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  • #6306
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Looking for Robert Staley

       

      William Warren (1835-1880) of Newhall (Stapenhill) married Elizabeth Staley (1836-1907) in 1858. Elizabeth was born in Newhall, the daughter of John Staley (1795-1876) and Jane Brothers. John was born in Newhall, and Jane was born in Armagh, Ireland, and they were married in Armagh in 1820. Elizabeths older brothers were born in Ireland: William in 1826 and Thomas in Dublin in 1830. Francis was born in Liverpool in 1834, and then Elizabeth in Newhall in 1836; thereafter the children were born in Newhall.

      Marriage of John Staley and Jane Brothers in 1820:

      1820 marriage Armagh

       

       

      My grandmother related a story about an Elizabeth Staley who ran away from boarding school and eloped to Ireland, but later returned. The only Irish connection found so far is Jane Brothers, so perhaps she meant Elizabeth Staley’s mother. A boarding school seems unlikely, and it would seem that it was John Staley who went to Ireland.

      The 1841 census states Jane’s age as 33, which would make her just 12 at the time of her marriage. The 1851 census states her age as 44, making her 13 at the time of her 1820 marriage, and the 1861 census estimates her birth year as a more likely 1804. Birth records in Ireland for her have not been found. It’s possible, perhaps, that she was in service in the Newhall area as a teenager (more likely than boarding school), and that John and Jane ran off to get married in Ireland, although I haven’t found any record of a child born to them early in their marriage. John was an agricultural labourer, and later a coal miner.

      John Staley was the son of Joseph Staley (1756-1838) and Sarah Dumolo (1764-). Joseph and Sarah were married by licence in Newhall in 1782. Joseph was a carpenter on the marriage licence, but later a collier (although not necessarily a miner).

      The Derbyshire Record Office holds records of  an “Estimate of Joseph Staley of Newhall for the cost of continuing to work Pisternhill Colliery” dated 1820 and addresssed to Mr Bloud at Calke Abbey (presumably the owner of the mine)

      Josephs parents were Robert Staley and Elizabeth. I couldn’t find a baptism or birth record for Robert Staley. Other trees on an ancestry site had his birth in Elton, but with no supporting documents. Robert, as stated in his 1795 will, was a Yeoman.

      “Yeoman: A former class of small freeholders who farm their own land; a commoner of good standing.”
      “Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.”

      He left a number of properties in Newhall and Hartshorne (near Newhall) including dwellings, enclosures, orchards, various yards, barns and acreages. It seemed to me more likely that he had inherited them, rather than moving into the village and buying them.

      There is a mention of Robert Staley in a 1782 newpaper advertisement.

      “Fire Engine To Be Sold.  An exceedingly good fire engine, with the boiler, cylinder, etc in good condition. For particulars apply to Mr Burslem at Burton-upon-Trent, or Robert Staley at Newhall near Burton, where the engine may be seen.”

      fire engine

       

      Was the fire engine perhaps connected with a foundry or a coal mine?

      I noticed that Robert Staley was the witness at a 1755 marriage in Stapenhill between Barbara Burslem and Richard Daston the younger esquire. The other witness was signed Burslem Jnr.

       

      Looking for Robert Staley

       

      I assumed that once again, in the absence of the correct records, a similarly named and aged persons baptism had been added to the tree regardless of accuracy, so I looked through the Stapenhill/Newhall parish register images page by page. There were no Staleys in Newhall at all in the early 1700s, so it seemed that Robert did come from elsewhere and I expected to find the Staleys in a neighbouring parish. But I still didn’t find any Staleys.

      I spoke to a couple of Staley descendants that I’d met during the family research. I met Carole via a DNA match some months previously and contacted her to ask about the Staleys in Elton. She also had Robert Staley born in Elton (indeed, there were many Staleys in Elton) but she didn’t have any documentation for his birth, and we decided to collaborate and try and find out more.

      I couldn’t find the earlier Elton parish registers anywhere online, but eventually found the untranscribed microfiche images of the Bishops Transcripts for Elton.

      via familysearch:
      “In its most basic sense, a bishop’s transcript is a copy of a parish register. As bishop’s transcripts generally contain more or less the same information as parish registers, they are an invaluable resource when a parish register has been damaged, destroyed, or otherwise lost. Bishop’s transcripts are often of value even when parish registers exist, as priests often recorded either additional or different information in their transcripts than they did in the original registers.”

       

      Unfortunately there was a gap in the Bishops Transcripts between 1704 and 1711 ~ exactly where I needed to look. I subsequently found out that the Elton registers were incomplete as they had been damaged by fire.

      I estimated Robert Staleys date of birth between 1710 and 1715. He died in 1795, and his son Daniel died in 1805: both of these wills were found online. Daniel married Mary Moon in Stapenhill in 1762, making a likely birth date for Daniel around 1740.

      The marriage of Robert Staley (assuming this was Robert’s father) and Alice Maceland (or Marsland or Marsden, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it presumably) was in the Bishops Transcripts for Elton in 1704. They were married in Elton on 26th February. There followed the missing parish register pages and in all likelihood the records of the baptisms of their first children. No doubt Robert was one of them, probably the first male child.

      (Incidentally, my grandfather’s Marshalls also came from Elton, a small Derbyshire village near Matlock.  The Staley’s are on my grandmothers Warren side.)

      The parish register pages resume in 1711. One of the first entries was the baptism of Robert Staley in 1711, parents Thomas and Ann. This was surely the one we were looking for, and Roberts parents weren’t Robert and Alice.

      But then in 1735 a marriage was recorded between Robert son of Robert Staley (and this was unusual, the father of the groom isn’t usually recorded on the parish register) and Elizabeth Milner. They were married on the 9th March 1735. We know that the Robert we were looking for married an Elizabeth, as her name was on the Stapenhill baptisms of their later children, including Joseph Staleys.  The 1735 marriage also fit with the assumed birth date of Daniel, circa 1740. A baptism was found for a Robert Staley in 1738 in the Elton registers, parents Robert and Elizabeth, as well as the baptism in 1736 for Mary, presumably their first child. Her burial is recorded the following year.

      The marriage of Robert Staley and Elizabeth Milner in 1735:

      rbt staley marriage 1735

       

      There were several other Staley couples of a similar age in Elton, perhaps brothers and cousins. It seemed that Thomas and Ann’s son Robert was a different Robert, and that the one we were looking for was prior to that and on the missing pages.

      Even so, this doesn’t prove that it was Elizabeth Staleys great grandfather who was born in Elton, but no other birth or baptism for Robert Staley has been found. It doesn’t explain why the Staleys moved to Stapenhill either, although the Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution could have been factors.

      The 18th century saw the rise of the Industrial Revolution and many renowned Derbyshire Industrialists emerged. They created the turning point from what was until then a largely rural economy, to the development of townships based on factory production methods.

      The Marsden Connection

      There are some possible clues in the records of the Marsden family.  Robert Staley married Alice Marsden (or Maceland or Marsland) in Elton in 1704.  Robert Staley is mentioned in the 1730 will of John Marsden senior,  of Baslow, Innkeeper (Peacock Inne & Whitlands Farm). He mentions his daughter Alice, wife of Robert Staley.

      In a 1715 Marsden will there is an intriguing mention of an alias, which might explain the different spellings on various records for the name Marsden:  “MARSDEN alias MASLAND, Christopher – of Baslow, husbandman, 28 Dec 1714. son Robert MARSDEN alias MASLAND….” etc.

      Some potential reasons for a move from one parish to another are explained in this history of the Marsden family, and indeed this could relate to Robert Staley as he married into the Marsden family and his wife was a beneficiary of a Marsden will.  The Chatsworth Estate, at various times, bought a number of farms in order to extend the park.

      THE MARSDEN FAMILY
      OXCLOSE AND PARKGATE
      In the Parishes of
      Baslow and Chatsworth

      by
      David Dalrymple-Smith

      John Marsden (b1653) another son of Edmund (b1611) faired well. By the time he died in
      1730 he was publican of the Peacock, the Inn on Church Lane now called the Cavendish
      Hotel, and the farmer at “Whitlands”, almost certainly Bubnell Cliff Farm.”

      “Coal mining was well known in the Chesterfield area. The coalfield extends as far as the
      Gritstone edges, where thin seams outcrop especially in the Baslow area.”

