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    TracyTracy
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      From Tanganyika with Love

      continued  ~ part 6

      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

      Mchewe 6th June 1937

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

      With much love,
      Eleanor.

      Mchewe 25th June 1937

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Lots of love,
      Eleanor.

      Mchewe 9th July 1937

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor

      Mchewe 8th October 1937

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mchewe 17th October 1937

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mchewe 18th November 1937

      My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

      Mchewe 18th November 1937

      Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

      Mchewe 12th February, 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbulu 18th March, 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbulu 24th March, 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbulu 20th June 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Karatu 3rd July 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Karatu 12th July 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Oldeani. 19th July 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Oldeani. 10th August 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Oldeani. 20th August 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      #6264
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        continued  ~ part 5

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

        Chunya 16th December 1936

        Dearest Family,

        Since last I wrote I have visited Chunya and met several of the diggers wives.
        On the whole I have been greatly disappointed because there is nothing very colourful
        about either township or women. I suppose I was really expecting something more like
        the goldrush towns and women I have so often seen on the cinema screen.
        Chunya consists of just the usual sun-dried brick Indian shops though there are
        one or two double storied buildings. Most of the life in the place centres on the
        Goldfields Hotel but we did not call there. From the store opposite I could hear sounds
        of revelry though it was very early in the afternoon. I saw only one sight which was quite
        new to me, some elegantly dressed African women, with high heels and lipsticked
        mouths teetered by on their way to the silk store. “Native Tarts,” said George in answer
        to my enquiry.

        Several women have called on me and when I say ‘called’ I mean called. I have
        grown so used to going without stockings and wearing home made dresses that it was
        quite a shock to me to entertain these ladies dressed to the nines in smart frocks, silk
        stockings and high heeled shoes, handbags, makeup and whatnot. I feel like some
        female Rip van Winkle. Most of the women have a smart line in conversation and their
        talk and views on life would make your nice straight hair curl Mummy. They make me feel
        very unsophisticated and dowdy but George says he has a weakness for such types
        and I am to stay exactly as I am. I still do not use any makeup. George says ‘It’s all right
        for them. They need it poor things, you don’t.” Which, though flattering, is hardly true.
        I prefer the men visitors, though they also are quite unlike what I had expected
        diggers to be. Those whom George brings home are all well educated and well
        groomed and I enjoy listening to their discussion of the world situation, sport and books.
        They are extremely polite to me and gentle with the children though I believe that after a
        few drinks at the pub tempers often run high. There were great arguments on the night
        following the abdication of Edward VIII. Not that the diggers were particularly attached to
        him as a person, but these men are all great individualists and believe in freedom of
        choice. George, rather to my surprise, strongly supported Edward. I did not.

        Many of the diggers have wireless sets and so we keep up to date with the
        news. I seldom leave camp. I have my hands full with the three children during the day
        and, even though Janey is a reliable ayah, I would not care to leave the children at night
        in these grass roofed huts. Having experienced that fire on the farm, I know just how
        unlikely it would be that the children would be rescued in time in case of fire. The other
        women on the diggings think I’m crazy. They leave their children almost entirely to ayahs
        and I must confess that the children I have seen look very well and happy. The thing is
        that I simply would not enjoy parties at the hotel or club, miles away from the children
        and I much prefer to stay at home with a book.

        I love hearing all about the parties from George who likes an occasional ‘boose
        up’ with the boys and is terribly popular with everyone – not only the British but with the
        Germans, Scandinavians and even the Afrikaans types. One Afrikaans woman said “Jou
        man is ‘n man, al is hy ‘n Engelsman.” Another more sophisticated woman said, “George
        is a handsome devil. Aren’t you scared to let him run around on his own?” – but I’m not. I
        usually wait up for George with sandwiches and something hot to drink and that way I
        get all the news red hot.

        There is very little gold coming in. The rains have just started and digging is
        temporarily at a standstill. It is too wet for dry blowing and not yet enough water for
        panning and sluicing. As this camp is some considerable distance from the claims, all I see of the process is the weighing of the daily taking of gold dust and tiny nuggets.
        Unless our luck changes I do not think we will stay on here after John Molteno returns.
        George does not care for the life and prefers a more constructive occupation.
        Ann and young George still search optimistically for gold. We were all saddened
        last week by the death of Fanny, our bull terrier. She went down to the shopping centre
        with us and we were standing on the verandah of a store when a lorry passed with its
        canvas cover flapping. This excited Fanny who rushed out into the street and the back
        wheel of the lorry passed right over her, killing her instantly. Ann was very shocked so I
        soothed her by telling her that Fanny had gone to Heaven. When I went to bed that
        night I found Ann still awake and she asked anxiously, “Mummy, do you think God
        remembered to give Fanny her bone tonight?”

        Much love to all,
        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

        Dearest Family,

        Your Christmas parcel arrived this morning. Thank you very much for all the
        clothing for all of us and for the lovely toys for the children. George means to go hunting
        for a young buffalo this afternoon so that we will have some fresh beef for Christmas for
        ourselves and our boys and enough for friends too.

        I had a fright this morning. Ann and Georgie were, as usual, searching for gold
        whilst I sat sewing in the living room with Kate toddling around. She wandered through
        the curtained doorway into the store and I heard her playing with the paraffin pump. At
        first it did not bother me because I knew the tin was empty but after ten minutes or so I
        became irritated by the noise and went to stop her. Imagine my horror when I drew the
        curtain aside and saw my fat little toddler fiddling happily with the pump whilst, curled up
        behind the tin and clearly visible to me lay the largest puffadder I have ever seen.
        Luckily I acted instinctively and scooped Kate up from behind and darted back into the
        living room without disturbing the snake. The houseboy and cook rushed in with sticks
        and killed the snake and then turned the whole storeroom upside down to make sure
        there were no more.

        I have met some more picturesque characters since I last wrote. One is a man
        called Bishop whom George has known for many years having first met him in the
        Congo. I believe he was originally a sailor but for many years he has wandered around
        Central Africa trying his hand at trading, prospecting, a bit of elephant hunting and ivory
        poaching. He is now keeping himself by doing ‘Sign Writing”. Bish is a gentle and
        dignified personality. When we visited his camp he carefully dusted a seat for me and
        called me ‘Marm’, quite ye olde world. The only thing is he did spit.

        Another spitter is the Frenchman in a neighbouring camp. He is in bed with bad
        rheumatism and George has been going across twice a day to help him and cheer him
        up. Once when George was out on the claim I went across to the Frenchman’s camp in
        response to an SOS, but I think he was just lonely. He showed me snapshots of his
        two daughters, lovely girls and extremely smart, and he chatted away telling me his life
        history. He punctuated his remarks by spitting to right and left of the bed, everywhere in
        fact, except actually at me.

        George took me and the children to visit a couple called Bert and Hilda Farham.
        They have a small gold reef which is worked by a very ‘Heath Robinson’ type of
        machinery designed and erected by Bert who is reputed to be a clever engineer though
        eccentric. He is rather a handsome man who always looks very spruce and neat and
        wears a Captain Kettle beard. Hilda is from Johannesburg and quite a character. She
        has a most generous figure and literally masses of beetroot red hair, but she also has a
        warm deep voice and a most generous disposition. The Farhams have built
        themselves a more permanent camp than most. They have a brick cottage with proper
        doors and windows and have made it attractive with furniture contrived from petrol
        boxes. They have no children but Hilda lavishes a great deal of affection on a pet
        monkey. Sometimes they do quite well out of their gold and then they have a terrific
        celebration at the Club or Pub and Hilda has an orgy of shopping. At other times they
        are completely broke but Hilda takes disasters as well as triumphs all in her stride. She
        says, “My dear, when we’re broke we just live on tea and cigarettes.”

