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    TracyTracy
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      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

      #6255
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        My Grandparents

        George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995

        Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988

        I always called my grandfather Mop, apparently because I couldn’t say the name Grandpa, but whatever the reason, the name stuck. My younger brother also called him Mop, but our two cousins did not.

        My earliest memories of my grandparents are the picnics.  Grandma and Mop loved going out in the car for a picnic. Favourite spots were the Clee Hills in Shropshire, North Wales, especially Llanbedr, Malvern, and Derbyshire, and closer to home, the caves and silver birch woods at Kinver Edge, Arley by the river Severn, or Bridgnorth, where Grandma’s sister Hildreds family lived.  Stourbridge was on the western edge of the Black Country in the Midlands, so one was quickly in the countryside heading west.  They went north to Derbyshire less, simply because the first part of the trip entailed driving through Wolverhampton and other built up and not particularly pleasant urban areas.  I’m sure they’d have gone there more often, as they were both born in Derbyshire, if not for that initial stage of the journey.

        There was predominantly grey tartan car rug in the car for picnics, and a couple of folding chairs.  There were always a couple of cushions on the back seat, and I fell asleep in the back more times than I can remember, despite intending to look at the scenery.  On the way home Grandma would always sing,  “Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, I had a little drink about an hour ago, And it’s gone right to my head.”  I’ve looked online for that song, and have not found it anywhere!

        Grandma didn’t just make sandwiches for picnics, there were extra containers of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and so on.  I used to love to wash up the picnic plates in the little brook on the Clee Hills, near Cleeton St Mary.  The close cropped grass was ideal for picnics, and Mop and the sheep would Baaa at each other.

        Mop would base the days outting on the weather forcast, but Grandma often used to say he always chose the opposite of what was suggested. She said if you want to go to Derbyshire, tell him you want to go to Wales.  I recall him often saying, on a gloomy day, Look, there’s a bit of clear sky over there.  Mop always did the driving as Grandma never learned to drive. Often she’d dust the dashboard with a tissue as we drove along.

        My brother and I often spent the weekend at our grandparents house, so that our parents could go out on a Saturday night.  They gave us 5 shillings pocket money, which I used to spend on two Ladybird books at 2 shillings and sixpence each.  We had far too many sweets while watching telly in the evening ~ in the dark, as they always turned the lights off to watch television.  The lemonade and pop was Corona, and came in returnable glass bottles.  We had Woodpecker cider too, even though it had a bit of an alcohol content.

        Mop smoked Kensitas and Grandma smoked Sovereign cigarettes, or No6, and the packets came with coupons.  They often let me choose something for myself out of the catalogue when there were enough coupons saved up.

        When I had my first garden, in a rented house a short walk from theirs, they took me to garden nurseries and taught me all about gardening.  In their garden they had berberis across the front of the house under the window, and cotoneaster all along the side of the garage wall. The silver birth tree on the lawn had been purloined as a sapling from Kinver edge, when they first moved into the house.  (they lived in that house on Park Road for more than 60 years).  There were perennials and flowering shrubs along the sides of the back garden, and behind the silver birch, and behind that was the vegeatable garden.  Right at the back was an Anderson shelter turned into a shed, the rhubarb, and the washing line, and the canes for the runner beans in front of those.  There was a little rose covered arch on the path on the left, and privet hedges all around the perimeter.

        My grandfather was a dental technician. He worked for various dentists on their premises over the years, but he always had a little workshop of his own at the back of his garage. His garage was full to the brim of anything that might potentially useful, but it was not chaotic. He knew exactly where to find anything, from the tiniest screw for spectacles to a useful bit of wire. He was “mechanicaly minded” and could always fix things like sewing machines and cars and so on.

        Mop used to let me sit with him in his workshop, and make things out of the pink wax he used for gums to embed the false teeth into prior to making the plaster casts. The porcelain teeth came on cards, and were strung in place by means of little holes on the back end of the teeth. I still have a necklace I made by threading teeth onto a string. There was a foot pedal operated drill in there as well, possibly it was a dentists drill previously, that he used with miniature grinding or polishing attachments. Sometimes I made things out of the pink acrylic used for the final denture, which had a strong smell and used to harden quickly, so you had to work fast. Initially, the workshop was to do the work for Uncle Ralph, Grandmas’s sisters husband, who was a dentist. In later years after Ralph retired, I recall a nice man called Claude used to come in the evening to collect the dentures for another dental laboratory. Mop always called his place of work the laboratory.

        Grandma loved books and was always reading, in her armchair next to the gas fire. I don’t recall seeing Mop reading a book, but he was amazingly well informed about countless topics.
        At family gatherings, Mops favourite topic of conversation after dinner was the atrocities committed over the centuries by organized religion.

        My grandfather played snooker in his younger years at the Conservative club. I recall my father assuming he voted Conservative, and Mop told him in no uncertain terms that he’s always voted Labour. When asked why he played snooker at the Conservative club and not the Labour club, he said with a grin that “it was a better class of people”, but that he’d never vote Conservative because it was of no benefit to the likes of us working people.

        Grandma and her sister in law Marie had a little grocers shop on Brettel Lane in Amblecote for a few years but I have no personal recollection of that as it was during the years we lived in USA. I don’t recall her working other than that. She had a pastry making day once a week, and made Bakewell tart, apple pie, a meat pie, and her own style of pizza. She had an old black hand operated sewing machine, and made curtains and loose covers for the chairs and sofa, but I don’t think she made her own clothes, at least not in later years. I have her sewing machine here in Spain.
        At regular intervals she’d move all the furniture around and change the front room into the living room and the back into the dining room and vice versa. In later years Mop always had the back bedroom (although when I lived with them aged 14, I had the back bedroom, and painted the entire room including the ceiling purple). He had a very lumpy mattress but he said it fit his bad hip perfectly.

        Grandma used to alternate between the tiny bedroom and the big bedroom at the front. (this is in later years, obviously) The wardrobes and chests of drawers never changed, they were oak and substantial, but rather dated in appearance. They had a grandfather clock with a brass face and a grandmother clock. Over the fireplace in the living room was a Utrillo print. The bathroom and lavatory were separate rooms, and the old claw foot bath had wood panels around it to make it look more modern. There was a big hot water geyser above it. Grandma was fond of using stick on Fablon tile effects to try to improve and update the appearance of the bathroom and kitchen. Mop was a generous man, but would not replace household items that continued to function perfectly well. There were electric heaters in all the rooms, of varying designs, and gas fires in living room and dining room. The coal house on the outside wall was later turned into a downstairs shower room, when Mop moved his bedroom downstairs into the front dining room, after Grandma had died and he was getting on.