      “…the occupants were evicted from the farmland below Dobb Edge and
      the ground carefully cleared of all traces of occupation and farming. Shelter belts were
      planted especially along the Heathy Lea Brook. An imposing new drive was laid to the
      Chatsworth House with the Lodges and “The Golden Gates” at its northern end….”

      Although this particular event was later than any events relating to Robert Staley, it’s an indication of how farms and farmland disappeared, and a reason for families to move to another area:

      “The Dukes of Devonshire (of Chatsworth)  were major figures in the aristocracy and the government of the
      time. Such a position demanded a display of wealth and ostentation. The 6th Duke of
      Devonshire, the Bachelor Duke, was not content with the Chatsworth he inherited in 1811,
      and immediately started improvements. After major changes around Edensor, he turned his
      attention at the north end of the Park. In 1820 plans were made extend the Park up to the
      Baslow parish boundary. As this would involve the destruction of most of the Farm at
      Oxclose, the farmer at the Higher House Samuel Marsden (b1755) was given the tenancy of
      Ewe Close a large farm near Bakewell.
      Plans were revised in 1824 when the Dukes of Devonshire and Rutland “Exchanged Lands”,
      reputedly during a game of dice. Over 3300 acres were involved in several local parishes, of
      which 1000 acres were in Baslow. In the deal Devonshire acquired the southeast corner of
      Baslow Parish.
      Part of the deal was Gibbet Moor, which was developed for “Sport”. The shelf of land
      between Parkgate and Robin Hood and a few extra fields was left untouched. The rest,
      between Dobb Edge and Baslow, was agricultural land with farms, fields and houses. It was
      this last part that gave the Duke the opportunity to improve the Park beyond his earlier
      expectations.”

       

      The 1795 will of Robert Staley.

      Inriguingly, Robert included the children of his son Daniel Staley in his will, but omitted to leave anything to Daniel.  A perusal of Daniels 1808 will sheds some light on this:  Daniel left his property to his six reputed children with Elizabeth Moon, and his reputed daughter Mary Brearly. Daniels wife was Mary Moon, Elizabeths husband William Moons daughter.

      The will of Robert Staley, 1795:

      1795 will 2

      1795 Rbt Staley will

       

      The 1805 will of Daniel Staley, Robert’s son:

      This is the last will and testament of me Daniel Staley of the Township of Newhall in the parish of Stapenhill in the County of Derby, Farmer. I will and order all of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses to be fully paid and satisfied by my executors hereinafter named by and out of my personal estate as soon as conveniently may be after my decease.

      I give, devise and bequeath to Humphrey Trafford Nadin of Church Gresely in the said County of Derby Esquire and John Wilkinson of Newhall aforesaid yeoman all my messuages, lands, tenements, hereditaments and real and personal estates to hold to them, their heirs, executors, administrators and assigns until Richard Moon the youngest of my reputed sons by Elizabeth Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years upon trust that they, my said trustees, (or the survivor of them, his heirs, executors, administrators or assigns), shall and do manage and carry on my farm at Newhall aforesaid and pay and apply the rents, issues and profits of all and every of my said real and personal estates in for and towards the support, maintenance and education of all my reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon until the said Richard Moon my youngest reputed son shall attain his said age of twenty one years and equally share and share and share alike.

      And it is my will and desire that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall recruit and keep up the stock upon my farm as they in their discretion shall see occasion or think proper and that the same shall not be diminished. And in case any of my said reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon shall be married before my said reputed youngest son shall attain his age of twenty one years that then it is my will and desire that non of their husbands or wives shall come to my farm or be maintained there or have their abode there. That it is also my will and desire in case my reputed children or any of them shall not be steady to business but instead shall be wild and diminish the stock that then my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority in their discretion to sell and dispose of all or any part of my said personal estate and to put out the money arising from the sale thereof to interest and to pay and apply the interest thereof and also thereunto of the said real estate in for and towards the maintenance, education and support of all my said reputed children by the said
      Elizabeth Moon as they my said trustees in their discretion that think proper until the said Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years.

      Then I give to my grandson Daniel Staley the sum of ten pounds and to each and every of my sons and daughters namely Daniel Staley, Benjamin Staley, John Staley, William Staley, Elizabeth Dent and Sarah Orme and to my niece Ann Brearly the sum of five pounds apiece.

      I give to my youngest reputed son Richard Moon one share in the Ashby Canal Navigation and I direct that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority to pay and apply all or any part of the fortune or legacy hereby intended for my youngest reputed son Richard Moon in placing him out to any trade, business or profession as they in their discretion shall think proper.
      And I direct that to my said sons and daughters by my late wife and my said niece shall by wholly paid by my said reputed son Richard Moon out of the fortune herby given him. And it is my will and desire that my said reputed children shall deliver into the hands of my executors all the monies that shall arise from the carrying on of my business that is not wanted to carry on the same unto my acting executor and shall keep a just and true account of all disbursements and receipts of the said business and deliver up the same to my acting executor in order that there may not be any embezzlement or defraud amongst them and from and immediately after my said reputed youngest son Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years then I give, devise and bequeath all my real estate and all the residue and remainder of my personal estate of what nature and kind whatsoever and wheresoever unto and amongst all and every my said reputed sons and daughters namely William Moon, Thomas Moon, Joseph Moon, Richard Moon, Ann Moon, Margaret Moon and to my reputed daughter Mary Brearly to hold to them and their respective heirs, executors, administrator and assigns for ever according to the nature and tenure of the same estates respectively to take the same as tenants in common and not as joint tenants.

      And lastly I nominate and appoint the said Humphrey Trafford Nadin and John Wilkinson executors of this my last will and testament and guardians of all my reputed children who are under age during their respective minorities hereby revoking all former and other wills by me heretofore made and declaring this only to be my last will.

      In witness whereof I the said Daniel Staley the testator have to this my last will and testament set my hand and seal the eleventh day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five.

       

      #6293
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Lincolnshire Families

         

        Thanks to the 1851 census, we know that William Eaton was born in Grantham, Lincolnshire. He was baptised on 29 November 1768 at St Wulfram’s church; his father was William Eaton and his mother Elizabeth.

        St Wulfram’s in Grantham painted by JMW Turner in 1797:

        St Wulframs

         

        I found a marriage for a William Eaton and Elizabeth Rose in the city of Lincoln in 1761, but it seemed unlikely as they were both of that parish, and with no discernable links to either Grantham or Nottingham.

        But there were two marriages registered for William Eaton and Elizabeth Rose: one in Lincoln in 1761 and one in Hawkesworth Nottinghamshire in 1767, the year before William junior was baptised in Grantham. Hawkesworth is between Grantham and Nottingham, and this seemed much more likely.

        Elizabeth’s name is spelled Rose on her marriage records, but spelled Rouse on her baptism. It’s not unusual for spelling variations to occur, as the majority of people were illiterate and whoever was recording the event wrote what it sounded like.

        Elizabeth Rouse was baptised on 26th December 1746 in Gunby St Nicholas (there is another Gunby in Lincolnshire), a short distance from Grantham. Her father was Richard Rouse; her mother Cave Pindar. Cave is a curious name and I wondered if it had been mistranscribed, but it appears to be correct and clearly says Cave on several records.

        Richard Rouse married Cave Pindar 21 July 1744 in South Witham, not far from Grantham.

        Richard was born in 1716 in North Witham. His father was William Rouse; his mothers name was Jane.

        Cave Pindar was born in 1719 in Gunby St Nicholas, near Grantham. Her father was William Pindar, but sadly her mothers name is not recorded in the parish baptism register. However a marriage was registered between William Pindar and Elizabeth Holmes in Gunby St Nicholas in October 1712.

        William Pindar buried a daughter Cave on 2 April 1719 and baptised a daughter Cave on 6 Oct 1719:

        Cave Pindar

         

        Elizabeth Holmes was baptised in Gunby St Nicholas on 6th December 1691. Her father was John Holmes; her mother Margaret Hod.

        Margaret Hod would have been born circa 1650 to 1670 and I haven’t yet found a baptism record for her. According to several other public trees on an ancestry website, she was born in 1654 in Essenheim, Germany. This was surprising! According to these trees, her father was Johannes Hod (Blodt|Hoth) (1609–1677) and her mother was Maria Appolonia Witters (1620–1656).

