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  • #7375

    “The very image of a spy from a cheap novel. Perched behind his newspaper, peering through holes like a child with a telescope. He’s a creature of shadows, blending into the background, always watching, never seen. He thinks himself clever, but he’s as subtle as a cat in a fishbowl. He’s drawn to Frigella like a moth to a flame, but can’t shake off his ingrained caution. Intrigued yet wary, like a mouse sniffing a piece of cheese in a trap. He needs to make up his mind before his tail gets caught.”

    “What’s on your mind, Needles?” Frigella inquired of her hedgehog familiar.

    “Nothing,” replied the hedgehog cryptically, returning happily to his strawberry snack. “But you’ll soon find out…”

    Cedric Spellbind found himself woefully unprepared for what was coming after the jump into the weird glowing vortex. On a hunch, he’d followed the enigmatic Miss O’Green. Something about her, her diaphaneous looks…

    His wool tweed cap wasn’t the best attire for wherever he had jumped into. The damp smells, the warm humid air filled with electricity —something told him he wasn’t in Limerick any more,… but where.

    The group Ms Frigella was with had moved swiftly, nonchalantly going in the streets after the boisterous tall figure with the black curly wig had made a string of light glow on the ground, evanescent trail they followed unhesitant to somewhere only them seemed to know.

    He was struggling to keep the pace. At some point, the blue-haired one had turned suspiciously casting her glance, and he’d managed to dart in a nearby alley. They’d resumed their stroll, but she’d done something after that, some sort of dark magic that made their group seem to disappear in a fog, the sounds they made suddenly all muffled.

    Accustomed to tracking witches, he’d discreetly put a findmystuff tracker on the bag. Wherever that bag would go, he would follow. He opted to let them proceed unhindered, for now.

    He checked his phone. He couldn’t catch the signs in the streets during his shadowing. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he’d emerged from the vortex, so he was surely in another country. The SMS he’d received confirmed that hypothesis: he was in Brazil.

    5 missed calls. His mother… He couldn’t call her back now, it would cost him a fortune, and his witch tracking wasn’t exactly paying the bills. She would hate him for it, but she would have to wait. Maybe a bit of worrying for him wasn’t bad. One could hope.

    His last witch hunt hadn’t been the most successful. Bulgarian witches were fierce. To be honest, it had been a fiasco, and he was posted in Limerick as a consequence —on desk job only. He knew there were worse places to be, but he was missing the action of the field… He shouldn’t have followed these witches, but again, following orders had never been his strong suit.

    #7214

    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

    “Bossy, isn’t she?” muttered Yasmin, not quite out of earshot of Finly. “I haven’t even had a shower yet,” she added, picking up her phone and sandals.

    Yasmin, Youssef and Zara left the maid to her cleaning and walked down towards Xaviers room.   “I’d go and get coffee from the kitchen, but…” Youssef said, turning pleading eyes towards Zara, “Idle might be in there.”

    Smiling, Zara told him not to risk it, she would go.

    “Come in,” Xavier called when Yasmin knocked on the door. “God, what a dream,” he said when they piled in to his room.  “It was awful. I was dreaming that Idle was threading an enormous long needle with baler twine saying she was going to sew us all together in a tailored story cut in a cloth of continuity.”  He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, trying to erase the image in his mind.  “What are you two up so early for?”

    Zara’s gone to get the coffee,” Youssef told him, likewise trying to shake off the image of Idle that Xavier had conjured up. “We’re going to have a couple of hours on the game before the cart race ~ or the dust storm, whichever happens first I guess. There are some wierd looking vans and campers and oddballs milling around outside already.”

    Zara pushed the door open with her shoulder, four mugs in her hands.  “You should see the wierdos outside, going to be a great photo opportunity out there later.”

    “Come on then,” said Xavier, “The game will get that awful dream out of my head.  Let’s go!”

    “You’re supposed to be the leader, you start the game,” Yasmin said to Zara. Zara rolled her eyes good naturedly and opened the game. “Let’s ask for some clues first then. I still don’t know why I’m the so called leader when you,” she looked pointedly as Xavier and Youssef, “Know much more about games than I do. Ok here goes:”

    “The riddle “In the quietest place, the loudest secrets are kept” is a clue to help the group find the first missing page of the book “The Lost Pages of Creativity,” which is an integral part of the group quest. The riddle suggests that the missing page is hidden in a quiet place where secrets are kept, meaning that it’s likely to be somewhere in the hidden library underground the Flying Fish Inn where the group is currently situated.”

