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    TracyTracy
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      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.

       

      #5957

      Nobody came at all yesterday, not to get my breakfast and leave my sandwiches for lunch and a tea flask, and the evening one didn’t come either. I didn’t have a cup of tea all day long, good job I found that bottle of sherry in the cabinet or I’d have been parched.  I found a half eaten tin of assorted biscuits left over from Christmas, and had to make do with those. Not very nice because they were all the ones I don’t like, which was why I’d left them in the first place. I wasn’t too hungry to sleep though, not after all that sherry.

      A woman came this morning, one I hadn’t seen before.  I didn’t recognize her anyway, which doesn’t tell you much I suppose.  She seemed distracted, and did a very shoddy job, I must say, lumpy porridge, burnt toast with no jam, and she forgot to put sugar in my tea as well.

      You just can’t get the staff these days.  No character to them anymore, just a series of faceless drones, it never used to be like that. The staff didn’t used to come and go and flit about like these lot, they were always there, as long as you could remember, part of the household.   It all changed during the war though, the horrors of servantlessness. That was a rude awakening, having to do our own cooking and laundry. I’d have given anything to see even that feckless lazy Annie Finton, even if all she did was the ironing.  The old boy turned out to have a knack for cooking and quite enjoyed it, so that was a blessing. Darned if I can remember his name though.  Truth be told, he was better than cook had ever been. He wasn’t afraid to experiment a little, diverge from the traditional.  I think the trouble with cook was that she hated cooking all along.  She never came back after the war, she got a job in a factory. Liked the freedom, she said. I ask you! No accounting for taste.

      #4857
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        WIB (workman in blue) opened his lunch box and unwrapped a sandwich. He sighed when he saw it was cheese and pickle again. It had been cheese and pickle all week, a sure sign that WAH (woman at home) wasn’t giving him the attention he deserved, throwing the easiest thing together day after day instead of planning a nice roast chicken dinner, with the prospect of a couple of days of savoury chicken sandwiches to take to work. She hadn’t even bothered to boil up a few hard boiled eggs for a bit of variety. He loved egg sandwiches. He wasn’t a hard man to please, he ruminated dolefully, chewing the cheese and pickle.

        He reached for his flask to wash it down with a gulp of tea, and noticed with some surprise that she’d bought him a new flask. His old one had a few dents in the screw on cup, and this one looked all shiny and new. Anxious to wash down the cheesy lump in his throat, he unscrewed the cap and poured the flask over the cup.

        But there was no tea in the flask, nothing poured out of it. He peered inside and shook it.

        “That woman’s lost her marbles!”

        It was the last straw. He stood up, shook the flask above his head, and roared incoherently.

        “Everything alright, mate?” asked his work colleague mildly. WIB2 was contentedly munching a juicy pink ham sandwich. He even had a packet of crisps to go with it, WIB1 noticed.

        “No tea? Fancy some of my coffee? Pass yer cup. What’s in the flask then, what’s rattling?”

        WAB1 sat back down on the low wall and upended the flask, pulling at a bit of black stuff that was protruding from the top.

        ““Maybe it’s full of banknotes!” WIB2 suggested.

        “It’s a fucking doll! What the..?”

        “Why did your old lady put a doll in your flask instead of tea, mate? Private joke or something, bit of a lark?” WIB2 elbowed WIB1 in the ribs playfully. “No?” he responded to WIB1’s scowl. “Maybe there’s something stitched inside it, then.”

        ~~~

        Lucinda, where is this going?”

        “I don’t fucking know, Helper Effy.”

        “I thought as much. Perhaps we’d better go back to the beginning.”

        #4852
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          It had been a long day and MIB decided he could spare a few moments to recuperate before propelling himself at the speed of light to Destination D.

          Probaby better to let the targets get there first so there was no chance of detection.

          MIB sauntered to a nearby park bench and sat down. He then proceeded to take the water flask from his briefcase and gently unscrewed the top. After a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, he pulled the doll’s head out of the flask. “Oh for flove’s sake!” he said and quickly shoved it back in.