        I did not think it very likely that a young woman born in Germany would appear in Gunby St Nicholas in the late 1600’s, and did a search for Hod’s in and around Grantham. Indeed there were Hod’s living in the area as far back as the 1500’s, (a Robert Hod was baptised in Grantham in 1552), and no doubt before, but the parish records only go so far back. I think it’s much more likely that her parents were local, and that the page with her baptism recorded on the registers is missing.

        Of the many reasons why parish registers or some of the pages would be destroyed or lost, this is another possibility. Lincolnshire is on the east coast of England:

        “All of England suffered from a “monster” storm in November of 1703 that killed a reported 8,000 people. Seaside villages suffered greatly and their church and civil records may have been lost.”

        A Margeret Hod, widow, died in Gunby St Nicholas in 1691, the same year that Elizabeth Holmes was born. Elizabeth’s mother was Margaret Hod. Perhaps the widow who died was Margaret Hod’s mother? I did wonder if Margaret Hod had died shortly after her daughter’s birth, and that her husband had died sometime between the conception and birth of his child. The Black Death or Plague swept through Lincolnshire in 1680 through 1690; such an eventually would be possible. But Margaret’s name would have been registered as Holmes, not Hod.

        Cave Pindar’s father William was born in Swinstead, Lincolnshire, also near to Grantham, on the 28th December, 1690, and he died in Gunby St Nicholas in 1756. William’s father is recorded as Thomas Pinder; his mother Elizabeth.

        GUNBY: The village name derives from a “farmstead or village of a man called Gunni”, from the Old Scandinavian person name, and ‘by’, a farmstead, village or settlement.
        Gunby Grade II listed Anglican church is dedicated to St Nicholas. Of 15th-century origin, it was rebuilt by Richard Coad in 1869, although the Perpendicular tower remained.

        Gunby St Nicholas

        #6273
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Housley Letters
          THE NEIGHBORHOOD

           

          From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

          In July 1872, Joseph wrote to George who had been gone for 21 years: “You would not know Heanor now. It has got such a large place. They have got a town hall built where Charles’ stone yard was.”

          Then Joseph took George on a tour from Smalley to Heanor pointing out all the changes:

          Smalley Map

          Smalley Farms

           

          “Now we commence at Firby Brook. There is no public house there. It is turned into a market gardener’s place. Morley smithy stands as it did. You would know Chris Shepperd that used to keep the farm opposite. He is dead and the farm is got into other hands.”  (In 1851, Chris Shepherd, age 39, and his widowed mother, Mary, had a farm of 114 acres. Charles Carrington, age 14, worked for them as a “cow boy.” In 1851 Hollingsworths also lived at Morely smithy.) “The Rose and Crown stands and Antony Kerry keeps that yet.”  (In 1851, the census listed Kerry as a mason, builder, victicular, and farmer. He lived with his wife and four sons and numerous servants.) “They have pulled down Samuel Kerry’s farm house down and built him one in another place. Now we come to the Bell that was but they have pulled the old one down and made Isaac Potters House into the new Bell.” (In 1851, The Bell was run by Ann Weston, a widow.)

          Smalley Roundhouse:

          Smalley Roundhouse

           

          “The old Round House is standing yet but they have took the machine away. The Public House at the top end is kept by Mrs. Turton. I don’t know who she was before she married. Now we get to old Tom Oldknow. The old house is pulled down and a new one is put up but it is gone out of the family altogether. Now Jack is living at Stanley. He married Ann that used to live at Barbers at Smalley. That finishes Smalley. Now for Taghill. The old Jolly Collier is standing yet and a man of the name of Remmington keeps the new one opposite. Jack Foulkes son Jack used to keep that but has left just lately. There is the Nottingham House, Nags Head, Cross Keys and then the Red Lion but houses built on both sides all the way down Taghill. Then we get to the town hall that is built on the ground that Charles’ Stone Yard used to be. There is Joseph Watson’s shop standing yet in the old place. The King of Prussia, the White Lion and Hanks that is the Public House. You see there are more than there used to be. The Magistrate sits at the Town Hall and tries cases there every fortnight.”

          .

          #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.

            #6265
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued  ~ part 6

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Mchewe 6th June 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              With much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 25th June 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Lots of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 9th July 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor

              Mchewe 8th October 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 17th October 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 18th November 1937

              My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

              Mchewe 18th November 1937

              Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

              Mchewe 12th February, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 18th March, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 24th March, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 20th June 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Karatu 3rd July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Karatu 12th July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 19th July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 10th August 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 20th August 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #6263
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued  ~ part 4

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Life is very quiet just now. Our neighbours have left and I miss them all especially
                Joni who was always a great bearer of news. We also grew fond of his Swedish
                brother-in-law Max, whose loud ‘Hodi’ always brought a glad ‘Karibu’ from us. His wife,
                Marion, I saw less often. She is not strong and seldom went visiting but has always
                been friendly and kind and ready to share her books with me.

                Ann’s birthday is looming ahead and I am getting dreadfully anxious that her
                parcels do not arrive in time. I am delighted that you were able to get a good head for
                her doll, dad, but horrified to hear that it was so expensive. You would love your
                ‘Charming Ann’. She is a most responsible little soul and seems to have outgrown her
                mischievous ways. A pity in a way, I don’t want her to grow too serious. You should see
                how thoroughly Ann baths and towels herself. She is anxious to do Georgie and Kate
                as well.

                I did not mean to teach Ann to write until after her fifth birthday but she has taught
                herself by copying the large print in newspaper headlines. She would draw a letter and
                ask me the name and now I find that at four Ann knows the whole alphabet. The front
                cement steps is her favourite writing spot. She uses bits of white clay we use here for
                whitewashing.

                Coffee prices are still very low and a lot of planters here and at Mbosi are in a
                mess as they can no longer raise mortgages on their farms or get advances from the
                Bank against their crops. We hear many are leaving their farms to try their luck on the
                Diggings.

                George is getting fed up too. The snails are back on the shamba and doing
                frightful damage. Talk of the plagues of Egypt! Once more they are being collected in
                piles and bashed into pulp. The stench on the shamba is frightful! The greybeards in the
                village tell George that the local Chief has put a curse on the farm because he is angry
                that the Government granted George a small extension to the farm two years ago! As
                the Chief was consulted at the time and was agreeable this talk of a curse is nonsense
                but goes to show how the uneducated African put all disasters down to witchcraft.

                With much love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Ann’s birthday yesterday was not quite the gay occasion we had hoped. The
                seventh was mail day so we sent a runner for the mail, hoping against hope that your
                parcel containing the dolls head had arrived. The runner left for Mbeya at dawn but, as it
                was a very wet day, he did not return with the mail bag until after dark by which time Ann
                was fast asleep. My heart sank when I saw the parcel which contained the dolls new
                head. It was squashed quite flat. I shed a few tears over that shattered head, broken
                quite beyond repair, and George felt as bad about it as I did. The other parcel arrived in
                good shape and Ann loves her little sewing set, especially the thimble, and the nursery
                rhymes are a great success.

                Ann woke early yesterday and began to open her parcels. She said “But
                Mummy, didn’t Barbara’s new head come?” So I had to show her the fragments.
                Instead of shedding the flood of tears I expected, Ann just lifted the glass eyes in her
                hand and said in a tight little voice “Oh poor Barbara.” George saved the situation. as
                usual, by saying in a normal voice,”Come on Ann, get up and lets play your new
                records.” So we had music and sweets before breakfast. Later I removed Barbara’s
                faded old blond wig and gummed on the glossy new brown one and Ann seems quite
                satisfied.

                Last night, after the children were tucked up in bed, we discussed our financial
                situation. The coffee trees that have survived the plagues of borer beetle, mealie bugs
                and snails look strong and fine, but George says it will be years before we make a living
                out of the farm. He says he will simply have to make some money and he is leaving for
                the Lupa on Saturday to have a look around on the Diggings. If he does decide to peg
                a claim and work it he will put up a wattle and daub hut and the children and I will join him
                there. But until such time as he strikes gold I shall have to remain here on the farm and
                ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’.