        I have met a young woman whom I would like as a friend. She has a dear little
        baby, but unfortunately she has a very wet husband who is also a dreadful bore. I can’t
        imagine George taking me to their camp very often. When they came to visit us George
        just sat and smoked and said,”Oh really?” to any remark this man made until I felt quite
        hysterical. George looks very young and fit and the children are lively and well too. I ,
        however, am definitely showing signs of wear and tear though George says,
        “Nonsense, to me you look the same as you always did.” This I may say, I do not
        regard as a compliment to the young Eleanor.

        Anyway, even though our future looks somewhat unsettled, we are all together
        and very happy.

        With love,
        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

        Dearest Family,

        We had a very cheery Christmas. The children loved the toys and are so proud
        of their new clothes. They wore them when we went to Christmas lunch to the
        Cresswell-Georges. The C-Gs have been doing pretty well lately and they have a
        comfortable brick house and a large wireless set. The living room was gaily decorated
        with bought garlands and streamers and balloons. We had an excellent lunch cooked by
        our ex cook Abel who now works for the Cresswell-Georges. We had turkey with
        trimmings and plum pudding followed by nuts and raisons and chocolates and sweets
        galore. There was also a large variety of drinks including champagne!

        There were presents for all of us and, in addition, Georgie and Ann each got a
        large tin of chocolates. Kate was much admired. She was a picture in her new party frock
        with her bright hair and rosy cheeks. There were other guests beside ourselves and
        they were already there having drinks when we arrived. Someone said “What a lovely
        child!” “Yes” said George with pride, “She’s a Marie Stopes baby.” “Truby King!” said I
        quickly and firmly, but too late to stop the roar of laughter.

        Our children played amicably with the C-G’s three, but young George was
        unusually quiet and surprised me by bringing me his unopened tin of chocolates to keep
        for him. Normally he is a glutton for sweets. I might have guessed he was sickening for
        something. That night he vomited and had diarrhoea and has had an upset tummy and a
        slight temperature ever since.

        Janey is also ill. She says she has malaria and has taken to her bed. I am dosing
        her with quinine and hope she will soon be better as I badly need her help. Not only is
        young George off his food and peevish but Kate has a cold and Ann sore eyes and
        they all want love and attention. To complicate things it has been raining heavily and I
        must entertain the children indoors.

        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

        Dearest Family,

        So sorry I have not written before but we have been in the wars and I have had neither
        the time nor the heart to write. However the worst is now over. Young George and
        Janey are both recovering from Typhoid Fever. The doctor had Janey moved to the
        native hospital at Chunya but I nursed young George here in the camp.

        As I told you young George’s tummy trouble started on Christmas day. At first I
        thought it was only a protracted bilious attack due to eating too much unaccustomed rich
        food and treated him accordingly but when his temperature persisted I thought that the
        trouble might be malaria and kept him in bed and increased the daily dose of quinine.
        He ate less and less as the days passed and on New Years Day he seemed very
        weak and his stomach tender to the touch.

        George fetched the doctor who examined small George and said he had a very
        large liver due no doubt to malaria. He gave the child injections of emertine and quinine
        and told me to give young George frequent and copious drinks of water and bi-carb of
        soda. This was more easily said than done. Young George refused to drink this mixture
        and vomited up the lime juice and water the doctor had suggested as an alternative.
        The doctor called every day and gave George further injections and advised me
        to give him frequent sips of water from a spoon. After three days the child was very
        weak and weepy but Dr Spiers still thought he had malaria. During those anxious days I
        also worried about Janey who appeared to be getting worse rather that better and on
        January the 3rd I asked the doctor to look at her. The next thing I knew, the doctor had
        put Janey in his car and driven her off to hospital. When he called next morning he
        looked very grave and said he wished to talk to my husband. I said that George was out
        on the claim but if what he wished to say concerned young George’s condition he might
        just as well tell me.

        With a good deal of reluctance Dr Spiers then told me that Janey showed all the
        symptoms of Typhoid Fever and that he was very much afraid that young George had
        contracted it from her. He added that George should be taken to the Mbeya Hospital
        where he could have the professional nursing so necessary in typhoid cases. I said “Oh
        no,I’d never allow that. The child had never been away from his family before and it
        would frighten him to death to be sick and alone amongst strangers.” Also I was sure that
        the fifty mile drive over the mountains in his weak condition would harm him more than
        my amateur nursing would. The doctor returned to the camp that afternoon to urge
        George to send our son to hospital but George staunchly supported my argument that
        young George would stand a much better chance of recovery if we nursed him at home.
        I must say Dr Spiers took our refusal very well and gave young George every attention
        coming twice a day to see him.

        For some days the child was very ill. He could not keep down any food or liquid
        in any quantity so all day long, and when he woke at night, I gave him a few drops of
        water at a time from a teaspoon. His only nourishment came from sucking Macintosh’s
        toffees. Young George sweated copiously especially at night when it was difficult to
        change his clothes and sponge him in the draughty room with the rain teeming down
        outside. I think I told you that the bedroom is a sort of shed with only openings in the wall
        for windows and doors, and with one wall built only a couple of feet high leaving a six
        foot gap for air and light. The roof leaked and the damp air blew in but somehow young
        George pulled through.

        Only when he was really on the mend did the doctor tell us that whilst he had
        been attending George, he had also been called in to attend to another little boy of the same age who also had typhoid. He had been called in too late and the other little boy,
        an only child, had died. Young George, thank God, is convalescent now, though still on a
        milk diet. He is cheerful enough when he has company but very peevish when left
        alone. Poor little lad, he is all hair, eyes, and teeth, or as Ann says” Georgie is all ribs ribs
        now-a-days Mummy.” He shares my room, Ann and Kate are together in the little room.
        Anyway the doctor says he should be up and around in about a week or ten days time.
        We were all inoculated against typhoid on the day the doctor made the diagnosis
        so it is unlikely that any of us will develop it. Dr Spiers was most impressed by Ann’s
        unconcern when she was inoculated. She looks gentle and timid but has always been
        very brave. Funny thing when young George was very ill he used to wail if I left the
        room, but now that he is convalescent he greatly prefers his dad’s company. So now I
        have been able to take the girls for walks in the late afternoons whilst big George
        entertains small George. This he does with the minimum of effort, either he gets out
        cartons of ammunition with which young George builds endless forts, or else he just sits
        beside the bed and cleans one of his guns whilst small George watches with absorbed
        attention.

        The Doctor tells us that Janey is also now convalescent. He says that exhusband
        Abel has been most attentive and appeared daily at the hospital with a tray of
        food that made his, the doctor’s, mouth water. All I dare say, pinched from Mrs
        Cresswell-George.

        I’ll write again soon. Lots of love to all,
        Eleanor.

        Chunya 29th January 1937

        Dearest Family,

        Georgie is up and about but still tires very easily. At first his legs were so weak
        that George used to carry him around on his shoulders. The doctor says that what the
        child really needs is a long holiday out of the Tropics so that Mrs Thomas’ offer, to pay all
        our fares to Cape Town as well as lending us her seaside cottage for a month, came as
        a Godsend. Luckily my passport is in order. When George was in Mbeya he booked
        seats for the children and me on the first available plane. We will fly to Broken Hill and go
        on to Cape Town from there by train.

        Ann and George are wildly thrilled at the idea of flying but I am not. I remember
        only too well how airsick I was on the old Hannibal when I flew home with the baby Ann.
        I am longing to see you all and it will be heaven to give the children their first seaside
        holiday.