        Utrillo

        Mop was 91 when he told me he wouldn’t be growing any vegetables that year. He said the sad thing was that he knew he’d never grow vegetables again. He worked part time until he was in his early 80s.

        #6254
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Gladstone Connection

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

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

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

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

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

          John Orgill

          Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926

          Elizabeth Mary Gladstone

           

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

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

          Gladstone

           

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

          Melbourne, Nov.7, FAMILY TREE

           

          According to the Old Dandenong website:

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

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

          #6247
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Warren Brothers Boiler Makers

            Samuel Warren, my great grandfather, and husband of Florence Nightingale Gretton, worked with the family company of boiler makers in Newhall in his early years.  He developed an interest in motor cars, and left the family business to start up on his own. By all accounts, he made some bad decisions and borrowed a substantial amount of money from his sister. It was because of this disastrous state of affairs that the impoverished family moved from Swadlincote/Newhall to Stourbridge.

            1914:  Tram no 10 on Union Road going towards High Street Newhall. On the left Henry Harvey Engineer, on the right Warren Bros Boiler Manufacturers & Engineers:

            Warren Bros Newhall

             

            I found a newspaper article in the Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal dated the 2nd October 1915 about a Samuel Warren of Warren Brothers Boilermakers, but it was about my great grandfathers uncle, also called Samuel.

            DEATH OF MR. SAMUEL WARREN, OF NEWHALL. Samuel Warren, of Rose Villa, Newhall, passed away on Saturday evening at the age of 85.. Of somewhat retiring disposition, he took little or no active part in public affairs, but for many years was trustee of the loyal British Oak Lodge of the M.U. of Oddfellows, and in many other ways served His community when opportunity permitted. He was member of the firm of Warren Bros., of the Boiler Works, Newhall. This thriving business was established by the late Mr. Benjamin Bridge, over 60 years ago, and on his death it was taken over by his four nephews. Mr. William Warren died several years ago, and with the demise Mr. Samuel Warren, two brothers remain, Messrs. Henry and Benjamin Warren. He leaves widow, six daughters, and three sons to mourn his loss. 

            Samuel Warren

             

            This was the first I’d heard of Benjamin Bridge.  William Warren mentioned in the article as having died previously was Samuel’s father, my great great grandfather. William’s brother Henry was the father of Ben Warren, the footballer.

            But who was Benjamin Bridge?

            Samuel’s father was William Warren 1835-1881. He had a brother called Samuel, mentioned above, and William’s father was also named Samuel.  Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge 1813-1872. Benjamin Bridge 1811-1898 was Elizabeth’s brother.

            Burton Chronicle 28 July 1898:

            Benjamin Bridge

            Benjamin and his wife Jane had no children. According to the obituary in the newspaper, the couple were fondly remembered for their annual tea’s for the widows of the town. Benjamin Bridge’s house was known as “the preachers house”. He was superintendent of Newhall Sunday School and member of Swadlincote’s board of health. And apparently very fond of a tall white hat!

            On the 1881 census, Benjamin Bridge and his wife live near to the Warren family in Newhall.  The Warren’s live in the “boiler yard” and the family living in between the Bridge’s and the Warren’s include an apprentice boiler maker, so we can assume these were houses incorporated in the boiler works property. Benjamin is a 72 year old retired boiler maker.  Elizabeth Warren is a widow (William died in 1881), two of her sons are boiler makers, and Samuel, my great grandfather, is on the next page of the census, at seven years old.

            Bridge Warren Census 1881

             

            Warren Brothers made boilers for the Burton breweries, including Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton.

            This receipt from Warrens Boiler yard for a new boiler in 1885 was purchased off Ebay by Colin Smith. He gave it to one of the grandsons of Robert Adolphus Warren, to keep in the Warren family. It is in his safe at home, and he promised Colin that it will stay in the family forever.

            Warren Bros Receipt

            #6243
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              William Housley’s Will and the Court Case

              William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872.  The court case was in 1873.  Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew,  in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far.  However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.

              William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813.  They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne.  Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal.  This point is mentioned in one of the letters.

              One of the pages of William Housley’s will:

              William Housleys Will

               

              An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

              A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.

              Joseph wrote that when Emma was married, Ellen “broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby didn’t agree with her so she left again leaving her things behind and came to live with John in the new house where she died.” Ellen was listed with John’s household in the 1871 census. 
              In May 1872, the Ilkeston Pioneer carried this notice: “Mr. Hopkins will sell by auction on Saturday next the eleventh of May 1872 the whole of the useful furniture, sewing machine, etc. nearly new on the premises of the late Mrs. Housley at Smalley near Heanor in the county of Derby. Sale at one o’clock in the afternoon.”

              There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”
              Mary Ann was still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”

              In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter)
              In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”

              In May 1872, Joseph wrote: “For what do you think, John has sold his share and he has acted very bad since his wife died and at the same time he sold all his furniture. You may guess I have never seen him but once since poor mother’s funeral and he is gone now no one knows where.”

              In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”

              Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth.
              In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:
              “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that”

              However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.

              Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:

              Charles went to Australia in 1851, and was last heard from in January 1853. According to the solicitor, who wrote to George on June 3, 1874, Charles had received advances on the settlement of their parent’s estate. “Your promissory note with the two signed by your brother Charles for 20 pounds he received from his father and 20 pounds he received from his mother are now in the possession of the court.”

              In December 1872, Joseph wrote: “I’m told that Charles two daughters has wrote to Smalley post office making inquiries about his share….” In January 1876, the solicitor wrote: “Charles Housley’s children have claimed their father’s share.”

              In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875

              HOUSLEY – wanted information
              as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and
              Children of Charles Housley, formerly of
              Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at
              Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria
              August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with
              Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England.
              June 16,1875.