                Now don’t go and waste pity on me. Women all over the country are having to
                stay at home whilst their husbands search for a livelihood. I am better off than most
                because I have a comfortable little home and loyal servants and we still have enough
                capitol to keep the wolf from the door. Anyway this is the rainy season and hardly the
                best time to drag three small children around the sodden countryside on prospecting
                safaris.

                So I’ll stay here at home and hold thumbs that George makes a lucky strike.

                Heaps of love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Well, George has gone but here we are quite safe and cosy. Kate is asleep and
                Ann and Georgie are sprawled on the couch taking it in turns to enumerate the things
                God has made. Every now and again Ann bothers me with an awkward question. “Did
                God make spiders? Well what for? Did he make weeds? Isn’t He silly, mummy? She is
                becoming a very practical person. She sews surprisingly well for a four year old and has
                twice made cakes in the past week, very sweet and liberally coloured with cochineal and
                much appreciated by Georgie.

                I have been without George for a fortnight and have adapted myself to my new
                life. The children are great company during the day and I have arranged my evenings so
                that they do not seem long. I am determined that when George comes home he will find
                a transformed wife. I read an article entitled ‘Are you the girl he married?’ in a magazine
                last week and took a good look in the mirror and decided that I certainly was not! Hair dry,
                skin dry, and I fear, a faint shadow on the upper lip. So now I have blown the whole of
                your Christmas Money Order on an order to a chemist in Dar es Salaam for hair tonic,
                face cream and hair remover and am anxiously awaiting the parcel.

                In the meantime, after tucking the children into bed at night, I skip on the verandah
                and do the series of exercises recommended in the magazine article. After this exertion I
                have a leisurely bath followed by a light supper and then read or write letters to pass
                the time until Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I have arranged for Janey to sleep in the house.
                She comes in at 9.30 pm and makes up her bed on the living room floor by the fire.

                The days are by no means uneventful. The day before yesterday the biggest
                troop of monkeys I have ever seen came fooling around in the trees and on the grass
                only a few yards from the house. These monkeys were the common grey monkeys
                with black faces. They came in all sizes and were most entertaining to watch. Ann and
                Georgie had a great time copying their antics and pulling faces at the monkeys through
                the bedroom windows which I hastily closed.

                Thomas, our headman, came running up and told me that this troop of monkeys
                had just raided his maize shamba and asked me to shoot some of them. I would not of
                course do this. I still cannot bear to kill any animal, but I fired a couple of shots in the air
                and the monkeys just melted away. It was fantastic, one moment they were there and
                the next they were not. Ann and Georgie thought I had been very unkind to frighten the
                poor monkeys but honestly, when I saw what they had done to my flower garden, I
                almost wished I had hardened my heart and shot one or two.

                The children are all well but Ann gave me a nasty fright last week. I left Ann and
                Georgie at breakfast whilst I fed Fanny, our bull terrier on the back verandah. Suddenly I
                heard a crash and rushed inside to find Ann’s chair lying on its back and Ann beside it on
                the floor perfectly still and with a paper white face. I shouted for Janey to bring water and
                laid Ann flat on the couch and bathed her head and hands. Soon she sat up with a wan
                smile and said “I nearly knocked my head off that time, didn’t I.” She must have been
                standing on the chair and leaning against the back. Our brick floors are so terribly hard that
                she might have been seriously hurt.

                However she was none the worse for the fall, but Heavens, what an anxiety kids
                are.

                Lots of love,
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                Dearest Family,

                It was marvellous of you to send another money order to replace the one I spent
                on cosmetics. With this one I intend to order boots for both children as a protection from
                snake bite, though from my experience this past week the threat seems to be to the
                head rather than the feet. I was sitting on the couch giving Kate her morning milk from a
                cup when a long thin snake fell through the reed ceiling and landed with a thud just behind
                the couch. I shouted “Nyoka, Nyoka!” (Snake,Snake!) and the houseboy rushed in with
                a stick and killed the snake. I then held the cup to Kate’s mouth again but I suppose in
                my agitation I tipped it too much because the baby choked badly. She gasped for
                breath. I quickly gave her a sharp smack on the back and a stream of milk gushed
                through her mouth and nostrils and over me. Janey took Kate from me and carried her
                out into the fresh air on the verandah and as I anxiously followed her through the door,
                another long snake fell from the top of the wall just missing me by an inch or so. Luckily
                the houseboy still had the stick handy and dispatched this snake also.

                The snakes were a pair of ‘boomslangs’, not nice at all, and all day long I have
                had shamba boys coming along to touch hands and say “Poli Memsahib” – “Sorry
                madam”, meaning of course ‘Sorry you had a fright.’

                Apart from that one hectic morning this has been a quiet week. Before George
                left for the Lupa he paid off most of the farm hands as we can now only afford a few
                labourers for the essential work such as keeping the weeds down in the coffee shamba.
                There is now no one to keep the grass on the farm roads cut so we cannot use the pram
                when we go on our afternoon walks. Instead Janey carries Kate in a sling on her back.
                Janey is a very clean slim woman, and her clothes are always spotless, so Kate keeps
                cool and comfortable. Ann and Georgie always wear thick overalls on our walks as a
                protection against thorns and possible snakes. We usually make our way to the
                Mchewe River where Ann and Georgie paddle in the clear cold water and collect shiny
                stones.

                The cosmetics parcel duly arrived by post from Dar es Salaam so now I fill the
                evenings between supper and bed time attending to my face! The much advertised
                cream is pink and thick and feels revolting. I smooth it on before bedtime and keep it on
                all night. Just imagine if George could see me! The advertisements promise me a skin
                like a rose in six weeks. What a surprise there is in store for George!

                You will have been wondering what has happened to George. Well on the Lupa
                he heard rumours of a new gold strike somewhere in the Sumbawanga District. A couple
                of hundred miles from here I think, though I am not sure where it is and have no one to
                ask. You look it up on the map and tell me. John Molteno is also interested in this and
                anxious to have it confirmed so he and George have come to an agreement. John
                Molteno provided the porters for the journey together with prospecting tools and
                supplies but as he cannot leave his claims, or his gold buying business, George is to go
                on foot to the area of the rumoured gold strike and, if the strike looks promising will peg
                claims in both their names.

                The rainy season is now at its height and the whole countryside is under water. All
                roads leading to the area are closed to traffic and, as there are few Europeans who
                would attempt the journey on foot, George proposes to get a head start on them by
                making this uncomfortable safari. I have just had my first letter from George since he left
                on this prospecting trip. It took ages to reach me because it was sent by runner to
                Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia, then on by lorry to Mpika where it was put on a plane
                for Mbeya. George writes the most charming letters which console me a little upon our
                all too frequent separations.

                His letter was cheerful and optimistic, though reading between the lines I should
                say he had a grim time. He has reached Sumbawanga after ‘a hell of a trip’, to find that
                the rumoured strike was at Mpanda and he had a few more days of foot safari ahead.
                He had found the trip from the Lupa even wetter than he had expected. The party had
                three days of wading through swamps sometimes waist deep in water. Of his sixteen
                porters, four deserted an the second day out and five others have had malaria and so
                been unable to carry their loads. He himself is ‘thin but very fit’, and he sounds full of
                beans and writes gaily of the marvellous holiday we will have if he has any decent luck! I
                simply must get that mink and diamonds complexion.

                The frustrating thing is that I cannot write back as I have no idea where George is
                now.

                With heaps of love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

                Dearest Family,
                How kind you are. Another parcel from home. Although we are very short
                of labourers I sent a special runner to fetch it as Ann simply couldn’t bear the suspense
                of waiting to see Brenda, “My new little girl with plaits.” Thank goodness Brenda is
                unbreakable. I could not have born another tragedy. She really is an exquisite little doll
                and has hardly been out of Ann’s arms since arrival. She showed Brenda proudly to all
                the staff. The kitchen boy’s face was a study. His eyes fairly came out on sticks when he
                saw the dolls eyes not only opening and shutting, but moving from side to side in that
                incredibly lifelike way. Georgie loves his little model cars which he carries around all day
                and puts under his pillow at night.

