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  • #7222

    In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Very well, let us focus a bit on an overarching mystery.

      So, Xavier is working on this program he calls AL (for Alternate Life), for a company we know little about.

      Meanwhile, the game they’re playing on, Orbs of Madjourneys seems to direct them to certain quests which subtly influence their activities. For instance, after playing the game, a succession of events got the four of them booking a trip to the Flying fish Inn in the middle of Australian outback (Zara is living in Australia unlike the others).

      Let’s assume the Game had somehow detected some unlawful or immoral activities being conducted, and has started to drop clues to influence these 4 gamers, selected because of their unique connexions and some of their special skills to get to reveal and bring the mystery to light.

      Zara has an explorer mind, free-spirited, jumping right in. It’s suggested she was assigned group leadership for this round of game, while taking care of a group doesn’t come naturally for her. Yasmin is talented and it is said she is the brains of the team and also a competent actress, which may come in play at some point. Youssef is a journalist, and works for Miss Tartiflate, owner of THE Blog, a blog with a soul – unlike rival blog from Botty Banworth, the lady millionaire, who is sponsoring the Carts & Lager festival at the town of the Flying Fish Inn, next to the mines. Xavier has a bit of a monkey mind, but is also good at drawing connections; he’s a programmer for AL.

      Which brings us to the group quest. The current hunch is that there is some shenanigan at play in the old collapsed mines of the town, where some key characters were lost in the past. One of them being Fred, a sci-fi writer who disappeared to Fiji to protect his family (the owners of the Flying Fish Inn) a decade or so ago. It’s suggested by the last poem found in the game that it may have something to do with illegal underground water drilling —possibly for frivolous usages of a select few elite, like maintaining a golf green nearby or other things.

      If that is on the right track, we need to accelerate the path of discovery of these mysteries for our 4 characters. The game will suggest additional clues to their quests, so that they can use their skills during the Carts & Lager Festival to discover the truth, while remaining out of harm’s way.

      Here are some additional clues that the game will suggest to our four characters:

      Zara:

      “To find the truth, you must first seek the light.” 🌞🔍🕯️💡🔦
      “The answer lies beneath the surface.” 🕳️🔍👀🌊💧

      Yasmin:

      “All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.” 🌍🎭🤹‍♀️👥🕺
      “Sometimes, the truth is hidden in plain sight.” 👀🔍🤫🧐🕵️‍♀️

      Youssef:

      “Words have power, and the pen is mightier than the sword.” 📝🗡️💪📚👨‍💻
      “The truth may be hidden in the most unexpected of places.” 🤔🕵️‍♂️🔍🧩🕰️

      Xavier:

      “The truth is a puzzle waiting to be solved.” 🧩🔍🤔🕵️‍♂️💡
      “Sometimes, the smallest details can lead to the biggest discoveries.” 🔍👀🔬🧐🔎

      What are potential outcomes for our 4 characters in game and in real life.
      How are they going to work together to unravel the mystery and discover the truth.

      There are several potential outcomes for our 4 characters as they work together to unravel the truth about the collapsed mines and the illegal underground water drilling.

      In the game, they may encounter various obstacles and puzzles to solve, such as deciphering codes and finding hidden passages. They will need to work together and use their unique skills to uncover the truth and prevent any further harm.

      In real life, they may need to conduct research and gather information about the history of the town and its residents. They may also need to interview locals and investigate any suspicious activity related to the water drilling. They will need to be careful not to draw too much attention to themselves, as the perpetrators may try to silence them.

      If they are successful in their quest, they may uncover a conspiracy involving powerful people in the town and beyond who are profiting from the illegal water drilling. They may also discover the fate of Fred, the missing writer, and other key characters. The truth may have a significant impact on the future of the town and its residents.

      To work together effectively, each of the characters will need to utilize their unique skills and strengths. Zara’s exploratory nature may help them discover hidden clues and passages, while Yasmin’s intellect and acting abilities may allow her to gain access to key information and people. Youssef’s journalistic skills and connection to Miss Tartiflate may provide them with insider knowledge and resources, and Xavier’s ability to draw connections and work with technology may help them piece together the puzzle.

      Overall, by working together and using their skills in both the game and real life, our 4 characters may uncover a significant truth and make a positive impact on the town and its residents.

