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Helix 25 — The Captain’s Awakening

The beacon’s pulse cut through the void like a sharpened arrowhead of ancient memory.

Far from Merdhyn’s remote island refuge, deep within the Hold’s bowels of Helix 25, something—someone—stirred.

Inside an unlisted cryo-chamber, the frozen stasis cracked. Veins of light slithered across the pod’s surface like Northern lights dancing on an old age screensaver. Systems whirred, data blipped and streamed in strings of unknown characters. The ship, Synthia, whispered in its infinite omniscience, but the moment was already beyond her control.

A breath. A slow, drawn-out breath.

The cryo-pod released its lock with a soft hiss, and through the dispersing mist, Veranassessee stepped forward— awakened.

She blinked once, twice, as her senses rushed back with the sudden sense of gravity’s return. It was not the disorienting shock of the newly thawed. No—this was a return long overdue. Her mind, trained to absorb and adapt, locked onto the now, cataloging every change, every discrepancy as her mind had remained awake during the whole session —equipoise and open, as a true master of her senses she was.

She was older than when she had first stepped inside. Older, but not old. Age, after all, was a trick of perception, and if anyone had mastered perception, it was her.

But now, crises called. Plural indeed. And she, once more, was called to carry out her divine duty, with skills forged in Earthly battles with mad scientists, genetically modified spiders bent on world domination, and otherworldly crystal skulls thiefs. That was far in her past. Since then, she’d used her skills in the private sector, climbing the ranks as her efficient cold-as-steel talents were recognized at every step. She was the true Captain. She had earned it. That was how Victor Holt fell in love. She hated that people could think it was depotism that gave her the title. If anything, she helped make Victor the man he was.

The ship thrummed beneath her bare feet. A subtle shift in the atmosphere. Something had changed since she last walked these halls, something was off. The ship’s course? Its command structure?

And, most importantly—
Who had sent the signal?

Ellis Marlowe Sr. had moved swiftly for a man his age. It wasn’t that he feared the unknown. It wasn’t even the mystery of the murder that pushed him forward. It was something deeper, more personal.

The moment the solar flare alert had passed, whispers had spread—faint, half-muttered rumors that the Restricted Cryo-Chambers had been breached.

By the time he reached it, the pod was already empty.

The remnants of thawing frost still clung to the edges of the chamber. A faint imprint of a body, long at rest, now gone.

He swore under his breath, then turned to the ship’s log panel,  reaching for a battered postcard. Scribbled on it were cheatcodes. His hands moved with a careful expertise of someone who had spent too many years filing things that others had forgotten. A postman he was, and registers he knew well.

Access Denied.

That wasn’t right. The codes should have given Ellis clearance for everything.

He scowled, adjusting his glasses. It was always the same names, always the same people tied to these inexplicable gaps in knowledge.

The Holts. The Forgelots. The Marlowes.
And now, an unlisted cryopod with no official records.

Ellis exhaled slowly.

She was back. And with her, more history with this ship, like pieces of old broken potteries in an old dig would be unearthed.

He turned, already making his way toward the Murder Board.

Evie needed to see this.

The corridor stretched out before her, familiar in its dimensions yet strange in its silence. She had managed to switch the awkward hospital gown to a non-descript uniform that was hanging in the Hold.

How long have I been gone?

She exhaled. Irrelevant.

Her body moved with the precise economy of someone whose training never dulled. Her every motion were simple yet calculated, and her every breath controlled.

Unlike in the crypod, her mind started to bubbled with long forgotten emotions. It flickered over past decisions, past betrayals.

Victor Holt.

The name of her ex-husband settled into her consciousness. Once her greatest ally, then her most carefully avoided adversary.

And now?

Veranassessee smiled, stretching her limbs as though shrugging off the stiffness of years.

Outside, strange cries and howling in the corridors sounded like a mess was in progress. Who was in charge now? They were clearly doing a shit job.

Now, it was time to reclaim her ship.

She had questions.
And someone had better start providing answers.