    “Is there a cellar here do you think?” Zara mused. “Imagine finding a real underground library!” The idea of a grand all encompassing library had first been suggested to Zara many years ago in a series of old books by a channeler, and many a time she had imagined visiting it. The idea of leaving paper records and books for future generations had always appealed to her. She often thought of the old sepia portrait photographs of her ancestors, still intact after a hundred years ~ and yet her own photos taken ten years ago had been lost in a computer hard drive incident. What would the current generation leave for future anthropologists? Piles of plastic unreadable gadgets, she suspected.

    Youssef can ask Idle later,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. “Maybe she’ll take him down there.” Youssef snorted, and Yasmin said “Hey! Don’t you start snorting too! Right then, Zara, so we find the cellar in the game then and go down and find the library? Then what?”

    “The phrase “quietest place” can refer to a secluded spot or a place with minimal noise, which could be a hint at a specific location within the library. The phrase “loudest secrets” implies that there is something important to be discovered, but it’s hidden in plain sight.”

    Hidden in plain sight reminded Yasmin of the parcel under her mattress, but she thrust it from her mind and focused on the game. She made up her mind to discuss it with everyone later, including the whacky suppositions that Zara had come up with. They couldn’t possibly confront Idle with it, they had absolutely no proof. I mean, you can’t go round saying to people, hey, that’s your abandoned child over there maybe. But they could include Xavier and Youssef in the mystery.

    “The riddle is relevant to the game of quirks because it challenges the group to think creatively and work together to solve the puzzle. This requires them to communicate effectively and use their problem-solving skills to interpret the clues and find the missing page. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate their individual strengths and also learn from each other in the process.”

    “Work together, communicate effectively” Yasmin repeated, as if to underline her resolution to discuss the parcel and Sister Finli a.k.a. Liana with the boys and Zara later. “A problem shared is a problem hopelessly convoluted, probably.”

    The others looked up and said “What?” in unison, and Yasmin snorted nervously and said “Never mind, tell you later.”

    #7163
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Aunt Idle

      Contention 

      Endless legal squabbling,
      Eventually it comes to blows.
      Zhang Ji has a speech defect,
      Hair loose, turning northward.

      I don’t know what the dickens that I Ching is supposed to mean, I was hoping it would give me a clue about that new guest.  There’s something about her but I can’t put my finger on it. I must remember to ask Bert about her, see if he’s noticed anything funny. Not that she’s acting funny, not unusual for a guest who’s travelled far to get here ~ and anyone getting here has travelled, let’s face it ~ to stay in their room catching up on sleep, but I don’t know, there is something niggling me about her. I barely caught a glimpse of her but she seemed familiar somehow.  I’ll ask Bert, but we’re all so busy now what with the lager and cart race coming up, and those four friends staying, and god only knows when that dust storm comes what we’re supposed to do to entertain them all when they can’t go outside, and they’ll be expecting poor old Finly to keep the place dusted and the windows cleaned.   I sometimes think I prefered it here when nobody hardly came.

      Hardly got a moment to myself and our Prune is up to something but god knows I don’t have time to follow her around, and there’s no weaseling anything out of her when she’s got one of her secret missions going on.  Mater’s pulled her finger out, it has to be said, she’s been as good as gold with the guests, she can turn the old dear charm on when she wants to, and she’s pulled out all the stops playing the gracious hostess, and I can’t say a word against good old Finly. She’s a cheeky minx when we’re not busy but she’s been a real trooper.  I think I’ll speak to Mater about a little bonus for her.   Yes, I think that might sweeten her up for when I ask her to do my roots tomorrow which reminds me to put pink dye on Berts list for when he goes to Alice in the morning.

      Honestly there’s too much to think about, I haven’t had a minute to get a costume ready for the cart race, maybe I’ll ask the twins.  Gotta say it, they’ve been brilliant organizing the cart decorating with the four friends. They’re a lovely group, I just wish I had more time to hang out with them, especially the big guy, oh my.  Maybe after the cart race, anything can happen after a cart race, lord knows ~ it was after a cart race in a dust storm that Howard and I had a fling and thank god Betsy never found out, she’s have had my guts for garters and nobody would have blamed her.  I still wonder what happened to Howard. We always had a soft spot for each other, but he felt so guilty he never strayed from Betsy again. I’d have been game, I’ll be honest, but I didn’t push it.  Betsy was a big girl back in those days, but nowhere near as big as she is now. Must be hard for her wondering what happened to her husband all these years, no wonder she got sucked into all that mumbo jumbo and stuffing her chops all day long.

