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  • #6286
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Matthew Orgill and His Family

       

      Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 was the Orgill brother who went to Australia, but returned to Measham.  Matthew married Mary Orgill in Measham in October 1856, having returned from Victoria, Australia in May of that year.

      Although Matthew was the first Orgill brother to go to Australia, he was the last one I found, and that was somewhat by accident, while perusing “Orgill” and “Measham” in a newspaper archives search.  I chanced on Matthew’s obituary in the Nuneaton Observer, Friday 14 June 1907:

      LATE MATTHEW ORGILL PEACEFUL END TO A BLAMELESS LIFE.

      ‘Sunset and Evening Star And one clear call for me.”

      It is with very deep regret that we have to announce the death of Mr. Matthew Orgill, late of Measham, who passed peacefully away at his residence in Manor Court Road, Nuneaton, in the early hours of yesterday morning. Mr. Orgill, who was in his eightieth year, was a man with a striking history, and was a very fine specimen of our best English manhood. In early life be emigrated to South Africa—sailing in the “Hebrides” on 4th February. 1850—and was one of the first settlers at the Cape; afterwards he went on to Australia at the time of the Gold Rush, and ultimately came home to his native England and settled down in Measham, in Leicestershire, where he carried on a successful business for the long period of half-a-century.

      He was full of reminiscences of life in the Colonies in the early days, and an hour or two in his company was an education itself. On the occasion of the recall of Sir Harry Smith from the Governorship of Natal (for refusing to be a party to the slaying of the wives and children in connection with the Kaffir War), Mr. Orgill was appointed to superintend the arrangements for the farewell demonstration. It was one of his boasts that he made the first missionary cart used in South Africa, which is in use to this day—a monument to the character of his work; while it is an interesting fact to note that among Mr. Orgill’s papers there is the original ground-plan of the city of Durban before a single house was built.

      In Africa Mr. Orgill came in contact with the great missionary, David Livingstone, and between the two men there was a striking resemblance in character and a deep and lasting friendship. Mr. Orgill could give a most graphic description of the wreck of the “Birkenhead,” having been in the vicinity at the time when the ill-fated vessel went down. He played a most prominent part on the occasion of the famous wreck of the emigrant ship, “Minerva.” when, in conjunction with some half-a-dozen others, and at the eminent risk of their own lives, they rescued more than 100 of the unfortunate passengers. He was afterwards presented with an interesting relic as a memento of that thrilling experience, being a copper bolt from the vessel on which was inscribed the following words: “Relic of the ship Minerva, wrecked off Bluff Point, Port Natal. 8.A.. about 2 a.m.. Friday, July 5, 1850.”

      Mr. Orgill was followed to the Colonies by no fewer than six of his brothers, all of whom did well, and one of whom married a niece (brother’s daughter) of the late Mr. William Ewart Gladstone.

      On settling down in Measham his kindly and considerate disposition soon won for him a unique place in the hearts of all the people, by whom he was greatly beloved. He was a man of sterling worth and integrity. Upright and honourable in all his dealings, he led a Christian life that was a pattern to all with whom he came in contact, and of him it could truly he said that he wore the white flower of a blameless life.

      He was a member of the Baptist Church, and although beyond much active service since settling down in Nuneaton less than two years ago he leaves behind him a record in Christian service attained by few. In politics he was a Radical of the old school. A great reader, he studied all the questions of the day, and could back up every belief he held by sound and fearless argument. The South African – war was a great grief to him. He knew the Boers from personal experience, and although he suffered at the time of the war for his outspoken condemnation, he had the satisfaction of living to see the people of England fully recognising their awful blunder. To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before; suffice it to say that it was strenuous, interesting, and eventful, and yet all through his hands remained unspotted and his heart was pure.

      He is survived by three daughters, and was father-in-law to Mr. J. S. Massey. St Kilda. Manor Court Road, to whom deep and loving sympathy is extended in their sore bereavement by a wide circle of friends. The funeral is arranged to leave for Measham on Monday at twelve noon.

       

      “To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before…”

      I had another look in the newspaper archives and found a number of articles mentioning him, including an intriguing excerpt in an article about local history published in the Burton Observer and Chronicle 8 August 1963:

      on an upstairs window pane he scratched with his diamond ring “Matthew Orgill, 1st July, 1858”

      Matthew Orgill window

      Matthew orgill window 2

       

      I asked on a Measham facebook group if anyone knew the location of the house mentioned in the article and someone kindly responded. This is the same building, seen from either side:

      Measham Wharf

       

      Coincidentally, I had already found this wonderful photograph of the same building, taken in 1910 ~ three years after Matthew’s death.

      Old Measham wharf

       

      But what to make of the inscription in the window?

      Matthew and Mary married in October 1856, and their first child (according to the records I’d found thus far) was a daughter Mary born in 1860.  I had a look for a Matthew Orgill birth registered in 1858, the date Matthew had etched on the window, and found a death for a Matthew Orgill in 1859.  Assuming I would find the birth of Matthew Orgill registered on the first of July 1958, to match the etching in the window, the corresponding birth was in July 1857!

      Matthew and Mary had four children. Matthew, Mary, Clara and Hannah.  Hannah Proudman Orgill married Joseph Stanton Massey.  The Orgill name continues with their son Stanley Orgill Massey 1900-1979, who was a doctor and surgeon.  Two of Stanley’s four sons were doctors, Paul Mackintosh Orgill Massey 1929-2009, and Michael Joseph Orgill Massey 1932-1989.

       

      Mary Orgill 1827-1894, Matthews wife, was an Orgill too.

      And this is where the Orgill branch of the tree gets complicated.

      Mary’s father was Henry Orgill born in 1805 and her mother was Hannah Proudman born in 1805.
      Henry Orgill’s father was Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and his mother was Frances Finch born in 1771.

      Mary’s husband Matthews parents are Matthew Orgill born in 1798 and Elizabeth Orgill born in 1803.

      Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

      Matthews parents,  Matthew and Elizabeth, have the same grandparents as each other, Matthew Orgill born in 1736 and Ann Proudman born in 1735.

      But Matthews grandparents are none other than Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and Frances Finch born in 1771 ~ the same grandparents as his wife Mary!

      #6281
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The Measham Thatchers

        Orgills, Finches and Wards

        Measham is a large village in north west Leicestershire, England, near the Derbyshire, Staffordshire and Warwickshire boundaries. Our family has a penchant for border straddling, and the Orgill’s of Measham take this a step further living on the boundaries of four counties.  Historically it was in an exclave of Derbyshire absorbed into Leicestershire in 1897, so once again we have two sets of county records to search.

        ORGILL

        Richard Gretton, the baker of Swadlincote and my great grandmother Florence Nightingale Grettons’ father, married Sarah Orgill (1840-1910) in 1861.

        (Incidentally, Florence Nightingale Warren nee Gretton’s first child Hildred born in 1900 had the middle name Orgill. Florence’s brother John Orgill Gretton emigrated to USA.)

        When they first married, they lived with Sarah’s widowed mother Elizabeth in Measham.  Elizabeth Orgill is listed on the 1861 census as a farmer of two acres.

        Sarah Orgill’s father Matthew Orgill (1798-1859) was a thatcher, as was his father Matthew Orgill (1771-1852).

        Matthew Orgill the elder left his property to his son Henry:

        Matthew Orgills will

         

        Sarah’s mother Elizabeth (1803-1876) was also an Orgill before her marriage to Matthew.

        According to Pigot & Co’s Commercial Directory for Derbyshire, in Measham in 1835 Elizabeth Orgill was a straw bonnet maker, an ideal occupation for a thatchers wife.

        Matthew Orgill, thatcher, is listed in White’s directory in 1857, and other Orgill’s are mentioned in Measham:

        Mary Orgill, straw hat maker; Henry Orgill, grocer; Daniel Orgill, painter; another Matthew Orgill is a coal merchant and wheelwright. Likewise a number of Orgill’s are listed in the directories for Measham in the subsequent years, as farmers, plumbers, painters, grocers, thatchers, wheelwrights, coal merchants and straw bonnet makers.

         

        Matthew and Elizabeth Orgill, Measham Baptist church:

        Orgill grave

         

        According to a history of thatching, for every six or seven thatchers appearing in the 1851 census there are now less than one.  Another interesting fact in the history of thatched roofs (via thatchinginfo dot com):

        The Watling Street Divide…
        The biggest dividing line of all, that between the angular thatching of the Northern and Eastern traditions and the rounded Southern style, still roughly follows a very ancient line; the northern section of the old Roman road of Watling Street, the modern A5. Seemingly of little significance today; this was once the border between two peoples. Agreed in the peace treaty, between the Saxon King Alfred and Guthrum, the Danish Viking leader; over eleven centuries ago.
        After making their peace, various Viking armies settled down, to the north and east of the old road; firstly, in what was known as The Danelaw and later in Norse kingdoms, based in York. They quickly formed a class of farmers and peasants. Although the Saxon kings soon regained this area; these people stayed put. Their influence is still seen, for example, in the widespread use of boarded gable ends, so common in Danish thatching.
        Over time, the Southern and Northern traditions have slipped across the old road, by a few miles either way. But even today, travelling across the old highway will often bring the differing thatching traditions quickly into view.

        Pear Tree Cottage, Bosworth Road, Measham. 1900.  Matthew Orgill was a thatcher living on Bosworth road.

        Bosworth road

         

        FINCH

        Matthew the elder married Frances Finch 1771-1848, also of Measham.  On the 1851 census Matthew is an 80 year old thatcher living with his daughter Mary and her husband Samuel Piner, a coal miner.

        Henry Finch 1743- and Mary Dennis 1749- , both of Measham, were Frances parents.  Henry’s father was also Henry Finch, born in 1707 in Measham, and he married Frances Ward, also born in 1707, and also from Measham.

        WARD

         

        The ancient boundary between the kingdom of Mercia and the Danelaw

        I didn’t find much information on the history of Measham, but I did find a great deal of ancient history on the nearby village of Appleby Magna, two miles away.  The parish records indicate that the Ward and Finch branches of our family date back to the 1500’s in the village, and we can assume that the ancient history of the neighbouring village would be relevant to our history.

        There is evidence of human settlement in Appleby from the early Neolithic period, 6,000 years ago, and there are also Iron Age and Bronze Age sites in the vicinity.  There is evidence of further activity within the village during the Roman period, including evidence of a villa or farm and a temple.  Appleby is near three known Roman roads: Watling Street, 10 miles south of the village; Bath Lane, 5 miles north of the village; and Salt Street, which forms the parish’s south boundary.

        But it is the Scandinavian invasions that are particularly intriguing, with regard to my 58% Scandinavian DNA (and virtually 100% Midlands England ancestry). Repton is 13 miles from Measham. In the early 10th century Chilcote, Measham and Willesley were part of the royal Derbyshire estate of Repton.

        The arrival of Scandinavian invaders in the second half of the ninth century caused widespread havoc throughout northern England. By the AD 870s the Danish army was occupying Mercia and it spent the winter of 873-74 at Repton, the headquarters of the Mercian kings. The events are recorded in detail in the Peterborough manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles…

        Although the Danes held power for only 40 years, a strong, even subversive, Danish element remained in the population for many years to come. 

        A Scandinavian influence may also be detected among the field names of the parish. Although many fields have relatively modern names, some clearly have elements which reach back to the time of Danish incursion and control.

        The Borders:

        The name ‘aeppel byg’ is given in the will of Wulfic Spot of AD 1004……………..The decision at Domesday to include this land in Derbyshire, as one of Burton Abbey’s Derbyshire manors, resulted in the division of the village of Appleby Magna between the counties of Leicester and Derby for the next 800 years

        Richard Dunmore’s Appleby Magma website.

        This division of Appleby between Leicestershire and Derbyshire persisted from Domesday until 1897, when the recently created county councils (1889) simplified the administration of many villages in this area by a radical realignment of the boundary:

        Appleby

         

        I would appear that our family not only straddle county borders, but straddle ancient kingdom borders as well.  This particular branch of the family (we assume, given the absence of written records that far back) were living on the edge of the Danelaw and a strong element of the Danes survives to this day in my DNA.

         

        #6280

        I started reading a book. In fact I started reading it three weeks ago, and have read the first page of the preface every night and fallen asleep. But my neck aches from doing too much gardening so I went back to bed to read this morning. I still fell asleep six times but at least I finished the preface. It’s the story of the family , initiated by the family collection of netsuke (whatever that is. Tiny Japanese carvings) But this is what stopped me reading and made me think (and then fall asleep each time I re read it)

        “And I’m not entitled to nostalgia about all that lost wealth and glamour from a century ago. And I am not interested in thin. I want to know what the relationship has been between this wooden object that I am rolling between my fingers – hard and tricky and Japanese – and where it has been. I want to be able to reach to the handle of the door and turn it and feel it open. I want to walk into each room where this object has lived, to feel the volume of the space, to know what pictures were on the walls, how the light fell from the windows. And I want to know whose hands it has been in, and what they felt about it and thought about it – if they thought about it. I want to know what it has witnessed.” ― Edmund de Waal, The Hare With Amber Eyes: A Family’s Century of Art and Loss

        And I felt almost bereft that none of the records tell me which way the light fell in through the windows.

        I know who lived in the house in which years, but I don’t know who sat in the sun streaming through the window and which painting upon the wall they looked at and what the material was that covered the chair they sat on.

        Were his clothes confortable (or hers, likely not), did he have an old favourite pair of trousers that his mother hated?

        There is one house in particular that I keep coming back to. Like I got on the Housley train at Smalley and I can’t get off. Kidsley Grange Farm, they turned it into a nursing home and built extensions, and now it’s for sale for five hundred thousand pounds. But is the ghost still under the back stairs? Is there still a stain somewhere when a carafe of port was dropped?

        Did Anns writing desk survive? Does someone have that, polished, with a vase of spring tulips on it? (on a mat of course so it doesn’t make a ring, despite that there are layers of beeswaxed rings already)

        Does the desk remember the letters, the weight of a forearm or elbow, perhaps a smeared teardrop, or a comsumptive cough stain?

        Is there perhaps a folded bit of paper or card that propped an uneven leg that fell through the floorboards that might tear into little squares if you found it and opened it, and would it be a rough draft of a letter never sent, or just a receipt for five head of cattle the summer before?

        Did he hate the curtain material, or not even think of it? Did he love the house, or want to get away to see something new ~ or both?

        Did he have a favourite cup, a favourite food, did he hate liver or cabbage?

        Did he like his image when the photograph came from the studio or did he think it made his nose look big or his hair too thin, or did he wish he’d worn his other waistcoat?

        Did he love his wife so much he couldn’t bear to see her dying, was it neglect or was it the unbearableness of it all that made him go away and drink?

        Did the sun slanting in through the dormer window of his tiny attic room where he lodged remind him of ~ well no perhaps he was never in the room in daylight hours at all. Work all day and pub all night, keeping busy working hard and drinking hard and perhaps laughing hard, and maybe he only thought of it all on Sunday mornings.

        So many deaths, one after another, his father, his wife, his brother, his sister, and another and another, all the coughing, all the debility. Perhaps he never understood why he lived and they did not, what kind of justice was there in that?

        Did he take a souvenir or two with him, a handkerchief or a shawl perhaps, tucked away at the bottom of a battered leather bag that had his 3 shirts and 2 waistcoats in and a spare cap,something embroidered perhaps.

        The quote in that book started me off with the light coming in the window and the need to know the simplest things, something nobody ever wrote in a letter, maybe never even mentioned to anyone.

        Light coming in windows. I remeber when I was a teenager I had a day off sick and spent the whole day laying on the couch in a big window with the winter sun on my face all day, and I read Bonjour Tristesse in one sitting, and I’ll never forget that afternoon.  I don’t remember much about that book, but I remember being transported. But at the same time as being present in that sunny window.

        “Stories and objects share something, a patina…Perhaps patina is a process of rubbing back so that the essential is revealed…But it also seems additive, in the way that a piece of oak furniture gains over years and years of polishing.”