Helix 25 – The Murder Board

Evie sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped workspace, staring at the scattered notes, datapads, and threads taped to the wall. Finding some yarn on the ship had not been as easy as she thought, but it was a nice touch she thought.

The Murder Board, as Riven Holt had started calling it, was becoming an increasingly frustrating mess of unanswered questions.

Riven stood nearby, arms crossed, with a an irritated skepticism. “Almost a week,” he muttered. “We’re no closer than when we started.”

Evie exhaled sharply. “Then let’s go back to the basics.”

She tapped the board, where the crime scene was crudely sketched. The Drying Machine. Granary. Jardenery. Blood that shouldn’t exist.

She turned to Riven. “Alright, let’s list it out. Who are our suspects?”

He looked at his notes, dejected for a moment; “too many, obviously.” Last census on the ship was not accurate by far, but by all AI’s accounts cross-referenced with Finkley’s bots data, they estimated the population to be between 15,000 and 50,000. Give or take.

They couldn’t interview possibly all of them, all the more since there the interest in the murder had waned very rapidly. Apart from the occasional trio of nosy elderly ladies, the ship had returned mostly to the lull of the day-to-day routine.
So they’d focused on a few, and hoped TP’s machine brain could see patterns where they couldn’t.

1. First, the Obvious Candidates: People with Proximity to the Crime Scene
   Romualdo, the Gardener – Friendly, unassuming. He lends books, grows plants, and talks about Elizabeth Tattler novels. But Herbert visited him often. Why?
   Dr. Amara Voss – The geneticist. Her research proves the Crusader DNA link, but could she be hiding more? Despite being Evie’s godmother, she couldn’t be ruled out just yet.
   Sue Forgelot – The socialite with connections everywhere. She had eluded their request for interviews. —does she know more than she lets on?
   The Cleaning Staff – they had access everywhere. And the murder had a clean elegance to it…
2. Second, The Wild Cards: People with Unknown Agendas
   The Lower Deck Engineers – Talented mechanic, with probable cybernetic knowledge, with probable access to unauthorized modifications. Could they kill for a reason, or for hire?
   Zoya Kade and her Followers – They believe Helix 25 is on a doomed course, manipulated by a long-dead tycoon’s plan. Would they kill to force exposure of an inconvenient truth?
   The Crew – Behind the sense of duty and polite smiles, could any of them be covering something up?
3. Third, The AI Factor: Sentient or Insentient?
   Synthia, the AI – Controls the ship. Omnipresent. Can see everything, and yet… didn’t notice or report the murder. Too convenient.
   Other personal AIs – Like Trevor Pee’s programme, most had in-built mechanisms to make them incapable of lying or harming humans. But could one of their access be compromised?

Riven frowned. “And what about Herbert himself? Who was he, really? He called himself Mr. Herbert, but the cat erm… Mandrake says that wasn’t his real name. If we figure out his past, maybe we find out why he was killed.”

Evie rubbed her temples. “We also still don’t know how he was killed. The ship’s safety systems should have shut the machine down. But something altered how the system perceived him before he went in.”

She gestured to another note. “And there’s still the genetic link. What was Herbert doing with Crusader DNA?”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then TP’s voice chimed in. “Might I suggest an old detective’s trick? When stumped, return to who benefits.”

Riven exhaled. “Fine. Who benefits from Herbert’s death?”

Evie chewed the end of her stylus. “Depends. If it was personal, the killer is on this ship, and it’s someone who knew him. If it was bigger than Herbert, then we’re dealing with something… deeper.”

TP hummed. “I do hate deeper mysteries. They tend to involve conspiracies, misplaced prophecies, and far too many secret societies.”

Evie and Riven exchanged a glance.

Riven sighed. “We need a break.”

Evie scoffed. “Time means nothing here.”

Riven gestured out the window. “Then let’s go see it. The Sun.”