              The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:

              Victoria Diggings, Australie

               

              The court case:

               Kerry v Housley.
              Documents: Bill, demurrer.
              Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley.
              Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted).
              Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire.
              Date: 1873

              From the Narrative on the Letters:

              The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

              In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”

              In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”
              On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

              In his last letter (February 11, 1874), Joseph sounded very discouraged and wrote that Harriet’s parents were very poorly and both had been “in bed for a long time.” In addition, Harriet and the children had been ill.
              The move to Little Eaton may indicate that Joseph received his settlement because in August, 1873, he wrote: “I think this is bad news enough and bad luck too, but I have had little else since I came to live at Kiddsley cottages but perhaps it is all for the best if one could only think so. I have begun to think there will be no chance for us coming over to you for I am afraid there will not be so much left as will bring us out without it is settled very shortly but I don’t intend leaving this house until it is settled either one way or the other. ”

              Joseph’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”

              In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”

              On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”

              Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father.
              But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.”
              Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”

              The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?”
              After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything.
              In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.

              George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.”
              In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.

              On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.

              January 14, 1876:  “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
              Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
              Abram J. Flint”

              September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
              “I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”

              1874 in chancery:

              Housley Estate Sale

              #6237
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Murder At The Bennistons

                We don’t know exactly what happened immediately after the death of Catherine Housley’s mother in 1849, but by 1850 the two older daughters Elizabeth and Mary Anne were inmates in Belper Workhouse.  Catherine was just six weeks old, so presumably she was with a wet nurse, possibly even prior to her mothers death.  By 1851, according to the census, she was living in Heanor, a small town near to Smalley,  with John Benniston, a framework knitter, and his family. Framework knitters (abbreviated to FWK should you happen to see it on a census) rented a large loom and made stockings and everyone in the family helped. Often the occupation of other household members would be “seamer”: they would stitch the stocking seams together.  Catherine was still living with the Bennistons ten years later in 1861.

                Framework Knitters

                 

                I read some chapters of a thesis on the south Derbyshire poor in the 1800s and found some illuminating information about indentured apprenticeship of children especially if one parent died. It was not at all uncommon,  and framework knitters in particular often had indentured apprentices.  It was a way to ensure the child was fed and learned a skill.  Children commonly worked from the age of ten or 12 anyway. They were usually placed walking distance of the family home and maintained contact. The indenture could be paid by the parish poor fund, which cost them slightly less than sending them to the poorhouse, and could be paid off by a parent if circumstances improved to release the child from the apprenticeship.
                A child who was an indentured apprentice would continue a normal life after the term of apprenticeship, usually still in contact with family locally.

                I found a newspaper article titled “Child Murder at Heanor” dated 1858.

                Heanor baby murder

                A 23 year old lodger at the Bennistons, Hannah Cresswell, apparently murdered a new born baby that she gave birth to in the privy, which the midwife took away and had buried as a still birth. The baby was exhumed after an anonymous tip off from a neighbour, citing that it was the 4th such incident. Catherine Housley would have been nine years old at the time.

                Heanor baby murder 2

                 

                Subsequent newspaper articles indicate that the case was thrown out, despite the doctors evidence that the baby had been beaten to death.

                In July 1858 the inquest was held in the King of Prussia,  on the Hannah Cresswell baby murder at the Bennistons.

                The King of Prussia, Heanor, in 1860:

                King of Prussia Heanor

                #6228
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Francis Purdy: The Beggarlea Bulldog and Primitive Methodist Preacher

                  Francis Purdy was my great great grandfather.  We did not know anything about the Primitive Methodists prior to this family research project, but my mother had another look through the family souvenirs and photographs and found a little book dated 1913, by William Purdy called: The History of The Primitive Methodists of Langley, Heanor, Derbyshire and District. Practical remarks on Sunday school work and a biography of the late Francis Purdy, an early local preacher. Printed by GC Brittain and sons.  William Purdy was Francis son, and George’s brother.

                  Francis Purdy 1913 book

                  Francis Purdy:

                  Francis Purdy

                   

                  The following can be found online from various sources but I am unable to find the original source to credit with this information:

                  “In spite of having pious parents, Francis was a great prize-fighter and owner of champion dogs. He was known as the Beggarlee Bulldog, and fought many pitched battles. It was in 1823 that he fought on Nottingham Forest for the championship of three counties. After the fight going eleven rounds, which continued one hour and twenty minutes, he was declared victorious.”

                  The Primitive Methodists under the Rev Richard Whitechurch began a regular mission in Beggarlee. The locals tried to dismiss the Methodist “Ranters” by the use of intimidating tactics. Francis was prepared to release his fighting dogs during their prayer meeting, but became so interested in their faith that he instead joined them. The Methodist Church wrote: ”A strong feeling came over him, while his mates incited him to slip his dogs from the leads. He refused, and decided to return home. After concealing himself in a dyke, to listen to the Missioners on the following Sunday, he stole into the house of a Mrs Church, where a service was being held. Shortly after this, a society was formed with Francis Purdy as leader, and he was also the superintendent of the first Sunday School. After a short spell as local preacher at Beauvale, Tag Hill, Awsworth, Kimberly, Brinsley, etc., Mr Francis Purdy was ordained a minister by the Rev. Thomas King, of Nottingham, on the 17th December, 1827.”

                  #6227
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    The Scottish Connection

                    My grandfather always used to say we had some Scottish blood because his “mother was a Purdy”, and that they were from the low counties of Scotland near to the English border.

                    My mother had a Scottish hat in among the boxes of souvenirs and old photographs. In one of her recent house moves, she finally threw it away, not knowing why we had it or where it came from, and of course has since regretted it!  It probably came from one of her aunts, either Phyllis or Dorothy. Neither of them had children, and they both died in 1983. My grandfather was executor of the estate in both cases, and it’s assumed that the portraits, the many photographs, the booklet on Primitive Methodists, and the Scottish hat, all relating to his mother’s side of the family, came into his possession then. His sister Phyllis never married and was living in her parents home until she died, and is the likeliest candidate for the keeper of the family souvenirs.

                    Catherine Housley married George Purdy, and his father was Francis Purdy, the Primitive Methodist preacher.  William Purdy was the father of Francis.

                    Record searches find William Purdy was born on 16 July 1767 in Carluke, Lanarkshire, near Glasgow in Scotland. He worked for James Watt, the inventor of the steam engine, and moved to Derbyshire for the purpose of installing steam driven pumps to remove the water from the collieries in the area.