        I mean to return with Kate after three months but, if you will have him, I shall leave
        George behind with you for a year. You said you would all be delighted to have Ann so
        I do hope you will also be happy to have young George. Together they are no trouble
        at all. They amuse themselves and are very independent and loveable.
        George and I have discussed the matter taking into consideration the letters from
        you and George’s Mother on the subject. If you keep Ann and George for a year, my
        mother-in-law will go to Cape Town next year and fetch them. They will live in England
        with her until they are fit enough to return to the Tropics. After the children and I have left
        on this holiday, George will be able to move around and look for a job that will pay
        sufficiently to enable us to go to England in a few years time to fetch our children home.
        We both feel very sad at the prospect of this parting but the children’s health
        comes before any other consideration. I hope Kate will stand up better to the Tropics.
        She is plump and rosy and could not look more bonny if she lived in a temperate
        climate.

        We should be with you in three weeks time!

        Very much love,
        Eleanor.

        Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

        Dearest Family,

        Well here we are safe and sound at the Great Northern Hotel, Broken Hill, all
        ready to board the South bound train tonight.

        We were still on the diggings on Ann’s birthday, February 8th, when George had
        a letter from Mbeya to say that our seats were booked on the plane leaving Mbeya on
        the 10th! What a rush we had packing up. Ann was in bed with malaria so we just
        bundled her up in blankets and set out in John Molteno’s car for the farm. We arrived that
        night and spent the next day on the farm sorting things out. Ann and George wanted to
        take so many of their treasures and it was difficult for them to make a small selection. In
        the end young George’s most treasured possession, his sturdy little boots, were left
        behind.

        Before leaving home on the morning of the tenth I took some snaps of Ann and
        young George in the garden and one of them with their father. He looked so sad. After
        putting us on the plane, George planned to go to the fishing camp for a day or two
        before returning to the empty house on the farm.

        John Molteno returned from the Cape by plane just before we took off, so he
        will take over the running of his claims once more. I told John that I dreaded the plane trip
        on account of air sickness so he gave me two pills which I took then and there. Oh dear!
        How I wished later that I had not done so. We had an extremely bumpy trip and
        everyone on the plane was sick except for small George who loved every moment.
        Poor Ann had a dreadful time but coped very well and never complained. I did not
        actually puke until shortly before we landed at Broken Hill but felt dreadfully ill all the way.
        Kate remained rosy and cheerful almost to the end. She sat on my lap throughout the
        trip because, being under age, she travelled as baggage and was not entitled to a seat.
        Shortly before we reached Broken Hill a smartly dressed youngish man came up
        to me and said, “You look so poorly, please let me take the baby, I have children of my
        own and know how to handle them.” Kate made no protest and off they went to the
        back of the plane whilst I tried to relax and concentrate on not getting sick. However,
        within five minutes the man was back. Kate had been thoroughly sick all over his collar
        and jacket.

        I took Kate back on my lap and then was violently sick myself, so much so that
        when we touched down at Broken Hill I was unable to speak to the Immigration Officer.
        He was so kind. He sat beside me until I got my diaphragm under control and then
        drove me up to the hotel in his own car.

        We soon recovered of course and ate a hearty dinner. This morning after
        breakfast I sallied out to look for a Bank where I could exchange some money into
        Rhodesian and South African currency and for the Post Office so that I could telegraph
        to George and to you. What a picnic that trip was! It was a terribly hot day and there was
        no shade. By the time we had done our chores, the children were hot, and cross, and
        tired and so indeed was I. As I had no push chair for Kate I had to carry her and she is
        pretty heavy for eighteen months. George, who is still not strong, clung to my free arm
        whilst Ann complained bitterly that no one was helping her.

        Eventually Ann simply sat down on the pavement and declared that she could
        not go another step, whereupon George of course decided that he also had reached his
        limit and sat down too. Neither pleading no threats would move them so I had to resort
        to bribery and had to promise that when we reached the hotel they could have cool
        drinks and ice-cream. This promise got the children moving once more but I am determined that nothing will induce me to stir again until the taxi arrives to take us to the
        station.

        This letter will go by air and will reach you before we do. How I am longing for
        journeys end.

        With love to you all,
        Eleanor.

        Leaving home 10th February 1937,  George Gilman Rushby with Ann and Georgie (Mike) Rushby:

        George Rushby Ann and Georgie

        NOTE
        We had a very warm welcome to the family home at Plumstead Cape Town.
        After ten days with my family we moved to Hout Bay where Mrs Thomas lent us her
        delightful seaside cottage. She also provided us with two excellent maids so I had
        nothing to do but rest and play on the beach with the children.

        After a month at the sea George had fully recovered his health though not his
        former gay spirits. After another six months with my parents I set off for home with Kate,
        leaving Ann and George in my parent’s home under the care of my elder sister,
        Marjorie.

        One or two incidents during that visit remain clearly in my memory. Our children
        had never met elderly people and were astonished at the manifestations of age. One
        morning an elderly lady came around to collect church dues. She was thin and stooped
        and Ann surveyed her with awe. She turned to me with a puzzled expression and
        asked in her clear voice, “Mummy, why has that old lady got a moustache – oh and a
        beard?’ The old lady in question was very annoyed indeed and said, “What a rude little
        girl.” Ann could not understand this, she said, “But Mummy, I only said she had a
        moustache and a beard and she has.” So I explained as best I could that when people
        have defects of this kind they are hurt if anyone mentions them.

        A few days later a strange young woman came to tea. I had been told that she
        had a most disfiguring birthmark on her cheek and warned Ann that she must not
        comment on it. Alas! with the kindest intentions Ann once again caused me acute
        embarrassment. The young woman was hardly seated when Ann went up to her and
        gently patted the disfiguring mark saying sweetly, “Oh, I do like this horrible mark on your
        face.”

        I remember also the afternoon when Kate and George were christened. My
        mother had given George a white silk shirt for the occasion and he wore it with intense
        pride. Kate was baptised first without incident except that she was lost in admiration of a
        gold bracelet given her that day by her Godmother and exclaimed happily, “My
        bangle, look my bangle,” throughout the ceremony. When George’s turn came the
        clergyman held his head over the font and poured water on George’s forehead. Some
        splashed on his shirt and George protested angrily, “Mum, he has wet my shirt!” over
        and over again whilst I led him hurriedly outside.

        My last memory of all is at the railway station. The time had come for Kate and
        me to get into our compartment. My sisters stood on the platform with Ann and George.
        Ann was resigned to our going, George was not so, at the last moment Sylvia, my
        younger sister, took him off to see the engine. The whistle blew and I said good-bye to
        my gallant little Ann. “Mummy”, she said urgently to me, “Don’t forget to wave to
        George.”

        And so I waved good-bye to my children, never dreaming that a war would
        intervene and it would be eight long years before I saw them again.

        #6261
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots of love,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Very much love,
          Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor Rushby

           

          Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Your very loving,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots and lots of love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Much love to all,
          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          We all send our love,
          Eleanor.

          Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Very much love,
          Eleanor.

          Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Much love from a proud mother of two.
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Your affectionate,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          your affectionate,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Very much love
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

          Dear Family,

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

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

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

          Lots and lots of love,
          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Very much love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Much love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Lots of love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots of love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love to you all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Much love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots of love, Eleanor

          #6259
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            George “Mike” Rushby

            A short autobiography of George Gilman Rushby’s son, published in the Blackwall Bugle, Australia.

            Early in 2009, Ballina Shire Council Strategic and
            Community Services Group Manager, Steve Barnier,
            suggested that it would be a good idea for the Wardell
            and District community to put out a bi-monthly
            newsletter. I put my hand up to edit the publication and
            since then, over 50 issues of “The Blackwall Bugle”
            have been produced, encouraged by Ballina Shire
            Council who host the newsletter on their website.
            Because I usually write the stories that other people
            generously share with me, I have been asked by several
            community members to let them know who I am. Here is
            my attempt to let you know!