Helix 25 – The Sun-Gazing Chamber

The Sun-Gazing Chamber was one of Helix 25’s more poetic and yet practical inventions —an optically and digitally-enhanced projection of the Sun, positioned at the ship’s perihelion. It was meant to provide a psychological tether, a sense of humanity’s connection to the prime provider of life as they drifted in the void of the Solar System.
It was a beautifully designed setting where people would simply sit and relax, attuned to the shift of days and nights as if still on Earth. The primary setting had been voted to a massive 83.5% to be like in Hawai’i latitude and longitude, as its place was believed to be a reflection of Earth’s heart. That is was a State in the USA was a second thought of course.

Evie sat on the observation bench, staring at the massive, golden sphere suspended in the darkness. “Do you think people back on Earth are still watching the sunrise?” she murmured.

Riven was quiet for a moment. “If there’s anyone left.”

Evie frowned. “If they are, I doubt they got much of a choice.”

TP materialized beside them, adjusting his holographic tie. “Ah, the age-old existential debate: are we the lucky ones who left Earth, or the tragic fools who abandoned it?”

Evie ignored him, glancing at the other ship residents in the chamber. Most people just sat quietly, basking in the light. But she caught snippets of whispers, doubt, something spreading through the ranks.

“Some people think we’re not really where they say we are,” she muttered.

Riven raised an eyebrow. “What, like conspiracy theories?”

TP scoffed. “Oh, you mean the Flat-Earthers?” He tsked. “Who couldn’t jump on the Helix lifeboats for their lives, convinced as they were we couldn’t make it to the stars. They deserved what came to them. Next they’ll be saying Helix 25 never even launched and we’re all just trapped in a simulation of a luxury cruise.”

Evie was shocked at Trevor Pee’s eructation and rubbed her face. “Damn Musk tech, and those “Truth Control” rubbish datasets. I thought I’d thoroughly scrubbed all the old propaganda tech from the system.”

“Ah,” TP said, “but conspiracies are like mold. Persistent. Annoying. Occasionally toxic.”

Riven shook his head. “It’s nonsense. We’re moving. We’ve been moving for decades.”

Evie didn’t look convinced. “Then why do we feel stuck?”

A chime interrupted them.

A voice, over the comms. Solar flare alert. 

Evie stiffened.

Then: Stay calm and return to your quarters until further notice.

Evie raised an eyebrow. This was the first time something like that happened. She turned to Riven who was looking at his datapad who was flashing and buzzing.

He said to her: “Stay quiet and come with me, a new death has been reported. Crazy coincidence. It’s just behind the Sun-Gazing chamber actually, in the Zero-G sector.”

Cedric Spellbind:

Cedric Spellbind stood tall, though not imposing, with a wiry frame that belied his years of rigorous witch-hunting. His eyes, a piercing green, darted nervously beneath the brim of his deerstalker hat, giving him the appearance of a man constantly on edge. A seasoned agent of MAMA, he carried an air of determined resolve, despite his recent demotion to desk duty in Limerick.

With a face that seemed perpetually caught between youthful eagerness and a weariness beyond his years, Cedric was a man marked by his contradictions. His dark hair, often disheveled from restless nights, framed a face etched with the lines of a life spent in pursuit of the arcane and the elusive.

Clad in a trench coat that had seen better days, Cedric’s attire was a patchwork of practicality and the remnants of a more distinguished past. Despite his amateurish attempts at stealth and the financial strains of his profession, Cedric’s spirit remained unbroken. He was a man driven by a fascination with the unknown and a cautious curiosity, particularly when it came to the enigmatic Frigella O’Green.

Yet, beneath the veneer of a bumbling spy, there lay a heart of determination and a mind constantly strategizing, always ready to seize the next opportunity to prove his worth in the clandestine world of witch hunting.

She knew she was being followed even before her familiar started to psst her about the dark haired cloaked stranger.

Eris couldn’t pinpoint precisely what drove her to leap headfirst into the swirling vortex. Perhaps it was a misplaced sense of duty —it was certainly not the sentiment of thrill that Malové had attempted to instill. It was probably the same habit that compelled her to eat the repulsive morsels off her plate first, working her way up to the more palatable fare.

Kirottu juoma, she muttered under her breath as she forced down the bitter potion Frigella had provided, intended to counteract the disorienting effects of the displacement spells within the vortex. Their abrupt arrival in the sultry heat of Rio caught them off guard, despite the stillness of the night.