      #7204
      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Some handy references for the timelines of the Flying Fish Inn are here

        Year Date Event
        1935 March 1, 1935 Birth of Mater
        1958 March 13, 1958 Mater marries her childhood sweetheart
        1965 August 17, 1965 Birth of Fred
        1968 June 8, 1968 Birth of Abcynthia Hogg
        1970 July 7, 1970 Birth of Aunt Idle
        1978 April 12, 1978 Mater’s husband dies
        1987 March 19, 1987 Mines close down – Carts & Lager Festival
        1988 December 12, 1988 Idle gives birth to a child in Fiji (Liana)
        1989 December 20, 1989 Horace Hogg death – Inn passes down to Abby
        1990 May 7, 1990 Fred marries Abcynthia
        1998 November 11, 1998 Birth of Devan
        2000 November 11, 2000 Birth of Clove and Coriander
        2007 March 7, 2007 Hannah Hogg’s death, the Inn passes to Abcynthia
        2008 March 10, 2008 Carts and Lager Festival revival
        2008 August 20, 2008 Birth of Prune
        2009 February 2, 2009 Abcynthia leaves
        2009 September 11, 2009 Strange incidents at the mines, Idle sets up the Inn
        2010 May 27, 2010 Fred leaves his family, goes into hiding
        2014 September 10, 2014 Start of Prune’s journal
        2017 March 21, 2017 Visitors from Elsewheres
        2020 December 22, 2020 The year of the Great Fires
        2021 August 8, 2021 Italian tourists saved the Inn
        2023 March 1, 2023 Orbs gamers visitors
        2027 September 1, 2027 Prune going to a boarding school
        2035 March 21, 2035 Mater 100 and twins on a Waterlark adventure
        2049 March 17, 2049 Prune arrives with a commercial flight on Mars, Mater is deceased (would have been 114)
        #7173

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        The morning of the lager and cart race dawned bright and clear.  The camping ground was full to overflowing with tents and camper vans, with several parked up outside the Flying Fish Inn. Zara overheard Finly complaining to Mater about all the extra work with all and sundry traipsing in and out using the toilets, and Bert muttering about where was all the extra water supposed to come from and what if the well ran dry, and was it all really worth it, and Zara saw him scowl when Idle told him to lighten up and enjoy it.  “Hah! Enjoy it? Nothing good ever happens when a dust storm comes for the cart race,” he said pointedly to Idle, ” And damn near everyone asking about the old mines, I tell you, nothing good’s gonna come from a cart race in a dust storm, the mayor shoulda cancelled it.”  Bert slammed the porch door as he stomped off outside, scowling at Zara on the way past.

        Zara watched him go with a quizzical expression. What was going on here?  Idle had told her about her affair with Howard some forty years ago, and how she’d had to disappear as soon as it became obvious that she was pregnant.  Zara had sympathized and said what an ordeal it must have been, but Idle had laughed and said no not really, she’d had a lovely time in Fiji and had found a nice place to leave the baby.  Then Howard had disappeared down the mines, and what was the story about Idle’s brother leaving mysteriously? Idle had been vague about that part, preferring to change the topic to Youssef.  Was the Howard story why Bert was so reluctant for anyone to go down the mines? What on earth was going on?

        And how had Yasmin’s parcel ended up in Xavier’s room?  Xavi had soon noticed that he’d picked it up by mistake and returned it to Yasmin, but how had it ended up on the table on the verandah? It was perplexing, and made Yasmin disinclined to deliver it to Mater until she could fathom what had happened.  She had tucked in under her mattress until she was sure what to do.

        But that wasn’t the only thing that had piqued Zara’s curiosity.  When Idle had said she’d had the baby in Fiji, and found a nice place to leave it, Zara couldn’t help but think of the orphanage where Yasmin was working.  But no, surely that would be too much of a coincidence, and anyway, a 40 year old orphan wouldn’t still be there.   But what about that woman in the BMW that Yasmin felt sure she recognized?   No, surely it was all too pat. But then, what was that woman in the dark glasses doing in Betsy’s shop?  Betsy was Howards wife. Idle had mentioned her when she told her story over the second bottle of wine.

        Should she divulge Idle’s secrets to Yasmin and quiz her on the woman in dark glasses? Zara decided there would be no harm in it, after all, they would be leaving soon after the cart race, and what would it matter.  She fetched two cups of coffee from the kitchen and took them to Yasmin’s room and knocked gently on the door.

        “Are you awake?” she called softly.

        “Yeah, come in Zara, I’ve been awake for ages,” Yasmin replied.

        Zara put the coffee cups on the bedside table and sat on the side of Yasmins bed. “There’s something going on here, I have to tell you something. But first, have you worked out who that woman in the BMW is?”

        Yasmin looked startled and said “How did you know?  Yes I have. It’s Sister Finli from the orphanage, I’m sure of it.  But why has she followed me here? And in disguise! It’s just creepy!”

        “Aha!” Zara couldn’t suppress a rather triumphant smile. “I thought it was just a wacky idea, but listen to this, Idle told me something the other night when we sat up drinking wine.”  As she told Idle’s story, Yasmin’s eyes widened and she put a hand over her open mouth.

        “Could it be…?”

        “Yes but why in disguise? What is she up to? What should we do, should we warn Idle?”  Zara had warmed to Idle, and if there were any sides to be taken in the matter, she felt more for Idle than that unpleasant woman from the orphanage who was so disturbing to Yasmin.