            My father, George Gilman Rushby was born in England
            in 1900. An Electrician, he migrated to Africa as a young
            man to hunt and to prospect for gold. He met Eleanor
            Dunbar Leslie who was a high school teacher in Cape
            Town. They later married in Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika.
            I was the second child and first son and was born in a
            mud hut in Tanganyika in 1933. I spent my first years on
            a coffee plantation. When four years old, and with
            parents and elder sister on a remote goldfield, I caught
            typhoid fever. I was seriously ill and had no access to
            proper medical facilities. My paternal grandmother
            sailed out to Africa from England on a steam ship and
            took me back to England for medical treatment. My
            sister Ann came too. Then Adolf Hitler started WWII and
            Ann and I were separated from our parents for 9 years.

            Sister Ann and I were not to see him or our mother for
            nine years because of the war. Dad served as a Captain in
            the King’s African Rifles operating in the North African
            desert, while our Mum managed the coffee plantation at
            home in Tanganyika.

            Ann and I lived with our Grandmother and went to
            school in Nottingham England. In 1946 the family was
            reunited. We lived in Mbeya in Southern Tanganyika
            where my father was then the District Manager of the
            National Parks and Wildlife Authority. There was no
            high school in Tanganyika so I had to go to school in
            Nairobi, Kenya. It took five days travelling each way by
            train and bus including two days on a steamer crossing
            Lake Victoria.

            However, the school year was only two terms with long
            holidays in between.

            When I was seventeen, I left high school. There was
            then no university in East Africa. There was no work
            around as Tanganyika was about to become
            independent of the British Empire and become
            Tanzania. Consequently jobs were reserved for
            Africans.

            A war had broken out in Korea. I took a day off from
            high school and visited the British Army headquarters
            in Nairobi. I signed up for military service intending to
            go to Korea. The army flew me to England. During
            Army basic training I was nicknamed ‘Mike’ and have
            been called Mike ever since. I never got to Korea!
            After my basic training I volunteered for the Parachute
            Regiment and the army sent me to Egypt where the
            Suez Canal was under threat. I carried out parachute
            operations in the Sinai Desert and in Cyprus and
            Jordan. I was then selected for officer training and was
            sent to England to the Eaton Hall Officer Cadet School
            in Cheshire. Whilst in Cheshire, I met my future wife
            Jeanette. I graduated as a Second Lieutenant in the
            Royal Lincolnshire Regiment and was posted to West
            Berlin, which was then one hundred miles behind the
            Iron Curtain. My duties included patrolling the
            demarcation line that separated the allies from the
            Russian forces. The Berlin Wall was yet to be built. I
            also did occasional duty as guard commander of the
            guard at Spandau Prison where Adolf Hitler’s deputy
            Rudolf Hess was the only prisoner.

            From Berlin, my Regiment was sent to Malaya to
            undertake deep jungle operations against communist
            terrorists that were attempting to overthrow the
            Malayan Government. I was then a Lieutenant in
            command of a platoon of about 40 men which would go
            into the jungle for three weeks to a month with only air
            re-supply to keep us going. On completion of my jungle
            service, I returned to England and married Jeanette. I
            had to stand up throughout the church wedding
            ceremony because I had damaged my right knee in a
            competitive cross-country motorcycle race and wore a
            splint and restrictive bandage for the occasion!
            At this point I took a career change and transferred
            from the infantry to the Royal Military Police. I was in
            charge of the security of British, French and American
            troops using the autobahn link from West Germany to
            the isolated Berlin. Whilst in Germany and Austria I
            took up snow skiing as a sport.

            Jeanette and I seemed to attract unusual little
            adventures along the way — each adventure trivial in
            itself but adding up to give us a ‘different’ path through
            life. Having climbed Mount Snowdon up the ‘easy way’
            we were witness to a serious climbing accident where a
            member of the staff of a Cunard Shipping Line
            expedition fell and suffered serious injury. It was
            Sunday a long time ago. The funicular railway was
            closed. There was no telephone. So I ran all the way
            down Mount Snowdon to raise the alarm.

            On a road trip from Verden in Germany to Berlin with
            our old Opel Kapitan motor car stacked to the roof with
            all our worldly possessions, we broke down on the ice and snow covered autobahn. We still had a hundred kilometres to go.

            A motorcycle patrolman flagged down a B-Double
            tanker. He hooked us to the tanker with a very short tow
            cable and off we went. The truck driver couldn’t see us
            because we were too close and his truck threw up a
            constant deluge of ice and snow so we couldn’t see
            anyway. We survived the hundred kilometre ‘sleigh
            ride!’

            I then went back to the other side of the world where I
            carried out military police duties in Singapore and
            Malaya for three years. I took up scuba diving and
            loved the ocean. Jeanette and I, with our two little
            daughters, took a holiday to South Africa to see my
            parents. We sailed on a ship of the Holland-Afrika Line.
            It broke down for four days and drifted uncontrollably
            in dangerous waters off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia
            until the crew could get the ship’s motor running again.
            Then, in Cape Town, we were walking the beach near
            Hermanus with my youngest brother and my parents,
            when we found the dead body of a man who had thrown
            himself off a cliff. The police came and secured the site.
            Back with the army, I was promoted to Major and
            appointed Provost Marshal of the ACE Mobile Force
            (Allied Command Europe) with dual headquarters in
            Salisbury, England and Heidelberg, Germany. The cold
            war was at its height and I was on operations in Greece,
            Denmark and Norway including the Arctic. I had
            Norwegian, Danish, Italian and American troops in my
            unit and I was then also the Winter Warfare Instructor
            for the British contingent to the Allied Command
            Europe Mobile Force that operated north of the Arctic
            Circle.

            The reason for being in the Arctic Circle? From there
            our special forces could look down into northern
            Russia.

            I was not seeing much of my two young daughters. A
            desk job was looming my way and I decided to leave
            the army and migrate to Australia. Why Australia?
            Well, I didn’t want to go back to Africa, which
            seemed politically unstable and the people I most
            liked working with in the army, were the Australian
            troops I had met in Malaya.

            I migrated to Brisbane, Australia in 1970 and started
            working for Woolworths. After management training,
            I worked at Garden City and Brookside then became
            the manager in turn of Woolworths stores at
            Paddington, George Street and Redcliff. I was also the
            first Director of FAUI Queensland (The Federation of
            Underwater Diving Instructors) and spent my spare
            time on the Great Barrier Reef. After 8 years with
            Woollies, I opted for a sea change.

            I moved with my family to Evans Head where I
            converted a convenience store into a mini
            supermarket. When IGA moved into town, I decided
            to take up beef cattle farming and bought a cattle
            property at Collins Creek Kyogle in 1990. I loved
            everything about the farm — the Charolais cattle, my
            horses, my kelpie dogs, the open air, fresh water
            creek, the freedom, the lifestyle. I also became a
            volunteer fire fighter with the Green Pigeon Brigade.
            In 2004 I sold our farm and moved to Wardell.
            My wife Jeanette and I have been married for 60 years
            and are now retired. We have two lovely married
            daughters and three fine grandchildren. We live in the
            greatest part of the world where we have been warmly
            welcomed by the Wardell community and by the
            Wardell Brigade of the Rural Fire Service. We are
            very happy here.

            Mike Rushby

            A short article sent to Jacksdale in England from Mike Rushby in Australia:

            Rushby Family

            #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.

              #6252
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The USA Housley’s

                This chapter is copied from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on Historic Letters, with thanks to her brother Howard Housley for sharing it with me.  Interesting to note that Housley descendants  (on the Marshall paternal side) and Gretton descendants (on the Warren maternal side) were both living in Trenton, New Jersey at the same time.

                GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

                George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The service was performed by Attorney James Gilkyson.