“Would go down better with a dash of brandy” Truella said, wincing. She appeared on and off, and seemed to struggle to remain focused.

“I can’t believe it! Are you actually on a bilocating spell?” Malové asked reproachfully to Truella. “I thought it was obvious I needed your undivided attention!”

“Sorry,” Truella said after a moment of absence and a burp. “Was talking to Roger at the same time.” Then catching up with the remark, she shrugged and retorted “must have missed the fine print.”

Malové remained stoic like a serene swan above water, her mad paddling never perceptible. “No time to dawdle, we have to make preparations for the gathering of essence. “Jeezel! Are you listening?”

“Yes, M’am,… I mean Grand Hexmistress.”

The other witches looked at her like she’d blurted out something out of place. Malové chose to let it pass. “Quick now, you’re the one with the sigils to find us the perfect spot to set up our equipment.”

“Yes, yes! I’m on it!” Jeezel replied, so visibly distracted that her wig went askew by a millimeter without her noticing.

“Have you forgotten proper decorum in addressing the Head Witch? What’s happening?” Frigella drew Jeezel gently by the sleeve.

Jeezel’s eyes widened in mild panic: “I think I may have forgotten to close the portal.”

The plane trip stretched on forever. Xavier had the time to rewatch a few blockbusters, and catch up on light novels – in particular a roadtrip of 3 elderly Ukrainians —a story that didn’t seem to have much to say, but did put a smile on his face.

The plane has wifi, and he could have connected to the game, but he was trying his capacity to be weaned of the adrenaline rush that came with the adventures. Glimmer and the pirate ship would have to wait. He’d put his avatar on autopilot, and usually that helped propel the plot forward without investing too much time in going through relatively mundane adventures (those were needed to provide background balance and contrast against the rush of the occasional action). He hoped Glimmer wouldn’t abuse of it, and send them both to some crazy place looking for Flove knows what.

There was the occasional temptation to catch a hold of the news and his friends, but relying on the old ways of daydreaming and imagination, he could feel they were doing fine.

He could well picture Zara off to explore in and out of the game, that much was a given. As for Youssef he should be able to catch up in Alice Springs, since he wasn’t anywhere in Sydney when he landed. He was probably squeezed right now on an economy seat in between a sweaty tourist, an annoying expat, and a chatty woman. Xavier chuckled to himself thinking of the large frame of his friend in the tiny space.
He hoped all was right with Yasmin. He hadn’t be able to connect before the flight, but she was resourceful and given her competitive spirit, there was actually a good chance she had a shortcut to be there before any of them.

Alice Springs was close by now. The plane prepared for landing.

Xavier remembered he’d have to get the black notebook that was part of the last assignment. They surely would have something like that in the duty free area.

The landing on the sandy desert of Bluhm’Oxl was smoother than usual. It usually took a few minutes to get accustomed to their surrounding, the body transformations that came together with jumping across dimensions. In this case, it looked as though this dimension was quite close to their own.

“Checking translation device…” Georges touched his ear lightly.

“Gremsbtic newkil jumbal” said Salomé in response. Georges looked quizzically at her face before realising she was pulling a classic prank.

She laughed heartily. “That joke’s never getting old, isn’t it?”

“Let’s walk a little in this direction, the rendez-vous point with Klatu isn’t too far.”

“Any idea how Jorid managed to make contact this time?” Salomé asked.

“Not sure really. Generally the quantum probability framework that’s built into the Jorid is managing to make trades across the multiverse that are quite complex to conceive or track down. Last time I tried to check, Jorid had traded one tardigrade to obtain us a couple of premium pass to the Amp’hool of Athumbra”

“Underwater Whalets’ concert from the UniverseTour of Shakara, yes that was quite a night to remember…” Salomé reminisced fondly.

“Fully booked for centuries, near impossible to get, and yet all it took was about a hundred of trades across multiple owners… No idea how it manages, but it found someone who was ready to trade their two front-row seats in exchange for a single Snoot’s hair.”