                    Another descendant of Francis Purdy found the following in a book in a library in Eastwood:

                    William Purdy

                    William married a local girl, Ruth Clarke, in Duffield in Derbyshire in 1786.  William and Ruth had nine children, and the seventh was Francis who was born at West Hallam in 1795.

                    Perhaps the Scottish hat came from William Purdy, but there is another story of Scottish connections in Smalley:  Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745.  Although the Purdy’s were not from Smalley, Catherine Housley was.

                    From an article on the Heanor and District Local History Society website:

                    The Jacobites in Smalley

                    Few people would readily associate the village of Smalley, situated about two miles west of Heanor, with Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745 – but there is a clear link.

                    During the winter of 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, the “Bonnie Prince” or “The Young Pretender”, marched south from Scotland. His troops reached Derby on 4 December, and looted the town, staying for two days before they commenced a fateful retreat as the Duke of Cumberland’s army approached.

                    While staying in Derby, or during the retreat, some of the Jacobites are said to have visited some of the nearby villages, including Smalley.

                    A history of the local aspects of this escapade was written in 1933 by L. Eardley-Simpson, entitled “Derby and the ‘45,” from which the following is an extract:

                    “The presence of a party at Smalley is attested by several local traditions and relics. Not long ago there were people living who remember to have seen at least a dozen old pikes in a room adjoining the stables at Smalley Hall, and these were stated to have been left by a party of Highlanders who came to exchange their ponies for horses belonging to the then owner, Mrs Richardson; in 1907, one of these pikes still remained. Another resident of Smalley had a claymore which was alleged to have been found on Drumhill, Breadsall Moor, while the writer of the History of Smalley himself (Reverend C. Kerry) had a magnificent Andrew Ferrara, with a guard of finely wrought iron, engraved with two heads in Tudor helmets, of the same style, he states, as the one left at Wingfield Manor, though why the outlying bands of Army should have gone so far afield, he omits to mention. Smalley is also mentioned in another strange story as to the origin of the family of Woolley of Collingham who attained more wealth and a better position in the world than some of their relatives. The story is to the effect that when the Scots who had visited Mrs Richardson’s stables were returning to Derby, they fell in with one Woolley of Smalley, a coal carrier, and impressed him with horse and cart for the conveyance of certain heavy baggage. On the retreat, the party with Woolley was surprised by some of the Elector’s troopers (the Royal army) who pursued the Scots, leaving Woolley to shift for himself. This he did, and, his suspicion that the baggage he was carrying was part of the Prince’s treasure turning out to be correct, he retired to Collingham, and spent the rest of his life there in the enjoyment of his luckily acquired gains. Another story of a similar sort was designed to explain the rise of the well-known Derbyshire family of Cox of Brailsford, but the dates by no means agree with the family pedigree, and in any event the suggestion – for it is little more – is entirely at variance with the views as to the rights of the Royal House of Stuart which were expressed by certain members of the Cox family who were alive not many years ago.”

                    A letter from Charles Kerry, dated 30 July 1903, narrates another strange twist to the tale. When the Highlanders turned up in Smalley, a large crowd, mainly women, gathered. “On a command in Gaelic, the regiment stooped, and throwing their kilts over their backs revealed to the astonished ladies and all what modesty is careful to conceal. Father, who told me, said they were not any more troubled with crowds of women.”

                    Folklore or fact? We are unlikely to know, but the Scottish artefacts in the Smalley area certainly suggest that some of the story is based on fact.

                    We are unlikely to know where that Scottish hat came from, but we did find the Scottish connection.  William Purdy’s mother was Grizel Gibson, and her mother was Grizel Murray, both of Lanarkshire in Scotland.  The name Grizel is a Scottish form of the name Griselda, and means “grey battle maiden”.  But with the exception of the name Murray, The Purdy and Gibson names are not traditionally Scottish, so there is not much of a Scottish connection after all.  But the mystery of the Scottish hat remains unsolved.

                    #6225
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      William Marshall’s Parents

                      William Marshall  1876-1968, my great grandfather, married Mary Ann Gilman Purdy in Buxton. We assumed that both their families came from Buxton, but this was not the case.  The Marshall’s came from Elton, near Matlock; the Purdy’s from Eastwood, Nottinghamshire.

                      William Marshall, seated in centre, with colleagues from the insurance company:

                      William Marshall

                       

                       

                      William and all his siblings were born in Fairfield in Buxton. But both Emma Featherstone 1847-1928, his mother, and John Marshall 1842-1930, his father, came from rural Derbyshire. Emma from Ashbourne (or Biggin, Newhaven, or Hartington, depending on what she chose to put on the census, which are all tiny rural places in the same area).

                      Emma and John Marshall in the middle, photo says “William Marshall’s parents” on the back:

                      Emma and John Marshall

                       

                      John Marshall was a carter, later a coal carter, and was born in Elton, Derbyshire. Elton is a rural village near to Matlock. He was unable to write (at least at the time of his wedding) but Emma signed her own name.

                      In 1851 Emma is 3 or 4 years old living with family at the Jug and Glass Inn, Hartington. In 1861 Emma was a 14 year old servant at a 112 acre farm, Heathcote, but her parents were still living at the Jug and Glass. Emma Featherstone’s parents both died when she was 18, in 1865.
                      In 1871 she was a servant at Old House Farm, Nether Hartington Quarter, Ashborne.

                      On the census, a female apprentice was listed as a servant, a boy as an apprentice. It seems to have been quite normal, at least that’s what I’ve found so far,  for all teenagers to go and live in another household to learn a trade, to be independent from the parents, and so doesn’t necessarily mean a servant as we would think of it. Often they stayed with family friends, and usually married in their early twenties and had their own household ~ often with a “servant” or teenager from someone else’s family.

                      The only marriage I could find for Emma and John was in Manchester in 1873, which didn’t make much sense. If Emma was single on the 1871 census, and her first child James was born in 1873, her marriage had to be between those dates. But the marriage register in Manchester appears to be correct, John was a carter, Emma’s father was Francis Featherstone. But why Manchester?