          “Target doll is Man in Black i.e. myself,” he said into his wrist watch. “It appears conscious detection of target is no longer necessary for Magpie to actualise dolls. Repeat, conscious detection of target NOT NECESSARY. Subliminal factors at play. Doll will be destroyed poste haste before activation takes effect.”

          He carefully pulled the doll out of the flask for a second time. He fingered the miniature moustache; the doll was perfect down to the last detail, even the small scar he had over his right eyebrow. He felt the back of the doll and pressed, relieved to feel the hardness of the key.

          As long as the key is still in the doll, activation can’t happen. What harm is there …

          He stuffed the doll back into the flask and put it back in his briefcase.

          #4209

          It caressed the bottle it had stolen from the house, purring like a cat. Gorrash had never seen such a being before. Nor had his maker, as far as he could tell from the residual memories of the sculpting process. The creature looked somewhat transluscent and its movements felt unnatural. It reminded him of how water flowed from the surface of his stone skin during a rainy day.

          Gorrash didn’t understand how it got the flask. Its paw had just flown through the glass and brought back its glowing prize without breaking the window. He had blinked several times before being sure the window had been closed.
          That is interesting, Gorrash thought. He had never dared enter the house, fearing to be trapped inside.

          The creature suddenly backed away and hid into a bush. There was movement inside the house. Gorrash returned quickly to his usual spot before she could see him. The human of the house was closing the window for the night. He didn’t understand that either. As far as he could tell, night was the best time of all, especially in winter when nights were longer. A couple of bats flew above him and as they became silent he knew there were a couple less mothes in this world.

          Gorrash was still curious about the creature. He went to the bush near the window; you would be surprised how silent a stone dwarf could be. He moved the leaves apart and saw the flask on the ground. It was unopened but empty. The dwarf picked the bottle up from the ground. It was kind of wet. But no sign of the creature. He looked around the garden, with the moonlight it should be easy to spot. But the night was quiet and empty.

          As he walked under the old oak tree, a satisfied purr from above attracted his attention. Gorrash looked up and there it was glowing and pulsing with flowing patterns of colors perched onto a branch like a christmas decoration.

          Gorrash scratched his stone beard with its tiny hand. It was high for a dwarf. He had never climbed onto a tree, and he doubted he could do it one day. Mostly he feared the fall.

          “Hey”, he called. The creature continued to purr and glow as if it heard nothing.
          “Hey”, he called again. The creature continued to ignore him.
          Gorrash looked at his feet and found a few pebbles. I hope it does not hold grudges, he thought before throwing the first stone at the creature.

          It flew right through the creature’s body. Gorrash shivered thinking it might be some kind of ghost. He hesitated a moment, considering his options. But he had been alone for too long, even a ghost would be good company. He threw the other pebble which flew right through the creature again but this time he had calculated so that it would also bump into the bark of the tree.

          It was enough to get its attention. The patterns of colors were pulsing more quickly, but were still harmonious.
          “Hey! I’m down there”, Gorrash said. This time the creature looked down. The dwarf waved his hand. He was not sure but the rainbow creature looked a tad drunk. He wondered what was in that empty flask.
          “You care to get down a moment ?” he asked.
          “Mruiiii”, answered the creature with what looked like curiosity.

          #1463
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Another sync, today (the 21) is the Lantern Festival (full moon after the Spring Festival) in Chinese culture.
            Why the sync, you ask?
            Besides the red (red lantern), and the cute rabbit lanterns, in French there’s a saying “prendre des vessies pour des lanternes”, lit. to take (pig’s) bladder (used as goatskin flasks) for lanterns… To err, believe stupid things…

            #344
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Becky waited patiently at the doorstep on the third floor of her apartment building, trying to hail a gondola cab. The canvas bag over her shoulder was heavy. In it she had a thermos flask of rice water and poppy heads for her friend Sam, who had telephoned her with the news that he was unwell.