                Doylestown

                In her first letter (February 1854), Anne (George’s sister in Smalley, Derbyshire) wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

                Upon learning of George’s marriage, Anne wrote: “I hope dear brother you may be happy with your wife….I hope you will be as a son to her parents. Mother unites with me in kind love to you both and to your father and mother with best wishes for your health and happiness.”  In 1872 (December) Joseph (George’s brother) wrote: “I am sorry to hear that sister’s father is so ill. It is what we must all come to some time and hope we shall meet where there is no more trouble.”

                Emma (George’s sister) wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

                According to his obituary, John Eley was born at Wrightstown and “removed” to Lumberville at the age of 19. John was married first to Lucy Wilson with whom he had three sons: George Wilson (1883), Howard (1893) and Raymond (1895); and then to Elizabeth Kilmer with whom he had one son Albert Kilmer (1907). John Eley Housley died November 20, 1926 at the age of 71. For many years he had worked for John R. Johnson who owned a store. According to his son Albert, John was responsible for caring for Johnson’s horses. One named Rex was considered to be quite wild, but was docile in John’s hands. When John would take orders, he would leave the wagon at the first house and walk along the backs of the houses so that he would have access to the kitchens. When he reached the seventh house he would climb back over the fence to the road and whistle for the horses who would come to meet him. John could not attend church on Sunday mornings because he was working with the horses and occasionally Albert could convince his mother that he was needed also. According to Albert, John was regular in attendance at church on Sunday evenings.

                John was a member of the Carversville Lodge 261 IOOF and the Carversville Lodge Knights of Pythias. Internment was in the Carversville cemetery; not, however, in the plot owned by his father. In addition to his sons, he was survived by his second wife Elizabeth who lived to be 80 and three grandchildren: George’s sons, Kenneth Worman and Morris Wilson and Raymond’s daughter Miriam Louise. George had married Katie Worman about the time John Eley married Elizabeth Kilmer. Howard’s first wife Mary Brink and daughter Florence had died and he remarried Elsa Heed who also lived into her eighties. Raymond’s wife was Fanny Culver.

                Two more sons followed: Joseph Sackett, who was known as Sackett, September 12, 1856 and Edwin or Edward Rose, November 11, 1858. Joseph Sackett Housley married Anna Hubbs of Plumsteadville on January 17, 1880. They had one son Nelson DeC. who in turn had two daughters, Eleanor Mary and Ruth Anna, and lived on Bert Avenue in Trenton N.J. near St. Francis Hospital. Nelson, who was an engineer and built the first cement road in New Jersey, died at the age of 51. His daughters were both single at the time of his death. However, when his widow, the former Eva M. Edwards, died some years later, her survivors included daughters, Mrs. Herbert D. VanSciver and Mrs. James J. McCarrell and four grandchildren. One of the daughters (the younger) was quite crippled in later years and would come to visit her great-aunt Elizabeth (John’s widow) in a chauffeur driven car. Sackett died in 1929 at the age of 70. He was a member of the Warrington Lodge IOOF of Jamison PA, the Uncas tribe and the Uncas Hayloft 102 ORM of Trenton, New Jersey. The interment was in Greenwood cemetery where he had been caretaker since his retirement from one of the oldest manufacturing plants in Trenton (made milk separators for one thing). Sackett also was the caretaker for two other cemeteries one located near the Clinton Street station and the other called Riverside.

                Ed’s wife was named Lydia. They had two daughters, Mary and Margaret and a third child who died in infancy. Mary had seven children–one was named for his grandfather–and settled in lower Bucks county. Margaret never married. She worked for Woolworths in Flemington, N. J. and then was made manager in Somerville, N.J., where she lived until her death. Ed survived both of his brothers, and at the time of Sackett’s death was living in Flemington, New Jersey where he had worked as a grocery clerk.

                In September 1872, Joseph wrote, “I was very sorry to hear that John your oldest had met with such a sad accident but I hope he is got alright again by this time.” In the same letter, Joseph asked: “Now I want to know what sort of a town you are living in or village. How far is it from New York? Now send me all particulars if you please.”

                In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….” The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.

                On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” 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.”

                Apparently, George had indicated he might return to England for a visit in 1856. Emma wrote concerning the portrait of their mother which had been sent to George: “I hope you like mother’s portrait. I did not see it but I suppose it was not quite perfect about the eyes….Joseph and I intend having ours taken for you when you come over….Do come over before very long.”

                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.”

                On June 10, 1875, the solicitor wrote: “I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past. Please let me hear what you are doing and where you are living and how I must send you your money.” George’s big news at that time was that on May 3, 1875, he had become a naturalized citizen “renouncing and abjuring all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state and sovereignity whatsoever, and particularly to Victoria Queen of Great Britain of whom he was before a subject.”

                Another matter which George took care of during the years the estate was being settled was the purchase of a cemetery plot! On March 24, 1873, George purchased plot 67 section 19 division 2 in the Carversville (Bucks County PA) Cemetery (incorporated 1859). The plot cost $15.00, and was located at the very edge of the cemetery. It was in this cemetery, in 1991, while attending the funeral of Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, that sixteen month old Laura Ann visited the graves of her great-great-great grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley.

                George died on August 13, 1877 and was buried three days later. The text for the funeral sermon was Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”

                #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

                    #6241
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Kidsley Grange Farm and The Quakers Next Door

                      Kidsley Grange Farm in Smalley, Derbyshire, was the home of the Housleys in the 1800s.  William Housley 1781-1848 was born in nearby Selston.   His wife Ellen Carrington 1795-1872 was from a long line of Carringtons in Smalley.  They had ten children between 1815 and 1838.  Samuel, my 3x great grandfather, was the second son born in 1816.

                      The original farm has been made into a nursing home in recent years, which at the time of writing is up for sale at £500,000. Sadly none of the original farm appears visible with all the new additions.

                      The farm before it was turned into a nursing home:

                      Kidsley Grange Farm

                      Kidsley Grange Farm and Kidsley Park, a neighbouring farm, are mentioned in a little book about the history of Smalley.  The neighbours at Kidsley Park, the Davy’s,  were friends of the Housleys. They were Quakers.

                      Smalley Farms

                       

                      In Kerry’s History of Smalley:

                      Kidsley Park Farm was owned by Daniel Smith,  a prominent Quaker and the last of the Quakers at Kidsley. His daughter, Elizabeth Davy, widow of William Davis, married WH Barber MB of Smalley. Elizabeth was the author of the poem “Farewell to Kidsley Park”.

                      Emma Housley sent one of Elizabeth Davy’s poems to her brother George in USA.

                       “We have sent you a piece of poetry that Mrs. Davy composed about our ‘Old House.’ I am sure you will like it though you may not understand all the allusions she makes use of as well as we do.”

                      Farewell to Kidsley Park
                      Farewell, Farewell, Thy pathways now by strangers feet are trod,
                      And other hands and horses strange henceforth shall turn thy sod,
                      Yes, other eyes may watch the buds expanding in the spring.
                      And other children round the hearth the coming years may bring,
                      But mine will be the memory of cares and pleasures there,
                      Intenser ~ that no living thing in some of them can share,
                      Commencing with the loved, and lost, in days of long ago,
                      When one was present on whose head Atlantic’s breezes blow,
                      Long years ago he left that roof, and made a home afar ~
                      For that is really only “home” where life’s affections are!
                      How many thoughts come o’er me, for old Kidsley has “a name
                      And memory” ~ in the hearts of some not unknown to fame.
                      We dream not, in those happy times, that I should be the last,
                      Alone, to leave my native place ~ alone, to meet the blast,
                      I loved each nook and corner there, each leaf and blade of grass,
                      Each moonlight shadow on the pond I loved: but let it pass,
                      For mine is still the memory that only death can mar;
                      I fancy I shall see it reflecting every star.
                      The graves of buried quadrupeds, affectionate and true,
                      Will have the olden sunshine, and the same bright morning dew,
                      But the birds that sang at even when the autumn leaves were seer,
                      Will miss the crumbs they used to get, in winters long and drear.
                      Will the poor down-trodden miss me? God help them if they do!
                      Some manna in the wilderness, His goodness guide them to!
                      Farewell to those who love me! I shall bear them still in mind,
                      And hope to be remembered by those I left behind:
                      Do not forget the aged man ~ though another fills his place ~
                      Another, bearing not his name, nor coming of his race.
                      His creed might be peculiar; but there was much of good
                      Successors will not imitate, because not understood.
                      Two hundred years have come and past since George Fox ~ first of “Friends” ~
                      Established his religion there ~ which my departure ends.
                      Then be it so: God prosper these in basket and in store,
                      And make them happy in my place ~ my dwelling, never more!
                      For I may be a wanderer ~ no roof nor hearthstone mine:
                      May light that cometh from above my resting place define.
                      Gloom hovers o’er the prospect now, but He who was my friend,
                      In the midst of troubled waters, will see me to the end.