                      Marshall Featherstone marriage

                      I noticed that the witnesses to the marriage were Francis and Elizabeth Featherstone. He father was Francis, but who was Elizabeth? Emma’s mother was Sarah. Then I found that Emma’s brother Francis married Elizabeth, and they lived in Manchester on the 1871 census. Henry Street, Ardwick. Emma and John’s address on the marriage register is Emily Street, Ardwick. Both of them at the same address.

                      The marriage was in February 1873, and James, the first child was born in July, 1873, in Buxton.

                      It would seem that Emma and John had to get married, hence the move to Manchester where her brother was, and then quickly moved to Buxton for the birth of the child.  It was far from uncommon, I’ve found while making notes of dates in registers, for a first child to be born six or 7 months after the wedding.

                      Emma died in 1928 at the age of 80, two years before her husband John. She left him a little money in her will! This seems unusual so perhaps she had her own money, possibly from the death of her parents before she married, and perhaps from the sale of the Jug and Glass.

                      I found a photo of the Jug and Glass online.  It looks just like the pub I’d seen in my family history meditations on a number of occasions:

                      Jug and Glass

                      #6219
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The following stories started with a single question.

                        Who was Catherine Housley’s mother?

                        But one question leads to another, and another, and so this book will never be finished.  This is the first in a collection of stories of a family history research project, not a complete family history.  There will always be more questions and more searches, and each new find presents more questions.

                        A list of names and dates is only moderately interesting, and doesn’t mean much unless you get to know the characters along the way.   For example, a cousin on my fathers side has already done a great deal of thorough and accurate family research. I copied one branch of the family onto my tree, going back to the 1500’s, but lost interest in it after about an hour or so, because I didn’t feel I knew any of the individuals.

                        Parish registers, the census every ten years, birth, death and marriage certificates can tell you so much, but they can’t tell you why.  They don’t tell you why parents chose the names they did for their children, or why they moved, or why they married in another town.  They don’t tell you why a person lived in another household, or for how long. The census every ten years doesn’t tell you what people were doing in the intervening years, and in the case of the UK and the hundred year privacy rule, we can’t even use those for the past century.  The first census was in 1831 in England, prior to that all we have are parish registers. An astonishing amount of them have survived and have been transcribed and are one way or another available to see, both transcriptions and microfiche images.  Not all of them survived, however. Sometimes the writing has faded to white, sometimes pages are missing, and in some case the entire register is lost or damaged.

                        Sometimes if you are lucky, you may find mention of an ancestor in an obscure little local history book or a journal or diary.  Wills, court cases, and newspaper archives often provide interesting information. Town memories and history groups on social media are another excellent source of information, from old photographs of the area, old maps, local history, and of course, distantly related relatives still living in the area.  Local history societies can be useful, and some if not all are very helpful.

                        If you’re very lucky indeed, you might find a distant relative in another country whose grandparents saved and transcribed bundles of old letters found in the attic, from the family in England to the brother who emigrated, written in the 1800s.  More on this later, as it merits its own chapter as the most exciting find so far.

                        The social history of the time and place is important and provides many clues as to why people moved and why the family professions and occupations changed over generations.  The Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution in England created difficulties for rural farmers, factories replaced cottage industries, and the sons of land owning farmers became shop keepers and miners in the local towns.  For the most part (at least in my own research) people didn’t move around much unless there was a reason.  There are no reasons mentioned in the various registers, records and documents, but with a little reading of social history you can sometimes make a good guess.  Samuel Housley, for example, a plumber, probably moved from rural Derbyshire to urban Wolverhampton, when there was a big project to install indoor plumbing to areas of the city in the early 1800s.  Derbyshire nailmakers were offered a job and a house if they moved to Wolverhampton a generation earlier.

                        Occasionally a couple would marry in another parish, although usually they married in their own. Again, there was often a reason.  William Housley and Ellen Carrington married in Ashbourne, not in Smalley.  In this case, William’s first wife was Mary Carrington, Ellen’s sister.  It was not uncommon for a man to marry a deceased wife’s sister, but it wasn’t strictly speaking legal.  This caused some problems later when William died, as the children of the first wife contested the will, on the grounds of the second marriage being illegal.

                        Needless to say, there are always questions remaining, and often a fresh pair of eyes can help find a vital piece of information that has escaped you.  In one case, I’d been looking for the death of a widow, Mary Anne Gilman, and had failed to notice that she remarried at a late age. Her death was easy to find, once I searched for it with her second husbands name.

                        This brings me to the topic of maternal family lines. One tends to think of their lineage with the focus on paternal surnames, but very quickly the number of surnames increases, and all of the maternal lines are directly related as much as the paternal name.  This is of course obvious, if you start from the beginning with yourself and work back.  In other words, there is not much point in simply looking for your fathers name hundreds of years ago because there are hundreds of other names that are equally your own family ancestors. And in my case, although not intentionally, I’ve investigated far more maternal lines than paternal.

                        This book, which I hope will be the first of several, will concentrate on my mothers family: The story so far that started with the portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother.

                        Elizabeth Brookes

                         

                        This painting, now in my mothers house, used to hang over the piano in the home of her grandparents.   It says on the back “Catherine Housley’s mother, Smalley”.

                        The portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother can be seen above the piano. Back row Ronald Marshall, my grandfathers brother, William Marshall, my great grandfather, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall in the middle, my great grandmother, with her daughters Dorothy on the left and Phyllis on the right, at the Marshall’s house on Love Lane in Stourbridge.

                        Marshalls

                         

                         

                        The Search for Samuel Housley

                        As soon as the search for Catherine Housley’s mother was resolved, achieved by ordering a paper copy of her birth certificate, the search for Catherine Housley’s father commenced. We know he was born in Smalley in 1816, son of William Housley and Ellen Carrington, and that he married Elizabeth Brookes in Wolverhampton in 1844. He was a plumber and glazier. His three daughters born between 1845 and 1849 were born in Smalley. Elizabeth died in 1849 of consumption, but Samuel didn’t register her death. A 20 year old neighbour called Aaron Wadkinson did.

                        Elizabeth death

                         

                        Where was Samuel?

                        On the 1851 census, two of Samuel’s daughters were listed as inmates in the Belper Workhouse, and the third, 2 year old Catherine, was listed as living with John Benniston and his family in nearby Heanor.  Benniston was a framework knitter.