        “Oh I don’t know, maybe we should keep out of it!” Yasmin said. “That parcel though!  What am I going to do about that parcel!”

        Zara frowned. “Well, you have three options, Yas.  Open it and read it… don’t look so horrified!  Or deliver it as promised..”

        “We’ll never know what it said though if we do that,” Yasmin was looking more relaxed now.

        “Exactly, and I’m just too curious now.”

        “And the third option?”

        Ignoring the question, Zara asked where the parcel was.  Yasmin grinned wickedly but a knock at the door interrupted her intention to retrieve the parcel from under the mattress.   It was Youssef, who asked if he could come in.

        “Shall we tell him?” Zara whispered, as Yasmin called out “Of course! Is Idle after you again? Quick, you can hide under my bed!”

        “Not yet” Yasmin whispered back. “I need to think.”

        #7167
        DevanDevan
        Participant

          I can’t believe the cart race is tomorrow. Joe, Callum and I have worked so hard this year to incorporate solar panels and wind propellers to our little bijou. The cart race rules are clear, apart from thermal engines and fossil fuels, your imagination is your limit. Our only worry was that dust storm. We feared the Mayor would cancelled the race, but I think she won’t. She desperately needs the money.

          Some folks thought to revive the festival as a prank fifteen years ago, but people had so much fun the council agreed to renew it the next year, and the year after that it was made official. It’s been a small town festival for ten years, and would have stayed like that if it hadn’t been for a bus full of Italian tourist on their way to Uluru. It broke down as they drove through main street – I remember it because I just started my job at the garage and couldn’t attend the race. Those Italians, a bunch of crazy people, posted videos of the race on the Internet and it went viral, propelling our ghost town to worldwide fame. We thought it would subside but some folks created a FishBone group and we’re almost as famous as Punxsutawney once a year. We even have a team of old ladies from Tikfijikoo Island.

          All that attention attracted sponsors, mostly booze brands. But this year we’ve got a special one from Sidney. Aunt Idle who’s got a special friend at the city council told us the council members couldn’t believe it when the tart called and offered money. Botty Banworth, head of a big news company made famous by her blog: Prudish Beauty.

          Aunt Idle, who heard it from one of her special friends at the town’s council, started a protest because she thought the Banworth tart would force the council to ban all recreational substances. But I have it from Callum, who’s the Mayor’s son, that the tart is not interested in making us an example of sobriety. She’s asked to lease the land where the old mines are and the Mayor haven’t told anybody about it.

          After Callum told me about the lease, it reminded me about the riddle.

          A mine, a tile, dust piled high,
          Together they rest, yet always outside.
          One misstep, and you’ll surely fall,
          Into the depths, where danger lies all.

          Then something else happened. Another woman stopped at the gas station earlier today. I recognised one of the Inn’s guests, the one with the Mercedes. With her mirror sunglasses and her headscarf wrapped around her hair, she already looked suspicious. But as it happened, she asked me about the mines and how to go there. For abandoned mines, they sure attract a lot of attention.

          It reminded me of something. So after work, I went to the Inn and asked the twins permission to go up to their lair. When dad disappeared, Mater went mad, she threw everything to the garbage. The twins waited til she got back inside and moved everything back in the attic and called it their lair. It looks just like dad’s old office with the boxes full of papers, the mahogany desk and even his typewriter. For whatever reason, Mater just ignores it and if she needs something from the attic, she asks someone else to get it, pretexting she can’t climb all those stairs.

          I was right. Dad left the old manuscript he was working on at the time. A sci-fi novel about strange occurrences in an abandoned mine that looked just like the one outside of town. Prune said it’s badly written, and it doesn’t even have a title. But I remember having nightmares after reading some of the passages.

          #6800
          prUneprUne
          Participant

            So our father, or a very good impersonator, is on his way.

            The thought has been with me for some time. We haven’t heard back since his message. I’ve send some cryptic SMS, but none have been read.

            It’s been only two days, and Devan has been already distracted with so many stuff. I have to be the one to keep track.

            If he’s coming from Fiji, then two days isn’t a long time; hopefully he isn’t in any trouble. I guess the sand storm coming isn’t helping either.

            I was thinking we should clue in Idle. And then I thought what I meant, we should clue in an adult, but I get the impression that’s not was Aunt Idle is… We can’t tell Mater for now; the thought might break her heart. We have to be sure.

            That Liana Parker seemed to be an unrelated loner, I was half tempted to share a few thoughts with her, but somehow I couldn’t get to trust her, she’s been acting so strange, now all locked up in her room as if she’s avoiding everyone. And maybe she’s hiding something too.

            Patience… seems to be something I need to practice more and more. That’s what Betsy had said when she saw me last, and gave me one of them little glittery bears. It’s looking at me funny on the table, and blinks with the light.

            Patience then.

            #6770

            In reply to: The Stories So Near

            EricEric
            Keymaster

              What satisfying conclusion to this saga?