      And not being able to claim the inheritance that would have been Howards, that must have been hard.  They could have lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of their lives when Howard’s father died, and he hasn’t died yet, must be pushing 90 by now.  I know she’s hoping Howard didn’t die in the mines ~ obviously ~ and that he’ll come back one day somehow, and you can bet your bottom dollar she’s hoping he comes back before the old man dies and it all gets left to someone else.

      That new guest went in Betsy’s before she even checked in here,  Corrie saw her, I guess she’s into mumbo jumbo in a big way if she had to get supplies of crystals or amulets or whatever they sell in there, before checking in to the hotel.

      #6552

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      When Xavier woke up, the sun was already shining, its rays darting in pulsating waves throughout the land, blinding him. The room was already heating up, making the air difficult to breathe.

      He’d heard the maid rummaging in the neighbouring rooms for some time now, which had roused him from sleep. He couldn’t recall seeing any “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the doorknob, so staying in bed was only delaying the inevitable barging in of the lady who was now vacuuming vigorously in the corridor.

      Feeling a bit dull from the restless sleep, he quickly rose from the bed and put on his clothes.

      Once out of his room, he smiled at the cleaning lady (who seemed to be the same as the cooking lady), who harumphed back as a sort of greeting. Arriving in the kitchen, he wondered whether it was probably too late for breakfast —until he noticed the figure of the owner, who was quietly watching him through half-closed eyes in her rocking chair.

      Idle should have left some bread, butter and jam to eat if you’re hungry. It’s too late for bacon and sausages. You can help yourself with tea or coffee, there’s a fresh pot on the kitchen counter.”

      “Thanks M’am.” He answered, startled by the unexpected appearance.

      “No need. Finly didn’t wake you up, did she? She doesn’t like when people mess up her schedule.”

      “Not at all, it was fine.” he lied politely, helping himself to some tea. He wasn’t sure buttered bread was enough reward to suffer a long, awkward conversation, given that the lady (Mater, she insisted he’s called him) wasn’t giving him any sign of wanting to leave.

      “It shouldn’t be long until your friends come back from the airport. Your other friend, the big lad, he went for a walk around. Idle seems to have sold him a visit to our Gems & Rocks boutique down Main avenue.” She tittered. “Sounds grand when we say it —that’s just the only main road, but it helps with tourists bookings. And Betsy will probably tire him down quickly. She tends to get too excited when she gets clients down there; most of her business she does online now.”

      Xavier was done with his tea, and looking for an exit strategy, but she finally seemed to pick up on the signals.

      “… As I probably do; look at me wearing you down. Anyway, we have some preparing to do for the Carts & whatnot festival.”

      When she was gone, Xavier’s attention was attracted by a small persistent ticking noise followed by some cracking.

      It was on the front porch.

      A young girl in her thirteens, hoodie on despite the heat, and prune coloured pants, was sitting on the bench reading.

      She told him without raising her head from her book. “It’s Aunt Idle’s new pet bird. It’s quite a character.”

      “What?”

      “The noise, it’s from the bird. It’s been cracking nuts for the past twenty minutes. Hence the noise. And yes, it’s annoying as hell.”

      She rose from the bench. “Your bear friend will be back quick I’m certain; it’s just a small boutique with some nice crystals, but mostly cheap orgonite new-agey stuff. Betsy only swears by that, protection for electromagnetic waves and stuff she says, but look around… we are probably got more at risk to be hit by Martian waves or solar coronal mass ejections that by the ones from the telecom tower nearby.”

      Xavier didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and smiled. He felt a bit out of his element. When he looked around, the girl had already disappeared.

      Now alone, he sat on the empty bench, stretched and yawned while trying to relax. It was so different from the anonymity in the city: less people here, but everything and everyone very tightly knit together, although they all seemed to irk and chafe at the thought.

      The flapping of wings startled him.

      “Hellooo.” The red parrot had landed on the backrest of the bench and dropped shells from a freshly cracked nut which rolled onto the ground.

      Xavier didn’t think to respond; like with AL, sometimes he’d found using polite filler words was only projecting human traits to something unable to respond back, and would just muddle the prompt quality.

      “So ruuuude.” The parrot nicked his earlobe gently.

      “Ouch! Sorry! No need to become aggressive!”

      “You arrrre one to talk. Rouge is on Yooour forehead.”

      Xavier looked surprised at the bird in disbelief. Did the bird talk about the mirror test? “What sort of smart creature are you now?”