              While she waited, she wondered about Tina and Al. They hadn’t said anything, but Becky sensed there were some issues bubbling under the surface. Tina’s strange behaviour when she answered the phone; Al’s uncharacteristically rude discounting of the outing she’d planned for them all….well! They will soon bounce back, Becky thought, If there’s anything I can do, I’m sure they’ll ask. Meanwhile, Becky chanted the mantra, It Matter’s Not; Everything Is Perfect…..

              #298

              The City, year 2257

              Janice had just awoken from a strange dream, where she was watching big round cabbages being harvested in what looked like Quintin’s father garden. They were all firmly rooted on a black irrigation pole across the garden, and people were using strange devices to turn them all delicately and pick them afterwards. In the dream, there were black puppies too, sleeping in the straw of a kind of hut nearby. And she had seen another creature, and had been surprised first because it was unlike anything she had ever met, even in dreams. It was hairless and brown as soft mud, and was hiding in the neighbour’s garden. Then it had crossed and came to play with her…

              Janice was lost in her thoughts strolling on the way to the common dome, when she met Rodney, her father’s friend.
              They had been recently trying with her father Jacob, and also Qixi to connect with their shifting focuses of the Ancients, two centuries and half before their time.
              Some of them, they had found, had been playing a sort of game of story-telling and clue-sowing… (Janice was laughing as her father’s friend, the scientist Arkandin, always insisted on seesawing instead)

              Perhaps her dream was telling her that the crop was ripe, and it was time to harvest some from it. She told her dream to Rodney. All at once, he was quite excited and they started to feel they wanted to chat more freely. So they went into one of the Medraw Caps that was available and soon imagined a comfortable environment for themselves to explore more.

              Janice could hear Al or Quintin complain about how things were getting confusing.
              She tried to convey to both of them that they could be excited about it, as it was expanding their understanding, but they weren’t very receptive.

              ~~~

              Somewhere Al was saying to Becky
              — The more you try to fix it, the more confused I am
              — Hahahahah yes! Becky was answering, I guess so! Ahahahah! Al, what a fabulous dance of confusion we do… The Confundo Tango
              — Ahahah, yes!

              Al started again to moan:
              — So who’s dead, who’s the shapeshifter? Who’s the human, who’s the cat? :-??

              (Rodney was laughing, as for him, he could accept the confusion as much easier, letting him free to wander around!)

              Illi was a woman, a shapeshifter who shape-shifted into a cat, then, she died. Becky was saying (Rodney added mentally “Now, she is disengaged” as he knew that “death” was a confusing word.) She was an archaeologist
              — Okay, that’s cool, that’s what I thought, Al acquiesced. Then thought back of what was said of her and wondered… Anyway, it will probably find a perfect answer …
              Becky nodded
              — I got lost myself when two Illis appeared, and a grip-thing as well
              — Because I didn’t want the grip-thing to be dead! Al couldn’t help but laugh. That would have been too easy, like wiggling out. Not using your imagination within the context of objective imagery to sort out “things”…

              ~~~

              While Rodney and Janice were seeing that their other focuses were kind of stuck in their explanation, they had time freeze and both decided to come back to their “now” to start from their understanding.
              A funny thought had come to Janice, that she shared with Rodney.
              — Oh, the funny thing you know, about Becky having written to Sean
              Rodney nodded. Janice continued:
              — It just appeared in my mind just moments ago, at the same time you (well, Rafaela) inserted into the story of Malvina. That Becky would have been asking Sean something, and that perhaps it would have helped him talk to his father in the future.

              — Well, that Sean is SUCH AN ENIGMA! bumped Rodney a bit excited by the implications.
              — What do you mean? asked Janice, who just remembered that Sean Doran has a cousin named Dorean.
              — Who is he? Where is he? was asking Rodney now.
              Rodney was having a hard time remembering what had been inserted yet in the story about him.

              So Janice manifested the Wrick family tree in front of them, so that he could see better. She started by manifesting an acorn, then threw in on the grass, and it sprung forth in a little sapling with signs hanging from its branches.