              Granola was the tying material to their friend, and her pop-in nascent capabilities (ability to project into material matter, sometimes being corporeal) could help. Her goal was to wake her friends out of their routines, and reinvigorate the stories they tell themselves about their lives.

              • Maeve was the one making custom dolls.
              • Shawn Paul her handsome bearded bachelor next door was an aspiring writer looking for a story to tell and to become published.
              • Lucinda is their neighbour, enrolled in creative writing courses.
              • Jerk is a clerk at a local WholeDay*Mart and also manages a forum in his spare time.

               

              The dolls were found in all across places, used by different groups, maybe glamour bombs for some, maybe ways to smuggle information and keys.

              Across their trips they connect with story characters, and unknowingly revive their stories.

              POP*IN THREAD (plot development suggestions, to be looked into later)

              Maeve and Shawn-Paul are still in Tikfijikoo, investigating the mysterious dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. They’ve also encountered strange happenings, including a missing girl and a strange man in a top hat.

              Meanwhile, Jerk is still moderating the forum and dealing with the strange messages. Lucinda is continuing her creative writing course and enjoying her time with Fabio.

              Granola is currently on a mission to find Ailill and learn more about pop-ins, while also trying to reconnect with her friends and figure out what’s going on with the dolls.

              As for the mysterious man following Maeve, his intentions are still unclear, but it seems he has some connection to Uncle Fergus and the dolls. The group is still trying to uncover the truth and figure out their next steps.

              :fleuron:

              In the end, Granola’s pop-in abilities proved to be the key to unlocking the mystery of the dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. With her help, Maeve and Shawn-Paul were able to uncover the truth about the dolls and their purpose, and use them to reconnect with various story characters across their trips.

              Through their adventures, they also discovered the power of storytelling and the importance of shaking up their routines to keep their lives interesting and full of wonder. Jerk found a new sense of purpose in managing the forum and connecting with others through his passion for the dolls and their stories.

              In the final chapter, Uncle Fergus reconciled with Maeve’s father and shared the true meaning behind the dolls and their connection to their family history.

              While Shawn-Paul’s path led him to become a successful author, Lucinda’s path took a different turn. She found fulfillment in her creative writing course and continued to hone her skills, but she didn’t pursue a career as a writer. Instead, she used her passion for storytelling to help others, working as a therapist and using storytelling techniques to help her clients work through their struggles and find healing. Lucinda’s work was deeply rewarding, and she felt fulfilled in being able to help others in such a meaningful way.

              As for Granola, she continued to pop-in and out of their lives, using her abilities to bring joy and excitement to their everyday routines, and keeping their stories alive for years to come. The group remained close friends, bonded by their shared experiences and love of storytelling.

              #6540

              In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

              EricEric
              Keymaster

                Update & clarifications on the characters:

                Looking at the avatars that Zara, Youssef, Xavier and Yasmin are using in VR.

                Full name or real name in RL :: name in VR (@nickhandle) description of avatar.

                • Zara Patara-Smythe :: Zara (@zaraloon) is a 25-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in a sleek ponytail, dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline. She stands at 5’6″ and has a toned and athletic build. She usually wears practical clothing that allows her to move around easily, such as cargo pants and a tank top.
                • Xavier Olafsson :: Xavier (@xavimunk) is a 27-year-old man of Norwegian and Danish descent. He has blonde hair that he keeps in a messy style, blue eyes, and a charming smile. He stands at 6’1″ and has a lean build. He is always seen wearing a colorful and bold clothing, such as a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.
                • Yasmin Ahmed :: Yasmin (@yasminowl) is a 23-year-old woman of Egyptian descent. She has long, black hair that she keeps in a tight braid, dark brown eyes and a round face. She stands at 5’4″ and has a petite build. She usually wears conservative clothing, such as long skirts and blouses.
                • Youssef Ali :: Youssef (@youssefbear) is a 26-year-old man of half Yemeni, half Norwegian descent. He has short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes and a square jawline. He stands at 6’2″ and has a muscular build. He usually wears comfortable clothing such as a t-shirt and jeans, and always has a backpack on his shoulder.

                Full descriptions for real-life Zara, Yasmin, Youssef, Xavier:

                Real Life Zara Patara-Smythe :: Zara is a 57-year-old woman who is an adventurous traveler and a passionate hobbyist. She has a full mane of gorgeous auburn hair that she keeps in a sleek ponytail, sparkling green eyes, and a warm smile that puts others at ease. She is of mixed heritage, her mother was Indian and her father was British. She is well-educated and well-off, either through an inheritance or a supportive and understanding husband. Zara is a lover of art, music, and history, and spends much of her time indulging in her passions. She is always eager to explore new places and meet new people, and her adventurous spirit often leads her to travel off the beaten path.