“And why are we meeting this guy by the way? What’s his specialty?” Salomé winked. “You left me with the dressing duty, so happy you did all the reconnaissance.”

Georges chucked. “all that Jorid said was: Klatu’s a relatively trustworthy Zathu, known for their expertise in dimensional magic, which is a crucial asset in your search for Léonard, presumably gone missing in the conflict-ridden Zathu sector.”

“Mmmh” said Salomé. “Dimensional magic. Rather unscientific for Jorid to express in that way. Nothing that I’ve recently dreamt about seems to relate. I guess we’ll see.”

The Grattidge Family

The first Grattidge to appear in our tree was Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) who married Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) in 1872.

Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) was their son and he married my great grandmother Nellie Fisher. Their daughter Margaret (later Peggy Edwards) was my grandmother on my fathers side.

Emma Grattidge was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs, born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs, a land carrier. William and Mary married at St Modwens church, Burton on Trent, in 1839. It’s unclear why they moved to Wolverhampton. On the 1841 census William was employed as an agent, and their first son William was nine months old. Thereafter, William was a licensed victuallar or innkeeper.

William Grattidge was born in Foston, Derbyshire in 1820. His parents were Thomas Grattidge, farmer (1779-1843) and Ann Gerrard (1789-1822) from Ellastone. Thomas and Ann married in 1813 in Ellastone. They had five children before Ann died at the age of 25:

Bessy was born in 1815, Thomas in 1818, William in 1820, and Daniel Augustus and Frederick were twins born in 1822. They were all born in Foston. (records say Foston, Foston and Scropton, or Scropton)

On the 1841 census Thomas had nine people additional to family living at the farm in Foston, presumably agricultural labourers and help.

After Ann died, Thomas had three children with Kezia Gibbs (30 years his junior) before marrying her in 1836, then had a further four with her before dying in 1843. Then Kezia married Thomas’s nephew Frederick Augustus Grattidge (born in 1816 in Stafford) in London in 1847 and had two more!

The siblings of William Grattidge (my 3x great grandfather):

Frederick Grattidge (1822-1872) was a schoolmaster and never married. He died at the age of 49 in Tamworth at his twin brother Daniels address.

Daniel Augustus Grattidge (1822-1903) was a grocer at Gungate in Tamworth.

Thomas Grattidge (1818-1871) married in Derby, and then emigrated to Illinois, USA.

Bessy Grattidge  (1815-1840) married John Buxton, farmer, in Ellastone in January 1838. They had three children before Bessy died in December 1840 at the age of 25: Henry in 1838, John in 1839, and Bessy Buxton in 1840. Bessy was baptised in January 1841. Presumably the birth of Bessy caused the death of Bessy the mother.

Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

“Sacred to the memory of Bessy Buxton, the affectionate wife of John Buxton of Stanton She departed this life December 20th 1840, aged 25 years. “Husband, Farewell my life is Past, I loved you while life did last. Think on my children for my sake, And ever of them with I take.”

20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

In the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge, farmer of Foston, he leaves fifth shares of his estate, including freehold real estate at Findern,  to his wife Kezia, and sons William, Daniel, Frederick and Thomas. He mentions that the children of his late daughter Bessy, wife of John Buxton, will be taken care of by their father.  He leaves the farm to Keziah in confidence that she will maintain, support and educate his children with her.

An excerpt from the will:

I give and bequeath unto my dear wife Keziah Grattidge all my household goods and furniture, wearing apparel and plate and plated articles, linen, books, china, glass, and other household effects whatsoever, and also all my implements of husbandry, horses, cattle, hay, corn, crops and live and dead stock whatsoever, and also all the ready money that may be about my person or in my dwelling house at the time of my decease, …I also give my said wife the tenant right and possession of the farm in my occupation….

A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

William Grattidges half siblings (the offspring of Thomas Grattidge and Kezia Gibbs):

Albert Grattidge (1842-1914) was a railway engine driver in Derby. In 1884 he was driving the train when an unfortunate accident occured outside Ambergate. Three children were blackberrying and crossed the rails in front of the train, and one little girl died.