                      Elizabeth Davy, June 6th, 1863, Derby.

                      Another excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters from the family in Smalley to George in USA mentions the Davy’s:

                      Anne’s will was probated October 14, 1856. Mr. William Davy of Kidsley Park appeared for the family. Her estate was valued at under £20. Emma was to receive fancy needlework, a four post bedstead, feather bed and bedding, a mahogany chest of drawers, plates, linen and china. Emma was also to receive Anne’s writing desk! There was a condition that Ellen would have use of these items until her death.
                      The money that Anne was to receive from her grandfather, William Carrington, and her father, William Housley was to be distributed one third to Joseph, one third to Emma, and one third to be divided between her four neices: John’s daughter Elizabeth, 18, and Sam’s daughters Elizabeth, 10, Mary Anne, 9 and Catherine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

                      Mrs. Davy wrote to George on March 21 1856 sending some gifts from his sisters and a portrait of their mother–“Emma is away yet and A is so much worse.” Mrs. Davy concluded: “With best wishes
                       for thy health and prosperity in this world and the next I am thy sincere friend.” Whenever the girls sent greetings from Mrs. Davy they used her Quaker speech pattern of “thee and thy.”

                       

                      #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

                        #6231
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Gladstone Road

                          My mother remembers her grandfather Samuel Warren’s house at 3 Gladstone Road, Stourbridge. She was born in 1933, so this would be late 1930s early 1940s.

                          “Opening a big wooden gate in a high brick wall off the sidewalk I went down a passage with a very high hedge to the main house which was entered on this side through a sort of glassed-in lean-to then into the dark and damp scullery and then into a large room with a fireplace which was dining room and living room for most of the time. The house was Georgian and had wooden interior shutters at the windows. My Grandad sat by the fire probably most of the day. The fireplace may have had an oven built over or to the side of the fire which was common in those days and was used for cooking.
                          That room led into a hall going three ways and the main front door was here. One hall went to the pantry which had stone slabs for keeping food cool, such a long way from the kitchen! Opposite the pantry was the door to the cellar. One hall led to two large rooms with big windows overlooking the garden. There was also a door at the end of this hallway which opened into the garden. The stairs went up opposite the front door with a box room at the top then along a landing to another hall going right and left with two bedrooms down each hall.
                          The toilet got to from the scullery and lean-to was outside down another passage all overgrown near the pigsty. No outside lights!
                          On Christmas day the families would all have the day here. I think the menfolk went over to the pub {Gate Hangs Well?} for a drink while the women cooked dinner. Chris would take all the children down the dark, damp cellar steps and tell us ghost stories scaring us all. A fire would be lit in one of the big main rooms {probably only used once a year} and we’d sit in there and dinner was served in the other big main room. When the house was originally built the servants would have used the other room and scullery.
                          I have a recollection of going upstairs and into a bedroom off the right hand hall and someone was in bed, I thought an old lady but I was uncomfortable in there and never went in again. Seemed that person was there a long time. I did go upstairs with Betty to her room which was the opposite way down the hall and loved it. She was dating lots of soldiers during the war years. One in particular I remember was an American Army Officer that she was fond of but he was killed when he left England to fight in Germany.
                          I wonder if the person in bed that nobody spoke about was an old housekeeper?
                          My mother used to say there was a white lady who floated around in the garden. I think Kay died at Gladstone Road!”

                          Samuel Warren, born in 1874 in Newhall, Derbyshire, was my grandmothers father.  This is the only photograph we’ve seen of him (seated on right with cap).  Kay, who died of TB in 1938, is holding the teddy bear. Samuel died in 1950, in Stourbridge, at the age of 76.

                          Samuel Warren Kay Warren

                          Left to right: back row: Leslie Warren. Hildred Williams / Griffiths (Nee Warren). Billy Warren. 2nd row: Gladys (Gary) Warren. Kay Warren (holding teddy bear). Samuel Warren (father). Hildred’s son Chris Williams (on knee). Lorna Warren. Joan Williams. Peggy Williams (Hildreds daughters). Jack Warren. Betty Warren.

                          #6223
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Kate Purdy and the DH Lawrence Connection

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

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

                            Kate Rushby third from right back row:

                            Kate Rushby

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

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

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

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

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

                            Mike Rushby’s photo of Kate:

                            Kate Purdy Rushby

                             

                             

                            #6221
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Mary Ann Gilman Purdy

                              1880-1950

                              Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall

                              Mary Ann was my grandfather George Marshall’s mother. She died in 1950, seven years before I was born. She has been referred to more often than not, since her death, as Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, rather than Mary Marshall. She was from Buxton, so we believed, as was her husband William Marshall. There are family photos of the Gilmans, grocers in Buxton, and we knew that Mary Ann was brought up by them. My grandfather, her son, said that she thought very highly of the Gilman’s, and added the Gilman name to her birth name of Purdy.

                               

                              The 1891 census in Buxton:

                              1891 census Buxton

                               

                              (Mary Ann’s aunt, Mrs Gilman, was also called Mary Anne, but spelled with an E.)

                              Samuel Gilman 1846-1909, and Mary Anne (Housley) Gilman  1846-1935,  in Buxton:

                              Gilmans Grocers

                              Samuel Gilman

                               

                              What we didn’t know was why Mary Ann (and her sister Ellen/Nellie, we later found) grew up with the Gilman’s. But Mary Ann wasn’t born in Buxton, Derbyshire, she was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. When the search moved to Nottingham, we found the Purdy’s.

                              George Purdy 1848-1935, Mary Ann’s father:

                              George Purdy

                               

                              Mary Ann’s parents were George Purdy of Eastwood, and Catherine Housley of Smalley.

                              Catherine Housley 1849-1884, Mary Ann’s mother:

                              Catherine Housley

                               

                              Mary Ann was four years old when her mother died. She had three sisters and one brother. George Purdy remarried and kept the two older daughters, and the young son with him. The two younger daughters, Mary Ann and Nellie, went to live with Catherine’s sister, also called Mary Anne, and her husband Samuel Gilman. They had no children of their own. One of the older daughters who stayed with their father was Kate , whose son George Gilman Rushby, went to Africa. But that is another chapter.

                              George was the son of Francis Purdy and his second wife Jane Eaton. Francis had some twenty children, and is believed in Eastwood to be the reason why there are so many Purdy’s.

                              The woman who was a mother to Mary Ann and who she thought very highly of, her mothers sister, spent her childhood in the Belper Workhouse. She and her older sister Elizabeth were admitted in June, 1850, the reason: father in prison. Their mother had died the previous year. Mary Anne Housley, Catherine’s sister, married Samuel Gilman, and looked after her dead sisters children.