              — Well, it’s all in the script, answered Janice, he’s Lord Wrick’s son.
              — Oh boy, I am in trouble again for not keeping up with the facts! Rodney sighed, and laughed…
              Janice laughed “So that you can surprise yourself again!”

              Rodney felt thankful for the sumafiness of Janice who was always prompt to display helpful hallucinations and reminders.

              Janice stopped the growth of the family tree for a moment and started to comment it.
              — See, in Becky’s time of the reality play, Sean is Lord’s Wrick son, and has just lost his wife Margaret, and got his two young children around their 10s.
              — When is Becky’s time then? Rodney wondered, I hadn’t though of that…
              Becky’s time for the reality play is around 2033…
              Then Janice had the tree grow again, and sprout more branches from Sean’s children:
              — …Now, Sean is the grand-father of the twins, except than the twin’s time is around 2057 if it had not changed yet. It’s so carefully woven, but it’s fun how it effortlessly came to fit in.
              TRUST AND ALLOWING AND GOING WITH THE FLOW cried Rodney and Janice in unison, in the realisation of how well all this was.

              Rodney was beginning to remember it all.
              — I just remember the part about Sean, so he is still a bit of a mystery
              — Yes, absolutely
              — We don’t really know do we why Hilarion didn’t mention him
              — Oh, there’s also the Margaret newspaper thing… Janice fumbled in her memory to find the proper link that would display the image of the newspaper cut just at the right of the family tree. Adding with a wink “with more dates to get bearings”
              — Ahahah, I’d love to have pocketfuls of ball bearings said Rodney who manifested a pocketful to distract him from the load of information. OH YES! he cried, I had forgetten about this! What an incredibly HUGE story this is…

              Rodney was squinting his dream eyes
              — So, Sean was into humanitarian effort after 2001…
              — His father actually I think, said Janice. He was a bit too young.
              — Oh OK, I misread, that’s hard to read!

              Then, all of a second, Rodney erupted in an uproarious laugh
              AHAHAHA, I had just forgotten to de-hallucinate these pince-nez spectacles! Now, it is much easier to read!
              Janice was laughing so hard, she thought she would shatter the hallucination with the wobbles of the soundless sounds.
              Then she added:

              Sean is born around 2000, a bit before.
              — OK, maybe he went to help the Tuaregs, Rodney was accessing some information now. Maybe he was the one who put the mummy in the locked room that India found.
              — You know I had something funny in store for the mummy mystery, Janice couldn’t help but laugh again. I imagined we could have inserted Old Manon, coming down to secretly drink from her old malt whiskey’s flask, and finding them messing up with her old dear stuffed cat…
              — Maybe the mummy was the same one that Dory saw in the oblong hole in the ground outside the cave, Rodney was still accessing flickering images swirling around his head. And Sean was there helping the Tuaregs and moved it to safety.
              Of course, years previously, Illi Fergusson, the archeologist had buried the mummy there too for safe keeping.

              Now, Janice was hooked:
              — Was it where Illi learned about shapeshifting tricks from the old tribe?
              Rodney noticed Janice’s funny remark and laughed before continuing:
              — The Tuaregs were conducting secret coleslaw experiments in the desert. In combination with sound and irrigation techniques, they were going to run the entire Sahara into a broccoli field.

              Janice was amazed at the cabbage “coincidence” and irrigation stuff with her dream of that morning. Of course she knew there where probably mis-interpretation of the imagery coming from Rodney’s visions, but something made sense.
              — Around which year? she asked
              — Arrggh I don’t know!… Then, taking a breath of dream air, Rodney said “1923”. When Illi learned shape-shifting trick, 1923.
              — It makes sense, said Janice who was now thinking of other dispersed informations about Illi Fergusson.
              — Yes, she learned from Dashine Ashara… Although who that is, I don’t yet know.
              — Wow, said Janice. She had felt a connection with the “da’sheen” sound. She continued: somewhere, Illi Fergusson has said: “my parents were aristocrats”
              — Yes, answered Rodney who was accessing again, they were, and they knew the Wildes .
              — And it was said too: “[…] a nurturing presence that reminded Illi of the maid she and her parents had in their cottage in South Africa”… like her parents were traveling a lot.
              — Ah, South Africa! Illi’s parents emigrated to South Africa with Sir Abingdon Portfellow, an elderly scholar on ancient artifacts and embalming.
              — Seems she knew John Lubbock too, said Janice again, reviving old data banks of information. Dates seem okay, so if she was around 30 in the Tuareg adventure, she could have met him.
              — Wow, said Rodney, this is even more interesting…