        “How objects are handed on is all about story-telling. I am giving you this because I love you. Or because it was given to me. Because I bought it somewhere special. Because you will care for it. Because it will complicate your life. Because it will make someone else envious. There is no easy story in legacy. What is remembered and what is forgotten? There can be a chain of forgetting, the rubbing away of previous ownership as much as the slow accretion of stories. What is being passed on to me with all these small Japanese objects?”

        “There are things in this world that the children hear, but whose sounds oscillate below an adult’s sense of pitch.”

        What did the children hear?

        #6271
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Housley Letters

          FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

          from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

           

          George apparently asked about old friends and acquaintances and the family did their best to answer although Joseph wrote in 1873: “There is very few of your old cronies that I know of knocking about.”

          In Anne’s first letter she wrote about a conversation which Robert had with EMMA LYON before his death and added “It (his death) was a great trouble to Lyons.” In her second letter Anne wrote: “Emma Lyon is to be married September 5. I am going the Friday before if all is well. There is every prospect of her being comfortable. MRS. L. always asks after you.” In 1855 Emma wrote: “Emma Lyon now Mrs. Woolhouse has got a fine boy and a pretty fuss is made with him. They call him ALFRED LYON WOOLHOUSE.”

          (Interesting to note that Elizabeth Housley, the eldest daughter of Samuel and Elizabeth, was living with a Lyon family in Derby in 1861, after she left Belper workhouse.  The Emma listed on the census in 1861 was 10 years old, and so can not be the Emma Lyon mentioned here, but it’s possible, indeed likely, that Peter Lyon the baker was related to the Lyon’s who were friends of the Housley’s.  The mention of a sea captain in the Lyon family begs the question did Elizabeth Housley meet her husband, George William Stafford, a seaman, through some Lyon connections, but to date this remains a mystery.)

          Elizabeth Housley living with Peter Lyon and family in Derby St Peters in 1861:

          Lyon 1861 census

           

          A Henrietta Lyon was married in 1860. Her father was Matthew, a Navy Captain. The 1857 Derby Directory listed a Richard Woolhouse, plumber, glazier, and gas fitter on St. Peter’s Street. Robert lived in St. Peter’s parish at the time of his death. An Alfred Lyon, son of Alfred and Jemima Lyon 93 Friargate, Derby was baptised on December 4, 1877. An Allen Hewley Lyon, born February 1, 1879 was baptised June 17 1879.

           

          Anne wrote in August 1854: “KERRY was married three weeks since to ELIZABETH EATON. He has left Smith some time.” Perhaps this was the same person referred to by Joseph: “BILL KERRY, the blacksmith for DANIEL SMITH, is working for John Fletcher lace manufacturer.” According to the 1841 census, Elizabeth age 12, was the oldest daughter of Thomas and Rebecca Eaton. She would certainly have been of marriagable age in 1854. A William Kerry, age 14, was listed as a blacksmith’s apprentice in the 1851 census; but another William Kerry who was 29 in 1851 was already working for Daniel Smith as a blacksmith. REBECCA EATON was listed in the 1851 census as a widow serving as a nurse in the John Housley household. The 1881 census lists the family of William Kerry, blacksmith, as Jane, 19; William 13; Anne, 7; and Joseph, 4. Elizabeth is not mentioned but Bill is not listed as a widower.

          Anne also wrote in 1854 that she had not seen or heard anything of DICK HANSON for two years. Joseph wrote that he did not know Old BETTY HANSON’S son. A Richard Hanson, age 24 in 1851, lived with a family named Moore. His occupation was listed as “journeyman knitter.” An Elizabeth Hanson listed as 24 in 1851 could hardly be “Old Betty.” Emma wrote in June 1856 that JOE OLDKNOW age 27 had married Mrs. Gribble’s servant age 17.

          Anne wrote that “JOHN SPENCER had not been since father died.” The only John Spencer in Smalley in 1841 was four years old. He would have been 11 at the time of William Housley’s death. Certainly, the two could have been friends, but perhaps young John was named for his grandfather who was a crony of William’s living in a locality not included in the Smalley census.

          TAILOR ALLEN had lost his wife and was still living in the old house in 1872. JACK WHITE had died very suddenly, and DR. BODEN had died also. Dr. Boden’s first name was Robert. He was 53 in 1851, and was probably the Robert, son of Richard and Jane, who was christened in Morely in 1797. By 1861, he had married Catherine, a native of Smalley, who was at least 14 years his junior–18 according to the 1871 census!

          Among the family’s dearest friends were JOSEPH AND ELIZABETH DAVY, who were married some time after 1841. Mrs. Davy was born in 1812 and her husband in 1805. In 1841, the Kidsley Park farm household included DANIEL SMITH 72, Elizabeth 29 and 5 year old Hannah Smith. In 1851, Mr. Davy’s brother William and 10 year old Emma Davy were visiting from London. Joseph reported the death of both Davy brothers in 1872; Joseph apparently died first.

          Mrs. Davy’s father, was a well known Quaker. In 1856, Emma wrote: “Mr. Smith is very hearty and looks much the same.” He died in December 1863 at the age of 94. George Fox, the founder of the Quakers visited Kidsley Park in 1650 and 1654.

          Mr. Davy died in 1863, but in 1854 Anne wrote how ill he had been for two years. “For two last winters we never thought he would live. He is now able to go out a little on the pony.” In March 1856, his wife wrote, “My husband is in poor health and fell.” Later in 1856, Emma wrote, “Mr. Davy is living which is a great wonder. Mrs. Davy is very delicate but as good a friend as ever.”

          In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

          Davy Death

           

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

          Mrs. Davy later remarried. Her new husband was W.T. BARBER. The 1861 census lists William Barber, 35, Bachelor of Arts, Cambridge, living with his 82 year old widowed mother on an 135 acre farm with three servants. One of these may have been the Ann who, according to Joseph, married Jack Oldknow. By 1871 the farm, now occupied by William, 47 and Elizabeth, 57, had grown to 189 acres. Meanwhile, Kidsley Park Farm became the home of the Housleys’ cousin Selina Carrington and her husband Walker Martin. Both Barbers were still living in 1881.

          Mrs. Davy was described in Kerry’s History of Smalley as “an accomplished and exemplary lady.” A piece of her poetry “Farewell to Kidsley Park” was published in the history. It was probably written when Elizabeth moved to the Barber farm. Emma sent one of her poems to George. It was supposed to be about their house. “We have sent you a piece of poetry that Mrs. Davy composed about our ‘Old House.’ I am sure you will like it though you may not understand all the allusions she makes use of as well as we do.”

          Kiddsley Park Farm, Smalley, in 1898.  (note that the Housley’s lived at Kiddsley Grange Farm, and the Davy’s at neighbouring Kiddsley Park Farm)

          Kiddsley Park Farm

           

          Emma was not sure if George wanted to hear the local gossip (“I don’t know whether such little particulars will interest you”), but shared it anyway. In November 1855: “We have let the house to Mr. Gribble. I dare say you know who he married, Matilda Else. They came from Lincoln here in March. Mrs. Gribble gets drunk nearly every day and there are such goings on it is really shameful. So you may be sure we have not very pleasant neighbors but we have very little to do with them.”

          John Else and his wife Hannah and their children John and Harriet (who were born in Smalley) lived in Tag Hill in 1851. With them lived a granddaughter Matilda Gribble age 3 who was born in Lincoln. A Matilda, daughter of John and Hannah, was christened in 1815. (A Sam Else died when he fell down the steps of a bar in 1855.)

          #6269
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Housley Letters 

            From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

             

            William Housley (1781-1848) and Ellen Carrington were married on May 30, 1814 at St. Oswald’s church in Ashbourne. William died in 1848 at the age of 67 of “disease of lungs and general debility”. Ellen died in 1872.

            Marriage of William Housley and Ellen Carrington in Ashbourne in 1814:

            William and Ellen Marriage

             

            Parish records show three children for William and his first wife, Mary, Ellens’ sister, who were married December 29, 1806: Mary Ann, christened in 1808 and mentioned frequently in the letters; Elizabeth, christened in 1810, but never mentioned in any letters; and William, born in 1812, probably referred to as Will in the letters. Mary died in 1813.

            William and Ellen had ten children: John, Samuel, Edward, Anne, Charles, George, Joseph, Robert, Emma, and Joseph. The first Joseph died at the age of four, and the last son was also named Joseph. Anne never married, Charles emigrated to Australia in 1851, and George to USA, also in 1851. The letters are to George, from his sisters and brothers in England.

            The following are excerpts of those letters, including excerpts of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on Historic Letters”. They are grouped according to who they refer to, rather than chronological order.

             

            ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

            Ellen’s family was evidently rather prominant in Smalley. Two Carringtons (John and William) served on the Parish Council in 1794. Parish records are full of Carrington marriages and christenings; census records confirm many of the family groupings.

            In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “Mother looks as well as ever and was told by a lady the other day that she looked handsome.” Later she wrote: “Mother is as stout as ever although she sometimes complains of not being able to do as she used to.”

             

            Mary’s children:

            MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

            There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”

            Mary Ann was unlucky in love! In Anne’s second letter she wrote: “William Carrington is paying Mary Ann great attention. He is living in London but they write to each other….We expect it will be a match.” Apparantly the courtship was stormy for in 1855, Emma wrote: “Mary Ann’s wedding with William Carrington has dropped through after she had prepared everything, dresses and all for the occassion.” Then in 1856, Emma wrote: “William Carrington and Mary Ann are separated. They wore him out with their nonsense.” Whether they ever married is unclear. Joseph wrote in 1872: “Mary Ann was married but her husband has left her. She is in very poor health. She has one daughter and they are living with their mother at Smalley.”

            Regarding William Carrington, Emma supplied this bit of news: “His sister, Mrs. Lily, has eloped with a married man. Is she not a nice person!”

             

            WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

            According to a letter from Anne, Will’s two sons and daughter were sent to learn dancing so they would be “fit for any society.” Will’s wife was Dorothy Palfry. They were married in Denby on October 20, 1836 when Will was 24. According to the 1851 census, Will and Dorothy had three sons: Alfred 14, Edwin 12, and William 10. All three boys were born in Denby.

            In his letter of May 30, 1872, after just bemoaning that all of his brothers and sisters are gone except Sam and John, Joseph added: “Will is living still.” In another 1872 letter Joseph wrote, “Will is living at Heanor yet and carrying on his cattle dealing.” The 1871 census listed Will, 59, and his son William, 30, of Lascoe Road, Heanor, as cattle dealers.

             

            Ellen’s children:

            JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

            John married Sarah Baggally in Morely in 1838. They had at least six children. Elizabeth (born 2 May 1838) was “out service” in 1854. In her “third year out,” Elizabeth was described by Anne as “a very nice steady girl but quite a woman in appearance.” One of her positions was with a Mrs. Frearson in Heanor. Emma wrote in 1856: “Elizabeth is still at Mrs. Frearson. She is such a fine stout girl you would not know her.” Joseph wrote in 1872 that Elizabeth was in service with Mrs. Eliza Sitwell at Derby. (About 1850, Miss Eliza Wilmot-Sitwell provided for a small porch with a handsome Norman doorway at the west end of the St. John the Baptist parish church in Smalley.)

            According to Elizabeth’s birth certificate and the 1841 census, John was a butcher. By 1851, the household included a nurse and a servant, and John was listed as a “victular.” Anne wrote in February 1854, “John has left the Public House a year and a half ago. He is living where Plumbs (Ann Plumb witnessed William’s death certificate with her mark) did and Thomas Allen has the land. He has been working at James Eley’s all winter.” In 1861, Ellen lived with John and Sarah and the three boys.

            John sold his share in the inheritance from their mother and disappeared after her death. (He died in Doncaster, Yorkshire, in 1893.) At that time Charles, the youngest would have been 21. Indeed, Joseph wrote in July 1872: “John’s children are all grown up”.

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

            In February 1874 Joseph wrote: “You want to know what made John go away. Well, I will give you one reason. I think I told you that when his wife died he persuaded me to leave Derby and come to live with him. Well so we did and dear Harriet to keep his house. Well he insulted my wife and offered things to her that was not proper and my dear wife had the power to resist his unmanly conduct. I did not think he could of served me such a dirty trick so that is one thing dear brother. He could not look me in the face when we met. Then after we left him he got a woman in the house and I suppose they lived as man and wife. She caught the small pox and died and there he was by himself like some wild man. Well dear brother I could not go to him again after he had served me and mine as he had and I believe he was greatly in debt too so that he sold his share out of the property and when he received the money at Belper he went away and has never been seen by any of us since but I have heard of him being at Sheffield enquiring for Sam Caldwell. You will remember him. He worked in the Nag’s Head yard but I have heard nothing no more of him.”

            A mention of a John Housley of Heanor in the Nottinghma Journal 1875.  I don’t know for sure if the John mentioned here is the brother John who Joseph describes above as behaving improperly to his wife. John Housley had a son Joseph, born in 1840, and John’s wife Sarah died in 1870.

            John Housley

             

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

             

            SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

            Sam married Elizabeth Brookes of Sutton Coldfield, and they had three daughters: Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine.  Elizabeth his wife died in 1849, a few months after Samuel’s father William died in 1848. The particular circumstances relating to these individuals have been discussed in previous chapters; the following are letter excerpts relating to them.

            Death of William Housley 15 Dec 1848, and Elizabeth Housley 5 April 1849, Smalley:

            Housley Deaths

             

            Joseph wrote in December 1872: “I saw one of Sam’s daughters, the youngest Kate, you would remember her a baby I dare say. She is very comfortably married.”

            In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:  “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that….His daughter and her husband went to Brimingham and also to Sutton Coldfield that is where he married his wife from and found out his wife’s brother. It appears he has been there and at Birmingham ever since he went away but ever fond of drink.”

            (Sam, however, was still alive in 1871, living as a lodger at the George and Dragon Inn, Henley in Arden. And no trace of Sam has been found since. It would appear that Sam did not want to be found.)

             

            EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

            Edward died before George left for USA in 1851, and as such there is no mention of him in the letters.

             

            ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

            Anne wrote two letters to her brother George between February 1854 and her death in 1856. Apparently she suffered from a lung disease for she wrote: “I can say you will be surprised I am still living and better but still cough and spit a deal. Can do nothing but sit and sew.” According to the 1851 census, Anne, then 29, was a seamstress. Their friend, Mrs. Davy, wrote in March 1856: “This I send in a box to my Brother….The pincushion cover and pen wiper are Anne’s work–are for thy wife. She would have made it up had she been able.” Anne was not living at home at the time of the 1841 census. She would have been 19 or 20 and perhaps was “out service.”

            In her second letter Anne wrote: “It is a great trouble now for me to write…as the body weakens so does the mind often. I have been very weak all summer. That I continue is a wonder to all and to spit so much although much better than when you left home.” She also wrote: “You know I had a desire for America years ago. Were I in health and strength, it would be the land of my adoption.”

            In November 1855, Emma wrote, “Anne has been very ill all summer and has not been able to write or do anything.” Their neighbor Mrs. Davy wrote on March 21, 1856: “I fear Anne will not be long without a change.” In a black-edged letter the following June, Emma wrote: “I need not tell you how happy she was and how calmly and peacefully she died. She only kept in bed two days.”

            Certainly Anne was a woman of deep faith and strong religious convictions. When she wrote that they were hoping to hear of Charles’ success on the gold fields she added: “But I would rather hear of him having sought and found the Pearl of great price than all the gold Australia can produce, (For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?).” Then she asked George: “I should like to learn how it was you were first led to seek pardon and a savior. I do feel truly rejoiced to hear you have been led to seek and find this Pearl through the workings of the Holy Spirit and I do pray that He who has begun this good work in each of us may fulfill it and carry it on even unto the end and I can never doubt the willingness of Jesus who laid down his life for us. He who said whoever that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.”

            Anne’s will was probated October 14, 1856. Mr. William Davy of Kidsley Park appeared for the family. Her estate was valued at under £20. Emma was to receive fancy needlework, a four post bedstead, feather bed and bedding, a mahogany chest of drawers, plates, linen and china. Emma was also to receive Anne’s writing desk. There was a condition that Ellen would have use of these items until her death.