                As for me, I am enchanted by my very smart new frock. Janey was so lavish with
                her compliments when I tried the frock on, that in a burst of generosity I gave her that
                rather tartish satin and lace trousseau nighty, and she was positively enthralled. She
                wore it that very night when she appeared as usual to doss down by the fire.
                By the way it was Janey’s turn to have a fright this week. She was in the
                bathroom washing the children’s clothes in an outsize hand basin when it happened. As
                she took Georgie’s overalls from the laundry basket a large centipede ran up her bare
                arm. Luckily she managed to knock the centipede off into the hot water in the hand basin.
                It was a brute, about six inches long of viciousness with a nasty sting. The locals say that
                the bite is much worse than a scorpions so Janey had a lucky escape.

                Kate cut her first two teeth yesterday and will, I hope, sleep better now. I don’t
                feel that pink skin food is getting a fair trial with all those broken nights. There is certainly
                no sign yet of ‘The skin he loves to touch”. Kate, I may say, is rosy and blooming. She
                can pull herself upright providing she has something solid to hold on to. She is so plump
                I have horrible visions of future bow legs so I push her down, but she always bobs up
                again.

                Both Ann and Georgie are mad on books. Their favourites are ‘Barbar and
                Celeste” and, of all things, ‘Struvel Peter’ . They listen with absolute relish to the sad tale
                of Harriet who played with matches.

                I have kept a laugh for the end. I am hoping that it will not be long before George
                comes home and thought it was time to take the next step towards glamour, so last
                Wednesday after lunch I settled the children on their beds and prepared to remove the ,
                to me, obvious down on my upper lip. (George always loyally says that he can’t see
                any.) Well I got out the tube of stuff and carefully followed the directions. I smoothed a
                coating on my upper lip. All this was watched with great interest by the children, including
                the baby, who stood up in her cot for a better view. Having no watch, I had propped
                the bedroom door open so that I could time the operation by the cuckoo clock in the
                living room. All the children’s surprised comments fell on deaf ears. I would neither talk
                nor smile for fear of cracking the hair remover which had set hard. The set time was up
                and I was just about to rinse the remover off when Kate slipped, knocking her head on
                the corner of the cot. I rushed to the rescue and precious seconds ticked off whilst I
                pacified her.

                So, my dears, when I rinsed my lip, not only the plaster and the hair came away
                but the skin as well and now I really did have a Ronald Coleman moustache – a crimson
                one. I bathed it, I creamed it, powdered it but all to no avail. Within half an hour my lip
                had swollen until I looked like one of those Duckbilled West African women. Ann’s
                comments, “Oh Mummy, you do look funny. Georgie, doesn’t Mummy look funny?”
                didn’t help to soothe me and the last straw was that just then there was the sound of a car drawing up outside – the first car I had heard for months. Anyway, thank heaven, it
                was not George, but the representative of a firm which sells agricultural machinery and
                farm implements, looking for orders. He had come from Dar es Salaam and had not
                heard that all the planters from this district had left their farms. Hospitality demanded that I
                should appear and offer tea. I did not mind this man because he was a complete
                stranger and fat, middle aged and comfortable. So I gave him tea, though I didn’t
                attempt to drink any myself, and told him the whole sad tale.

                Fortunately much of the swelling had gone next day and only a brown dryness
                remained. I find myself actually hoping that George is delayed a bit longer. Of one thing
                I am sure. If ever I grow a moustache again, it stays!

                Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. George is home again. The safari, I am sad
                to say, was a complete washout in more ways than one. Anyway it was lovely to be
                together again and we don’t yet talk about the future. The home coming was not at all as
                I had planned it. I expected George to return in our old A.C. car which gives ample
                warning of its arrival. I had meant to wear my new frock and make myself as glamourous
                as possible, with our beautiful babe on one arm and our other jewels by my side.
                This however is what actually happened. Last Saturday morning at about 2 am , I
                thought I heard someone whispering my name. I sat up in bed, still half asleep, and
                there was George at the window. He was thin and unshaven and the tiredest looking
                man I have ever seen. The car had bogged down twenty miles back along the old Lupa
                Track, but as George had had no food at all that day, he decided to walk home in the
                bright moonlight.

                This is where I should have served up a tasty hot meal but alas, there was only
                the heal of a loaf and no milk because, before going to bed I had given the remaining
                milk to the dog. However George seemed too hungry to care what he ate. He made a
                meal off a tin of bully, a box of crustless cheese and the bread washed down with cup
                after cup of black tea. Though George was tired we talked for hours and it was dawn
                before we settled down to sleep.

                During those hours of talk George described his nightmarish journey. He started
                up the flooded Rukwa Valley and there were days of wading through swamp and mud
                and several swollen rivers to cross. George is a strong swimmer and the porters who
                were recruited in that area, could also swim. There remained the problem of the stores
                and of Kianda the houseboy who cannot swim. For these they made rough pole rafts
                which they pulled across the rivers with ropes. Kianda told me later that he hopes never
                to make such a journey again. He swears that the raft was submerged most of the time
                and that he was dragged through the rivers underwater! You should see the state of
                George’s clothes which were packed in a supposedly water tight uniform trunk. The
                whole lot are mud stained and mouldy.

                To make matters more trying for George he was obliged to live mostly on
                porters rations, rice and groundnut oil which he detests. As all the district roads were
                closed the little Indian Sores in the remote villages he passed had been unable to
                replenish their stocks of European groceries. George would have been thinner had it not
                been for two Roman Catholic missions enroute where he had good meals and dry
                nights. The Fathers are always wonderfully hospitable to wayfarers irrespective of
                whether or not they are Roman Catholics. George of course is not a Catholic. One finds
                the Roman Catholic missions right out in the ‘Blue’ and often on spots unhealthy to
                Europeans. Most of the Fathers are German or Dutch but they all speak a little English
                and in any case one can always fall back on Ki-Swahili.

                George reached his destination all right but it soon became apparent that reports
                of the richness of the strike had been greatly exaggerated. George had decided that
                prospects were brighter on the Lupa than on the new strike so he returned to the Lupa
                by the way he had come and, having returned the borrowed equipment decided to
                make his way home by the shortest route, the old and now rarely used road which
                passes by the bottom of our farm.

                The old A.C. had been left for safe keeping at the Roman Catholic Galala
                Mission 40 miles away, on George’s outward journey, and in this old car George, and
                the houseboy Kianda , started for home. The road was indescribably awful. There were long stretches that were simply one big puddle, in others all the soil had been washed
                away leaving the road like a rocky river bed. There were also patches where the tall
                grass had sprung up head high in the middle of the road,
                The going was slow because often the car bogged down because George had
                no wheel chains and he and Kianda had the wearisome business of digging her out. It
                was just growing dark when the old A.C. settled down determinedly in the mud for the
                last time. They could not budge her and they were still twenty miles from home. George
                decided to walk home in the moonlight to fetch help leaving Kianda in charge of the car
                and its contents and with George’s shot gun to use if necessary in self defence. Kianda
                was reluctant to stay but also not prepared to go for help whilst George remained with
                the car as lions are plentiful in that area. So George set out unarmed in the moonlight.
                Once he stopped to avoid a pride of lion coming down the road but he circled safely
                around them and came home without any further alarms.

                Kianda said he had a dreadful night in the car, “With lions roaming around the car
                like cattle.” Anyway the lions did not take any notice of the car or of Kianda, and the next
                day George walked back with all our farm boys and dug and pushed the car out of the
                mud. He brought car and Kianda back without further trouble but the labourers on their
                way home were treed by the lions.

                The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                Lots and lots of love,
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Young George’s third birthday passed off very well yesterday. It started early in
                the morning when he brought his pillow slip of presents to our bed. Kate was already
                there and Ann soon joined us. Young George liked all the presents you sent, especially
                the trumpet. It has hardly left his lips since and he is getting quite smart about the finger
                action.

                We had quite a party. Ann and I decorated the table with Christmas tree tinsel
                and hung a bunch of balloons above it. Ann also decorated young George’s chair with
                roses and phlox from the garden. I had made and iced a fruit cake but Ann begged to
                make a plain pink cake. She made it entirely by herself though I stood by to see that
                she measured the ingredients correctly. When the cake was baked I mixed some soft
                icing in a jug and she poured it carefully over the cake smoothing the gaps with her
                fingers!