                        Where was Samuel?

                        A long search through the microfiche workhouse registers provided an answer. The reason for Elizabeth and Mary Anne’s admission in June 1850 was given as “father in prison”. In May 1850, Samuel Housley was sentenced to one month hard labour at Derby Gaol for failing to maintain his three children. What happened to those little girls in the year after their mothers death, before their father was sentenced, and they entered the workhouse? Where did Catherine go, a six week old baby? We have yet to find out.

                        Samuel Housley 1850

                         

                        And where was Samuel Housley in 1851? He hasn’t appeared on any census.

                        According to the Belper workhouse registers, Mary Anne was discharged on trial as a servant February 1860. She was readmitted a month later in March 1860, the reason given: unwell.

                        Belper Workhouse:

                        Belper Workhouse

                        Eventually, Mary Anne and Elizabeth were discharged, in April 1860, with an aunt and uncle. The workhouse register doesn’t name the aunt and uncle. One can only wonder why it took them so long.
                        On the 1861 census, Elizabeth, 16 years old, is a servant in St Peters, Derby, and Mary Anne, 15 years old, is a servant in St Werburghs, Derby.

                        But where was Samuel?

                        After some considerable searching, we found him, despite a mistranscription of his name, on the 1861 census, living as a lodger and plumber in Darlaston, Walsall.
                        Eventually we found him on a 1871 census living as a lodger at the George and Dragon in Henley in Arden. The age is not exactly right, but close enough, he is listed as an unmarried painter, also close enough, and his birth is listed as Kidsley, Derbyshire. He was born at Kidsley Grange Farm. We can assume that he was probably alive in 1872, the year his mother died, and the following year, 1873, during the Kerry vs Housley court case.

                        Samuel Housley 1871

                         

                        I found some living Housley descendants in USA. Samuel Housley’s brother George emigrated there in 1851. The Housley’s in USA found letters in the attic, from the family in Smalley ~ written between 1851 and 1870s. They sent me a “Narrative on the Letters” with many letter excerpts.

                        The Housley family were embroiled in a complicated will and court case in the early 1870s. In December 15, 1872, Joseph (Samuel’s brother) wrote to George:

                        “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that….His daughter and her husband went to Birmingham and also to Sutton Coldfield that is where he married his wife from and found out his wife’s brother. It appears he has been there and at Birmingham ever since he went away but ever fond of drink.”

                        No record of Samuel Housley’s death can be found for the Birmingham Union in 1869 or thereabouts.

                        But if he was alive in 1871 in Henley In Arden…..
                        Did Samuel tell his wife’s brother to tell them he was dead? Or did the brothers say he was dead so they could have his share?

                        We still haven’t found a death for Samuel Housley.

                         

                         

                        #6187
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Aunt Idle:

                          You can’t blame me for not updating my diary because bugger all has happened all year.  Borders closed, no tourists allowed in.  How are bespoke bijou boutique establishments like ours supposed to survive?  But we’re still here. Somehow we’ve managed to keep the wolf from the door, but only just barely.  I get a bit muddled up these days and can’t remember the dates. Sometimes I find myself living in the past for weeks on end: things change so little around her that it’s easy to do. But what does it matter anyway?

                          Mater went into a sulk the likes of which I hope never to see again, when her 100th birthday party was cancelled. I thought she might give up the will to live, but oh no. She’s determined now to have a 110th birthday party now.  She says the bloody pandemic ought to be over by then.  I hope she’s right. She changes her health food and exercise regimes as often as she changes her knickers. Well more often than that, probably, she doesn’t bother much with personal hygiene.  She says the germs keep her immune system in good shape.  I think the smell of her would keep any plague ridden body well away from her, but whatever works, I always say.  At least she isn’t sulking anymore, she’s grimly stoic now and tediously determined to outlive me.

                          I had some worrying news through the telepathic grapevine about the twins and Pan, they’d gotten into the clutches of a strange cult over there.  I’ve got a feeling they weren’t really sucked into it though, I think they needed to use it as a cover, or to keep themselves safe.  I say cult but it was huge, took over the entire country and even started spreading to other countries. As if the pandemic wasn’t enough to deal with.  I knew they shouldn’t have gone there.  There’s been a peculiar blockage with the telepathic messages for ages now.  It’s a worry, but what can I do.   I keep sending them messages, but get nothing in return.

                          Ah, well. We carry on as best we can. What I wouldn’t give for an unexpected visitor to brighten things up a bit. Fat chance of that.

                          #6171

                          Nora was relieved when  the man with the donkey knew her name and was expecting her.  She assumed that Clara had made contact with him, but when she mentioned her friend, he shook his head with a puzzled frown. I don’t know anyone called Clara, he said.  Here, get yourself up on Manolete, it’ll be easier if you ride.  We’ll be home in half an hour.

                          The gentle rhythmic rocking astride the donkey soothed her as she relaxed and observed her surroundings. The woods had opened out into a wide path beside an orchard. Nora felt the innocuous hospitability of the orchard in comparison to the unpredictability of the woods, although she felt that idea would require further consideration at a later date.  One never knew how much influence films and stories and the like had on one’s ideas, likely substantial, Nora thought ~ another consideration not lost on Nora was the feeling of safety she had now that she wasn’t alone, and that she was with someone who clearly knew where he was going.

                          Notwithstanding simultaneous time, Nora wondered which came first ~ the orchard, the man with the donkey, or the feeling of safety and hospitability itself?

                          It was me, said the man leading the donkey, turning round with a smile. I came first. Remember?

                          #6159

                          Nora moves silently along the path, placing her feet with care. It is more overgrown in the wood than she remembers, but then it is such a long time since she came this way. She can see in the distance something small and pale. A gentle gust of wind and It seems to stir, as if shivering, as if caught.

                          Nora feels strange, there is a strong sense of deja vu now that she has entered the forest.

                          She comes to a halt. The trees are still now, not a leaf stirs. She can hear nothing other than the sound of her own breathing. She can’t see the clearing yet either, but she remembers it’s further on, beyond the next winding of the path. She can see it in her mind’s eye though, a rough circle of random stones, with a greenish liquid light filtering through. The air smells of leaf mould and it is spongy underfoot. There’s a wooden bench, a grassy bank, and a circular area of emerald green moss. Finn thinks of it as place of enchantment, a fairy ring.