                Real Life Yasmin Ahmed :: Yasmin is a 32-year-old woman who is kind, nurturing, and always puts others first. She has long, black hair that she keeps in a tight braid, almond-shaped brown eyes, and a warm smile that lights up a room. Born in Egypt, she grew up in a close-knit family and values the importance of community. She is a talented actress, who has kept her career a secret from those closest to her, in order to pursue a more fulfilling life working with children. Yasmin currently volunteers at an orphanage in Fiji, where she devotes herself to helping children in need.

                Real Life Youssef Ali :: Youssef is a 34-year-old man who is driven, confident, and always up for a challenge. He has short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a square jawline that gives him a strong and determined look. Born to a Yemeni father and a Norwegian mother, he has a unique blend of cultures that has shaped his world view. Youssef is a talented blogger, who has traveled the world in search of new and interesting stories to share with his audience. He is always on the go, with a backpack on his shoulder, ready for his next adventure.

                Real Life Xavier Olafsson :: Xavier is a 36-year-old man who is bright, cheerful, and always looking for the positive in every situation. He has blonde hair that he keeps in a messy style, blue eyes, and a charming smile that never fails to win people over. Born to Norwegian and Danish parents, he has a love for the sea and an appreciation for the finer things in life. Xavier is an AI developer, who is working on a project he calls AL. He is always eager to share his ideas with others and is constantly seeking new and exciting opportunities.

                #6539

                In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Zara is the main protagonist, and also the reluctant leader of the game. In RL, she is wandering off the trail nearby Arltunga, Australia, where she is visiting, staying at the small family run inn the Flying Fish Inn. Bert, the local handyman drove her there, told her specifically not to wander off, yet in search of where a mysterious compass she collected on the trail is leading, and egged on by her talking smart parrot “Beautiful Girl”, she goes off the trail to explore. The sun is still high, and she already started to hallucinate some hooded figures with blue frog-faces with jelly-bean carts.
                  Meanwhile, her friends Youssef and Xavier, just landed from abroad, are driving toward the rendez-vous spot at the Flying Fish Inn. The owners Mater and Idle don’t have any idea where Zara is.
                  Yasmin, the fourth friend in the group is still on her way from Fiji, bearing a message written in red on an envelope from a mysterious Fred, who we don’t know yet, but seems to be linked to Mater & Idle’s family.
                  What’s going to happen next to Zara? The game is encouraging her to explore her rudeness in a playful manner, in a medieval setting.
                  Provide a series of playful and fun actions for Zara, linking these contexts. You may incorporate Tiku, a wise and no-nonsense Aboriginal woman who may guide her though the Dreamtime challenges. Provide random keywords to each action in the list.

                  Here is a list of playful and fun actions for Zara in the game:

                  1. “Follow the Compass”: Zara can follow the mysterious compass she collected on the trail, as it leads her to new locations and challenges. Keywords: Adventure, Exploration, Mystery.
                  2. “Converse with Beautiful Girl”: Zara’s talking smart parrot “Beautiful Girl” may provide humorous commentary and encouragement throughout her journey. Keywords: Humor, Personality, Support.
                  3. “Solve Riddles with Tiku”: Tiku, the wise and no-nonsense Aboriginal woman, can guide Zara through the Dreamtime challenges. To do this, Tiku may present her with riddles or puzzles that she must solve to progress. Keywords: Wisdom, Intelligence, Spirituality.
                  4. “Collect Items”: Zara can collect items along the way, such as artifacts or treasures that may help her in her journey or lead her to new discoveries. Keywords: Collection, Discovery, Help.
                  5. “Play Music with Beautiful Girl”: Zara can play musical instruments with Beautiful Girl, creating an entertaining and musical interlude in her journey. Keywords: Music, Joy, Creativity.
                  6. “Cook with Mater and Idle”: At the Flying Fish Inn, Zara can join Mater and Idle in the kitchen and help them cook traditional dishes from the region. Keywords: Cooking, Culture, Community.
                  7. “Race with Youssef and Xavier”: Zara can engage in friendly races with Youssef and Xavier, such as foot races or cart races, as a way to pass the time and have fun. Keywords: Competition, Speed, Excitement.

                  These playful and fun actions can add variety and excitement to Zara’s journey and provide an opportunity for players to interact with the world and characters in new and unique ways.

                   🔁 Regenerate response

                  #6488

                  In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

                  EricEric
                  Keymaster
                    • Zara completed her tile journey in the tunnels. In RL, she and Pretty Girl the parrot, are headed to Alice Springs in Australia, for a visit at the Flying Fish Inn (FFI). She’ll be the first to arrive.
                    • Yasmin, still volunteering at an orphanage in Suva in RL, has found a key with the imp, guided by the snake tattoo on a mysterious man named Fred, originating from Australia. She’s booked her flight via Air Fiji, and will be soon arriving to Australia for a few days vacation from her mission.
                    • Youssef, still in the Gobi desert, has found the grumpy vendor who was the shaman Lama Yoneze and reconnected with his friends in RL. Through the game in the desert, he also connected in VR (virtual reality) and RV (remote viewing) with sands_of_time, and elderly lady playing the game for intel. He still has to confirm his expected arrival to the FFI.
                    • Xavier has confirmed his flight option as well from Berlin, Germany. He’s planned a few days’ mix of remote working and vacation, but his girlfriend Brytta may still work her 2 shifts, and not necessarily keen to travel in the middle of nowhere in Australia.

