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  • #7231
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      River Finds

      photo: Lara Maiklen, London mudlark.

       

      “a tiny window into the 18th century: a cast-off shoe, a lost halfpenny, broken pipes and smashed plates and tea bowls….”

      The Whale:
      As the muddy banks of the Thames river receded, a treasure trove of small, lost items were revealed. Among them, a cast-off shoe, a lost halfpenny, broken pipes, and smashed plates and tea bowls. It was as if a tiny window into the 18th century had been opened, offering a glimpse into the lives of those long gone. As archaeologists carefully examined each item, they pieced together a story of a bustling riverfront community, where goods were transported and traded, and daily life was filled with both hardships and small joys. The lost halfpenny spoke of a hard day’s work, the broken pipes of moments of relaxation, and the smashed plates and tea bowls of hurried meals and perhaps even some arguments. Although these items may have been considered insignificant in their time, they now offer a precious insight into a bygone era, reminding us of the rich history that lies just beneath the muddy surface of the Thames river.

      #6463

      In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Additional clues from AL (based on Xavier’s comment)

        Yasmin

        :snake:

        Yasmin was having a hard time with the heavy rains and mosquitoes in the real-world. She couldn’t seem to make a lot of progress on finding the snorting imp, which she was trying to find in the real world rather than in the game. She was feeling discouraged and unsure of what to do next.

        Suddenly, an emoji of a snake appeared on her screen. It seemed to be slithering and wriggling, as if it was trying to grab her attention. Without hesitation, Yasmin clicked on the emoji.

        She was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in tall grass and the sky was dark and stormy. She could see the snorting imp in the distance, but it was surrounded by a group of dangerous-looking snakes.

        Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re having a hard time in the real world, but don’t let that discourage you in the game. The snorting imp is nearby and it seems like the snakes are guarding it. You’ll have to be brave and quick to catch it. Remember, the snorting imp represents your determination and bravery in real life.

        🐍🔍🐗 Use your skills and abilities to navigate through the tall grass and avoid the snakes. Keep your eyes peeled for any clues or symbols that may help you in your quest. Don’t give up and remember that the snorting imp is a representation of your determination and bravery.

        A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

        Stryke_Assist is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

        Youssef

        :desert:

        Youssef has not yet been aware of the quest, since he’s been off the grid in the Gobi desert. But, interestingly, his story unfolds in real-life parallel to his quest. He’s found a strange grumpy shaman at a food booth, and it seems that his natural steps are converging back with the game. His blog website for his boss seems to take most of his attention.

        An emoji of a desert suddenly appeared on his screen. It seemed to be a barren and empty landscape, with sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Without hesitation, Youssef clicked on the emoji.

        He was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in sand and the sky was a deep orange, as if the sun was setting. He could see a mysterious figure in the distance, standing at the top of a sand dune.

        Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re in a remote location and disconnected from the game. But, your real-life experiences seem to be converging with your quest. The grumpy shaman you met at the food booth may hold the key to unlocking the next steps in the game. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

        🏜️🧭🧙‍♂️ Explore the desert and see if the grumpy shaman’s clues lead you to the next steps in the game. Keep an open mind and pay attention to any symbols or clues that may help you in your quest. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

        A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

        Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

        Zara

        :carved_tile:

        Zara looked more advanced [in her explorations – stream breaks – resume conversation]

        Zara had come across a strange and ancient looking mine. It was clear that it had been abandoned for many years, but there were still signs of activity. The entrance was blocked by a large pile of rocks, but she could see a faint light coming from within. She knew that she had to find a way in.

        As she approached the mine, she noticed a small, carved wooden tile on the ground. It was intricately detailed and seemed to depict a map of some sort. She picked it up and examined it closely. It seemed to show the layout of the mine and possibly the location of the secret room.

        With this new clue in hand, Zara set to work trying to clear the entrance. She used all of her strength to move the rocks, and after a few minutes of hard work, she was able to create an opening large enough for her to squeeze through.