                During the party we had the gramophone playing and we pulled crackers and
                wore paper hats and altogether had a good time. I forgot for a while that George is
                leaving again for the Lupa tomorrow for an indefinite time. He was marvellous at making
                young George’s party a gay one. You will have noticed the change from Georgie to
                young George. Our son declares that he now wants to be called George, “Like Dad”.
                He an Ann are a devoted couple and I am glad that there is only a fourteen
                months difference in their ages. They play together extremely well and are very
                independent which is just as well for little Kate now demands a lot of my attention. My
                garden is a real cottage garden and looks very gay and colourful. There are hollyhocks
                and Snapdragons, marigolds and phlox and of course the roses and carnations which, as
                you know, are my favourites. The coffee shamba does not look so good because the
                small labour force, which is all we can afford, cannot cope with all the weeds. You have
                no idea how things grow during the wet season in the tropics.

                Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when George is home, so I’m afraid this
                letter is rather dull. I wanted you to know though, that largely due to all your gifts of toys
                and sweets, Georgie’s 3rd birthday party went with a bang.

                Your very affectionate,
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                Dearest Family,

                I am sorry to hear that Mummy worries about me so much. “Poor Eleanor”,
                indeed! I have a quite exceptional husband, three lovely children, a dear little home and
                we are all well.It is true that I am in rather a rut but what else can we do? George comes
                home whenever he can and what excitement there is when he does come. He cannot
                give me any warning because he has to take advantage of chance lifts from the Diggings
                to Mbeya, but now that he is prospecting nearer home he usually comes walking over
                the hills. About 50 miles of rough going. Really and truly I am all right. Although our diet is
                monotonous we have plenty to eat. Eggs and milk are cheap and fruit plentiful and I
                have a good cook so can devote all my time to the children. I think it is because they are
                my constant companions that Ann and Georgie are so grown up for their years.
                I have no ayah at present because Janey has been suffering form rheumatism
                and has gone home for one of her periodic rests. I manage very well without her except
                in the matter of the afternoon walks. The outward journey is all right. George had all the
                grass cut on his last visit so I am able to push the pram whilst Ann, George and Fanny
                the dog run ahead. It is the uphill return trip that is so trying. Our walk back is always the
                same, down the hill to the river where the children love to play and then along the car
                road to the vegetable garden. I never did venture further since the day I saw a leopard
                jump on a calf. I did not tell you at the time as I thought you might worry. The cattle were
                grazing on a small knoll just off our land but near enough for me to have a clear view.
                Suddenly the cattle scattered in all directions and we heard the shouts of the herd boys
                and saw – or rather had the fleeting impression- of a large animal jumping on a calf. I
                heard the herd boy shout “Chui, Chui!” (leopard) and believe me, we turned in our
                tracks and made for home. To hasten things I picked up two sticks and told the children
                that they were horses and they should ride them home which they did with
                commendable speed.

                Ann no longer rides Joseph. He became increasingly bad tempered and a
                nuisance besides. He took to rolling all over my flower beds though I had never seen
                him roll anywhere else. Then one day he kicked Ann in the chest, not very hard but
                enough to send her flying. Now George has given him to the native who sells milk to us
                and he seems quite happy grazing with the cattle.

                With love to you all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Since I last wrote George has been home and we had a lovely time as usual.
                Whilst he was here the District Commissioner and his wife called. Mr Pollock told
                George that there is to be a big bush clearing scheme in some part of the Mbeya
                District to drive out Tsetse Fly. The game in the area will have to be exterminated and
                there will probably be a job for George shooting out the buffalo. The pay would be
                good but George says it is a beastly job. Although he is a professional hunter, he hates
                slaughter.

                Mrs P’s real reason for visiting the farm was to invite me to stay at her home in
                Mbeya whilst she and her husband are away in Tukuyu. Her English nanny and her small
                daughter will remain in Mbeya and she thought it might be a pleasant change for us and
                a rest for me as of course Nanny will do the housekeeping. I accepted the invitation and I
                think I will go on from there to Tukuyu and visit my friend Lillian Eustace for a fortnight.
                She has given us an open invitation to visit her at any time.

                I had a letter from Dr Eckhardt last week, telling me that at a meeting of all the
                German Settlers from Mbeya, Tukuyu and Mbosi it had been decided to raise funds to
                build a school at Mbeya. They want the British Settlers to co-operate in this and would
                be glad of a subscription from us. I replied to say that I was unable to afford a
                subscription at present but would probably be applying for a teaching job.
                The Eckhardts are the leaders of the German community here and are ardent
                Nazis. For this reason they are unpopular with the British community but he is the only
                doctor here and I must say they have been very decent to us. Both of them admire
                George. George has still not had any luck on the Lupa and until he makes a really
                promising strike it is unlikely that the children and I will join him. There is no fresh milk there
                and vegetables and fruit are imported from Mbeya and Iringa and are very expensive.
                George says “You wouldn’t be happy on the diggings anyway with a lot of whores and
                their bastards!”

                Time ticks away very pleasantly here. Young George and Kate are blooming
                and I keep well. Only Ann does not look well. She is growing too fast and is listless and
                pale. If I do go to Mbeya next week I shall take her to the doctor to be overhauled.
                We do not go for our afternoon walks now that George has returned to the Lupa.
                That leopard has been around again and has killed Tubbage that cowardly Alsatian. We
                gave him to the village headman some months ago. There is no danger to us from the
                leopard but I am terrified it might get Fanny, who is an excellent little watchdog and
                dearly loved by all of us. Yesterday I sent a note to the Boma asking for a trap gun and
                today the farm boys are building a trap with logs.

                I had a mishap this morning in the garden. I blundered into a nest of hornets and
                got two stings in the left arm above the elbow. Very painful at the time and the place is
                still red and swollen.

                Much love to you all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                Dearest Family,

                Well here we are at Mbeya, comfortably installed in the District Commissioner’s
                house. It is one of two oldest houses in Mbeya and is a charming gabled place with tiled
                roof. The garden is perfectly beautiful. I am enjoying the change very much. Nanny
                Baxter is very entertaining. She has a vast fund of highly entertaining tales of the goings
                on amongst the British Aristocracy, gleaned it seems over the nursery teacup in many a
                Stately Home. Ann and Georgie are enjoying the company of other children.
                People are very kind about inviting us out to tea and I gladly accept these
                invitations but I have turned down invitations to dinner and one to a dance at the hotel. It
                is no fun to go out at night without George. There are several grass widows at the pub
                whose husbands are at the diggings. They have no inhibitions about parties.
                I did have one night and day here with George, he got the chance of a lift and
                knowing that we were staying here he thought the chance too good to miss. He was
                also anxious to hear the Doctor’s verdict on Ann. I took Ann to hospital on my second
                day here. Dr Eckhardt said there was nothing specifically wrong but that Ann is a highly
                sensitive type with whom the tropics does not agree. He advised that Ann should
                spend a year in a more temperate climate and that the sooner she goes the better. I felt
                very discouraged to hear this and was most relieved when George turned up
                unexpectedly that evening. He phoo-hood Dr Eckhardt’s recommendation and next
                morning called in Dr Aitkin, the Government Doctor from Chunya and who happened to
                be in Mbeya.

                Unfortunately Dr Aitkin not only confirmed Dr Eckhardt’s opinion but said that he
                thought Ann should stay out of the tropics until she had passed adolescence. I just don’t
                know what to do about Ann. She is a darling child, very sensitive and gentle and a
                lovely companion to me. Also she and young George are inseparable and I just cannot
                picture one without the other. I know that you would be glad to have Ann but how could
                we bear to part with her?

                Your worried but affectionate,
                Eleanor.

                Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                Dearest Family,

                As you see we have moved to Tukuyu and we are having a lovely time with
                Lillian Eustace. She gave us such a warm welcome and has put herself out to give us
                every comfort. She is a most capable housekeeper and I find her such a comfortable
                companion because we have the same outlook in life. Both of us are strictly one man
                women and that is rare here. She has a two year old son, Billy, who is enchanted with
                our rolly polly Kate and there are other children on the station with whom Ann and
                Georgie can play. Lillian engaged a temporary ayah for me so I am having a good rest.
                All the children look well and Ann in particular seems to have benefited by the
                change to a cooler climate. She has a good colour and looks so well that people all
                exclaim when I tell them, that two doctors have advised us to send Ann out of the
                country. Perhaps after all, this holiday in Tukuyu will set her up.