                    They are all enjoying a lot the trail of clues from the game, and expect more adventures to come, with new challenges for each.
                    As they all make their way to the Flying Fish Inn, they eagerly anticipate what exciting experiences and challenges await them. Zara, Yasmin, Youssef, and Xavier all have unique experiences from their time playing the game and their real-life travels. With their journey to the Flying Fish Inn, they hope to connect with each other and continue the exciting adventures that have already captivated them. They are all looking forward to what is in store for them in the Australian Outback and the Flying Fish Inn.

                    The challenge gets a level up. It requires for each of them to find or procure a unique object, linked to some of their personal quirks and in synch with the real-life experience and the game one. Provide suggestions for each of them of a very specific object or color or shape, that can be remote viewed in the FFI and that they may find in their RL.

                    • Zara: A golden compass, symbolizing her love for adventure and direction. It can be found in a hidden room in the FFI or as a unique treasure on a nearby beach.
                    • Yasmine: A silver key, symbolizing her discovery of the key in the game and her love for unlocking secrets. It can be found in a locked box in the FFI’s attic or in a locked drawer in her room.
                    • Youssef: A red scarf, symbolizing his connection with the shaman in the game and his love for vibrant colors. It can be found in the FFI’s market or in a shop in Alice Springs that sells unique handmade items.
                    • Xavier: A black notebook, symbolizing his love for organization and his need for clarity. It can be found in the FFI’s library or in a nearby stationary shop in Alice Springs.
                    #6449

                    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                    Have you booked your flight yet?  Zara sent a message to Yasmin. I’m spending a few more days in Camden, probably be at the Flying Fish Inn by the end of the week.

                      :yahoo_rolling_eyes: :yahoo_rolling_eyes:    I told you already when my flight is, Air Fiji, remeber?  bloody Sister Finnlie on my case all the time, haven’t had a minute. Zara had to wait over an hour for Yamsin’s reply.

                    Took you long enough to reply. Zara replied promptly. Heard nothing from Youssef for ages either, have you heard from him? I’ll be arriving there on my own at this rate.

                    :yahoo_rolling_eyes:   Not a word, I expect Xavier’s booked his but he hasn’t said.  Probably doing his secret monkey thing.

                    Have you tried the free roaming thing on the game yet?

                    :yahoo_rolling_eyes:    I just told you Sister Finnlie hasn’t given me a minute to myself, she’s a right tart! Why, have you?

                    Yeah it’s amazing, been checking out the Flying Fish Inn. Looks a bit of a dump. Not much to do around there, well not from what I can see anyway.  But you know what?

                    :yahoo_rolling_eyes:   What?

                    You’ll lose your eyes in the back of your head one day and look like that AI avatart with the wall eye.  Get this though: we haven’t started the game yet, that quest for quirks thing, I was just having a roman around ha ha typo having a roam around see what’s there and stuff I don’t know anything about online games like you lot and I ended up here.  Zara sent a screenshot of the image she’d seen and added:   Did I already start the game or what, I don’t even know how we actually start the game, I was just wandering around….oh…and happened to chance upon this…

                     

                    Zaras Game

                    :yahoo_rolling_eyes:   How rude to start playing before us

                    I didn’t start playing the game before you, I just told you, I was wandering around playing about waiting for you lot!   Zara thought Yasmin sounded like she needed a holiday.

                    :yahoo_rolling_eyes:    Yeah well that was your quest, wasn’t it? To wander around or something?  What’s that silver chest on her back?

                    I dunno but looks intriguing eh maybe she’s hidden all her devices and techy gadgets in an antiquey looking box so she doesn’t blow her cover

                    Gotta go Sister Finnlie’s coming

                    Zara muttered how rude under her breath and put her phone down.  She’d retired to her bedroom early, telling Bertie that she needed an early night but really had wanted some time alone to explore the new game world.  She didn’t want to make mistakes and look daft to her friends when the game started.

                    “Too late for that”, Pretty Girl said.

                    “SSHHH!” Zara hissed at the parrot. “And stop reading my mind, it’s disconcerting, not to mention rude.”

                    She heard the sound of the lavatory flush and Berties bedroom door closing and looked at the time. 23:36.

                    Zara decided to give him an hour to make sure he was asleep and then sneak out and go back to that church.

                    #6415

                    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                    Yasmin and Zara were online discussing the upcoming reunion.