            The money that Anne was to receive from her grandfather, William Carrington, and her father, William Housley was to be distributed one third to Joseph, one third to Emma, and one third to be divided between her four neices: John’s daughter Elizabeth, 18, and Sam’s daughters Elizabeth, 10, Mary Ann, 9 and Catharine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

            The Carrington Farm:

            Carringtons Farm

             

            CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

            Charles and George were probably quite close friends. Anne wrote in 1854: “Charles inquired very particularly in both his letters after you.”

            According to Anne, Charles and a friend married two sisters. He and his father-in-law had a farm where they had 130 cows and 60 pigs. Whatever the trade he learned in England, he never worked at it once he reached Australia. While it does not seem that Charles went to Australia because gold had been discovered there, he was soon caught up in “gold fever”. Anne wrote: “I dare say you have heard of the immense gold fields of Australia discovered about the time he went. Thousands have since then emigrated to Australia, both high and low. Such accounts we heard in the papers of people amassing fortunes we could not believe. I asked him when I wrote if it was true. He said this was no exaggeration for people were making their fortune daily and he intended going to the diggings in six weeks for he could stay away no longer so that we are hoping to hear of his success if he is alive.”

            In March 1856, Mrs. Davy wrote: “I am sorry to tell thee they have had a letter from Charles’s wife giving account of Charles’s death of 6 months consumption at the Victoria diggings. He has left 2 children a boy and a girl William and Ellen.” In June of the same year in a black edged letter, Emma wrote: “I think Mrs. Davy mentioned Charles’s death in her note. His wife wrote to us. They have two children Helen and William. Poor dear little things. How much I should like to see them all. She writes very affectionately.”

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

             

            GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

            George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

            George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. In her first letter (February 1854), Anne wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

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

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

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

            In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….”.  The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.
            On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

             

            ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

            In 1854, Anne wrote: “Poor Robert. He died in August after you left he broke a blood vessel in the lung.”
            From Joseph’s first letter we learn that Robert was 19 when he died: “Dear brother there have been a great many changes in the family since you left us. All is gone except myself and John and Sam–we have heard nothing of him since he left. Robert died first when he was 19 years of age. Then Anne and Charles too died in Australia and then a number of years elapsed before anyone else. Then John lost his wife, then Emma, and last poor dear mother died last January on the 11th.”

            Anne described Robert’s death in this way: “He had thrown up blood many times before in the spring but the last attack weakened him that he only lived a fortnight after. He died at Derby. Mother was with him. Although he suffered much he never uttered a murmur or regret and always a smile on his face for everyone that saw him. He will be regretted by all that knew him”.

            Robert died a resident of St. Peter’s Parish, Derby, but was buried in Smalley on August 16, 1851.
            Apparently Robert was apprenticed to be a joiner for, according to Anne, Joseph took his place: “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after and is there still.”

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

             

            EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

            Emma was not mentioned in Anne’s first letter. In the second, Anne wrote that Emma was living at Spondon with two ladies in her “third situation,” and added, “She is grown a bouncing woman.” Anne described her sister well. Emma wrote in her first letter (November 12, 1855): “I must tell you that I am just 21 and we had my pudding last Sunday. I wish I could send you a piece.”

            From Emma’s letters we learn that she was living in Derby from May until November 1855 with Mr. Haywood, an iron merchant. She explained, “He has failed and I have been obliged to leave,” adding, “I expect going to a new situation very soon. It is at Belper.” In 1851 records, William Haywood, age 22, was listed as an iron foundry worker. In the 1857 Derby Directory, James and George were listed as iron and brass founders and ironmongers with an address at 9 Market Place, Derby.

            In June 1856, Emma wrote from “The Cedars, Ashbourne Road” where she was working for Mr. Handysides.
            While she was working for Mr. Handysides, Emma wrote: “Mother is thinking of coming to live at Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I.”

            Friargate and Ashbourne Road were located in St. Werburgh’s Parish. (In fact, St. Werburgh’s vicarage was at 185 Surrey Street. This clue led to the discovery of the record of Emma’s marriage on May 6, 1858, to Edwin Welch Harvey, son of Samuel Harvey in St. Werburgh’s.)

            In 1872, Joseph wrote: “Our sister Emma, she died at Derby at her own home for she was married. She has left two young children behind. The husband was the son of the man that I went apprentice to and has caused a great deal of trouble to our family and I believe hastened poor Mother’s death….”.   Joseph added that he believed Emma’s “complaint” was consumption and that she was sick a good bit. Joseph wrote: “Mother was living with John when I came home (from Ascension Island around 1867? or to Smalley from Derby around 1870?) for when Emma was married she broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby did not agree with her so she had to leave it again but left all her things there.”

            Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

            Emma Housley wedding

             

            JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

            We first hear of Joseph in a letter from Anne to George in 1854. “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after (probably 1851) and is there still. He is grown as tall as you I think quite a man.” Emma concurred in her first letter: “He is quite a man in his appearance and quite as tall as you.”

            From Emma we learn in 1855: “Joseph has left Mr. Harvey. He had not work to employ him. So mother thought he had better leave his indenture and be at liberty at once than wait for Harvey to be a bankrupt. He has got a very good place of work now and is very steady.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote “Joseph and I intend to have our portraits taken for you when you come over….Mother is thinking of coming to Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I. Joseph is very hearty I am happy to say.”

            According to Joseph’s letters, he was married to Harriet Ballard. Joseph described their miraculous reunion in this way: “I must tell you that I have been abroad myself to the Island of Ascension. (Elsewhere he wrote that he was on the island when the American civil war broke out). I went as a Royal Marine and worked at my trade and saved a bit of money–enough to buy my discharge and enough to get married with but while I was out on the island who should I meet with there but my dear wife’s sister. (On two occasions Joseph and Harriet sent George the name and address of Harriet’s sister, Mrs. Brooks, in Susquehanna Depot, Pennsylvania, but it is not clear whether this was the same sister.) She was lady’s maid to the captain’s wife. Though I had never seen her before we got to know each other somehow so from that me and my wife recommenced our correspondence and you may be sure I wanted to get home to her. But as soon as I did get home that is to England I was not long before I was married and I have not regretted yet for we are very comfortable as well as circumstances will allow for I am only a journeyman joiner.”

            Proudly, Joseph wrote: “My little family consists of three nice children–John, Joseph and Susy Annie.” On her birth certificate, Susy Ann’s birthdate is listed as 1871. Parish records list a Lucy Annie christened in 1873. The boys were born in Derby, John in 1868 and Joseph in 1869. In his second letter, Joseph repeated: “I have got three nice children, a good wife and I often think is more than I have deserved.” On August 6, 1873, Joseph and Harriet wrote: “We both thank you dear sister for the pieces of money you sent for the children. I don’t know as I have ever see any before.” Joseph ended another letter: “Now I must close with our kindest love to you all and kisses from the children.”

            In Harriet’s letter to Sarah Ann (March 19, 1873), she promised: “I will send you myself and as soon as the weather gets warm as I can take the children to Derby, I will have them taken and send them, but it is too cold yet for we have had a very cold winter and a great deal of rain.” At this time, the children were all under 6 and the baby was not yet two.

            In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “I have been working down at Heanor gate there is a joiner shop there where Kings used to live I have been working there this winter and part of last summer but the wages is very low but it is near home that is one comfort.” (Heanor Gate is about 1/4 mile from Kidsley Grange. There was a school and industrial park there in 1988.) At this time Joseph and his family were living in “the big house–in Old Betty Hanson’s house.” The address in the 1871 census was Smalley Lane.

            A glimpse into Joseph’s personality is revealed by this remark to George in an 1872 letter: “Many thanks for your portrait and will send ours when we can get them taken for I never had but one taken and that was in my old clothes and dear Harriet is not willing to part with that. I tell her she ought to be satisfied with the original.”

            On one occasion Joseph and Harriet both sent seeds. (Marks are still visible on the paper.) Joseph sent “the best cow cabbage seed in the country–Robinson Champion,” and Harriet sent red cabbage–Shaw’s Improved Red. Possibly cow cabbage was also known as ox cabbage: “I hope you will have some good cabbages for the Ox cabbage takes all the prizes here. I suppose you will be taking the prizes out there with them.” Joseph wrote that he would put the name of the seeds by each “but I should think that will not matter. You will tell the difference when they come up.”

            George apparently would have liked Joseph to come to him as early as 1854. Anne wrote: “As to his coming to you that must be left for the present.” In 1872, Joseph wrote: “I have been thinking of making a move from here for some time before I heard from you for it is living from hand to mouth and never certain of a job long either.” Joseph then made plans to come to the United States in the spring of 1873. “For I intend all being well leaving England in the spring. Many thanks for your kind offer but I hope we shall be able to get a comfortable place before we have been out long.” Joseph promised to bring some things George wanted and asked: “What sort of things would be the best to bring out there for I don’t want to bring a lot that is useless.” Joseph’s plans are confirmed in a letter from the solicitor May 23, 1874: “I trust you are prospering and in good health. Joseph seems desirous of coming out to you when this is settled.”

            George must have been reminiscing about gooseberries (Heanor has an annual gooseberry show–one was held July 28, 1872) and Joseph promised to bring cuttings when they came: “Dear Brother, I could not get the gooseberries for they was all gathered when I received your letter but we shall be able to get some seed out the first chance and I shall try to bring some cuttings out along.” In the same letter that he sent the cabbage seeds Joseph wrote: “I have got some gooseberries drying this year for you. They are very fine ones but I have only four as yet but I was promised some more when they were ripe.” In another letter Joseph sent gooseberry seeds and wrote their names: Victoria, Gharibaldi and Globe.

            In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”

            On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

            George did not save any letters from Joseph after 1874, hopefully he did reach him at Little Eaton. Joseph and his family are not listed in either Little Eaton or Derby on the 1881 census.

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

            Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

            Joseph Housley

            #6268
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued part 9

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbeya 1st November 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #6267
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 8

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Morogoro 20th January 1941

                Dearest Family,

                It is all arranged for us to go on three months leave to Cape Town next month so
                get out your flags. How I shall love showing off Kate and John to you and this time
                George will be with us and you’ll be able to get to know him properly. You can’t think
                what a comfort it will be to leave all the worries of baggage and tipping to him. We will all
                be travelling by ship to Durban and from there to Cape Town by train. I rather dread the
                journey because there is a fifth little Rushby on the way and, as always, I am very
                queasy.

                Kate has become such a little companion to me that I dread the thought of leaving
                her behind with you to start schooling. I miss Ann and George so much now and must
                face separation from Kate as well. There does not seem to be any alternative though.
                There is a boarding school in Arusha and another has recently been started in Mbeya,
                but both places are so far away and I know she would be very unhappy as a boarder at
                this stage. Living happily with you and attending a day school might wean her of her
                dependance upon me. As soon as this wretched war ends we mean to get Ann and
                George back home and Kate too and they can then all go to boarding school together.
                If I were a more methodical person I would try to teach Kate myself, but being a
                muddler I will have my hands full with Johnny and the new baby. Life passes pleasantly
                but quietly here. Much of my time is taken up with entertaining the children and sewing
                for them and just waiting for George to come home.

                George works so hard on these safaris and this endless elephant hunting to
                protect native crops entails so much foot safari, that he has lost a good deal of weight. it
                is more than ten years since he had a holiday so he is greatly looking forward to this one.
                Four whole months together!

                I should like to keep the ayah, Janet, for the new baby, but she says she wants
                to return to her home in the Southern Highlands Province and take a job there. She is
                unusually efficient and so clean, and the houseboy and cook are quite scared of her. She
                bawls at them if the children’s meals are served a few minutes late but she is always
                respectful towards me and practically creeps around on tiptoe when George is home.
                She has a room next to the outside kitchen. One night thieves broke into the kitchen and
                stole a few things, also a canvas chair and mat from the verandah. Ayah heard them, and
                grabbing a bit of firewood, she gave chase. Her shouts so alarmed the thieves that they
                ran off up the hill jettisoning their loot as they ran. She is a great character.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 30th July 1941

                Dearest Family,

                Safely back in Morogoro after a rather grim voyage from Durban. Our ship was
                completely blacked out at night and we had to sleep with warm clothing and life belts
                handy and had so many tedious boat drills. It was a nuisance being held up for a whole
                month in Durban, because I was so very pregnant when we did embark. In fact George
                suggested that I had better hide in the ‘Ladies’ until the ship sailed for fear the Captain
                might refuse to take me. It seems that the ship, on which we were originally booked to
                travel, was torpedoed somewhere off the Cape.

                We have been given a very large house this tour with a mosquito netted
                sleeping porch which will be fine for the new baby. The only disadvantage is that the
                house is on the very edge of the residential part of Morogoro and Johnny will have to
                go quite a distance to find playmates.

                I still miss Kate terribly. She is a loving little person. I had prepared for a scene
                when we said good-bye but I never expected that she would be the comforter. It
                nearly broke my heart when she put her arms around me and said, “I’m so sorry
                Mummy, please don’t cry. I’ll be good. Please don’t cry.” I’m afraid it was all very
                harrowing for you also. It is a great comfort to hear that she has settled down so happily.
                I try not to think consciously of my absent children and remind myself that there are
                thousands of mothers in the same boat, but they are always there at the back of my
                mind.

                Mother writes that Ann and George are perfectly happy and well, and that though
                German bombers do fly over fairly frequently, they are unlikely to drop their bombs on
                a small place like Jacksdale.

                George has already left on safari to the Rufiji. There was no replacement for his
                job while he was away so he is anxious to get things moving again. Johnny and I are
                going to move in with friends until he returns, just in case all the travelling around brings
                the new baby on earlier than expected.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th August 1941

                Dearest Family,

                Our new son, James Caleb. was born at 3.30 pm yesterday afternoon, with a
                minimum of fuss, in the hospital here. The Doctor was out so my friend, Sister Murray,
                delivered the baby. The Sister is a Scots girl, very efficient and calm and encouraging,
                and an ideal person to have around at such a time.

                Everything, this time, went without a hitch and I feel fine and proud of my
                bouncing son. He weighs nine pounds and ten ounces and is a big boned fellow with
                dark hair and unusually strongly marked eyebrows. His eyes are strong too and already
                seem to focus. George is delighted with him and brought Hugh Nelson to see him this
                morning. Hugh took one look, and, astonished I suppose by the baby’s apparent
                awareness, said, “Gosh, this one has been here before.” The baby’s cot is beside my
                bed so I can admire him as much as I please. He has large strong hands and George
                reckons he’ll make a good boxer some day.

                Another of my early visitors was Mabemba, George’s orderly. He is a very big
                African and looks impressive in his Game Scouts uniform. George met him years ago at
                Mahenge when he was a young elephant hunter and Mabemba was an Askari in the
                Police. Mabemba takes quite a proprietary interest in the family.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 25th December 1941

                Dearest Family,

                Christmas Day today, but not a gay one. I have Johnny in bed with a poisoned
                leg so he missed the children’s party at the Club. To make things a little festive I have
                put up a little Christmas tree in the children’s room and have hung up streamers and
                balloons above the beds. Johnny demands a lot of attention so it is fortunate that little
                James is such a very good baby. He sleeps all night until 6 am when his feed is due.
                One morning last week I got up as usual to feed him but I felt so dopey that I
                thought I’d better have a cold wash first. I went into the bathroom and had a hurried
                splash and then grabbed a towel to dry my face. Immediately I felt an agonising pain in
                my nose. Reason? There was a scorpion in the towel! In no time at all my nose looked
                like a pear and felt burning hot. The baby screamed with frustration whilst I feverishly
                bathed my nose and applied this and that in an effort to cool it.

                For three days my nose was very red and tender,”A real boozer nose”, said
                George. But now, thank goodness, it is back to normal.