                          Wait! Who is Finn? Where is this story coming from that whispers in her ear as she makes her way through the woods to her destination, the halfway point of her clandestine journey? Who is Finn?

                          She reaches the tiny shivering thing and sees that it is a scrap of paper, impaled on a broken branch. She reaches out gently and touches it, then eases if off the branch, taking care not to rip it further. There is a message scribbled on the paper, incomplete. meet me, is all it says now

                          The crumpled up paper among the dead leaves beside the path catches her eye.  No, not impaled on a branch but still, a bit of paper catches her eye as the mysterious  ~ ephemeral, invisible ~ story teller continues softly telling her tale

                          Finn feels dreamy and floaty. She smiles to herself, thinking of the purpose of her mission, feeling as though it is a message to her from the past. She is overwhelmed for a moment with a sense of love and acceptance towards her younger self. Yes, she whispers softly to the younger Finn, I will meet you at the fairy ring. We will talk a bit. Maybe I can help

                          But wait, there is no meaningful message on the crumpled paper that Nora picks up and opens out. It’s nothing but a shopping receipt.  Disappointed, she screws it back up and aims to toss it into the undergrowth, but she hesitates.  Surely it can’t have no meaning at all, she thinks, not after the strange whispered story and the synchronicity of finding it just at that moment.  She opens it back up again, and reads the list of items.

                          Olive oil, wine, wheat, garum…. wait, what? Garum? She looks at the date on the receipt ~ a common enough looking till roll receipt, the kind you find in any supermarket ~ but what is this date? 57BC?   How can that be?  Even if she had mistranslated BC ~ perhaps it means British Cooperative, or Better Compare or some such supermarket name ~  the year of 57 makes little sense anyway.  And garum, how to explain that! Nora only knows of garum in relation to Romans, there is no garum on the shelves between the mayonaisse and the ketchup these days, after all.

                          Nora smooths the receipt and folds it neatly in half and puts it in her pocket.  The shadows are long now and she still has some distance to walk before the halfway village.  As she resumes her journey, she hears whispered in her ear: You unlocked the blue diamond mode. You’re on a quest now!

                          Smiling now, she accelerates her pace.  The lowering sun is casting a golden light, and she feels fortified.

                          #6096
                          F LoveF Love
                          Participant

                            “Liz!” shouted Finnley, without pausing from her writing. “Liz, be a love and make me a cup of tea. The organic green tea in the second drawer down.” There was a crash and some unintelligible screaming from the next room. Fortunately, Finnley was used to unintelligible noises coming from Liz’s mouth. “Oh for the … what do you mean you don’t know where the kitchen is?”

                            Finnley took a deep breath. She recalled the words of Lemon Tzu:

                            Tension is who you think you are, relaxation is who you are.

                            “Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I will interrupt my important writing for a few minutes to elucidate you on the mysteries of the kitchen.”

                            A duster came flying into the room, closely followed by a red-faced Liz. “There is really no need for sarcasm, Finnley. I trust you remember it is all down to MY goodness that you have this opportunity.”

                            #6067
                            Jib
                            Participant

                              Since the sudden disappearance of the two au pair maids, a lot had happened. But for August Finest it has been a lot of the same routine going on.

                              He wakes up in the early, early morning, his eyelids rubs on his eyeballs as if they are made of sandpaper. He seizes his belly with his hands, feels a little guilty about the nice meals prepared by Noor Mary especially for him since the start of the confinement. His six packs have started to fade away under a layer of fatty insulation and he tries to compensate by a daily routine in white T-shirt and underwear.

                              The coffee machine has detected his movements and starts to make what it does. It’s always cleaned and replenished by the discrete Mary. The noise and the smell creates an ambiance and when it rings he eats breakfast before taking his shower.

                              When he’s dressed up, his real work starts. It had not been easy for a man of his origins to appear as the best choice for the job under the Lump administration. President Lump was known to make bad jokes about his tan and him having spent too much time at the beach, and other worse things. But his worth was in the network he could connect the president with, his high discretion, which Lump was in dire need to compensate his innate tendency to boasting, and a strong adaptability to fix the president’s frequent messing around.

                              If August Finest had once admired the man and accepted the job for him, it soon changed when he realised there was nothing more underneath the boasting than more boasting and unpredictability. At the moment the only thing that make him continue was his ability to go stealth when the president had a fit of nerves, and the imposed confinement that made it impossible to leave the Beige House.

                              After the morning meeting during which the president asked him to fire a few members of the staff, August had to prepare a press conference. President Lump said he had thought about a few remarks about China and making a connection with the Mexican immigrants threatening the country by stealing the masks of the American People. After which, he had to plan a charity with first Lady Mellie Noma and redefine what a Masquerade meant. He had been asked to invite nurses and medical personnel, meaning republican and good looking in a blouse with a medical mask to make the promotion of the new mask industry Made in America. One of Mr Lump’s friend had just started a brand and was in need of some media promotion.

                              August reread the memo to be addressed to the director of the FBI, a good friend of his. A special cell at the FBI had been created especially since Lump came to power. For this particular occasion, agents posing as patients victims of the virus would be sent in the best ranked hospitals in the country with the task to look for the best nurse and doctor candidates and send them an invitation printed by Lump’s nephew’s printing company.

                              As Lump always said: “America Fist! And don’t forget people, I am America.”

                              August hit the enter button and closed the window of his professional mail account, leaving the draft of a personal mail on screen. He wasn’t sure if he could send this one. It was addressed to Noor Mary and he feared she would misunderstand the meaning of it.

                              #5925

                              Day 28

                              I’m bored out of my mind, cooped up inside. Working from home is a new form of slavery it seems. They’re going to get me mad with all the legalese they ask me to review, approve, sign and all. These people don’t get a sense of what’s happening, they still cling to the familiarity of their mind constructs. But flog me instead, that’ll be less painful than another ration of compliance and control rules.

                              I’ve been listening to whale songs on the internet. Got to do something to keep me from going bonkers. The wife and I are barely talking, she spends her day on the balcony, planting tiny carrots in the hopes of what, I wonder? At least, she gets some sun.