                              Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshalls recipes written on the back of the Gilmans Grocers paper:

                              recipes

                              #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.

                                 

                                 

                                #4570

                                Liz felt someone tug at her almost transparent pink silk gown. She tried to ignore it as she worked hard to recall the young woman’s name, she had it on the tip of her tongue.

                                The tug got stronger and Liz feared that whomever was doing it they were going to tore her silk veil. She turned around, her irritation colouring her high cheekbones with a nice tint of pink and gasped.
                                “What I do with the spiders,” asked a small woman with dark skin and wearing a rainbow sari. “They’re so big big, and SOOOO hungry. They’re going to eat the guests only.”

                                Liz shook her head, seeing the curls of her newly acquired blond wig bounce about her face. She looked at the cocktail. What did Roberto said was in those? she wondered.

                                “What spiders?” she asked. The maid pointed behind Liz with her chin. When Liz looked she almost dropped her glass. A swarm of colourful giant jumping spiders were running and jumping near the swimming pool, frightening the human guests, while Roberto was riding one of them in his sparkling cowboy costume, laughing like a teenager.
                                “So?” asked the maid insistently. “What I do?”
                                Liz was confused.
                                “Why are they here?” she asked, “I don’t understand. Where’s Godfrey?”

                                “They are the daughters and sons of Narani from the giant spiders island,” said a man with a beard in a WWII uniform. A ghost dog barked silently at his feet.

                                “Of course,” Liz said. But it was too much for her and she gulped, all at once, the remaining fifteen jewels of condensed information floating in her cocktail. She shoved the glass in the maid’s hands and said: “Bring me another,” before she collapsed under the afflux of so much knowledge.

                                #3188
                                EricEric
                                Keymaster

                                  There was a lot of commotion that night.

                                  It all started a little bit before 6 PM, while the winter sun was very pale and slowly rolling behind the horizon. Jean-Pierre Duroy of the Royal Intendancy had the maids rounded up in matching uniforms to finish the cleaning of the Opera House, and ready to start to light the thousands of beeswax candles with almost military precision. This didn’t go without hiccup of course, but they did mostly well, and the Opera House was ready for the comedians before 5:55, leaving them with 5 spare minutes to catch their breath before the eighteen rings of the bell.

                                  Even a little bit before that, Nicole du Hausset who had spent the whole dreaded day in anguish about the Queen’s lost ferrets, while attending to Madame’s every whims, realized after scouring through the Palace and hearing through the grapevine of the maids’ ring of deals in stolen goods that she should slide a word to the Royal Intendant through some unofficial channels (she knew well Helper, who was a great influence on Cook, who then could talk discreetly to Annie Duroy, of the Royal Pastries and Cookies) so an investigation could be carried out without any particular mention of the ferrets. As she would realize later the morrow, not only would the ferrets be retrieved at the Opera House and the Royal Chapel, one for each location, except slightly lighter and cut open, an act that would be seen as a hidden message and possible attempt on the Good Queen’s life, and dealt with appropriately by a specially appointed Inquisitor —but also, and notwithstanding any longwindedness, that it would make little difference as the perpetrators would be nowhere to be found the next day, having vanished, it seemed, in the ensuing confusion (of which we will come to in a minute), stealing in the process the Royal Balloon and a few chouquettes from the Royal Cuisines.
                                  Her duties fulfilled, and being now on the other side of the fateful date of Jan. 5th, 1757, at 17:57 without any significant change to her reality or life, she deducted her mission as the safekeeper of the time-smuggled ferrets was by then accomplished, and she could focus on her more pressing duties.

                                  It was only 5:57 PM shy of a few more seconds, that Madame Pompadour, powdered like there was no tomorrow, would be helped by her two maids into her gorgeous John Pol Goatier designer dress, and her lambswool petticoats. She was dressed to kill, and that made her all the more suspicious in the minutes to come, but we are getting ahead of ourselves.
                                  Madame de Pompadour’s schedule for the soirée was very precise. At 6 PM, she would greet her guests, and the King back from his afternoon at the Parliament at the entrance of the Palace, so they could all head to the Royal Opera, passing through the Chapel into the brightly candelight-lit half-built building where the show would take place.
                                  There was to be a toast first, from fine champagne delivered the morning in zebra carriage (one of the Queens’ daughters idea, which had pleased enough the King that he’d booked them for an evening ride into the Gardens). She was all set, and with great dignity and carefulness, arrived at the spot a mere seconds after her Grace to great the King.

                                  At the same time, Jean-Pierre Duroy, who had not seen them as he’d passed through the Chapel the first time (ungagged but still under sleeping curse and tucked in the corner of the stained glass windows depicting the martyrdom of Christ), and as he was getting anxious at the lack of punctuality of the comedians whom he’d thought sleeping in their trailer parked nearby, was notified that the trailer had been found empty by the bellboy he had sent to remind the comedians to be ready in 10.
                                  A man of great resources, always ready with plans B to Z (he wouldn’t boast, but the zebras being one of such past plan Z, second only to an unlikely belching toad plan, the details of which we won’t get into just now), the Royal Intendant was ready to put in motion said plans, but the comedians suddenly emerged from the Chapel slightly groggy but apparently ready to take over their duties —especially the two ladies, who were bickering with the two men about being the Controllers of the Ascension. Little did all of them know at this moment that the hot air balloon was being highjacked by a team of rogue maids in cahoots with the Russian Ballet props technicians who had arrived some days before the bulk of the Russian troupe trainees.
                                  The Russian ballet dancers were indeed still stuck in the heavy snows somewhere along their trip to Versailles, so the four comedians with their balloon and tricks were technically, already a Plan B.

                                  By then, it was well into 5:59 PM, and the next minute would seem to stretch forever, but for the sake of a patient audience, we will not make it over 10.

                                  In the first half of this fatefulest minute, Casanova had arrived with Father Balbi, his travelling companion, followed by none other than St Germain, all dapper and heavily scented. A score of less important nobilities the names of which we won’t go through were also here.
                                  There were seconds enough in that first half minute, to rub cheeks and say plaisanteries and even utter a few rude witty comments with sweet tongues laced in vinegar, whatever that meant, and also enjoy the sparkling wine served at perfect chilly temperature.
                                  It was only as we entered the second half of this minute that the King arrived, padded in heavy and warm coats and looking exhausted.
                                  Seconds were spent in the same proceedings as above mentioned, if only in a slightly accelerated fashion, and slightly and almost unnoticeably higher pitched voices.

                                  That’s only when the mission bell’s sang Welcome to the Eighteenth’s Hour et ali (for naught), in loud and ringing dongs that the unthinkable happened, living all witnesses traumatized enough that nobody could think of anything to do before the third dong had elapsed.
                                  The King collapsed, a knife in his ribs. The perpetrator was caught by the guards before the end of the last dong.

                                  While the King was rushed to the RER (Royal Emergency Room), and attended to by Royal Leechers and Clyster Masters who felt it was wise to call the Royal Priest seeing that there was little blood to leech, back at the Chapel and Opera House, the maids and Jean-Pierre were in a rush to blow out the candles, as it was obvious their attention was required elsewhere, and that the show would be cancelled.
                                  Everyone would sigh in relief, but not before a few more hours of the drama, when they realized the King’s heavy padding had saved his life, and that the gapping wound everyone was dreading was no more than a pen’s prick. This would encourage Annie to admonish her children when they wouldn’t eat more of her delightful pastries.

                                  Meanwhile, using one of the last candles, the maids and their Russian lovers had lit the tub of lard of the hot air balloon, which rose slowly in the night sky, out of sight when most of the attention was directed towards the King’s fate hanging on a thread.

                                  The four actors where vaguely wondering if they were still dreaming when they saw the carriage of thousands of tinsy frogs croaking through a portal, with brightly coloured dressed lady-men inside, and driven by an unkempt man with a wild gaze and an air of sheer insanity.