                    “AirFiji!!!!” exclaimed Zara. “I thought you were somewhere in Asia – how come you are booked on Air Fiji?”

                    “Im in Fiji for a year, volunteering at an orphanage in Suva,” Yasmin answered patiently, although she did allow herself a small eye roll. She was sure it wasn’t the first time she’d told Zara— it was a big mystery to her why AI had chosen Zara as leader for the game as she had the attention span of a goldfish. On the other hand, the unpredictability added an extra element of excitement to the game. After all, wasn’t it Zara’s idea that they all meet at the Flying Fish Inn?

                    She slapped a mosquito on her arm. For some reason they seemed to love her and she already had big red welts all over her body. She used so much insect lotion that the locals had started calling her Citronella Girl; unfortunately it didn’t seem to deter the mozzies.

                    “I’ve got to go,” she messaged. “I’m helping serve lunch. Can’t wait to see you all!”

                    #6267
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued part 8

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Morogoro 20th January 1941

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 30th July 1941

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 26th August 1941

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 25th December 1941

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 26th January 1944

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

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

                      Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love,
                      Eleanor.

                       

                      #6266
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued part 7

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Iringa. 30th November 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Nzassa 5th August 1939

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Morogoro 14th September 1939

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Morogoro 4th November 1939

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Iringa 8th December 1939

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Morogoro 10th March 1940

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Morogoro 14th July 1940

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Morogoro 16th November 1940

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                         

                        #5966

                        Tikfijikoo, of course” said June with a wink. “Where else?”

                        Before the quizzical look of April, she ventured “Thought I’d forgotten all about that dolls mystery on that weirdo website, have you?”

                        April yawned. “Well, beats the daily boredom for sure. Wait,” she added with a second thought “how are you sure the carotene virus hasn’t travelled the Sarcastic Sea?”

                        Ella Marie was formal about it, her voodoo isn’t that out of touch, you know.” She mouthed detaching all the syllables “Nothing harmful ever ventured past the Bermuda Triangle.” June was beaming. Then, she thought again. “Unless she said the contrary, you silly tart, you’re making me doubt now. No matter, it’ll just be a quick touch and go.”

                        “Touch and go, it is then.” pouted April not all too sure where that next chapter was heading to.

                        #4867

                        In reply to: The Stories So Near

                        EricEric
                        Keymaster

                          As it happens…

                          POP-IN THREAD (Maeve, Lucinda, Shawn-Paul, Jerk, [Granola])

                          Maeve and Shawn-Paul have left the Inn in Australia to travel to Tikfijikoo. What they are still doing there is anybody’s guess. Might have do with dolls, and rolling with it.

                          In Canada, Lucinda has enrolled in a creative fiction course, and is doing progress… of sorts.

                          Granola managed to escape the red crystal she was trapped in, after it cracked enough due to the pull of her friends’ memories.

                          FLYING FISH INN THREAD (Mater/Finly, Idle/Coriander/Clove, Devan, Prune, [Tiku])

                          The Inn is back to its normal routine, after the bout of flu & collective black-out.

                          Connie and Hilda have come out of the mines.

                          The others, we don’t know.

                          DOLINE THREAD (Arona, Sanso/Lottie, Ugo, Albie)

                          In the Doline, Arona has reunited with Vincentius, but is not ready for a family life of commitments.

                          NEWSREEL THREAD (Ms Bossy, Hilda/Connie, Sophie, Ricardo)

                          Sharon, Gloria and Mavis, are undergoing some cool fun in the cryochambers for beauty treatments.

                          Ms Bossy & Ricardo are speechless. Literally.

                          LIZ THREAD (Finnley, Liz, Roberto, Godfrey)

                          There’s always something happening. Listing it is not the problem, but keeping track is.

                          DRAGONHEARTWOOD THREAD (Glynnis, Eleri, Fox/Gorrash, Rukshan)

                          Rukshan is in the doldrums of the land of Giants’, an unexplored parallel dimension.
                          Gorrash has started to crystallize back to life, but nobody noticed yet.

                          Cackletown & the reSurgence (Bea, Ed Steam & Surge team, etc.)

                          Ed is back to the Cackletown dimension after some reconnaissance job on the whole dolls story interference. Might have spooked Maeve a little, but given the lack of anything surgey, have sort of closed this case and gone back to HQ.

                          #4817
                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            “It was a long and boring flight.” Shawn Paul yawned, happy to finally stretch his legs on the tarmac.
                            Maeve rolled her eyes “I don’t know what you are complaining about, at least you managed to sleep throughout the whole thing, even the last bit on that horrid 6-seater plane. I honestly wonder how you managed…”

                            Shawn-Paul grinned apologetically, “I think the baby bottles of nhum did the trick.”

                            “I saw you glamouring the air attendant, didn’t know she’d bring you the whole inventory. Poor lass’ might have been a bit desperate for attention.”

                            A man was at the main door with their names on a sign.

