

                        “Well, I could have told you that from the start. No wonder Mr French paid us in advance then, he already knew we’d crack that case. Our first case’s closed, dear! If Mr French ever wakes up and calls, we’ll just redirect him to our Time Dragglers friends in Marseille for their ‘relative lost in time’ retrieval package. Now, anyone for mojitos?”

                        #5960

                        Working at the gas station gave me the possibility to not only be confined at home but also at work. At least I could enjoy the transit between places, that’s what I told me everyday. And better go to work than turn around all day in the studio I rented since I left the Inn.

                        You can’t imagine how many people need gas during the confinement. It looks like in this part of the country people don’t have as many dogs as them in the big cities, so they do all sorts of crazy things to be able to get out.

                        A man came to the station this morning. I’m sure it was to give the equivalent of a walk to his brand new red GMC Canyon, you know, treating his car like she needed fresh air and to get some exercise regularly. From behind the makeshift window made of transparent wrapper, I asked him how was his day. You know, to be polite. He showed me the back of his truck. I swear there was a cage with two dingos in it.

                        The guy told me he captured them the other day in case the cops stopped him in the street with no reason to be out. At least, he said, I could still say I’m giving them a walk. I told him them being in a cage would hardly pass as a walk but he answered me with a wink and a big grin that cops weren’t that intelligent. I’m glad we have makeshift windows now, at least seeing his teeth I didn’t have to smell his breath. I’m not sure who’s the less intelligent in absolute terms, but in that case I’d rather bet his IQ would fail him.

                        Well that’s probably the most exciting thing that happened before I went home after work. As soon as I got home I received a phone call from Prune. On the landline. It’s like she has some magical means to know when I’m there.

                        Anyway, she asked me if I washed my hand. I told her yes, though I honestly don’t recall. But I have to make her think all is ok. She started to talk again about Jasper. Each time she mention the subject I’m a bit uncomfortable. I’m not sure I fancy having a brother, even if it’s kind of being in a TV series. She said she had looked for him on internet, contacted some adoption agencies, even tried a private called Dick. That’s all that I remember of the private’s name. Dick, maybe that’s because he never answered her calls. Might be dead of the pandamic I told her. PandEmic, She corrected. I know, I told her, I said that to cheer you up.

                        We talked about Mater too. That made me laugh. Apparently Idle saw her in a fuschia pink leotard. Prune half laughed herself when she mentioned the leotard, but she said : Truth is I don’t know what Dido had taken when she had seen Mater outside. I suspect the om chanting was simply snoring.

                        There was a silence afterward. Maybe Prune was thinking about age and the meaning of life, I was merely realising I was hungry. I swear I don’t know what crossed my mind. I have a tendency to want to help my sister even if I think there is no hope. You know, I told her, about Jasper we could still go and ask that woman in the bush. It’s like she already knew what I was going to say. Tiku I knew by her tone that all the conversation was fated to lead there. Yeah. I can drive you there after work tomorrow. 

                        Of course, we didn’t even have to go there after all.

                        #5928

                        Hello Whale,

                        I don’t keep track of the days since we have been forcefully encouraged to stay home. I have plenty of carrots and chocolate mousse. Talking of mousse, I might have a mouse keeping me company. Let’s not hope it’s a family. But I heard that animals are coming back into town now that we are all cozy in our burrows. There have been mentions of chicks on the ring road. Not the kind of chick with makeup, the real fluffy and yellow ones. And one of my friends saw a fox roaming the streets while going to the supermarket. I bet he had a bag full of carrots. Now I wouldn’t be surprised having rabbits everywhere with all those carrots around.

                        I may sound confusing but I guess that’s what being confined does to people. I even had day dreams of birds flying in my bedroom. I swear I really saw one. Well, to be fair I only saw its shadow, but it was a shadow in the air, not on the wall. I wonder what kind of bird it was. My little pinky said it was a finch, the one my mother loved looking at in her garden. She will be part of the numbers soon. Either with her death or with her survival. Now when I think of her I see her surrounded by a bunch of animals. I even saw the fox, but I don’t think it would count amongst the animals I see in town.

                        Since I’m not trying to be analytic, I’ve found a strange poetry in life around here. People are talking like senators, all trying to give their certainties to the world, but I can tell you nobody knows shit and nobody has a clue. You might as well welcome the virus for some tea to get to know each other and have some interesting stories about yourself and your relation to nature.

                        I’m raving again. Someone told me a joke recently. The national board of psychologists published a official communiqué because they received too many calls from people. They said it was normal in this time of confinement to talk to the walls or the objects in your house, and to call them only in case the objects talked back.

                        What would they think if they knew I’m talking to a whale and it’s giving me advice for my writing? I can even hear them as it sends me short audio. I haven’t been able to figure out what they said in the audio though. I’m glad the advice for my writing do come directly translated and not in the form of a whale song. I’m grateful for technology in that case.

                        Oh and one last mention. A friend told me about the current roller coaster of the stock market. I dreamt of a stocking market. I must say it was very colourful and the seller used their stockings in very creative ways.

                        Keep the connection going! Talk to you soon Whale. I’ll have to find you a name. My pinky suggested Jorid so it will be my name for you.

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