                Some of the younger marrieds and a couple of bachelors came around,
                complete with portable harmonium, to sing carols in the early hours. No sooner had we
                settled down again to woo sleep when we were disturbed by shouts and screams from
                our nearest neighbour’s house. “Just celebrating Christmas”, grunted George, but we
                heard this morning that the neighbour had fallen down his verandah steps and broken his
                leg.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                Dearest Family,

                Well now we are eight! Our new son, Henry, was born on the night of the 28th.
                He is a beautiful baby, weighing ten pounds three and a half ounces. This baby is very
                well developed, handsome, and rather superior looking, and not at all amusing to look at
                as the other boys were.George was born with a moustache, John had a large nose and
                looked like a little old man, and Jim, bless his heart, looked rather like a baby
                chimpanzee. Henry is different. One of my visitors said, “Heaven he’ll have to be a
                Bishop!” I expect the lawn sleeves of his nightie really gave her that idea, but the baby
                does look like ‘Someone’. He is very good and George, John, and Jim are delighted
                with him, so is Mabemba.

                We have a dear little nurse looking after us. She is very petite and childish
                looking. When the baby was born and she brought him for me to see, the nurse asked
                his name. I said jokingly, “His name is Benjamin – the last of the family.” She is now very
                peeved to discover that his real name is Henry William and persists in calling him
                ‘Benjie’.I am longing to get home and into my pleasant rut. I have been away for two
                whole weeks and George is managing so well that I shall feel quite expendable if I don’t
                get home soon. As our home is a couple of miles from the hospital, I arranged to move
                in and stay with the nursing sister on the day the baby was due. There I remained for ten
                whole days before the baby was born. Each afternoon George came and took me for a
                ride in the bumpy Bedford lorry and the Doctor tried this and that but the baby refused
                to be hurried.

                On the tenth day I had the offer of a lift and decided to go home for tea and
                surprise George. It was a surprise too, because George was entertaining a young
                Game Ranger for tea and my arrival, looking like a perambulating big top, must have
                been rather embarrassing.Henry was born at the exact moment that celebrations started
                in the Township for the end of the Muslim religious festival of Ramadan. As the Doctor
                held him up by his ankles, there was the sound of hooters and firecrackers from the town.
                The baby has a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon above his left eyebrow.

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th January 1944

                Dearest Family,

                We have just heard that we are to be transferred to the Headquarters of the
                Game Department at a place called Lyamungu in the Northern Province. George is not
                at all pleased because he feels that the new job will entail a good deal of office work and
                that his beloved but endless elephant hunting will be considerably curtailed. I am glad of
                that and I am looking forward to seeing a new part of Tanganyika and particularly
                Kilimanjaro which dominates Lyamungu.

                Thank goodness our menagerie is now much smaller. We found a home for the
                guinea pigs last December and Susie, our mischievous guinea-fowl, has flown off to find
                a mate.Last week I went down to Dar es Salaam for a check up by Doctor John, a
                woman doctor, leaving George to cope with the three boys. I was away two nights and
                a day and returned early in the morning just as George was giving Henry his six o’clock
                bottle. It always amazes me that so very masculine a man can do my chores with no
                effort and I have a horrible suspicion that he does them better than I do. I enjoyed the
                short break at the coast very much. I stayed with friends and we bathed in the warm sea
                and saw a good film.

                Now I suppose there will be a round of farewell parties. People in this country
                are most kind and hospitable.

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                Dearest Family,

                We left Morogoro after the round of farewell parties I had anticipated. The final
                one was at the Club on Saturday night. George made a most amusing speech and the
                party was a very pleasant occasion though I was rather tired after all the packing.
                Several friends gathered to wave us off on Monday morning. We had two lorries
                loaded with our goods. I rode in the cab of the first one with Henry on my knee. George
                with John and Jim rode in the second one. As there was no room for them in the cab,
                they sat on our couch which was placed across the width of the lorry behind the cab. This
                seat was not as comfortable as it sounds, because the space behind the couch was
                taken up with packing cases which were not lashed in place and these kept moving
                forward as the lorry bumped its way over the bad road.

                Soon there was hardly any leg room and George had constantly to stand up and
                push the second layer of packing cases back to prevent them from toppling over onto
                the children and himself. As it is now the rainy season the road was very muddy and
                treacherous and the lorries travelled so slowly it was dark by the time we reached
                Karogwe from where we were booked to take the train next morning to Moshi.
                Next morning we heard that there had been a washaway on the line and that the
                train would be delayed for at least twelve hours. I was not feeling well and certainly did
                not enjoy my day. Early in the afternoon Jimmy ran into a wall and blackened both his
                eyes. What a child! As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and when at last the train
                did arrive I simply crawled into my bunk whilst George coped nobly with the luggage
                and the children.

                We arrived at Moshi at breakfast time and went straight to the Lion Cub Hotel
                where I took to my bed with a high temperature. It was, of course, malaria. I always have
                my attacks at the most inopportune times. Fortunately George ran into some friends
                called Eccles and the wife Mollie came to my room and bathed Henry and prepared his
                bottle and fed him. George looked after John and Jim. Next day I felt much better and
                we drove out to Lyamungu the day after. There we had tea with the Game Warden and
                his wife before moving into our new home nearby.

                The Game Warden is Captain Monty Moore VC. He came out to Africa
                originally as an Officer in the King’s African Rifles and liked the country so much he left the
                Army and joined the Game Department. He was stationed at Banagi in the Serengetti
                Game Reserve and is well known for his work with the lions there. He particularly tamed
                some of the lions by feeding them so that they would come out into the open and could
                readily be photographed by tourists. His wife Audrey, has written a book about their
                experiences at Banagi. It is called “Serengetti”

                Our cook, Hamisi, soon had a meal ready for us and we all went to bed early.
                This is a very pleasant house and I know we will be happy here. I still feel a little shaky
                but that is the result of all the quinine I have taken. I expect I shall feel fine in a day or two.

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                Dearest Family,

                Well, here we are settled comfortably in our very nice house. The house is
                modern and roomy, and there is a large enclosed verandah, which will be a Godsend in
                the wet weather as a playroom for the children. The only drawback is that there are so
                many windows to be curtained and cleaned. The grounds consist of a very large lawn
                and a few beds of roses and shrubs. It is an ideal garden for children, unlike our steeply
                terraced garden at Morogoro.

                Lyamungu is really the Government Coffee Research Station. It is about sixteen
                miles from the town of Moshi which is the centre of the Tanganyika coffee growing
                industry. Lyamungu, which means ‘place of God’ is in the foothills of Mt Kilimanjaro and
                we have a beautiful view of Kilimanjaro. Kibo, the more spectacular of the two mountain
                peaks, towers above us, looking from this angle, like a giant frosted plum pudding. Often the mountain is veiled by cloud and mist which sometimes comes down to
                our level so that visibility is practically nil. George dislikes both mist and mountain but I
                like both and so does John. He in fact saw Kibo before I did. On our first day here, the
                peak was completely hidden by cloud. In the late afternoon when the children were
                playing on the lawn outside I was indoors hanging curtains. I heard John call out, “Oh
                Mummy, isn’t it beautiful!” I ran outside and there, above a scarf of cloud, I saw the
                showy dome of Kibo with the setting sun shining on it tingeing the snow pink. It was an
                unforgettable experience.

                As this is the rainy season, the surrounding country side is very lush and green.
                Everywhere one sees the rich green of the coffee plantations and the lighter green of
                the banana groves. Unfortunately our walks are rather circumscribed. Except for the main road to Moshi, there is nowhere to walk except through the Government coffee
                plantation. Paddy, our dog, thinks life is pretty boring as there is no bush here and
                nothing to hunt. There are only half a dozen European families here and half of those are
                on very distant terms with the other half which makes the station a rather uncomfortable
                one.

                The coffee expert who runs this station is annoyed because his European staff
                has been cut down owing to the war, and three of the vacant houses and some office
                buildings have been taken over temporarily by the Game Department. Another house
                has been taken over by the head of the Labour Department. However I don’t suppose
                the ill feeling will effect us much. We are so used to living in the bush that we are not
                socially inclined any way.

                Our cook, Hamisi, came with us from Morogoro but I had to engage a new
                houseboy and kitchenboy. I first engaged a houseboy who produced a wonderful ‘chit’
                in which his previous employer describes him as his “friend and confidant”. I felt rather
                dubious about engaging him and how right I was. On his second day with us I produced
                some of Henry’s napkins, previously rinsed by me, and asked this boy to wash them.
                He looked most offended and told me that it was beneath his dignity to do women’s
                work. We parted immediately with mutual relief.

                Now I have a good natured fellow named Japhet who, though hard on crockery,
                is prepared to do anything and loves playing with the children. He is a local boy, a
                member of the Chagga tribe. These Chagga are most intelligent and, on the whole, well
                to do as they all have their own small coffee shambas. Japhet tells me that his son is at
                the Uganda University College studying medicine.The kitchen boy is a tall youth called
                Tovelo, who helps both Hamisi, the cook, and the houseboy and also keeps an eye on
                Henry when I am sewing. I still make all the children’s clothes and my own. Life is
                pleasant but dull. George promises that he will take the whole family on safari when
                Henry is a little older.

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                Dearest Family,

                Life drifts quietly by at Lyamungu with each day much like the one before – or
                they would be, except that the children provide the sort of excitement that prohibits
                boredom. Of the three boys our Jim is the best at this. Last week Jim wandered into the
                coffee plantation beside our house and chewed some newly spayed berries. Result?
                A high temperature and nasty, bloody diarrhoea, so we had to rush him to the hospital at
                Moshi for treatment. however he was well again next day and George went off on safari.
                That night there was another crisis. As the nights are now very cold, at this high
                altitude, we have a large fire lit in the living room and the boy leaves a pile of logs
                beside the hearth so that I can replenish the fire when necessary. Well that night I took
                Henry off to bed, leaving John and Jim playing in the living room. When their bedtime
                came, I called them without leaving the bedroom. When I had tucked John and Jim into
                bed, I sat reading a bedtime story as I always do. Suddenly I saw smoke drifting
                through the door, and heard a frightening rumbling noise. Japhet rushed in to say that the
                lounge chimney was on fire! Picture me, panic on the inside and sweet smile on the
                outside, as I picked Henry up and said to the other two, “There’s nothing to be
                frightened about chaps, but get up and come outside for a bit.” Stupid of me to be so
                heroic because John and Jim were not at all scared but only too delighted at the chance
                of rushing about outside in the dark. The fire to them was just a bit of extra fun.

                We hurried out to find one boy already on the roof and the other passing up a
                brimming bucket of water. Other boys appeared from nowhere and soon cascades of
                water were pouring down the chimney. The result was a mountain of smouldering soot
                on the hearth and a pool of black water on the living room floor. However the fire was out
                and no serious harm done because all the floors here are cement and another stain on
                the old rug will hardly be noticed. As the children reluctantly returned to bed John
                remarked smugly, “I told Jim not to put all the wood on the fire at once but he wouldn’t
                listen.” I might have guessed!

                However it was not Jim but John who gave me the worst turn of all this week. As
                a treat I decided to take the boys to the river for a picnic tea. The river is not far from our
                house but we had never been there before so I took the kitchen boy, Tovelo, to show
                us the way. The path is on the level until one is in sight of the river when the bank slopes
                steeply down. I decided that it was too steep for the pram so I stopped to lift Henry out
                and carry him. When I looked around I saw John running down the slope towards the
                river. The stream is not wide but flows swiftly and I had no idea how deep it was. All I
                knew was that it was a trout stream. I called for John, “Stop, wait for me!” but he ran on
                and made for a rude pole bridge which spanned the river. He started to cross and then,
                to my horror, I saw John slip. There was a splash and he disappeared under the water. I
                just dumped the baby on the ground, screamed to the boy to mind him and ran madly
                down the slope to the river. Suddenly I saw John’s tight fitting felt hat emerge, then his
                eyes and nose. I dashed into the water and found, to my intense relief, that it only
                reached up to my shoulders but, thank heaven no further. John’s steady eyes watched
                me trustingly as I approached him and carried him safely to the bank. He had been
                standing on a rock and had not panicked at all though he had to stand up very straight
                and tall to keep his nose out of water. I was too proud of him to scold him for
                disobedience and too wet anyway.

                I made John undress and put on two spare pullovers and wrapped Henry’s
                baby blanket round his waist like a sarong. We made a small fire over which I crouched
                with literally chattering teeth whilst Tovelo ran home to fetch a coat for me and dry clothes
                for John.

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                Dearest Family,

                We have a new bull terrier bitch pup whom we have named Fanny III . So once
                more we have a menagerie , the two dogs, two cats Susie and Winnie, and
                some pet hens who live in the garage and are a real nuisance.

                As John is nearly six I thought it time that he started lessons and wrote off to Dar
                es Salaam for the correspondence course. We have had one week of lessons and I am
                already in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. John is a most reluctant scholar.
                “Why should I learn to read, when you can read to me?” he asks, and “Anyway why
                should I read such stupid stuff, ‘Run Rover Run’, and ‘Mother play with baby’ . Who
                wants to read about things like that? I don’t.”

                He rather likes sums, but the only subject about which he is enthusiastic is
                prehistoric history. He laps up information about ‘The Tree Dwellers’, though he is very
                sceptical about the existence of such people. “God couldn’t be so silly to make people
                so stupid. Fancy living in trees when it is easy to make huts like the natives.” ‘The Tree
                Dwellers is a highly imaginative story about a revolting female called Sharptooth and her
                offspring called Bodo. I have a very clear mental image of Sharptooth, so it came as a
                shock to me and highly amused George when John looked at me reflectively across the
                tea table and said, “Mummy I expect Sharptooth looked like you. You have a sharp
                tooth too!” I have, my eye teeth are rather sharp, but I hope the resemblance stops
                there.

                John has an uncomfortably logical mind for a small boy. The other day he was
                lying on the lawn staring up at the clouds when he suddenly muttered “I don’t believe it.”
                “Believe what?” I asked. “That Jesus is coming on a cloud one day. How can he? The
                thick ones always stay high up. What’s he going to do, jump down with a parachute?”
                Tovelo, my kitchen boy, announced one evening that his grandmother was in the
                kitchen and wished to see me. She was a handsome and sensible Chagga woman who
                brought sad news. Her little granddaughter had stumbled backwards into a large cooking
                pot of almost boiling maize meal porridge and was ‘ngongwa sana’ (very ill). I grabbed
                a large bottle of Picric Acid and a packet of gauze which we keep for these emergencies
                and went with her, through coffee shambas and banana groves to her daughter’s house.
                Inside the very neat thatched hut the mother sat with the naked child lying face
                downwards on her knee. The child’s buttocks and the back of her legs were covered in
                huge burst blisters from which a watery pus dripped. It appeared that the accident had
                happened on the previous day.

                I could see that it was absolutely necessary to clean up the damaged area, and I
                suddenly remembered that there was a trained African hospital dresser on the station. I
                sent the father to fetch him and whilst the dresser cleaned off the sloughed skin with
                forceps and swabs saturated in Picric Acid, I cut the gauze into small squares which I
                soaked in the lotion and laid on the cleaned area. I thought the small pieces would be
                easier to change especially as the whole of the most tender parts, front and back, were
                badly scalded. The child seemed dazed and neither the dresser nor I thought she would
                live. I gave her half an aspirin and left three more half tablets to be given four hourly.
                Next day she seemed much brighter. I poured more lotion on the gauze
                disturbing as few pieces as possible and again the next day and the next. After a week
                the skin was healing well and the child eating normally. I am sure she will be all right now.
                The new skin is a brilliant red and very shiny but it is pale round the edges of the burnt
                area and will I hope later turn brown. The mother never uttered a word of thanks, but the
                granny is grateful and today brought the children a bunch of bananas.

                Eleanor.

                c/o Game Dept. P.O.Moshi. 29th September 1944

                Dearest Mummy,

                I am so glad that you so enjoyed my last letter with the description of our very
                interesting and enjoyable safari through Masailand. You said you would like an even
                fuller description of it to pass around amongst the relations, so, to please you, I have
                written it out in detail and enclose the result.

                We have spent a quiet week after our exertions and all are well here.

                Very much love,
                Eleanor.