      “Call meee Rose. Pretty Giiirl acceptable.”

      Xavier smiled. The bird seemed quite fascinating all of a sudden.
      It was strange, but the bird seemed left completely free to roam about; it gave him an idea.

      “Rose, Pretty Girl, do you know some nice places around you’d like to show me?”

      “Of couuurse. Foôllow Pretty Girl.”

      #6515

      In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Yasmin offered the following quirk: “sounding like a lunatic when I share synchs” (synchronicity) – getting excited when she gets “answers”, and willing to share generously. She wouldn’t fake it, as she’s not capable of lying and stuff like synchs are sacrosanct in her mind.
        Setting for the game is the next random quote from the story.

        Quirk accepted.

        In the Land of Quirk, Yasmin finds herself in the heart of a hidden library, deep in the basement of the Flying Fish Inn. The library is filled with books and artifacts related to the study of synchronicities and the beyond.

        As Yasmin delves deeper into the library, she comes across an ancient book that seems to hold the secrets of the universe. She eagerly opens it, but finds that it is written in a code that she cannot understand.

        The librarian, a wise old owl, appears and greets Yasmin. He tells her that the book is the Key to the Beyond and that only the purest of heart can decode it. He explains that the code can only be unlocked by finding the missing pieces of a puzzle scattered throughout the library.

        Yasmin’s task is to find the missing pieces of the puzzle and put them together to unlock the code. Along the way, she will meet various characters who will provide her with clues and challenges.

        Proof of completion in real life: Yasmin must find a real-life object that relates to a synchronicity that she experiences while on her quest in the Land of Quirk. She must then share this synchronicity with her friends at the Flying Fish Inn to prove that she has completed her quest.

        Good luck, Yasmin!

        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Some background information on The Sexy Wooden Leg and potential plot developments.

          Setting

          (nearby Duckailingtown in Dumbass, Oocrane)
          The Rootians (a fictitious nationality) invaded Oocrane (a fictitious country) under the guise of freeing the Dumbass region from Lazies. They burned crops and buildings, including the home of a man named Dumbass Voldomeer who was known for his wooden leg and carpenter skills. After the war, Voldomeer was hungry and saw a nest of swan eggs. He went back to his home, carved nine wooden eggs, and replaced the real eggs with the wooden ones so he could eat the eggs for food. The swans still appeared to be brooding on their eggs by the end of summer.

          Note: There seem to be a bird thematic at play.
          The swans’ eggs introduce the plot. The mysterious virus is likely a swan flu. Town in Oocrane often have reminiscing tones of birds’ species.
          Bird To(w)nes: (Oocrane/crane, Keav/kea, Spovlar/shoveler, Dilove/dove…)
          Also the town’s nursing home/hotel’s name is Vyriy from a mythical place in Slavic mythology (also Iriy, Vyrai, or Irij) where “birds fly for winter and souls go after death” which is sometimes identified with paradise. It is believed that spring has come to Earth from Vyrai.

          At the Keav Headquarters

          (🗺️ Capital of Oocrane)

          General Rudechenko and Major Myroslava Kovalev are discussing the incapacitation of President Voldomeer who is suffering from a mysterious virus. The President had told Major Kovalev about a man in the Dumbass region who looked similar to him and could be used as a replacement. The Major volunteers to bring the man to the General, but the General fears it is a suicide mission. He grants her permission but orders his aide to ensure she gets lost behind enemy lines.

          Myroslava, the ambitious Major goes undercover as a former war reporter, is now traveling on her own after leaving a group of journalists. She is being followed but tries to lose her pursuers by hunting and making fire in bombed areas. She is frustrated and curses her lack of alcohol.

          The Shrine of the Flovlinden Tree

          (🗺️ Shpovlar, geographical center of Oocrane)

          Olek is the caretaker of the shrine of Saint Edigna and lives near the sacred linden tree. People have been flocking to the shrine due to the miraculous flow of oil from the tree. Olek had retired to this place after a long career, but now a pilgrim family has brought a message of a plan acceleration, which upsets Olek. He reflects on his life and the chaos of people always rushing around and preparing for the wrong things. He thinks about his father’s approach to life, which was carefree and resulted in the same ups and downs as others, but with less suffering. Olek may consider adopting this approach until he can find a way to hide from the enemy.