                              Funny creatures the whales. Blue whales got to be the only creature that man hasn’t been able to build a zoo big enough to accommodate. Sometimes despite the pollution in the oceans, I envy the big bastards.

                              I got to laugh a little at being a fish in a tank like the rest of the world. You would think you’d get for free the much touted chloroquine from the tank cleaner too. Pity it’s just deadly, but not for the virus. Talk about being morbidly stupid. Too much reading of the news do that to the brain too I guess.

                              Thing is, if I continue on chugging wine and boritos, I think I may be able to outsize my container. Isn’t the dream of every aquarium fish?

                              #5662

                              Jerk had been tracking all of it. He’d done a nice map of all the location the both of  them had travelled, with little animated pins for the dolls they’d collected.

                              It was a bit difficult to get them all to focus, and by them he didn’t mean the pins.

                              After Shawn-Paul and Maeve had come back home, their little lives at the building had resumed with some slight changes. For one, he’d finally realized through some fine deductive work worthy of Sherlock that Maeve was the one behind the dolls postings on his website. He was finally sure after a firewall update got her locked out of the website and she requested to get back in. Anyways, that made things easier, although they still mostly exchanged and discussed though the website despite them being front door neighbours on the same floor. But the arrangement was convenient, especially since Shawn-Paul had kind of unofficially moved in with her and Fabio.

                              He’d invited them in Lucinda’s apartment to do a little old fashioned slide show  —Lucinda’s apartment was bigger he’d argued; and all the funny collection of paraphernalia she’d gathered on the walls and cabinets tops was always great to set the mood or do an improvised theme party. For sure, it didn’t have anything to do with the fact he wouldn’t need to clean up and push all the mess in the corners of his own apartment.

                              Lucinda was all excited. And not just by her new boyfriend Jasper. She wanted to make a book about their expedition, and everybody had immediately rolled their eyes. Books in this century, she must be the last one dinosaur raving about books.

                              The slide show started by the end. Where the dolls all ended up finally. La Isla de las Muñecas in Mexico: the Island of Dolls.

                              That’s when they were all appreciating the fitting finish line that the door bell rang.

                              “Uncle Fergus?!” Maeve was incredulous; it was months they weren’t in contact.

                              “I’m here for Jasper.” he said ominously.

                              #5604
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                “That trip of yours was surprisingly, or must I say, suspiciously long…” Lucinda gave them both a long glance full of innuendos, and added in case those were missed “where you on a honeymoon or something?”

                                Shawn-Paul blushed to a shade of violent violet cramoisi, while Maeve just snatched her dog’s leash that Lucinda was handing her back rather nonchalantly.

                                “Oh, you, will you just wipe the snark from your face, it’s making you look ten years older Luce. It wasn’t really a holiday if you must know everything.” She elbowed Shawn-Paul, who was looking vacantly at the tip of his shoes. “Why don’t you tell her?”

                                “Why don’t you tell her?” he replied automatically.

                                “It’s just been 6 months! Why do you make such a fuss about it?”

                                “I’m not making a fuss, look who’s cranky! I can see you are venting your spleen on me after a sleepless night in the plane…”

                                “Haha, yes”, Maeve admitted with a nervous chuckle. “The only thing that matters is we managed to collect the dolls and the keys, just don’t ask me how.”

                                “You know I’ll ask.”

                                “Yes, I know. Just… don’t.”

                                “Fair enough. But it might be tough for me not to ask. I may forget… Besides, I must ask, do you have a secret benefactor that’s funding you all this time? Fabio’s kibble didn’t come free you know, you left me with barely enough for a week!”

                                “Oh really? Dog’s kibble now? Let me make you a check right now.”

                                “I think you need a good night of sleep.” Lucinda winked at Shawn-Paul, “him too. And we’ll talk later. I have tons of things to update you about my theater writing group. You might help me with the continuity bits… Waaa, calm down, no pressure!”

                                #5601
                                F LoveF Love
                                Participant

                                  April

                                  April was born in Manila, Arkansas (close to Whisp), birth date unknown.

                                  Her family’s origins is South-Asian. April is an aspiring artist, using her free time as a nanny to explore her art. She met June in 1999, while June was on the run from the police and broke into the household where April was in charge of twins and a pack of dogs at the time. June’s unexpected help with the twelve whining household dogs helped win her over and they became inseparable friends shortly after that, despite June’s temper and kleptomania habits.

                                  #5357

                                  “Isn’t it a pretty loo?” Glynis was marveling at the marble work, and the exquisite boiseries. “Master Guilbert really outdid himself.” Fox opined.

                                  The jinx on the cottage loo was finally lifted, and not before the hiemal cold had settled in, right before the Sol Invictus festivities.

                                  Meanwhile, they’ve had occasional updates from Rukshan, who was exploring the Land of the Giants. He’d mentioned in his last telebat echoing that he’d found the elusive Master creator of Gorrash, and had hope for the dwarf. The magic binding the stones was strong he’s said, although some additional magic would help speed up the recovery process which otherwise would take probably centuries if not millennia.

                                  Glynis had looked at the requirements; it only said

                                  ‘strong magic, born from pain, hardened in gems
                                  – dissolve in pink clay, mix well and apply generously’
                                  .

                                  None of her magic had seemed to fit. Pain, she’d had plenty, but her magic was born from the water element, emotions, plants and potions. She went to the nearby Library, their restricted section of applied magic was scarce, nothing really applicable there. Honestly, if she’d known her whereabouts, it would have been a task better suited to Eleri. Her kind of area of expertise with concrete and iron work and stone paints was a bit more unpredictable though; it could end up do more damage to Gorrash’s continuity than else; she’d quickly put that impetuous idea to rest.

                                  Glynis was still mulling over, thinking about finding a solution when she noticed a gaunt figure was at the door. It took her a few seconds to realize it wasn’t a stranger, but a familiar friend. Rukshan had returned, although verily worn down by his travails, with a full grown beard that gave him a seriouser look. Without thinking, she went to hug him. Such unusual display of affection did surprise the Fae who was beeming.

                                  He smiled widely at Glynis and showed her an unusually large ampoule: “I’ve found the kind of magic our friend needs. These three Giant’s gallstones weren’t a picnic to obtain, I can tell you.”

                                  “I can’t wait to hear all about this exciting story.” interrupted Eleri.

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