                We had a trying journey from Mbeya to Tukuyu in the Post Lorry. The three
                children and I were squeezed together on the front seat between the African driver on
                one side and a vast German on the other. Both men smoked incessantly – the driver
                cigarettes, and the German cheroots. The cab was clouded with a blue haze. Not only
                that! I suddenly felt a smarting sensation on my right thigh. The driver’s cigarette had
                burnt a hole right through that new checked linen frock you sent me last month.
                I had Kate on my lap all the way but Ann and Georgie had to stand against the
                windscreen all the way. The fat German offered to take Ann on his lap but she gave him
                a very cold “No thank you.” Nor did I blame her. I would have greatly enjoyed the drive
                under less crowded conditions. The scenery is gorgeous. One drives through very high
                country crossing lovely clear streams and at one point through rain forest. As it was I
                counted the miles and how thankful I was to see the end of the journey.
                In the days when Tanganyika belonged to the Germans, Tukuyu was the
                administrative centre for the whole of the Southern Highlands Province. The old German
                Fort is still in use as Government offices and there are many fine trees which were
                planted by the Germans. There is a large prosperous native population in this area.
                They go in chiefly for coffee and for bananas which form the basis of their diet.
                There are five British married couples here and Lillian and I go out to tea most
                mornings. In the afternoon there is tennis or golf. The gardens here are beautiful because
                there is rain or at least drizzle all the year round. There are even hedge roses bordering
                some of the district roads. When one walks across the emerald green golf course or
                through the Boma gardens, it is hard to realise that this gentle place is Tropical Africa.
                ‘Such a green and pleasant land’, but I think I prefer our corner of Tanganyika.

                Much love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                Dearest Family,

                We had a lovely holiday but it is so nice to be home again, especially as Laza,
                the local Nimrod, shot that leopard whilst we were away (with his muzzleloader gun). He
                was justly proud of himself, and I gave him a tip so that he could buy some native beer
                for a celebration. I have never seen one of theses parties but can hear the drums and
                sounds of merrymaking, especially on moonlight nights.

                Our house looks so fresh and uncluttered. Whilst I was away, the boys
                whitewashed the house and my houseboy had washed all the curtains, bedspreads,
                and loose covers and watered the garden. If only George were here it would be
                heaven.

                Ann looked so bonny at Tukuyu that I took her to the Government Doctor there
                hoping that he would find her perfectly healthy, but alas he endorsed the finding of the
                other two doctors so, when an opportunity offers, I think I shall have to send Ann down
                to you for a long holiday from the Tropics. Mother-in-law has offered to fetch her next
                year but England seems so far away. With you she will at least be on the same
                continent.

                I left the children for the first time ever, except for my stay in hospital when Kate
                was born, to go on an outing to Lake Masoko in the Tukuyu district, with four friends.
                Masoko is a beautiful, almost circular crater lake and very very deep. A detachment of
                the King’s African Rifles are stationed there and occupy the old German barracks
                overlooking the lake.

                We drove to Masoko by car and spent the afternoon there as guests of two
                British Army Officers. We had a good tea and the others went bathing in the lake but i
                could not as I did not have a costume. The Lake was as beautiful as I had been lead to
                imagine and our hosts were pleasant but I began to grow anxious as the afternoon
                advanced and my friends showed no signs of leaving. I was in agonies when they
                accepted an invitation to stay for a sundowner. We had this in the old German beer
                garden overlooking the Lake. It was beautiful but what did I care. I had promised the
                children that I would be home to give them their supper and put them to bed. When I
                did at length return to Lillian’s house I found the situation as I had expected. Ann, with her
                imagination had come to the conclusion that I never would return. She had sobbed
                herself into a state of exhaustion. Kate was screaming in sympathy and George 2 was
                very truculent. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Poor Lillian had had a trying time.
                We did not return to Mbeya by the Mail Lorry. Bill and Lillian drove us across to
                Mbeya in their new Ford V8 car. The children chattered happily in the back of the car
                eating chocolate and bananas all the way. I might have known what would happen! Ann
                was dreadfully and messily car sick.

                I engaged the Mbeya Hotel taxi to drive us out to the farm the same afternoon
                and I expect it will be a long time before we leave the farm again.

                Lots and lots of love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Chunya 27th November 1936

                Dearest Family,

                You will be surprised to hear that we are all together now on the Lupa goldfields.
                I have still not recovered from my own astonishment at being here. Until last Saturday
                night I never dreamed of this move. At about ten o’clock I was crouched in the inglenook
                blowing on the embers to make a fire so that I could heat some milk for Kate who is
                cutting teeth and was very restless. Suddenly I heard a car outside. I knew it must be
                George and rushed outside storm lamp in hand. Sure enough, there was George
                standing by a strange car, and beaming all over his face. “Something for you my love,”
                he said placing a little bundle in my hand. It was a knotted handkerchief and inside was a
                fine gold nugget.

                George had that fire going in no time, Kate was given the milk and half an aspirin
                and settles down to sleep, whilst George and I sat around for an hour chatting over our
                tea. He told me that he had borrowed the car from John Molteno and had come to fetch
                me and the children to join him on the diggings for a while. It seems that John, who has a
                camp at Itewe, a couple of miles outside the township of Chunya, the new
                Administrative Centre of the diggings, was off to the Cape to visit his family for a few
                months. John had asked George to run his claims in his absence and had given us the
                loan of his camp and his car.

                George had found the nugget on his own claim but he is not too elated because
                he says that one good month on the diggings is often followed by several months of
                dead loss. However, I feel hopeful, we have had such a run of bad luck that surely it is
                time for the tide to change. George spent Sunday going over the farm with Thomas, the
                headman, and giving him instructions about future work whilst I packed clothes and
                kitchen equipment. I have brought our ex-kitchenboy Kesho Kutwa with me as cook and
                also Janey, who heard that we were off to the Lupa and came to offer her services once
                more as ayah. Janey’s ex-husband Abel is now cook to one of the more successful
                diggers and I think she is hoping to team up with him again.

                The trip over the Mbeya-Chunya pass was new to me and I enjoyed it very
                much indeed. The road winds over the mountains along a very high escarpment and
                one looks down on the vast Usangu flats stretching far away to the horizon. At the
                highest point the road rises to about 7000 feet, and this was too much for Ann who was
                leaning against the back of my seat. She was very thoroughly sick, all over my hair.
                This camp of John Molteno’s is very comfortable. It consists of two wattle and
                daub buildings built end to end in a clearing in the miombo bush. The main building
                consists of a large living room, a store and an office, and the other of one large bedroom
                and a small one separated by an area for bathing. Both buildings are thatched. There are
                no doors, and there are no windows, but these are not necessary because one wall of
                each building is built up only a couple of feet leaving a six foot space for light and air. As
                this is the dry season the weather is pleasant. The air is fresh and dry but not nearly so
                hot as I expected.

                Water is a problem and must be carried long distances in kerosene tins.
                vegetables and fresh butter are brought in a van from Iringa and Mbeya Districts about
                once a fortnight. I have not yet visited Chunya but I believe it is as good a shopping
                centre as Mbeya so we will be able to buy all the non perishable food stuffs we need.
                What I do miss is the fresh milk. The children are accustomed to drinking at least a pint of
                milk each per day but they do not care for the tinned variety.

                Ann and young George love being here. The camp is surrounded by old
                prospecting trenches and they spend hours each day searching for gold in the heaps of gravel. Sometimes they find quartz pitted with little spots of glitter and they bring them
                to me in great excitement. Alas it is only Mica. We have two neighbours. The one is a
                bearded Frenchman and the other an Australian. I have not yet met any women.
                George looks very sunburnt and extremely fit and the children also look well.
                George and I have decided that we will keep Ann with us until my Mother-in-law comes
                out next year. George says that in spite of what the doctors have said, he thinks that the
                shock to Ann of being separated from her family will do her more harm than good. She
                and young George are inseparable and George thinks it would be best if both
                George and Ann return to England with my Mother-in-law for a couple of years. I try not
                to think at all about the breaking up of the family.

                Much love to all,
                Eleanor.

                 

                #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.