          Rosa and the Cauldron Maker

          (young Oocranian wiccan travelling to Innsbruck, Austria)

          Eusebius Kazandis is selling black cauldrons at the summer fair of Innsbruck, Austria. He is watching Rosa, a woman selling massage oils, fragrant oils, and polishing oils. Rosa notices Eusebius is sad and thinks he is not where he needs to be. She waves at him, but he looks away as if caught doing something wrong. Rosa is on a journey across Europe, following the wind, and is hoping for a gust to tell her where to go next. However, the branches of the tree she is under remain still.

          The Nursing Home

          (Nearby the town of Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border somewhere in Transcarpetya)

          Egna, who has lived for almost a millennium, initially thinks the recent miracle at the Flovlinden Tree is just another con. She has performed many miracles in her life, but mostly goes unnoticed. She has a book full of records of the lives of many people she has tracked, and reminisces that she has a connection to the President Voldomeer. She decides to go and see the Flovlinden Tree for herself.

          🗺️ (the Vyriy hotel at Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border)

          Ursula, the owner of a hotel on the outskirts of town, is experiencing a surge in business from the increased number of pilgrims visiting the linden tree. She plans to refurbish the hotel to charge more per night and plans to get a business loan from her nephew Boris, the bank manager. However, she must first evict the old residents of the hotel, which she is dreading. To avoid confrontation, she decides to send letters signed by a fake business manager.

          Egbert Gofindlevsky, Olga Herringbonevsky and Obadiah Sproutwinklov are elderly residents of an old hotel turned nursing home who receive a letter informing them that they must leave. Egbert goes to see Obadiah about the letter, but finds a bad odor in his room and decides to see Olga instead.
          Maryechka, Obadiah’s granddaughter, goes back home after getting medicine for her sick mother and finds her home empty. She decides to visit her grandfather and his friends at the old people’s home, since the schools are closed and she’s not interested in online activities.
          Olga and Egbert have a conversation about their current situation and decide to leave the nursing home and visit Rosa, Olga’s distant relative. Maryechka encounters Egbert and Olga on the stairs and overhears them talking about leaving their friends behind. Olga realizes that it is important to hold onto their hearts and have faith in the kindness of strangers. They then go to see Obadiah, with Olga showing a burst of energy and Egbert with a weak smile.

          Thus starts their escape and unfolding adventure on the roads of war-torn Oocrane.

          Character Keyword Characteristics Sentiment
          Egbert old man, sharp tone sad, fragile
          Maryechka Obadiah’s granddaughter, shy innocent
          Olga old woman, knobbly fingers conflicted, determined
          Obadiah stubborn as a mule, old friend of Egbert unyielding, possibly deaf
          #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.

            #6423

            In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Zara’s first quest:

              entry level quirk: wandering off the track

              The initial setting for this quest is a dense forest, where the paths are overgrown and rarely traveled. You find yourself alone and disoriented, with only a rough map and a compass to guide you.

              Possible directions to investigate include:

              Following a faint trail of footprints that lead deeper into the forest

              Climbing a tall tree to get a better view of the surrounding area

              Searching for a stream or river to use as a guide to find your way out of the forest

              Possible characters to engage include:

              A mysterious hermit who lives deep in the forest and is rumored to know the secrets of the land

              A lost traveler who is also trying to find their way out of the forest

              A group of bandits who have taken refuge in the forest and may try to steal from you or cause harm

              Your objective is to find the Wanderlust tile, a small, intricately carved wooden tile depicting a person walking off the beaten path. This tile holds the key to unlocking your inner quirk of wandering off the track.

              As proof of your progress in the game, you must find a way to incorporate this quirk into your real-life actions by taking a spontaneous detour on your next journey, whether it be physical or mental.

              For Zara’s quest:

              As you wander off the track, you come across a strange-looking building in the distance. Upon closer inspection, you realize it is the Flying Fish Inn. As you enter, you are greeted by the friendly owner, Idle. She tells you that she has heard of strange occurrences happening in the surrounding area and offers to help you in your quest

              Emoji clue:  🐈🌳 :cat_confused:

               

              Zara (the character in the game)

              characteristics from previous prompts:

              Zara is the leader of the group  :yahoo_thinking:  she is confident, and always ready for an adventure. She is a natural leader and has a strong sense of justice. She is also a tech-savvy person, always carrying a variety of gadgets with her, and is always the first to try out new technology.

              Zara is the leader of the group, her color is red, her animal is a lion, and her secret name in a funny language is “Zaraloon”

               

              Zara (the real life story character)

              characteristics from previous prompts:

              Zara Patara-Smythe is a 57-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in an untidy 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.

              prompt quest:

              Continue to investigate the mysterious cat she saw, possibly seeking out help from local animal experts or veterinarians.
              Join Xavier and Yasmin in investigating the Flying Fish Inn, looking for clues and exploring the area for any potential leads on the game’s quest.