                Safari in Masailand

                George and I were at tea with our three little boys on the front lawn of our house
                in Lyamungu, Northern Tanganyika. It was John’s sixth birthday and he and Jim, a
                happy sturdy three year old, and Henry, aged eleven months, were munching the
                squares of plain chocolate which rounded off the party, when George said casually
                across the table to me, “Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow to go on
                safari?” “Me too?” enquired John anxiously, before I had time to reply, and “Me too?”
                echoed Jim. “yes, of course I can”, said I to George and “of course you’re coming too”,
                to the children who rate a day spent in the bush higher than any other pleasure.
                So in the early morning two days later, we started out happily for Masailand in a
                three ton Ford lorry loaded to capacity with the five Rushbys, the safari paraphernalia,
                drums of petrol and quite a retinue of servants and Game Scouts. George travelling
                alone on his monthly safaris, takes only the cook and a couple of Game Scouts, but this was to be a safari de luxe.

                Henry and I shared the cab with George who was driving, whilst John and Jim
                with the faithful orderly Mabemba beside them to point out the game animals, were
                installed upon rolls of bedding in the body of the lorry. The lorry lumbered along, first
                through coffee shambas, and then along the main road between Moshi and Arusha.
                After half an hour or so, we turned South off the road into a track which crossed the
                Sanya Plains and is the beginning of this part of Masailand. Though the dry season was
                at its height, and the pasture dry and course, we were soon passing small groups of
                game. This area is a Game Sanctuary and the antelope grazed quietly quite undisturbed
                by the passing lorry. Here and there zebra stood bunched by the road, a few wild
                ostriches stalked jerkily by, and in the distance some wildebeest cavorted around in their
                crazy way.

                Soon the grasslands gave way to thorn bush, and we saw six fantastically tall
                giraffe standing motionless with their heads turned enquiringly towards us. George
                stopped the lorry so the children could have a good view of them. John was enchanted
                but Jim, alas, was asleep.

                At mid day we reached the Kikoletwa River and turned aside to camp. Beside
                the river, under huge leafy trees, there was a beautiful camping spot, but the river was
                deep and reputed to be full of crocodiles so we passed it by and made our camp
                some distance from the river under a tall thorn tree with a flat lacy canopy. All around the
                camp lay uprooted trees of similar size that had been pushed over by elephants. As
                soon as the lorry stopped a camp chair was set up for me and the Game Scouts quickly
                slashed down grass and cleared the camp site of thorns. The same boys then pitched the tent whilst George himself set up the three camp beds and the folding cot for Henry,
                and set up the safari table and the canvas wash bowl and bath.

                The cook in the meantime had cleared a cool spot for the kitchen , opened up the
                chop boxes and started a fire. The cook’s boy and the dhobi (laundry boy) brought
                water from the rather muddy river and tea was served followed shortly afterward by an
                excellent lunch. In a very short time the camp had a suprisingly homely look. Nappies
                fluttered from a clothes line, Henry slept peacefully in his cot, John and Jim sprawled on
                one bed looking at comics, and I dozed comfortably on another.

                George, with the Game Scouts, drove off in the lorry about his work. As a Game
                Ranger it is his business to be on a constant look out for poachers, both African and
                European, and for disease in game which might infect the valuable herds of Masai cattle.
                The lorry did not return until dusk by which time the children had bathed enthusiastically in
                the canvas bath and were ready for supper and bed. George backed the lorry at right
                angles to the tent, Henry’s cot and two camp beds were set up in the lorry, the tarpaulin
                was lashed down and the children put to bed in their novel nursery.

                When darkness fell a large fire was lit in front of the camp, the exited children at
                last fell asleep and George and I sat on by the fire enjoying the cool and quiet night.
                When the fire subsided into a bed of glowing coals, it was time for our bed. During the
                night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches and strange indescribable
                noises.” Just elephant”, said George comfortably and instantly fell asleep once more. I
                didn’t! We rose with the birds next morning, but breakfast was ready and in a
                remarkably short time the lorry had been reloaded and we were once more on our way.
                For about half a mile we made our own track across the plain and then we turned
                into the earth road once more. Soon we had reached the river and were looking with
                dismay at the suspension bridge which we had to cross. At the far side, one steel
                hawser was missing and there the bridge tilted dangerously. There was no handrail but
                only heavy wooden posts which marked the extremities of the bridge. WhenGeorge
                measured the distance between the posts he found that there could be barely two
                inches to spare on either side of the cumbersome lorry.

                He decided to risk crossing, but the children and I and all the servants were told to
                cross the bridge and go down the track out of sight. The Game Scouts remained on the
                river bank on the far side of the bridge and stood ready for emergencies. As I walked
                along anxiously listening, I was horrified to hear the lorry come to a stop on the bridge.
                There was a loud creaking noise and I instantly visualised the lorry slowly toppling over
                into the deep crocodile infested river. The engine restarted, the lorry crossed the bridge
                and came slowly into sight around the bend. My heart slid back into its normal position.
                George was as imperturbable as ever and simply remarked that it had been a near
                thing and that we would return to Lyamungu by another route.

                Beyond the green river belt the very rutted track ran through very uninteresting
                thorn bush country. Henry was bored and tiresome, jumping up and down on my knee
                and yelling furiously. “Teeth”, said I apologetically to George, rashly handing a match
                box to Henry to keep him quiet. No use at all! With a fat finger he poked out the tray
                spilling the matches all over me and the floor. Within seconds Henry had torn the
                matchbox to pieces with his teeth and flung the battered remains through the window.
                An empty cigarette box met with the same fate as the match box and the yells
                continued unabated until Henry slept from sheer exhaustion. George gave me a smile,
                half sympathetic and half sardonic, “Enjoying the safari, my love?” he enquired. On these
                trying occasions George has the inestimable advantage of being able to go into a Yogilike
                trance, whereas I become irritated to screaming point.

                In an effort to prolong Henry’s slumber I braced my feet against the floor boards
                and tried to turn myself into a human shock absorber as we lurched along the eroded
                track. Several times my head made contact with the bolt of a rifle in the rack above, and
                once I felt I had shattered my knee cap against the fire extinguisher in a bracket under the
                dash board.

                Strange as it may seem, I really was enjoying the trip in spite of these
                discomforts. At last after three years I was once more on safari with George. This type of
                country was new to me and there was so much to see We passed a family of giraffe
                standing in complete immobility only a few yards from the track. Little dick-dick. one of the smallest of the antelope, scuttled in pairs across the road and that afternoon I had my first view of Gerenuk, curious red brown antelope with extremely elongated legs and giraffe-like necks.

                Most interesting of all was my first sight of Masai at home. We could hear a tuneful
                jangle of cattle bells and suddenly came across herds of humped cattle browsing upon
                the thorn bushes. The herds were guarded by athletic,striking looking Masai youths and men.
                Each had a calabash of water slung over his shoulder and a tall, highly polished spear in his
                hand. These herdsmen were quite unselfconscious though they wore no clothing except for one carelessly draped blanket. Very few gave us any greeting but glanced indifferently at us from under fringes of clay-daubed plaited hair . The rest of their hair was drawn back behind the ears to display split earlobes stretched into slender loops by the weight of heavy brass or copper tribal ear rings.

                Most of the villages were set well back in the bush out of sight of the road but we did pass one
                typical village which looked most primitive indeed. It consisted simply of a few mound like mud huts which were entirely covered with a plaster of mud and cattle dung and the whole clutch of huts were surrounded by a ‘boma’ of thorn to keep the cattle in at night and the lions out. There was a gathering of women and children on the road at this point. The children of both sexes were naked and unadorned, but the women looked very fine indeed. This is not surprising for they have little to do but adorn themselves, unlike their counterparts of other tribes who have to work hard cultivating the fields. The Masai women, and others I saw on safari, were far more amiable and cheerful looking than the men and were well proportioned.

                They wore skirts of dressed goat skin, knee length in front but ankle length behind. Their arms
                from elbow to wrist, and legs from knee to ankle, were encased in tight coils of copper and
                galvanised wire. All had their heads shaved and in some cases bound by a leather band
                embroidered in red white and blue beads. Circular ear rings hung from slit earlobes and their
                handsome throats were encircled by stiff wire necklaces strung with brightly coloured beads. These
                necklaces were carefully graded in size and formed deep collars almost covering their breasts.
                About a quarter of a mile further along the road we met eleven young braves in gala attire, obviously on their way to call on the girls. They formed a line across the road and danced up and down until the lorry was dangerously near when they parted and grinned cheerfully at us. These were the only cheerful
                looking male Masai that I saw. Like the herdsmen these youths wore only a blanket, but their
                blankets were ochre colour, and elegantly draped over their backs. Their naked bodies gleamed with oil. Several had painted white stripes on their faces, and two had whitewashed their faces entirely which I
                thought a pity. All had their long hair elaborately dressed and some carried not only one,
                but two gleaming spears.

                By mid day George decided that we had driven far enough for that day. He
                stopped the lorry and consulted a rather unreliable map. “Somewhere near here is a
                place called Lolbeni,” he said. “The name means Sweet Water, I hear that the
                government have piped spring water down from the mountain into a small dam at which
                the Masai water their cattle.” Lolbeni sounded pleasant to me. Henry was dusty and
                cross, the rubber sheet had long slipped from my lap to the floor and I was conscious of
                a very damp lap. ‘Sweet Waters’ I felt, would put all that right. A few hundred yards
                away a small herd of cattle was grazing, so George lit his pipe and relaxed at last, whilst
                a Game Scout went off to find the herdsman. The scout soon returned with an ancient
                and emaciated Masai who was thrilled at the prospect of his first ride in a lorry and
                offered to direct us to Lolbeni which was off the main track and about four miles away.

                Once Lolbeni had been a small administrative post and a good track had
                led to it, but now the Post had been abandoned and the road is dotted with vigourous
                thorn bushes and the branches of larger thorn trees encroach on the track The road had
                deteriorated to a mere cattle track, deeply rutted and eroded by heavy rains over a
                period of years. The great Ford truck, however, could take it. It lurched victoriously along,
                mowing down the obstructions, tearing off branches from encroaching thorn trees with its
                high railed sides, spanning gorges in the track, and climbing in and out of those too wide
                to span. I felt an army tank could not have done better.

                I had expected Lolbeni to be a green oasis in a desert of grey thorns, but I was
                quickly disillusioned. To be sure the thorn trees were larger and more widely spaced and
                provided welcome shade, but the ground under the trees had been trampled by thousands of cattle into a dreary expanse of dirty grey sand liberally dotted with cattle droppings and made still more uninviting by the bleached bones of dead beasts.

                To the right of this waste rose a high green hill which gave the place its name and from which
                the precious water was piped, but its slopes were too steep to provide a camping site.
                Flies swarmed everywhere and I was most relieved when George said that we would
                stay only long enough to fill our cans with water. Even the water was a disappointment!
                The water in the small dam was low and covered by a revolting green scum, and though
                the water in the feeding pipe was sweet, it trickled so feebly that it took simply ages to
                fill a four gallon can.

                However all these disappointments were soon forgotten for we drove away
                from the flies and dirt and trampled sand and soon, with their quiet efficiency, George
                and his men set up a comfortable camp. John and Jim immediately started digging
                operations in the sandy soil whilst Henry and I rested. After tea George took his shot
                gun and went off to shoot guinea fowl and partridges for the pot. The children and I went
                walking, keeping well in site of camp, and soon we saw a very large flock of Vulturine
                Guineafowl, running aimlessly about and looking as tame as barnyard fowls, but melting
                away as soon as we moved in their direction.

                We had our second quiet and lovely evening by the camp fire, followed by a
                peaceful night.

                We left Lolbeni very early next morning, which was a good thing, for as we left
                camp the herds of thirsty cattle moved in from all directions. They were accompanied by
                Masai herdsmen, their naked bodies and blankets now covered by volcanic dust which
                was being stirred in rising clouds of stifling ash by the milling cattle, and also by grey
                donkeys laden with panniers filled with corked calabashes for water.

                Our next stop was Nabarera, a Masai cattle market and trading centre, where we
                reluctantly stayed for two days in a pokey Goverment Resthouse because George had
                a job to do in that area. The rest was good for Henry who promptly produced a tooth
                and was consequently much better behaved for the rest of the trip. George was away in the bush most of the day but he returned for afternoon tea and later took the children out
                walking. We had noticed curious white dumps about a quarter mile from the resthouse
                and on the second afternoon we set out to investigate them. Behind the dumps we
                found passages about six foot wide, cut through solid limestone. We explored two of
                these and found that both passages led steeply down to circular wells about two and a
                half feet in diameter.

                At the very foot of each passage, beside each well, rough drinking troughs had
                been cut in the stone. The herdsmen haul the water out of the well in home made hide
                buckets, the troughs are filled and the cattle driven down the ramps to drink at the trough.
                It was obvious that the wells were ancient and the sloping passages new. George tells
                me that no one knows what ancient race dug the original wells. It seems incredible that
                these deep and narrow shafts could have been sunk without machinery. I craned my
                neck and looked above one well and could see an immensely long shaft reaching up to
                ground level. Small footholds were cut in the solid rock as far as I could see.
                It seems that the Masai are as ignorant as ourselves about the origin of these
                wells. They do say however that when their forebears first occupied what is now known
                as Masailand, they not only found the Wanderobo tribe in the area but also a light
                skinned people and they think it possible that these light skinned people dug the wells.
                These people disappeared. They may have been absorbed or, more likely, they were
                liquidated.

                The Masai had found the well impractical in their original form and had hired
                labourers from neighbouring tribes to cut the passages to water level. Certainly the Masai are not responsible for the wells. They are a purely pastoral people and consider manual labour extremely degrading.

                They live chiefly on milk from their herd which they allow to go sour, and mix with blood that has been skilfully tapped from the necks of living cattle. They do not eat game meat, nor do they cultivate any
                land. They hunt with spears, but hunt only lions, to protect their herds, and to test the skill
                and bravery of their young warriors. What little grain they do eat is transported into
                Masailand by traders. The next stage of our journey took us to Ngassamet where
                George was to pick up some elephant tusks. I had looked forward particularly to this
                stretch of road for I had heard that there was a shallow lake at which game congregates,
                and at which I had great hopes of seeing elephants. We had come too late in the
                season though, the lake was dry and there were only piles of elephant droppings to
                prove that elephant had recently been there in numbers. Ngassamet, though no beauty
                spot, was interesting. We saw more elaborate editions of the wells already described, and as this area
                is rich in cattle we saw the aristocrats of the Masai. You cannot conceive of a more arrogant looking male than a young Masai brave striding by on sandalled feet, unselfconscious in all his glory. All the young men wore the casually draped traditional ochre blanket and carried one or more spears. But here belts and long knife sheaths of scarlet leather seem to be the fashion. Here fringes do not seem to be the thing. Most of these young Masai had their hair drawn smoothly back and twisted in a pointed queue, the whole plastered with a smooth coating of red clay. Some tied their horn shaped queues over their heads
                so that the tip formed a deep Satanic peak on the brow. All these young men wore the traditional
                copper earrings and I saw one or two with copper bracelets and one with a necklace of brightly coloured
                beads.

                It so happened that, on the day of our visit to Ngassamet, there had been a
                baraza (meeting) which was attended by all the local headmen and elders. These old
                men came to pay their respects to George and a more shrewd and rascally looking
                company I have never seen, George told me that some of these men own up to three
                thousand head of cattle and more. The chief was as fat and Rabelasian as his second in
                command was emaciated, bucktoothed and prim. The Chief shook hands with George
                and greeted me and settled himself on the wall of the resthouse porch opposite
                George. The lesser headmen, after politely greeting us, grouped themselves in a
                semi circle below the steps with their ‘aides’ respectfully standing behind them. I
                remained sitting in the only chair and watched the proceedings with interest and
                amusement.

                These old Masai, I noticed, cared nothing for adornment. They had proved
                themselves as warriors in the past and were known to be wealthy and influential so did
                not need to make any display. Most of them had their heads comfortably shaved and
                wore only a drab blanket or goatskin cloak. Their only ornaments were earrings whose
                effect was somewhat marred by the serviceable and homely large safety pin that
                dangled from the lobe of one ear. All carried staves instead of spears and all, except for
                Buckteeth and one blind old skeleton of a man, appeared to have a keenly developed
                sense of humour.