Albert Grattidge:

George Grattidge (1826-1876) was baptised Gibbs as this was before Thomas married Kezia. He was a police inspector in Derby.

George Grattidge:

Edwin Grattidge (1837-1852) died at just 15 years old.

Ann Grattidge (1835-) married Charles Fletcher, stone mason, and lived in Derby.

Louisa Victoria Grattidge (1840-1869) was sadly another Grattidge woman who died young. Louisa married Emmanuel Brunt Cheesborough in 1860 in Derby. In 1861 Louisa and Emmanuel were living with her mother Kezia in Derby, with their two children Frederick and Ann Louisa. Emmanuel’s occupation was sawyer. (Kezia Gibbs second husband Frederick Augustus Grattidge was a timber merchant in Derby)

At the time of her death in 1869, Emmanuel was the landlord of the White Hart public house at Bridgegate in Derby.

The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

“On Wednesday morning Mr Coroner Vallack held an inquest in the Grand
Jury-room, Town-hall, on the body of Louisa Victoria Cheeseborough, aged
33, the wife of the landlord of the White Hart, Bridge-gate, who committed
suicide by poisoning at an early hour on Sunday morning. The following
evidence was taken:

Mr Frederick Borough, surgeon, practising in Derby, deposed that he was
called in to see the deceased about four o’clock on Sunday morning last. He
accordingly examined the deceased and found the body quite warm, but dead.
He afterwards made enquiries of the husband, who said that he was afraid
that his wife had taken poison, also giving him at the same time the
remains of some blue material in a cup. The aunt of the deceased’s husband
told him that she had seen Mrs Cheeseborough put down a cup in the
club-room, as though she had just taken it from her mouth. The witness took
the liquid home with him, and informed them that an inquest would
necessarily have to be held on Monday. He had made a post mortem
examination of the body, and found that in the stomach there was a great
deal of congestion. There were remains of food in the stomach and, having
put the contents into a bottle, he took the stomach away. He also examined
the heart and found it very pale and flabby. All the other organs were
comparatively healthy; the liver was friable.

Hannah Stone, aunt of the deceased’s husband, said she acted as a servant
in the house. On Saturday evening, while they were going to bed and whilst
witness was undressing, the deceased came into the room, went up to the
bedside, awoke her daughter, and whispered to her. but what she said the
witness did not know. The child jumped out of bed, but the deceased closed
the door and went away. The child followed her mother, and she also
followed them to the deceased’s bed-room, but the door being closed, they
then went to the club-room door and opening it they saw the deceased
standing with a candle in one hand. The daughter stayed with her in the
room whilst the witness went downstairs to fetch a candle for herself, and
as she was returning up again she saw the deceased put a teacup on the
table. The little girl began to scream, saying “Oh aunt, my mother is
going, but don’t let her go”. The deceased then walked into her bed-room,
and they went and stood at the door whilst the deceased undressed herself.
The daughter and the witness then returned to their bed-room. Presently
they went to see if the deceased was in bed, but she was sitting on the
floor her arms on the bedside. Her husband was sitting in a chair fast
asleep. The witness pulled her on the bed as well as she could.
Ann Louisa Cheesborough, a little girl, said that the deceased was her
mother. On Saturday evening last, about twenty minutes before eleven
o’clock, she went to bed, leaving her mother and aunt downstairs. Her aunt
came to bed as usual. By and bye, her mother came into her room – before
the aunt had retired to rest – and awoke her. She told the witness, in a
low voice, ‘that she should have all that she had got, adding that she
should also leave her her watch, as she was going to die’. She did not tell
her aunt what her mother had said, but followed her directly into the
club-room, where she saw her drink something from a cup, which she
afterwards placed on the table. Her mother then went into her own room and
shut the door. She screamed and called her father, who was downstairs. He
came up and went into her room. The witness then went to bed and fell
asleep. She did not hear any noise or quarrelling in the house after going
to bed.