        As she ventured deeper into the mine, she found herself in a large chamber. The walls were lined with strange markings and symbols, and she could see a faint light coming from a small room off to the side. She knew that this must be the secret room she had been searching for.

        Zara approached the room and pushed open the door. Inside, she found a small, dimly lit chamber. In the center of the room stood a large stone altar, and on the altar was a strange, glowing object. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but she knew that this must be the key to solving the mystery of the mine.

        With a sense of excitement and curiosity, Zara reached out to take the glowing object. As her hand touched it, she felt a strange energy coursing through her body. She knew that her quest was far from over, and that there were many more secrets to uncover in the mine.

        #6333
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          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

          Bessy Buxton

           

          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:

          1843 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:

          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:

          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:

          Louisa Cheesborough

          #6265
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued  ~ part 6

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Mchewe 6th June 1937

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            With much love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 25th June 1937

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Lots of love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 9th July 1937

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor

            Mchewe 8th October 1937

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 17th October 1937

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 18th November 1937

            My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

            Mchewe 18th November 1937

            Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

            Mchewe 12th February, 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 18th March, 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 24th March, 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 20th June 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Karatu 3rd July 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Karatu 12th July 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 19th July 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 10th August 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 20th August 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            #6264
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued  ~ part 5

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Chunya 16th December 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Much love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              With love,
              Eleanor.

              Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Chunya 29th January 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

              We should be with you in three weeks time!

              Very much love,
              Eleanor.

              Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              With love to you all,
              Eleanor.

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

              George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              #6262
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued  ~ part 3

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Very much love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                your loving but anxious,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Very much love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Lots and lots of love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Who would be a mother!
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Lots and lots of love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Your very loving,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                #2283
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Chubby fingers? Ann examined her long artistic slender fingers for the umpteenth time. What on earth was Gremwick on about?

                  OH! Suddenly it hit her. He was writing about that probable Ann that branched off years ago, that bloated old alcoholic Ann. But she was still in the dark about that reference to detergent.

                  #1061
                  AvatarJib
                  Participant

                    She had been taken to her room by a handsome young Russian after the onboard doctor, who was quite handsome too, had examined her. She had the vague impression she was turning a tad nymphomaniac. She chuckled and she stopped as soon as she realized she sounded like an old goose. No she would not loose her dignity. But she needed to release her tensions.

                    The doctor had told her she was lucky they came at that very moment, but kept quiet after that. That she was aware of, but she couldn’t get more out of him and she was too tired to use her other tricks on him.
                    Better rest a moment; she was confident she’d be kept up to date soon enough by Pavel.

                    How strongly she was despising him…
                    She didn’t know it was possible before their first encounter in Paris, years ago. :yahoo_thinking:
                    Mixed feelings filled up those memories… :yahoo_angry: :yahoo_love_struck: it was also at the same time she’d met Georges, the Dandy as he liked to be called then. What a pair of thieves they were… When was it? 1852? 1853? She wasn’t sure…

                    Her first mistake was to ask them to retrieve that stone from the antique store for her… Of course she hadn’t told them what she was looking for… she only asked them to steal everything in the shop! Still, they didn’t bring it back from the shop though she was positive the sunstone was there… they told her that was all they found; Georges seemed so sincere that she wouldn’t have thought he would double her and keep the stone… and much less use it. Soon enough… yes soon enough she realized she had been deceived.

                    Her second mistake was to offer them an arrangement… but that’s another story. She was not as wary as she was now.

                    She sighed. :yahoo_sigh:

                    Nothing interesting to steal in that room. Just raw blankets and a plain wooden chair… she wouldn’t have expected more from Pavel. Always keeping the best for himself and not quite as chivalrous as the Dandy. Pavel… How did they call him back then? She couldn’t or wouldn’t recall it… something like the Monk… the Monkey would have better suited him, she thought bitterly.

                    But now; she had no time to loose in dim memories.
                    She had to plan her escape.

                    knock knock

                    It only took her a few seconds to compose herself.

                    — Come on in.

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