                “Mummy?” asked John in an urgent whisper, “Is that old blind man nearly dead?”
                “Yes dear”, said I, “I expect he’ll soon die.” “What here?” breathed John in a tone of
                keen anticipation and, until the meeting broke up and the old man left, he had John’s
                undivided attention.

                After local news and the game situation had been discussed, the talk turned to the
                war. “When will the war end?” moaned the fat Chief. “We have made great gifts of cattle
                to the War Funds, we are taxed out of existence.” George replied with the Ki-Swahili
                equivalent of ‘Sez you!’. This sally was received with laughter and the old fellows rose to
                go. They made their farewells and dignified exits, pausing on their way to stare at our
                pink and white Henry, who sat undismayed in his push chair giving them stare for stare
                from his striking grey eyes.

                Towards evening some Masai, prompted no doubt by our native servants,
                brought a sheep for sale. It was the last night of the fast of Ramadan and our
                Mohammedan boys hoped to feast next day at our expense. Their faces fell when
                George refused to buy the animal. “Why should I pay fifteen shillings for a sheep?” he
                asked, “Am I not the Bwana Nyama and is not the bush full of my sheep?” (Bwana
                Nyama is the native name for a Game Ranger, but means literally, ‘Master of the meat’)
                George meant that he would shoot a buck for the men next day, but this incident was to
                have a strange sequel. Ngassamet resthouse consists of one room so small we could
                not put up all our camp beds and George and I slept on the cement floor which was
                unkind to my curves. The night was bitterly cold and all night long hyaenas screeched
                hideously outside. So we rose at dawn without reluctance and were on our way before it
                was properly light.

                George had decided that it would be foolhardy to return home by our outward
                route as he did not care to risk another crossing of the suspension bridge. So we
                returned to Nabarera and there turned onto a little used track which would eventually take
                us to the Great North Road a few miles South of Arusha. There was not much game
                about but I saw Oryx which I had not previously seen. Soon it grew intolerably hot and I
                think all of us but George were dozing when he suddenly stopped the lorry and pointed
                to the right. “Mpishi”, he called to the cook, “There’s your sheep!” True enough, on that
                dreary thorn covered plain,with not another living thing in sight, stood a fat black sheep.

                There was an incredulous babbling from the back of the lorry. Every native
                jumped to the ground and in no time at all the wretched sheep was caught and
                slaughtered. I felt sick. “Oh George”, I wailed, “The poor lost sheep! I shan’t eat a scrap
                of it.” George said nothing but went and had a look at the sheep and called out to me,
                “Come and look at it. It was kindness to kill the poor thing, the vultures have been at it
                already and the hyaenas would have got it tonight.” I went reluctantly and saw one eye
                horribly torn out, and small deep wounds on the sheep’s back where the beaks of the
                vultures had cut through the heavy fleece. Poor thing! I went back to the lorry more
                determined than ever not to eat mutton on that trip. The Scouts and servants had no
                such scruples. The fine fat sheep had been sent by Allah for their feast day and that was
                the end of it.

                “ ‘Mpishi’ is more convinced than ever that I am a wizard”, said George in
                amusement as he started the lorry. I knew what he meant. Several times before George
                had foretold something which had later happened. Pure coincidence, but strange enough
                to give rise to a legend that George had the power to arrange things. “What happened
                of course”, explained George, “Is that a flock of Masai sheep was driven to market along
                this track yesterday or the day before. This one strayed and was not missed.”

                The day grew hotter and hotter and for long miles we looked out for a camping
                spot but could find little shade and no trace of water anywhere. At last, in the early
                afternoon we reached another pokey little rest house and asked for water. “There is no
                water here,” said the native caretaker. “Early in the morning there is water in a well nearby
                but we are allowed only one kerosene tin full and by ten o’clock the well is dry.” I looked
                at George in dismay for we were all so tired and dusty. “Where do the Masai from the
                village water their cattle then?” asked George. “About two miles away through the bush.
                If you take me with you I shall show you”, replied the native.

                So we turned off into the bush and followed a cattle track even more tortuous than
                the one to Lolbeni. Two Scouts walked ahead to warn us of hazards and I stretched my
                arm across the open window to fend off thorns. Henry screamed with fright and hunger.
                But George’s efforts to reach water went unrewarded as we were brought to a stop by
                a deep donga. The native from the resthouse was apologetic. He had mistaken the
                path, perhaps if we turned back we might find it. George was beyond speech. We
                lurched back the way we had come and made our camp under the first large tree we
                could find. Then off went our camp boys on foot to return just before dark with the water.
                However they were cheerful for there was an unlimited quantity of dry wood for their fires
                and meat in plenty for their feast. Long after George and I left our campfire and had gone
                to bed, we could see the cheerful fires of the boys and hear their chatter and laughter.
                I woke in the small hours to hear the insane cackling of hyaenas gloating over a
                find. Later I heard scuffling around the camp table, I peered over the tailboard of the lorry
                and saw George come out of his tent. What are you doing?” I whispered. “Looking for
                something to throw at those bloody hyaenas,” answered George for all the world as
                though those big brutes were tomcats on the prowl. Though the hyaenas kept up their
                concert all night the children never stirred, nor did any of them wake at night throughout
                the safari.

                Early next morning I walked across to the camp kitchen to enquire into the loud
                lamentations coming from that quarter. “Oh Memsahib”, moaned the cook, “We could
                not sleep last night for the bad hyaenas round our tents. They have taken every scrap of
                meat we had left over from the feast., even the meat we had left to smoke over the fire.”
                Jim, who of our three young sons is the cook’s favourite commiserated with him. He said
                in Ki-Swahili, which he speaks with great fluency, “Truly those hyaenas are very bad
                creatures. They also robbed us. They have taken my hat from the table and eaten the
                new soap from the washbowl.

                Our last day in the bush was a pleasantly lazy one. We drove through country
                that grew more open and less dry as we approached Arusha. We pitched our camp
                near a large dam, and the water was a blessed sight after a week of scorched country.
                On the plains to the right of our camp was a vast herd of native cattle enjoying a brief
                rest after their long day trek through Masailand. They were destined to walk many more
                weary miles before reaching their destination, a meat canning factory in Kenya.
                The ground to the left of the camp rose gently to form a long low hill and on the
                grassy slopes we could see wild ostriches and herds of wildebeest, zebra and
                antelope grazing amicably side by side. In the late afternoon I watched the groups of
                zebra and wildebeest merge into one. Then with a wildebeest leading, they walked
                down the slope in single file to drink at the vlei . When they were satisfied, a wildebeest
                once more led the herd up the trail. The others followed in a long and orderly file, and
                vanished over the hill to their evening pasture.

                When they had gone, George took up his shotgun and invited John to
                accompany him to the dam to shoot duck. This was the first time John had acted as
                retriever but he did very well and proudly helped to carry a mixed bag of sand grouse
                and duck back to camp.

                Next morning we turned into the Great North Road and passed first through
                carefully tended coffee shambas and then through the township of Arusha, nestling at
                the foot of towering Mount Meru. Beyond Arusha we drove through the Usa River
                settlement where again coffee shambas and European homesteads line the road, and
                saw before us the magnificent spectacle of Kilimanjaro unveiled, its white snow cap
                gleaming in the sunlight. Before mid day we were home. “Well was it worth it?” enquired
                George at lunch. “Lovely,” I replied. ”Let’s go again soon.” Then thinking regretfully of
                our absent children I sighed, “If only Ann, George, and Kate could have gone with us
                too.”

                Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                Dearest Family.

                Mummy wants to know how I fill in my time with George away on safari for weeks
                on end. I do believe that you all picture me idling away my days, waited on hand and
                foot by efficient servants! On the contrary, life is one rush and the days never long
                enough.

                To begin with, our servants are anything but efficient, apart from our cook, Hamisi
                Issa, who really is competent. He suffers from frustration because our budget will not run
                to elaborate dishes so there is little scope for his culinary art. There is one masterpiece
                which is much appreciated by John and Jim. Hamisi makes a most realistic crocodile out
                of pastry and stuffs its innards with minced meat. This revolting reptile is served on a
                bed of parsley on my largest meat dish. The cook is a strict Mohammedan and
                observes all the fasts and daily prayers and, like all Mohammedans he is very clean in
                his person and, thank goodness, in the kitchen.

                His wife is his pride and joy but not his helpmate. She does absolutely nothing
                but sit in a chair in the sun all day, sipping tea and smoking cigarettes – a more
                expensive brand than mine! It is Hamisi who sweeps out their quarters, cooks
                delectable curries for her, and spends more than he can afford on clothing and trinkets for
                his wife. She just sits there with her ‘Mona Lisa’ smile and her painted finger and toe
                nails, doing absolutely nothing.

                The thing is that natives despise women who do work and this applies especially
                to their white employers. House servants much prefer a Memsahib who leaves
                everything to them and is careless about locking up her pantry. When we first came to
                Lyamungu I had great difficulty in employing a houseboy. A couple of rather efficient
                ones did approach me but when they heard the wages I was prepared to pay and that
                there was no number 2 boy, they simply were not interested. Eventually I took on a
                local boy called Japhet who suits me very well except that his sight is not good and he
                is extremely hard on the crockery. He tells me that he has lost face by working here
                because his friends say that he works for a family that is too mean to employ a second
                boy. I explained that with our large family we simply cannot afford to pay more, but this
                didn’t register at all. Japhet says “But Wazungu (Europeans) all have money. They just
                have to get it from the Bank.”

                The third member of our staff is a strapping youth named Tovelo who helps both
                cook and boy, and consequently works harder than either. What do I do? I chivvy the
                servants, look after the children, supervise John’s lessons, and make all my clothing and
                the children’s on that blessed old hand sewing machine.

                The folk on this station entertain a good deal but we usually decline invitations
                because we simply cannot afford to reciprocate. However, last Saturday night I invited
                two couples to drinks and dinner. This was such an unusual event that the servants and I
                were thrown into a flurry. In the end the dinner went off well though it ended in disaster. In
                spite of my entreaties and exhortations to Japhet not to pile everything onto the tray at
                once when clearing the table, he did just that. We were starting our desert and I was
                congratulating myself that all had gone well when there was a frightful crash of breaking
                china on the back verandah. I excused myself and got up to investigate. A large meat
                dish, six dinner plates and four vegetable dishes lay shattered on the cement floor! I
                controlled my tongue but what my eyes said to Japhet is another matter. What he said
                was, “It is not my fault Memsahib. The handle of the tray came off.”

                It is a curious thing about native servants that they never accept responsibility for
                a mishap. If they cannot pin their misdeeds onto one of their fellow servants then the responsibility rests with God. ‘Shauri ya Mungu’, (an act of God) is a familiar cry. Fatalists
                can be very exasperating employees.

                The loss of my dinner service is a real tragedy because, being war time, one can
                buy only china of the poorest quality made for the native trade. Nor was that the final
                disaster of the evening. When we moved to the lounge for coffee I noticed that the
                coffee had been served in the battered old safari coffee pot instead of the charming little
                antique coffee pot which my Mother-in-law had sent for our tenth wedding anniversary.
                As there had already been a disturbance I made no comment but resolved to give the
                cook a piece of my mind in the morning. My instructions to the cook had been to warm
                the coffee pot with hot water immediately before serving. On no account was he to put
                the pewter pot on the hot iron stove. He did and the result was a small hole in the base
                of the pot – or so he says. When I saw the pot next morning there was a two inch hole in
                it.

                Hamisi explained placidly how this had come about. He said he knew I would be
                mad when I saw the little hole so he thought he would have it mended and I might not
                notice it. Early in the morning he had taken the pewter pot to the mechanic who looks
                after the Game Department vehicles and had asked him to repair it. The bright individual
                got busy with the soldering iron with the most devastating result. “It’s his fault,” said
                Hamisi, “He is a mechanic, he should have known what would happen.”
                One thing is certain, there will be no more dinner parties in this house until the war
                is ended.

                The children are well and so am I, and so was George when he left on his safari
                last Monday.

                Much love,
                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.

                    #6261
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots of love,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor Rushby

                       

                      Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Your very loving,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots and lots of love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

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

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      We all send our love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Much love from a proud mother of two.
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Your affectionate,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      your affectionate,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Very much love
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                      Dear Family,

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

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

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

                      Lots and lots of love,
                      Eleanor.

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

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Lots of love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots of love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to you all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots of love, Eleanor

                      #6260
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        • “The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa
                          concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and
                          joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.

                        These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
                        the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
                        kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
                        important part of her life.

                        Prelude
                        Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
                        in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
                        made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
                        Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
                        in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
                        while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to
                        Africa.

                        Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
                        to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
                        sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
                        Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
                        she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
                        teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
                        well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
                        and told her what ship you are arriving on.”

                        Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
                        Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
                        despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
                        High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
                        George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
                        their home.

                        These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
                        George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.

                         

                        Dearest Marj,
                        Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I
                        met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in
                        imagining!!

                        The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our
                        El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum
                        scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that
                        she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such
                        good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she
                        ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession.
                        Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a
                        millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant
                        hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.

                        Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as
                        a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I
                        need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast.
                        Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but
                        he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says
                        he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t
                        care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.

                        He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear
                        on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must
                        buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes
                        hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no
                        time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.”
                        George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of
                        view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small
                        coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which
                        will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the
                        pot boiling.

                        Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose
                        you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact
                        that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The
                        boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well
                        you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of
                        those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that
                        African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the
                        most gracious chores.

                        George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good
                        looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut
                        very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and
                        very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and
                        even and he has a quiet voice.

                        I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for
                        yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as
                        soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.

                        Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time
                        to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and
                        apply a bit of glamour.

                        Much love my dear,
                        your jubilant
                        Eleanor

                        S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.

                        Dearest Family,
                        Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and
                        could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable
                        voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women,
                        but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to
                        myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I
                        am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.

                        I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The
                        butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for
                        the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.

                        The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety
                        served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course
                        get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no
                        problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his
                        fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an
                        ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff.
                        Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow
                        from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never
                        met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect
                        of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her
                        husband and only child in an accident.

                        I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay
                        young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty,
                        from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a
                        grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t
                        surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s
                        “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight
                        mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and
                        stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.

                        However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she
                        was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the
                        Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain
                        told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to
                        Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but
                        she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop
                        whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.

                        The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with
                        the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no
                        sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he
                        was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film
                        Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief
                        Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up
                        for it in mime.

                        I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at
                        Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both
                        places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee
                        percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.

                        At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a
                        perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck
                        engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is
                        no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up.
                        The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port
                        Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for
                        an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me,
                        Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited
                        whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very
                        lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was
                        temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a
                        pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is
                        now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or
                        worse.

                        I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by
                        the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held
                        up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days.
                        Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was
                        dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.

                        Bless you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and
                        Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we
                        took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have
                        something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked
                        mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells
                        me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who
                        pursues Mrs C everywhere.

                        The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he
                        has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type.
                        I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it
                        was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he
                        said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was
                        a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather
                        doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing
                        establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no
                        time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent
                        leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend.
                        Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and
                        ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only
                        too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed
                        had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.

                        The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination
                        and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I
                        could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could
                        protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and
                        filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I
                        was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice,
                        very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief
                        Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.

                        In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the
                        Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better.
                        At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of
                        Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man,
                        very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and
                        exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She
                        looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two
                        other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing
                        very much.

                        It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the
                        town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina
                        trees.

                        The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very
                        imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a
                        flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.

                        The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her
                        and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a
                        lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she
                        had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was
                        jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed
                        things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea
                        with them.

                        Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr
                        Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed.
                        We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by
                        the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered
                        around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny
                        crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on
                        to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew
                        straight up into the rigging.

                        The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said
                        “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he
                        was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those
                        birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.

                        Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with
                        compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends.
                        It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little
                        discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird
                        catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I
                        was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably
                        remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.