                      #6241
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Kidsley Grange Farm and The Quakers Next Door

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

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

                        The farm before it was turned into a nursing home:

                        Kidsley Grange Farm

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

                        Smalley Farms

                         

                        In Kerry’s History of Smalley:

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

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

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

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

                        Elizabeth Davy, June 6th, 1863, Derby.

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

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

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

                         

                        #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.

                        #6081
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Aunt Idle:

                          I’ll admit Mater did well with the get back into shape programme, despite my skepticism.  She did hone her muscles a bit, but she was still harping on about wanting plastic surgery.  I probably shouldn’t have asked her if she was showing off her biceps or her bingo wings the other day, because that started her off again. I tried to make it up by complimenting her thigh muscles, but spoiled it by saying it was a shame the skin hung down past her kneecaps. Bert said maybe she could hold the skin up with some suspenders and made me spit my eucalyptus tea out and nearly choke to death. Mater was all set to take offence until she saw me choking, and then she started laughing too. I’m smiling remembering it, because we all saw the funny side then and couldn’t stop laughing for ages. God knows we needed a good laugh.

                          I’d had another one of those telepathic chats with Corrie the day before. If I’d known those silly girls were going to navigate their way here via that route I’d have said something, but I never thought they’d be so daft.  There’s me envisioning a pleasant drift through the Mediterranean, and an unexpected sail across an immense shallow lake that had appeared in the middle east with crystal clear waters and a sandy bottom (I could picture it all, I tell you) and then an invitingly tropical trip along the Indian coast with ports of call at virgin new coastlines  ~ but no, they’d gone the other way.  Across the Atlantic. And now they were fighting off bandits every step of the way and having to go miles out of their way to avoid plague ridden slums.  They hadn’t even made their way past the eastern seaboard yet, despite it being considerably narrower now.

                          They lost Pan for days in one of those half submerged coastal cities, rife with lawless floating shanties.  I hope my impressions are wrong, I do really, but it seemed like he’d been kidnapped for a barbecue.  Tender and juicy.

                          His ability to stay submerged under the water for so long saved him, that and Corrie’s ability to stay in telepathic contact with him.

                          They left the coastline and headed south after that and didn’t head back towards land for awhile but when they did, they found the lagoons and inlets were infested with alligators and some kind of water pig. Not sure if I picked that up right, but seems like the hogs had escaped from the farms during the Great Floods and taken to the water. Pan was forbidden to waterlark in these waters and had to stay confined to the raft.

                          I don’t know if they’ll get here in time for Mater’s birthday. Might be my hundredth birthday by the time they get here at this rate.

                          #4624
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            The light in the apartment darkened and Lucida glanced up from her book and noticed the gathering clouds visible through the glass doors that opened onto her balcony. Frowning, she reached for her phone to check tomorrows weather forecast. The weekly outdoor market was one of the highlights of her week. With a sigh of relief she noted that there was no expectation of rain. Clouds perhaps, which wasn’t a bad thing. It wouldn’t be too hot, and the glare of the sun wouldn’t make it difficult to see all the the things laid out to entice a potential buyer on trestle tables and blankets.

                            Lucinda had made a list ~ the usual things, like fruit and vegetables from the farms outside the city; perhaps she’d find a second hand cake tin to try out the new recipe, and some white sheets for the costumes for the Roman themed party she’d been invited to, maybe some more books. But what excited her most was the chance of finding something unexpected, or something unusual. And more often than not, she did.

                            She added birthday present to the list, not having any idea what that might be. Lucinda found choosing gifts extraordinarily difficult, and had tried all manner of tactics to change her irrational angst about the whole thing. One Christmas she’d tried just picking one shop and choosing as many random things as people on her gift list. In fact that had worked as well as any other method, but still felt unsettling and unsatisfactory. The next year she informed everyone that she wouldn’t be buying presents at all, and asked friends and family to reciprocate likewise. Some had and some hadn’t, resulting in yet more confusion. Was she to be grateful for the gifts, despite the lack of her own reciprocation? Or peeved that they had ignored her wishes?

                            Birthdays were different though. A personal individual celebration was not the same thing as Christmas with all it’s stifling traditions and expectations. It would be churlish to refuse to buy a birthday gift. And so birthday gift remained on the shopping list, as it had been last week, and the week before.

                            A birthday gift had already been purchased the previous week. Lucinda glanced up at the top shelf of the bookcase where the doll sat, languidly looking down at her. She felt a pang of emotion, as she did each time she looked at that doll. She loved the doll and wanted to keep it for herself, that was one thing. That was one of the things that always happened when she chose a gift that she liked herself: she talked herself into keeping it; that it was her taste and not the recipients. That it would be obvious that she’d chosen it because SHE liked it, not keeping the other person in mind.

                            But that wasn’t the only thing confounding her this time. The doll wanted to stay with her, she was sure of it. It wasn’t just her wanting to keep the doll. It wasn’t any old doll, either. That was the other thing. It seemed very clear that it was one of Maeve’s dolls. It had to be, she was sure of it.

                            When she got home with her purchases the week before, her intention had been to go and show Maeve what she’d found. Then something stopped her: what if it made her sad that one of her creations had been discarded, put up for sale at a market along with old cake tins and second hand sheets? No, she couldn’t possibly risk it, and luckily Maeve didn’t know the birthday girl who was the doll was intended for, so she’d never know.

                            But then Lucinda realized she had to keep the strange gaunt doll with the grey dreadlocks and patchwork dress. She couldn’t possibly give her away.

                            I hope I don’t find another doll at the market tomorrow, and have to keep that as well! thought Lucinda, and immediately felt goosebumps rise as an errant breeze ruffled the dolls dreadlocks.

                            #4222

                            The North wind was cold on his cheeks. It was almost sunset, which didn’t help with the temperature. Fox was sweeping a street covered in autumn leaves. He couldn’t help but think it was useless. The wind was scattering away the leaves as soon as he had made a small heap. He already missed the quietness of his hut.

                            Mr Mole must have misunderstood, he thought, he appointed me caretaker of the city streets.
                            Fox took a whiff of city air. The cold bit his nose,but it was not enough to numb his sense of smell. The dragon breath was still there, even though the North wind had dispersed it a bit.
                            I’m not sure it will be enough.

                            He shivered, he never liked staying outside too long in his human form. Fox looked around. When he was sure nobody was in sight. As the sun disappeared behind the city walls, he allowed his true nature to the surface, just enough to enjoy the warmth of his red fur on his body. It was such a good feeling he almost didn’t stop in time. He touched his face, a moustache had grown on his upper lip, and his ears were a tad pointy. He passed his tongue onto his teeth; the length of his canines reminded him of chicken hunt in the nearby farms.
                            Don’t let yourself get carried away by the memories, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath. The smells of the city were stronger now, and it was as if someone had lit a light.

                            With his improved hearing, he caught up a strange noise coming from a nearby garden. It was like a faint pulse that was growing louder as the light diminished. A crack as soft as the whisper of stone. And the most unexpected words.

                            “Bloody bird shit ! Why do they always pick my nose ?”

                            Fox came closer to the small garden stonewall, as stealthily as he could, to see a gnome washing his face in a small basin. He suddenly caught sight of some wavering in the air, coming from a bush. The waves gradually took the shape of a strange animal, still rather translucent. Its fur behaving as if it was immersed into water, all wavy and floating.

                            “Ah! You’re here Rainbow,” said the gnome.
                            “Mrui,” answered the creature.
                            “Let’s get some potion for you, then.”
                            “Mruiiii.”

                            Fox looked the two of them walk silently toward the house. He could see the rays of light getting through the spaces of the wooden shutters. The gnome climbed on his friend’s back and took a bit of that translucent quality. He said something but it sounded like gargling. Fox almost expected to see his hair beginning to float in an invisible current. But it didn’t. And then they disappeared through the wall.

                            Fox dropped his broom, which bounced on the stonewall before falling on the floor. He waited, half expecting to hear a voice ask about all the noise. But the place remained quiet except for the wind. He jumped over the wall and waited behind a bush, his eyes on the wall where they had entered the house.

                            What if they don’t come out? he thought. But he remained there, his gaze fixed. He let his fur grow more. He wanted to be comfortable in the cold night.

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