              “But we may sit at home and yet be in all quarters of the earth.” Janice had just summoned the voice of the naturalist and archaeologist. Rodney applauded “Lubbock said that? cool quote!”.
              — Yes, like Illi’s quote, which was from him “What we see depends mainly on what we look for”. I wonder if that’s one of your (Illi’s) overlapping focuses, said Janice

              — Well, Illi didnt stay long in South Africa with boring old whatever his name was, Rodney pursued
              — Yes, she was young with her parents. They were traveling…

              They were both amazed at the magical cooperation they were doing at that moment. Janice would have loved to share all of that with Qixi and Jacob, but probably their energies were present at the moment too, though not focused here.

              She then remembered something else:
              — Oh, and there is something else! Quintin’s dream of the woman detective. Let me fetch it she said, summoning now Quintin’s memory to talk to them.
              … by night, near a museum in London, in the 1920s. She was investigating a case of a strange disappearance near a small replicate of an Egyptian pyramid that had been put here for display. There had been an exposition of ancient artifacts in the museum, which had been recently unearthed by a team of archaeologists and graciously lent by Egypt’s officials. Strangely enough, the woman detective feels linked to the story, and is probably Dory
              Date fits again, she said in awe.
              — Perfect! said Rodney. She was of course Dory too, but in that focus she was Illi Fergusson… he slowed down, then said No! wait! The detective was another one of my focuses. The archeologist who stole the mummy for safekeeping was Illi.
              — Hmmm
              — Hmmm
              — So you are both the thief and the detective, the one who creates mystery for yourself, how interesting, giggled Janice.
              — Yes, and not only that Janice! Rodney was taking a mysterious air… I am the mummy too!

              Janice bust out laughing imagining Rodney in bandages. Yes, of course!
              Then, she had a name come with that: Apsh’un Shet she said, very self-absorbed.
              Now, that was Rodney’s turn to burst out laughing.
              — “I am not sure about that!”
              — Doubting my insights… mmm, how rude… Janice frowned then laughed again.
              — If you call me that, I may have to make you out to have a speech impediment
              — Sounds a good Egyptian name for me though, seems it means “Light of the Dawn
              — Does it? Oh that sounds nice…
              — Well, in some Egyptian dialect, yes. She was a Princess…
              — Hahaha! Reminds me of Aspen Shit. Rodney doubted Janice could be serious about that name, but Janice was now the one to be accessing some information.
              — Bit bossy Princess
              — Which dynasty?
              III rd, answered Janice, who fumbled in links of consciousness to find some timeline to project for them.
              — What year?
              Janice projected the timeline below then said
              — I’d say around 2657 B.C., in Ancients way of telling time.

              They both marveled at the splendid team work they had been doing, and hoped that the other focuses involved would be able to get some parts of their insights too.

              Rodney was seeing something else
              — There is also, a very fascinating link between Tassili in the Sahara and Egypt which is a mystery AND there is a connection with Egypt and Scotland too…
              Illi the gripshawk comes from the mysterious land of the Sands, south of the map fragment
              — We may unravel more than we think… Illi is an other dimensional focus of the Illi essence…
              — Yes she is. She is a connection too, being “lost” in the land of dragons after hopping through traveling portals…
              — Exactly
              — And they communicated because they are helping each other
              — Which is why she doesn’t always ‘fit’ into this reality’s energy configuration
              — And they have some difficulties at times with translations of other dimensional stuff
              — Yes! resulting in confusion!

              And they both laughed again, looking at the great tapestry of clues that was woven before their dream eyes.

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