                        During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name
                        is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the
                        name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the
                        table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had
                        champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage.
                        A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an
                        appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer

                        I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed
                        there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin,
                        shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my
                        hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched
                        creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that
                        heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly.
                        “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by
                        stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one
                        came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George
                        Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar
                        es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on
                        so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs
                        Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This
                        seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old
                        lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel
                        the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked
                        that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals.
                        This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given
                        some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old
                        lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet
                        passenger to the wedding.

                        This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while
                        writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your
                        love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty
                        sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited
                        that I shall not sleep.

                        Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time.
                        with my “bes respeks”,

                        Eleanor Leslie.

                        Eleanor and George Rushby:

                        Eleanor and George Rushby

                        Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to
                        pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has
                        gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an
                        excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here.
                        I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the
                        mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is
                        heavenly.

                        We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov).
                        The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly
                        no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my
                        dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on
                        the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of
                        the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson
                        Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel
                        anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had
                        missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom
                        prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly
                        there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a
                        boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on
                        some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George.
                        We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and
                        looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then
                        George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my
                        travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the
                        couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood
                        was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of
                        beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear
                        such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky
                        says he was not amused.

                        Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath
                        Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was
                        married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of
                        blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son
                        of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper
                        though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be
                        bad tempered.

                        Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst
                        George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone
                        seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through,
                        except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble
                        on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl.
                        Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans
                        offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst
                        George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod
                        wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to
                        be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind.  We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined
                        with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw
                        stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which
                        had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.

                        Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours
                        time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would
                        be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me.
                        I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood
                        came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of
                        asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock
                        and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then
                        she too left for the church.

                        I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to
                        be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said,
                        “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a
                        tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.”
                        Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if
                        the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.

                        I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the
                        curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African
                        Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when
                        the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in
                        the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.

                        Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and
                        her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my
                        friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to
                        me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with
                        Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality
                        passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.

                        In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete
                        strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church,
                        standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were
                        waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted
                        they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well
                        because they would not have fitted in at all well.

                        Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his
                        large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a
                        small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake
                        and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’
                        and I shall remember it for ever.

                        The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship
                        enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the-
                        Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old
                        lady was wearing a carnation.

                        When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been
                        moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and
                        clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a
                        chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet
                        discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by
                        Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt
                        that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a
                        generous tip there and then.

                        I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts
                        and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our
                        wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.

                        After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye
                        as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very
                        much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam
                        are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the
                        Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less
                        romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant
                        green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.

                        There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and
                        George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the
                        bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the
                        luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.

                        We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to
                        get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores,
                        tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There
                        were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.

                        We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy
                        letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It
                        appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed
                        the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham
                        was bad.

                        Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the
                        other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To
                        my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We
                        had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a
                        mattress.

                        Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down
                        on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a
                        handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much
                        for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.

                        Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the
                        room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very
                        low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided
                        to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I
                        slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out
                        of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for
                        water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements
                        around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was
                        standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put
                        George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need
                        hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my
                        aid like a knight of old.  Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings
                        here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw.
                        I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small,
                        seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear
                        colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy
                        trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset.
                        This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break
                        was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The
                        Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an
                        Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.

                        I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping
                        expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me
                        on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that
                        when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the
                        harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the
                        description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said
                        “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the
                        jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel.
                        With much love to all.

                        Your cave woman
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced
                        Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later.
                        We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage
                        and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our
                        wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in
                        the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the
                        roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent
                        looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one
                        simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see
                        myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.

                        We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of
                        the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with
                        weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This
                        part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo.
                        The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with
                        wood and not coal as in South Africa.

                        Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to
                        continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and
                        whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal
                        verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious –
                        that there had been a party the night before.

                        When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah,
                        because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside
                        the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the
                        room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see
                        our car before breakfast.

                        Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That
                        means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the
                        one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed
                        to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat.
                        Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and
                        helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases
                        there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and
                        water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and
                        an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.

                        When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between
                        goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a
                        mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over
                        bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal
                        Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all.
                        In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy
                        building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below
                        the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I
                        did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only
                        piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears
                        and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows
                        and rounded roofs covered with earth.

                        Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to
                        look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one
                        shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears.
                        The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most
                        tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country.
                        Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept
                        comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a
                        small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the
                        Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course.
                        our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when
                        ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot
                        water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.

                        When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed
                        by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome
                        compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic
                        glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.

                        After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
                        waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
                        walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
                        saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
                        and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
                        cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
                        innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
                        moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
                        my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
                        me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
                        Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
                        old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
                        after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
                        Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
                        baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
                        grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
                        started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
                        sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
                        rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
                        Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
                        picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
                        sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
                        pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

                        The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
                        of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
                        foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
                        as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

                        Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
                        This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
                        average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
                        he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
                        neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
                        this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
                        We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
                        is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
                        bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
                        long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
                        “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
                        stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
                        were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
                        good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

                        Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
                        soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
                        land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
                        hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
                        of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
                        safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
                        has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
                        coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
                        are too small to be of use.

                        George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
                        There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
                        and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
                        shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
                        heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
                        black tail feathers.

                        There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
                        and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
                        another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
                        once, the bath will be cold.

                        I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
                        worry about me.

                        Much love to you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
                        building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of
                        course.

                        On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
                        clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
                        a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
                        There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
                        my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
                        and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

                        I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
                        thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
                        facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
                        glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
                        feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
                        the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
                        saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
                        George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

                        It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
                        of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
                        wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
                        dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the
                        sun.

                        Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
                        dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
                        walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
                        building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
                        house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
                        heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
                        at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
                        bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
                        to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
                        Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
                        by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
                        or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
                        good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
                        only sixpence each.

                        I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
                        for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
                        comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
                        Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
                        Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
                        goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
                        office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
                        District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
                        only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
                        plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
                        because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
                        unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
                        saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
                        only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
                        miles away.

                        Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
                        clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
                        gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
                        of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
                        though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
                        on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
                        they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
                        hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
                        weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
                        However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
                        they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
                        trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
                        hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
                        We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
                        present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

                        Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
                        his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
                        Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
                        George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
                        reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
                        peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
                        shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
                        glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
                        George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
                        He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
                        when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
                        my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
                        bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
                        trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
                        I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
                        phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

                        We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
                        to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
                        tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
                        was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
                        This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
                        by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
                        we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

                        Your loving
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
                        convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
                        experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my
                        bounce.

                        I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
                        splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
                        who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
                        blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
                        George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
                        kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
                        miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George
                        now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you?
                        You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but
                        throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house
                        women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we
                        could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the
                        tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They
                        have not yet returned from the coast.

                        George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a
                        messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas
                        hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly
                        arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so
                        the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by
                        Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into
                        bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not
                        improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu
                        about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two
                        injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to
                        spend a further four days in bed.

                        We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which
                        time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not
                        return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very
                        comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very
                        quickly.

                        The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on
                        his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around
                        and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front
                        of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill.
                        Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower
                        garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her
                        second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm
                        entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria
                        within a few weeks of her marriage.

                        The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but
                        seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some
                        kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki
                        shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the
                        base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy.
                        I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not
                        seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to
                        the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity.
                        The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are
                        back with our very welcome mail.

                        Very much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                        Dearest Family,

                        George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC.
                        who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to
                        protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from
                        poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his
                        first elephant safari to show him the ropes.

                        George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to
                        leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that
                        I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands
                        and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.

                        So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub
                        house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with
                        a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine
                        she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through
                        the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven
                        children.

                        I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the
                        store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now
                        owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be
                        built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England
                        and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about
                        Mbeya will become quite suburban.

                        26th December 1930

                        George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and
                        it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the
                        Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a
                        festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at
                        Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.

                        I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to
                        save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the
                        river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now
                        thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living
                        room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large
                        square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the
                        front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone
                        Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the
                        kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.

                        You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some
                        furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and
                        chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other
                        things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George
                        has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon.
                        We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet
                        who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the
                        house.

                        Lots and lots of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                        Dearest Family,

                        Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night
                        and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed
                        about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter.
                        The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to
                        move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that
                        we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking
                        pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be
                        able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way
                        but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a
                        success.

                        However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George
                        hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from
                        Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.

                        Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there
                        are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles
                        from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a
                        very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South
                        African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the
                        Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are
                        some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road.
                        The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is
                        Major Jones.

                        All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now
                        returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are
                        not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to
                        connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right
                        down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very
                        often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all
                        save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.

                        The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The
                        rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the
                        range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun
                        shines again.

                        I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.

                        Your loving,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                        Dearest Family,

                        Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to
                        produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon
                        petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen,
                        lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put
                        in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat
                        piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I
                        have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.

                        Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard
                        work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s
                        chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day
                        but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is
                        to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns
                        on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a
                        chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish
                        wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and
                        around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen
                        boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the
                        corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.

                        I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept
                        in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct
                        way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that
                        may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous
                        Memsahibs has complained.

                        My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a
                        good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably
                        pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron
                        only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there
                        has not been a mishap.

                        It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we
                        have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my
                        favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings
                        and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes
                        play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to
                        me.

                        Very much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                        Dearest Family,

                        It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different
                        from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown
                        grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.

                        Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in
                        the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts
                        and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on
                        the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour
                        card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work
                        and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off
                        to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because
                        these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or
                        when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings
                        to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they
                        need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a
                        salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the
                        same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern
                        Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.

                        We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the
                        countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He
                        has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a
                        perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets
                        which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.

                        We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our
                        garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the
                        natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his
                        shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids
                        grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look.
                        A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie
                        Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I
                        wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain
                        road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any
                        kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I
                        did not see him again until the following night.

                        George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature
                        and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his
                        attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some
                        places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and
                        George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten
                        the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially
                        as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely
                        and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as
                        Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.

                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                        Dear Family,

                        I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George
                        spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the
                        house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee
                        during the dry season.

                        It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift
                        surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera
                        tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line.
                        The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers
                        but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them
                        work unless he is there to supervise.

                        I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the
                        material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing
                        machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an
                        ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy
                        affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive.
                        Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a
                        native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and
                        it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced
                        monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to
                        watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning
                        before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they
                        lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.

                        I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang
                        around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is
                        a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.

                        George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had
                        a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas
                        arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a
                        haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so
                        I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however,
                        complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas
                        and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack
                        and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.

                        I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again
                        appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the
                        previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the
                        rest. Ah me!

                        The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went
                        across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All
                        the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about
                        twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus
                        men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural
                        Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took
                        a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the
                        Tukuyu district.

                        On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe.
                        They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around
                        their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt
                        from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful
                        garb I assure you.

                        We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last
                        war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour.
                        There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined
                        walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting
                        the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major
                        Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney.
                        I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked
                        and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the
                        bedroom whilst George handled the situation.

                        Eleanor.

                        #6258
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The Buxton Marshalls

                          and the DNA Match

                          Several years before I started researching the family tree, a friend treated me to a DNA test just for fun. The ethnicity estimates were surprising (and still don’t make much sense): I am apparently 58% Scandinavian, 37% English, and a little Iberian, North African, and even a bit Nigerian! My ancestry according to genealogical research is almost 100% Midlands English for the past three hundred years.

                          Not long after doing the DNA test, I was contacted via the website by Jim Perkins, who had noticed my Marshall name on the DNA match. Jim’s grandfather was James Marshall, my great grandfather William Marshall’s brother. Jim told me he had done his family tree years before the advent of online genealogy. Jim didn’t have a photo of James, but we had several photos with “William Marshall’s brother” written on the back.

                          Jim sent me a photo of his uncle, the man he was named after. The photo shows Charles James Marshall in his army uniform. He escaped Dunkirk in 1940 by swimming out to a destroyer, apparently an excellent swimmer. Sadly he was killed, aged 25 and unmarried, on Sep 2 1942 at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa. Jim was born exactly one year later.

                          Jim and I became friends on Facebook. In 2021 a relative kindly informed me that Jim had died. I’ve since been in contact with his sister Marilyn.  Jim’s grandfather James Marshall was the eldest of John and Emma’s children, born in 1873. James daughter with his first wife Martha, Hilda, married James Perkins, Jim and Marilyn’s parents. Charles James Marshall who died in North Africa was James son by a second marriage.  James was a railway engine fireman on the 1911 census, and a retired rail driver on the 1939 census.

                          Charles James Marshall 1917-1942 died at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa:

                          photo thanks to Jim Perkins

                          Charles James Marshall

                           

                          Anna Marshall, born in 1875, was a dressmaker and never married. She was still living with her parents John and Emma in Buxton on the 1921 census. One the 1939 census she was still single at the age of 66, and was living with John J Marshall born 1916. Perhaps a nephew?

                          Annie Marshall 1939

                           

                          John Marshall was born in 1877. Buxton is a spa town with many hotels, and John was the 2nd porter living in at the Crescent Hotel on the 1901 census, although he married later that year. In the 1911 census John was married with three children and living in Fairfield, Buxton, and his occupation was Hotel Porter and Boots.  John and Alice had four children, although one son died in infancy, leaving two sons and a daughter, Lily.

                          My great grandfather William Marshall was born in 1878, and Edward Marshall was born in 1880. According to the family stories, one of William’s brothers was chief of police in Lincolnshire, and two of the family photos say on the back “Frank Marshall, chief of police Lincolnshire”. But it wasn’t Frank, it was Edward, and it wasn’t Lincolnshire, it was Lancashire.

                          The records show that Edward Marshall was a hotel porter at the Pulteney Hotel in Bath, Somerset, in 1901. Presumably he started working in hotels in Buxton prior to that. James married Florence in Bath in 1903, and their first four children were born in Bath. By 1911 the family were living in Salmesbury, near Blackburn Lancashire, and Edward was a police constable. On the 1939 census, James was a retired police inspector, still living in Lancashire. Florence and Edward had eight children.

                          It became clear that the two photographs we have that were labeled “Frank Marshall Chief of police” were in fact Edward, when I noticed that both photos were taken by a photographer in Bath. They were correctly labeled as the policeman, but we had the name wrong.

                          Edward and Florence Marshall, Bath, Somerset:

                          Edward Marshall, Bath

                           

                          Sarah Marshall was born in 1882 and died two years later.

                          Nellie Marshall was born in 1885 and I have not yet found a marriage or death for her.

                          Harry Marshall was John and Emma’s next child, born in 1887. On the 1911 census Harry is 24 years old, and  lives at home with his parents and sister Ann. His occupation is a barman in a hotel. I haven’t yet found any further records for Harry.

                          Frank Marshall was the youngest, born in 1889. In 1911 Frank was living at the George Hotel in Buxton, employed as a boot boy. Also listed as live in staff at the hotel was Lily Moss, a kitchenmaid.

                          Frank Marshall

                          In 1913 Frank and Lily were married, and in 1914 their first child Millicent Rose was born. On the 1921 census Frank, Lily, William Rose and one other (presumably Millicent Rose) were living in Hartington Upper Quarter, Buxton.

                          The George Hotel, Buxton:

                          George Hotel Buxton

                           

                          One of the photos says on the back “Jack Marshall, brother of William Marshall, WW1”:

                          Jack Marshall

                          Another photo that says on the back “William Marshalls brother”:

                          WM brother 1

                          Another “William Marshalls brother”:

                          WM b 2

                          And another “William Marshalls brother”:

                          wm b 3

                          Unlabeled but clearly a Marshall:

                          wmb 4

                          The last photo is clearly a Marshall, but I haven’t yet found a Burnley connection with any of the Marshall brothers.

                          #6252
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            The USA Housley’s

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

                            GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

                            Doylestown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

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

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

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

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

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

                            #6247
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Warren Brothers Boiler Makers

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

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

                              Warren Bros Newhall

                               

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

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

                              Samuel Warren

                               

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

                              But who was Benjamin Bridge?