                                  Of course, by then, they knew better than to discard it as a mere dream.

                                  #3135
                                  AvatarJib
                                  Participant

                                    Anna’s voice and young face trailed off as the Queen emerged from her dream. Confused for a moment, she tried to get rid off the undefinable guilt she always felt when dreaming about her late sister. You simply didn’t speak about Anna. And you couldn’t take pleasure in childish dreams.

                                    Her guilt soon transformed into a mild irritation and she frowned as she remembered the cavagnol game of the previous night. She had lost again. The amount didn’t really matter, it was more about the principle. She always lost. But she took a momentary pleasure in thinking that Jeanne-Antoinette also lost most of her bets.

                                    With a sigh, she looked at the big ornate windows. Someone had opened the heavy velvet curtains while she was still asleep, and it certainly didn’t help keep the air warm in that time of year. Nonetheless, she enjoyed seeing the sky when she woke up, even in winter time when it was still dark or like today, when the colours of dawn preceded the Sun. She couldn’t believe she had slept so long.

                                    It always was a too brief moment alone. As if summonned by magic, three maids entered the room silently, two of them holding her morning dress, that they carefully deposited on a chair, and the other holding the copper basin of fresh water for the Queen’s quick morning ablution. The maid put it on top of the sauteuse chest made of rose wood and carved beautifully. One of her daughters once told her that she swore the chest in her bedroom was alive and would jump on her bed at night to play with her.

                                    One thought leading to another, she looked at her collection of stuffed toy, unconsciously counting them and checking if they were all in order. She had two cabinets made of rose wood especially for her “friends” as she used to call them. She had begun to buy them after she almost died giving birth so long ago. At first it was just a simple gift from the King. She first thought it to be a lion, but apparently it was one of those Asian dogs. The finish was crude, it had small beady eyes and the curly tail didn’t hold very long on its bottom, but she developed a liking for it. And after a few weeks, she felt it needed a friend, so she had a lion made as a companion for her asian dog.
                                    Her ladies-in-waiting, began to bring her new ones, little dogs (she had a liking for them), zebras, fluffy cats and dwarf goats, she even had an owl and two rabbits, one white and one cerulean blue.

                                    Her eyes almost missed the twin ferrets, offered to her by Saint Germain after a gambling party. He had said they would bring her luck. She didn’t really liked them, they were scrawny and heavy, certainly weighted with lead.

                                    It was time to get up, she had her weekly Polish concert to organize. One of her small pleasures.

                                    #648
                                    AvatarJib
                                    Participant

                                      As soon as Anadron noticed the signal, he sent an energy thread to his friend Goldarny. The whole community was buzzing in the collective innernet of Asaris, the signal couldn’t have been clearer. It was one of the legendary devices sent to this world a few centuries ago. There were originally 9 of them. One had been broken or “lost”. The eight other devices had been silent for many years, and the Asarisi had thought the knowledge of these devices had been lost by the inhabitants.

                                      Among many collective threads and more private ones, Anadron and Goldarny were exchanging energy.

                                      The device had been lost for so many years that the Council had suspended the explorations to this world many years ago. Following the Salitre Massacre, their policy was if they were not contacted first they would not interfere. One of the eight remaining skulls had been almost activated for communication. Not quite yet. So they would not send anyone.

                                      Both friends were thinking the same thing. Andrimiñ was currently away in another dimension, one with many portals… could he loose his way home? They were both quite novice at these explorations and they were indeed curious, very curious.

                                      :fleuron:

                                      What was considered a green star was shining upon the land of Nerumyil, giving the purple sand of the beaches some shimmering magpie shades. Falghrus had been observing the human since one of the Daughters of the Sea had brought him here. He couldn’t see any reason for her action… The Zentauras were discrete and respectful creatures… mostly respectful of one’s position in the society, and Falghrus was not one of the few Ambassadors of his People. Interfering would have been very misplaced. All he could do was send a magpie to alert the Council, and it would decide the right thing to do.

                                      One of his first reactions would have been to kill the man. None of them was allowed in this territory. Nerumyil had been hidden to their perception long ago. If that creature of the Sea hadn’t brought him here, he could never have reached the beach on his own. He had respected his position until now, though he had tried to dissuade the man to stay longer with his mental abilities. He was one of the Gatherer, but he had a few skills that he could have developed if he had chosen the path of a Healer.

                                      But that creature again had warned him, almost breaking the rule. The man was under her protection.
                                      The beach was a neutral territory. Between the Land and the Sea, no soul should be harmed. This was usually respected between the Zentauras and the People of the Sea. The humans were not part of this rule. And Falghrus had them in particular distaste.

                                      This one seemed quite weak. He would have helped him end his suffering without the protection she had decided to accord to him so graciously. But he won’t stop his observation… he would find a way.

                                      #610

                                      All he remembered was the name “Akita”… He was not sure that it was his name, perhaps it was not, but he had taken it as his own.
                                      He’d been stranded on that island for so long he barely remembered whether he’d had a past before. In the beginning, he had taken an inventory of the passing time, but soon had discovered that days were irregularly long, and nights would sometimes last for more than one day, so that it was all pointless…
                                      The toughest part had been to live in good intelligence —he couldn’t really say harmony— with the predatory hairy nest of the daughters of Narani. But at least he’d made clear that he was able to defend himself and retaliate if needed…

                                      — Thanks to me, grunted a big dog half-focused, his head on his lap.
                                      — Yeah, mostly thanks to you, Kay

                                      Kay had appeared a few days after Akita discovered himself on that strange land. He was no common dog… In fact, Akita was wondering that it may only exist in his mind. Kay had been approaching him, more than he had tamed it, and soon Akita found out that he was no dog at all.
                                      He was, as Kay had said, an inugami or dog spirit, able to shape-shift, and willing to bond with Akita. He’s said Akita his previous owner had died, and that he would have to die with him unless being adopted by another…
                                      Akita had been reluctant at first, finding that there was something unclear, but he had agreed anyway… Better be with a faithful and powerful dog-spirit than die in the webs of the giant spiders…
                                      All he had to do was to name it. And so he named it Kay.
                                      Kay couldn’t be seen by most of the creatures in the forest, though the most sensitive could feel his presence. However, he could decide to take a more corporeal form, but that exhausted both Akira and Kay, and was rarely done. So most of the times, he was roaming the island in spirit form, which didn’t mean that he was powerless, far from it.

                                      — I can sense something’s coming, growled Kay who took the shape of a big two-legged werewolf…

                                      #594
                                      EricEric
                                      Keymaster

                                        Georges and Salome’s journal

                                        From Salome’s account of her journey to the Murtuane

                                        There is a purple beach that I have seen briefly in my third eye, with a stranded people of the Murtuane. It seems like a possible focus of Georges, named… “Jarvis” I would translate.
                                        Georges having moved to the mountainous and icy lands of the Duane, I thought it would be entertaining to discover more about this focus before telling him about it. Though it was not what I initially in mind as per an exploration, it surely has its purpose.
                                        This island has in fact the size of a continent, but being in an isolated part of the Murtuane, few are those knowing of it. It fosters some interesting creatures not found in other places of the Murtuane. Jarvis is not yet aware, but he is observed by some of them. Zentauras (these black-and-white striped centaur-like creatures) are guardians of this Island, and thus do not see the arrival of one of Jarvis’ kind as a particularly good omen. What puzzle them is that he has been rescued by one of the Daughters of the Sea.

                                        When I connect with Jarvis, he tells that he knows this land as “Kandulim”, a fabled island from which people could easily go into another world and bring back whatever is most precious to you. It always had been a legend for him until he had opened his eyes and seen the purple beach.

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