                            Shawn-Paul sighed “how can they get it wrong everysingletime…”
                            “Look at the bright side, you can still make it out… Shoon Pleul.” Maeve retorted with a bossy glimmer in her eye. “Come now…”

                            “Hello Sir, happy to meet you, my name is Shaw…”
                            “Don’t bother, SP, don’t you see he’s the driver, he probably can’t understand a word you just said.”
                            “Yeah nah, t’is true M’am,” the driver replied. “Your mate’s Canadian accent is atrocious. Haere Mai to Tikfijikoo, right this way please.”

                            #4788
                            EricEric
                            Keymaster

                              Tikfijikoo? I’ve never heard of an island called Tikfijikoo…” Shawn-Paul said once they were seated in the airplane.

                              “Really?” Maeve was surprised. “My childhood was full of stories that happened in that island.”
                              She was distracted though. She was sure she’d seen the man in black follow them through the customs and sneak into the plane. She had a doubt though, how could he have followed, the planed seemed so completely packed, she even wondered how Fergus had managed to get them tickets during what was surely peak season.

                              It’s probably all in your mind… she said to herself.

                              “What did you say?” Shawn-Paul inquired, fingers full of salt and a grin on his face after a violent struggle with the little bag of roasted pistachios the attendant had given him.

                              “I said, you better rest. The trip is long, and you won’t sleep much in the next plane to the island. It’s not going to be a big and comfy plane, I can tell you.”

                              #4786

                              Shawn-Paul was quizzing Maeve who remained silent as a dignified statue of old, full of inscrutable enigma.

                              “Come on Maeve, you know you can trust me. These secrets are killing me! It’s not like I’m going to write them immediately in my book you know. Believe me I’d like to, but I’m probably going to procrastinate anyway, so telling me is like going to a priest, your Uncle’s secrets are going to be safe.”

                              She chuckled against her will. There was something endearing in the awkwardness of Shawn-Paul, and if anything he’d been a complete gentleman throughout their stay in the shabby Inn.

                              She didn’t trust the paper-thin walls however. And especially after the incident where they all blacked out, she wasn’t sure whom to trust. Some of the guests had disappeared too. Highly suspicious.

                              She’d decided to pack early. She’d found out later after the accident that her Uncle had managed to slip 2 new coupons for their next destination. One extra, in case she wanted to bring someone in.

                              Two tickets, each one way to Tikfijikoo. Most probably the way to a second doll and its key.

                              She wondered why it was at all important, she knew all the dolls and what they looked like. She’d made them!

                              She realized, looking back at the doll she’d managed to steal back from Lucinda, that this particular doll… was not at all imaginary! She had in fact been standing right in front of her all along these past days before leaving off to the mines and disappearing with Mr Sanso: It was a spitting likeness of Ms Idle, the dry drunk hostess of the Inn!

                              It seems… It was folly to imagine, but… Did she have the power to activate these dolls she’d made, and somehow materialize them?!

                              She had to be sure.

                              “Pack your bags, SP, and meet me in the lobby in ten minutes. The cab is picking us up to our next destination. Maybe you’ll get your novel done after all”, she added, with a wink.

                              #3866

                              Vincentius took one last look at the children, wondering if he should give them all a hug and bid them farewell. But they were happily engrossed in smearing Fanella’s collection of Venetian glass with marmite and peanutbutter paint effects, so he slipped out without a word and left them to it.

                              Shivering in the damp chill air, he looked nervously at Arona. “Where are you taking me? I’m not supposed to leave without permission, I might get sent back to the detention camp on the island.” He shuddered at the thought.

                              “Don’t be silly,” snapped Arona, “Do pull yourself together, you are but a shadow of your former self. Yes, yes, I know it must have been awful,” she said impatiently at Vincentius’ self pitying look, “You can tell me all about Tikfijikoo Spider Camp later. But now we must hurry. Come on!”

                              #3864

                              “The key comes from a certain Dory”, said Becky with a puzzled look. “Does anyone know a Dory ? I don’t.”
                              “Have you been taking sleep pills again?” asked Tina in the brink of an eyeroll.
                              “Not at all”, said Becky briskly, bringing the letter and the key close to her chest. “I just don’t remember. It seems so far away.”
                              “It looks like a locker key, or maybe a safe key.” said Sam. “Look, there is a little monkey carved on it, and a number.” he said pointing at it.
                              Becky and Tina looked more closely.
                              “1495”, said Becky.
                              “Year 1495 (MCDXCV) was a common year starting on Thursday”, said Al. He was trying to solve a puzzle based on chaotic randomness theory and the evolution of the electromagnetic flux of sunspots in real time.
                              “There’s a little card with it.” Tina was holding a small square rigid paper with a name on it. “It’s written Tikfijikoo Island.”
                              “I remember the name”, said Sam, “I think it’s that place where they are building the Spider Amusement Park, or SAP.”

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