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

                              Burton Chronicle 28 July 1898:

                              Benjamin Bridge

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

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

                              Bridge Warren Census 1881

                               

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

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

                              Warren Bros Receipt

                              #6227
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                The Scottish Connection

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

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

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

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

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

                                William Purdy

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

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

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

                                The Jacobites in Smalley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                #6222
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  George Gilman Rushby: The Cousin Who Went To Africa

                                  The portrait of the woman has “mother of Catherine Housley, Smalley” written on the back, and one of the family photographs has “Francis Purdy” written on the back. My first internet search was “Catherine Housley Smalley Francis Purdy”. Easily found was the family tree of George (Mike) Rushby, on one of the genealogy websites. It seemed that it must be our family, but the African lion hunter seemed unlikely until my mother recalled her father had said that he had a cousin who went to Africa. I also noticed that the lion hunter’s middle name was Gilman ~ the name that Catherine Housley’s daughter ~ my great grandmother, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy ~ adopted, from her aunt and uncle who brought her up.

                                  I tried to contact George (Mike) Rushby via the ancestry website, but got no reply. I searched for his name on Facebook and found a photo of a wildfire in a place called Wardell, in Australia, and he was credited with taking the photograph. A comment on the photo, which was a few years old, got no response, so I found a Wardell Community group on Facebook, and joined it. A very small place, population some 700 or so, and I had an immediate response on the group to my question. They knew Mike, exchanged messages, and we were able to start emailing. I was in the chair at the dentist having an exceptionally long canine root canal at the time that I got the message with his email address, and at that moment the song Down in Africa started playing.

                                  Mike said it was clever of me to track him down which amused me, coming from the son of an elephant and lion hunter.  He didn’t know why his father’s middle name was Gilman, and was not aware that Catherine Housley’s sister married a Gilman.

                                  Mike Rushby kindly gave me permission to include his family history research in my book.  This is the story of my grandfather George Marshall’s cousin.  A detailed account of George Gilman Rushby’s years in Africa can be found in another chapter called From Tanganyika With Love; the letters Eleanor wrote to her family.

                                  George Gilman Rushby:

                                  George Gilman Rushby

                                   

                                  The story of George Gilman Rushby 1900-1969, as told by his son Mike:

                                  George Gilman Rushby:
                                  Elephant hunter,poacher, prospector, farmer, forestry officer, game ranger, husband to Eleanor, and father of 6 children who now live around the world.

                                  George Gilman Rushby was born in Nottingham on 28 Feb 1900 the son of Catherine Purdy and John Henry Payling Rushby. But John Henry died when his son was only one and a half years old, and George shunned his drunken bullying stepfather Frank Freer and was brought up by Gypsies who taught him how to fight and took him on regular poaching trips. His love of adventure and his ability to hunt were nurtured at an early stage of his life.
                                  The family moved to Eastwood, where his mother Catherine owned and managed The Three Tuns Inn, but when his stepfather died in mysterious circumstances, his mother married a wealthy bookmaker named Gregory Simpson. He could afford to send George to Worksop College and to Rugby School. This was excellent schooling for George, but the boarding school environment, and the lack of a stable home life, contributed to his desire to go out in the world and do his own thing. When he finished school his first job was as a trainee electrician with Oaks & Co at Pye Bridge. He also worked part time as a motor cycle mechanic and as a professional boxer to raise the money for a voyage to South Africa.

                                  In May 1920 George arrived in Durban destitute and, like many others, living on the beach and dependant upon the Salvation Army for a daily meal. However he soon got work as an electrical mechanic, and after a couple of months had earned enough money to make the next move North. He went to Lourenco Marques where he was appointed shift engineer for the town’s power station. However he was still restless and left the comfort of Lourenco Marques for Beira in August 1921.

                                  Beira was the start point of the new railway being built from the coast to Nyasaland. George became a professional hunter providing essential meat for the gangs of construction workers building the railway. He was a self employed contractor with his own support crew of African men and began to build up a satisfactory business. However, following an incident where he had to shoot and kill a man who attacked him with a spear in middle of the night whilst he was sleeping, George left the lower Zambezi and took a paddle steamer to Nyasaland (Malawi). On his arrival in Karongo he was encouraged to shoot elephant which had reached plague proportions in the area – wrecking African homes and crops, and threatening the lives of those who opposed them.

                                  His next move was to travel by canoe the five hundred kilometre length of Lake Nyasa to Tanganyika, where he hunted for a while in the Lake Rukwa area, before walking through Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) to the Congo. Hunting his way he overachieved his quota of ivory resulting in his being charged with trespass, the confiscation of his rifles, and a fine of one thousand francs. He hunted his way through the Congo to Leopoldville then on to the Portuguese enclave, near the mouth of the mighty river, where he worked as a barman in a rough and tough bar until he received a message that his old friend Lumb had found gold at Lupa near Chunya. George set sail on the next boat for Antwerp in Belgium, then crossed to England and spent a few weeks with his family in Jacksdale before returning by sea to Dar es Salaam. Arriving at the gold fields he pegged his claim and almost immediately went down with blackwater fever – an illness that used to kill three out of four within a week.

                                  When he recovered from his fever, George exchanged his gold lease for a double barrelled .577 elephant rifle and took out a special elephant control licence with the Tanganyika Government. He then headed for the Congo again and poached elephant in Northern Rhodesia from a base in the Congo. He was known by the Africans as “iNyathi”, or the Buffalo, because he was the most dangerous in the long grass. After a profitable hunting expedition in his favourite hunting ground of the Kilombera River he returned to the Congo via Dar es Salaam and Mombassa. He was after the Kabalo district elephant, but hunting was restricted, so he set up his base in The Central African Republic at a place called Obo on the Congo tributary named the M’bomu River. From there he could make poaching raids into the Congo and the Upper Nile regions of the Sudan. He hunted there for two and a half years. He seldom came across other Europeans; hunters kept their own districts and guarded their own territories. But they respected one another and he made good and lasting friendships with members of that small select band of adventurers.

                                  Leaving for Europe via the Congo, George enjoyed a short holiday in Jacksdale with his mother. On his return trip to East Africa he met his future bride in Cape Town. She was 24 year old Eleanor Dunbar Leslie; a high school teacher and daughter of a magistrate who spent her spare time mountaineering, racing ocean yachts, and riding horses. After a whirlwind romance, they were betrothed within 36 hours.

                                  On 25 July 1930 George landed back in Dar es Salaam. He went directly to the Mbeya district to find a home. For one hundred pounds he purchased the Waizneker’s farm on the banks of the Mntshewe Stream. Eleanor, who had been delayed due to her contract as a teacher, followed in November. Her ship docked in Dar es Salaam on 7 Nov 1930, and they were married that day. At Mchewe Estate, their newly acquired farm, they lived in a tent whilst George with some help built their first home – a lovely mud-brick cottage with a thatched roof. George and Eleanor set about developing a coffee plantation out of a bush block. It was a very happy time for them. There was no electricity, no radio, and no telephone. Newspapers came from London every two months. There were a couple of neighbours within twenty miles, but visitors were seldom seen. The farm was a haven for wild life including snakes, monkeys and leopards. Eleanor had to go South all the way to Capetown for the birth of her first child Ann, but with the onset of civilisation, their first son George was born at a new German Mission hospital that had opened in Mbeya.

                                  Occasionally George had to leave the farm in Eleanor’s care whilst he went off hunting to make his living. Having run the coffee plantation for five years with considerable establishment costs and as yet no return, George reluctantly started taking paying clients on hunting safaris as a “white hunter”. This was an occupation George didn’t enjoy. but it brought him an income in the days when social security didn’t exist. Taking wealthy clients on hunting trips to kill animals for trophies and for pleasure didn’t amuse George who hunted for a business and for a way of life. When one of George’s trackers was killed by a leopard that had been wounded by a careless client, George was particularly upset.
                                  The coffee plantation was approaching the time of its first harvest when it was suddenly attacked by plagues of borer beetles and ring barking snails. At the same time severe hail storms shredded the crop. The pressure of the need for an income forced George back to the Lupa gold fields. He was unlucky in his gold discoveries, but luck came in a different form when he was offered a job with the Forestry Department. The offer had been made in recognition of his initiation and management of Tanganyika’s rainbow trout project. George spent most of his short time with the Forestry Department encouraging the indigenous people to conserve their native forests.

                                  In November 1938 he transferred to the Game Department as Ranger for the Eastern Province of Tanganyika, and over several years was based at Nzasa near Dar es Salaam, at the old German town of Morogoro, and at lovely Lyamungu on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Then the call came for him to be transferred to Mbeya in the Southern Province for there was a serious problem in the Njombe district, and George was selected by the Department as the only man who could possibly fix the problem.

                                  Over a period of several years, people were being attacked and killed by marauding man-eating lions. In the Wagingombe area alone 230 people were listed as having been killed. In the Njombe district, which covered an area about 200 km by 300 km some 1500 people had been killed. Not only was the rural population being decimated, but the morale of the survivors was so low, that many of them believed that the lions were not real. Many thought that evil witch doctors were controlling the lions, or that lion-men were changing form to kill their enemies. Indeed some wichdoctors took advantage of the disarray to settle scores and to kill for reward.

                                  By hunting down and killing the man-eaters, and by showing the flesh and blood to the doubting tribes people, George was able to instil some confidence into the villagers. However the Africans attributed the return of peace and safety, not to the efforts of George Rushby, but to the reinstallation of their deposed chief Matamula Mangera who had previously been stood down for corruption. It was Matamula , in their eyes, who had called off the lions.

                                  Soon after this adventure, George was appointed Deputy Game Warden for Tanganyika, and was based in Arusha. He retired in 1956 to the Njombe district where he developed a coffee plantation, and was one of the first in Tanganyika to plant tea as a major crop. However he sensed a swing in the political fortunes of his beloved Tanganyika, and so sold the plantation and settled in a cottage high on a hill overlooking the Navel Base at Simonstown in the Cape. It was whilst he was there that TV Bulpin wrote his biography “The Hunter is Death” and George wrote his book “No More The Tusker”. He died in the Cape, and his youngest son Henry scattered his ashes at the Southern most tip of Africa where the currents of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet .

                                  George Gilman Rushby:

                                  #6219
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    The following stories started with a single question.

                                    Who was Catherine Housley’s mother?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Elizabeth Brookes

                                     

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

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

                                    Marshalls

                                     

                                     

                                    The Search for Samuel Housley

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

                                    Elizabeth death

                                     

                                    Where was Samuel?

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

                                    Where was Samuel?

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

                                    Samuel Housley 1850

                                     

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

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

                                    Belper Workhouse:

                                    Belper Workhouse

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

                                    But where was Samuel?

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

                                    Samuel Housley 1871

                                     

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                     

                                     

                                    #6203

                                    “Pssst”

                                    Glor startled. She’d been watching Mavis and Shar through the day-room window. Against her advice, they had joined the outdoor CryoChi class and it really was a hoot watching them gyrating around. All of a sudden though, like a bloody sign, there was a butterfly! Landed on the window ledge and then bumped against the glass like it were trying to get in. Most peculiar. Anyway it had got her thinking about how she was a bit like a butterfly herself. And how she was going to flit around showing off her fine new face. Soon as she got out of here anyway.

                                    “Wot are you pissting about? Gave me a fright you did!” Glor frowned. “I was doing me meditations.”

                                    “Sorry,” said Sophie.

                                    Sophie, ain’t it? You’re new here?”

                                    Sophie nodded and looked so downcast that Glor softened.

                                    “Well don’t you worry. A few beauty treatments and you’ll scrub up alright.” She paused, wondering if there was a kindly way of mentioning the latex. “And maybe a brand new outfit to go with the new face!” It didn’t seem to cheer Sophie up any and Glor sighed. “What were you pissting about anyway, Sophie?”

                                    Sophie looked nervously over her shoulder. “I’m here against my will. In fact, I don’t even know where I am.”

                                    Glor cocked her head. “Speak up, Sophie.”

                                    “I said I’m here against my will!”

                                    Glor nodded. “Hubby book you in did he? My first were always threatening to do that if I didn’t tidy myself up. Bastard. He’ll be sorry now though.” She smiled, thinking of the butterfly.

                                    #6196

                                    Ay, the framework knittin’ were ‘ard work, but it were our own, and better by a mile than what come next. We ‘ad the frame in our home and all the family helped, the girls’d be the seamers and the spool threaders and many a fine stocking we made in our cottages, until those industrialists and capitalists came to our fair dales with their factories and such and took our livelihoods from under our noses.

                                    We ‘ad a needle maker in our village, a miller and a baker, and a dressmaker. We ‘ad farms and a dairy and a butcher, and all the old families in our parish ‘ad their place. There’s always those that find work hard, and those that find it rewarding, but even them as found the framework knittin’ ‘ard soon changed their tune about the framework knittin’ being hard when they was doubled over under gods green earth all the day long in the coal mines.

                                    Ay, the changes wrought upon our fair parish wreaked an unholy disruption upon the face of village life.  It were the inclosures act what started our downfall, when our common land was took from us, that were indeed the beginning of the end of our fine community of largely honest souls, and even the good nature of the gent from the hall and the Parish poor fund couldn’t halt the downfall.

                                    Ay and I’ve traveled to the future and seen the ungoldy sight of it now. The old farm on the turnpike road surrounded now by house upon house and not an onion nor a carrot to be seen growing in their gardens, and the fronts all hardened floors for those contraptions they move around in, and empty all day long with not a sign of life until nightfall when they all come home and go inside and shut the doors, and never a one passing the time of day with their neighbours over the garden fence, and not a chicken or a cow in sight.

                                    There’s no needlemaker now, and the mill’s been knocked down, and there are painted lines on all the hard roads, although I will say that ugly as they are they don’t get near so rutted and muddy when the weather’s bad.

                                    I can’t stay long when I visit the future with that woman who comes to call upon us asking questions. I can’t stay long at all.

                                    #6192

                                    They found me and locked me up again but I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later. I don’t mind though, I can always plot an escape when I’m ready but the fact is, I was tired after awhile. I needed a rest and so here I am. The weather’s awful so I may as well rest up here for a bit longer. They gave me a shot, too, so I don’t have to wear a mask anymore. Unless I want to wear it as a disguise of course, so I’ll keep a couple for when I escape again.

                                    They gave me a computer to keep me amused and showed me how to do the daftest things I’d never want to do and I thought, what a load of rubbish, just give me a good book, but then this charming little angel of a helper appeared as if by magic and showed me how to do a family tree on this machine.  Well! I had no idea such pursuits could be so engrossing, it’s like being the heroine in a detective novel, like writing your own book in a way.

                                    I got off on a sidetrack with the search for one woman in particular and got I tell you I got so sucked inside the story I spent a fortnight in a small village in the north midlands two centuries ago that I had to shake me head to get back to the present for the necessary daily functions. I feel like I could write a book about that fortnight. Two hundred years explored in a fortnight in the search for CH’s mother.

                                    I could write a book on the maternal line and how patriarchy has failed us in the search for our ancestry and blood lines. The changing names, the census status, lack of individual occupation but a mother knows for sure who her children are. And yet we follow paternal lines because the names are easier, but mothers know for sure which child is theirs whereas men can not be as sure as that.  Barking up the wrong tree is easy done.

                                    I can’t start writing any of these books at the moment because I’m still trying to find out who won the SK&JH vs ALL the rest of the H family court case in 1873.  It seems the youngest son (who was an overseer with questionable accounts) was left out of the will. The executor of the will was his co plaintiff in the court case, a neighbouring land owner, and the whole rest of the family were the defendants.  It’s gripping, there are so many twists and turns. This might give us a clue why CH grew up in the B’s house instead of her own. Why did CH’s mothers keep the boys and send two girls to live with another family? How did we end up with the oil painting of CH’s mother? It’s a mystery and I’m having a whale of a time.

                                    Another good thing about my little adventure and then this new hobby is how, as you may have noticed, I’m not half as daft as I was when I was withering away in that place with nothing to do. I mean I know I’m withering away and not going anywhere again now,  but on the other hand I’ve just had a fortnights holiday in the nineteenth century, which is more than many can say, even if they’ve been allowed out.

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