Police-constable Webster was on duty in Bridge-gate on Saturday evening
last, about twenty minutes to one o’clock. He knew the White Hart
public-house in Bridge-gate, and as he was approaching that place, he heard
a woman scream as though at the back side of the house. The witness went to
the door and heard the deceased keep saying ‘Will you be quiet and go to
bed’. The reply was most disgusting, and the language which the
police-constable said was uttered by the husband of the deceased, was
immoral in the extreme. He heard the poor woman keep pressing her husband
to go to bed quietly, and eventually he saw him through the keyhole of the
door pass and go upstairs. his wife having gone up a minute or so before.
Inspector Fearn deposed that on Sunday morning last, after he had heard of
the deceased’s death from supposed poisoning, he went to Cheeseborough’s
public house, and found in the club-room two nearly empty packets of
Battie’s Lincoln Vermin Killer – each labelled poison.

Several of the Jury here intimated that they had seen some marks on the
deceased’s neck, as of blows, and expressing a desire that the surgeon
should return, and re-examine the body. This was accordingly done, after
which the following evidence was taken:

Mr Borough said that he had examined the body of the deceased and observed
a mark on the left side of the neck, which he considered had come on since
death. He thought it was the commencement of decomposition.
This was the evidence, after which the jury returned a verdict “that the
deceased took poison whilst of unsound mind” and requested the Coroner to
censure the deceased’s husband.

The Coroner told Cheeseborough that he was a disgusting brute and that the
jury only regretted that the law could not reach his brutal conduct.
However he had had a narrow escape. It was their belief that his poor
wife, who was driven to her own destruction by his brutal treatment, would
have been a living woman that day except for his cowardly conduct towards
her.

The inquiry, which had lasted a considerable time, then closed.”

 

In this article it says:

“it was the “fourth or fifth remarkable and tragical event – some of which were of the worst description – that has taken place within the last twelve years at the White Hart and in the very room in which the unfortunate Louisa Cheesborough drew her last breath.”

Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

From Tanganyika with Love

continued part 7

With thanks to Mike Rushby.

Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mbulu. 30th September 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mbulu. 25th October 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Iringa. 30th November 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 14th February 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 28th February 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 25th March 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 28th April 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 5th August 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 14th September 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 4th November 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

Eleanor.

Iringa 8th December 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 10th March 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 14th July 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 16th November 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

 

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:

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:

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:

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:

Everyone was back, safe and sound from that ghastly trip in space and time.
Rukshan hadn’t felt the exhaustion until now. It all came down upon him rather suddenly, leaving behind its trail a deafening silence.

For the longest time he’s been carried by a sense of duty, to protect the others that’d been guiding his every steps, acting through him without doubt or concern. But in the new quiet place they were for that instant, there was no direction.

Riddles still abounded, and he knew too well their appeal. Knowledge and riddles seemed to go hand in hand in a devilish dance. Lila or Masti of the divine… Or just fool’s errand, enticed by the prospect of some revelation or illumination from beyond.

There had been no revelation. The blue beams that had attracted them seemed to have come with more questions than answers. Maybe they were only baits for the naive travellers…
Even the small crystals he’d collected from the trip, glowing faintly, apparently alive with some energy felt as though they weren’t his own riddle to solve. He left the pouch on the desk with a word for Fox, along with the other small gifts he’d left for the others: some powdered colors, a rare vial of whale’s di-henna, a small all-seeing glass orb, and a magical shawl.

It was time for him to pack. He didn’t like it much, but his only calling at the moment was that of coming home. Back to the land of the Faes. The Blood Moon Eclipse was upon them, and there would be a gathering of the Sages in the forest to honor the alliances of Old. Surely their little bending of time and space wouldn’t have gone unnoticed at such auspicious moment. Better to anticipate their questions than being marked as an heretic.

And he wasn’t all too sure the Shadow has been vanquished. Its thirst for the power of the Shards was strong, beyond space and time. If it were to reappear again, the Faes skills would be necessary to help protect the other Shards holders.

“I’ll see you again my friends” he said, as he entered the center of the nine-tiled square he’s drawn onto the ground, and vanished with it.