              #6391
              EricEric
              Keymaster

                write the plot of an absurd non-linear novel, featuring 4 characters

                The novel begins with the introduction of four characters: a retired archaeologist named Harold, a struggling musician named Samantha, a disillusioned corporate drone named Tim, and a reclusive inventor named Claire.

                Harold, who is obsessed with ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, discovers a mysterious underground chamber beneath a pyramid in Egypt. Inside, he finds a strange device that he believes is a time machine. Harold decides to use the device to travel back in time to ancient Egypt in order to decipher the hieroglyphs.

                Samantha, who is trying to make a name for herself as a musician, is struggling to come up with new material for her music. One day, she discovers that she can create beautiful music by communicating with plants telepathically. She becomes obsessed with this new form of music-making and decides to quit her day job and pursue it full-time.

                Tim, who is stuck in a dead-end job, is feeling unfulfilled and uninspired. One day, he stumbles upon a robotic mime performance art show. The performance inspires him to quit his job and pursue his dream of becoming a mime artist.

                Claire, who is a reclusive inventor, has been working on a project to create a type of artificial intelligence that can communicate with humans using calligraphic body language. She finally succeeds and creates an AI that she names “Calli”.

                As the story progresses, the characters’ paths begin to intersect in unexpected ways. Harold gets stuck in ancient Egypt and has to rely on Samantha’s telepathic plant communication skills to find a way back to the present. Tim’s robotic mime art becomes a hit and he starts working with Claire to integrate Calli into his performances.

                As the story reaches its climax, all four characters come together to use their unique skills and abilities to solve a problem that threatens the fate of the world.

                Throughout the novel, the plot unfolds in a non-linear fashion, jumping back and forth in time and between the different character’s perspectives. The story is filled with absurdity and unexpected twists and turns, leaving the reader guessing until the very end.

                What sort of problem that threatens the fate of the world will be resolved by their combined skills?

                As the story progresses, the characters begin to uncover a sinister plot by a group of powerful individuals who are intent on using the time machine to alter the course of history for their own gain. They plan to use the time machine to go back in time and change key events that would give them immense wealth and power in the present. Harold and Samantha, with the help of Tim and Claire, must race against time to stop the villains from carrying out their plan.

                Harold’s expertise in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs plays a crucial role in deciphering the clues that lead to the location of the time machine. Samantha’s telepathic plant communication skills are used to locate the hidden underground chamber where the time machine is kept. Tim’s robotic mime art and Claire’s AI Calli are used to infiltrate the villains’ hideout and gather intelligence on their plans.

                In the final act, the four characters come together to use their unique skills and abilities to stop the villains from altering history. Harold uses his knowledge of ancient Egypt to navigate the time machine and travel back in time to stop the villains from changing key events. Samantha uses her telepathic plant communication skills to communicate with the plants in the past and gather information on the villains’ whereabouts. Tim and Claire use their robotic mime and AI skills to create a diversion and distract the villains while Harold and Samantha complete their mission.

                In the end, the four characters succeed in stopping the villains and saving the fate of the world. The novel ends with the four characters going their separate ways, but they all know that they will always have each other to rely on in the face of any challenge that comes their way.

                #6379

                In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Asking to give each of the 4 characters some particular traits that makes them uniquely distinctive and recognizable

                  The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, each have their own unique traits that make them stand out and recognizable.

                  Zara is the leader of the group, she is confident, and always ready for an adventure. She is a natural leader and has a strong sense of justice. She is also a tech-savvy person, always carrying a variety of gadgets with her, and is always the first to try out new technology.

                  Xavier is the joker of the group, always cracking jokes and making puns. He is a free-spirited person who is always up for an adventure, he has a great sense of humor and is not afraid to be himself. He is also an artist and often carries a sketchbook and pencils with him, he likes to draw whatever he sees in his journeys.

                  Yasmin is the brains of the group, she is intelligent and logical. She is always able to think on her feet and come up with a plan when things get tough. She is also a bit of a perfectionist and likes to have everything organized. She is a history buff and always carries a notebook with her to document her findings.

                  Youssef is the muscle of the group, He is physically strong, and always ready to help out in a fight. He is also a bit of a foodie and loves trying new dishes. He is always the first one to volunteer to carry the heavy bags and equipment. He is also a bit of a daredevil and loves trying out new sports and activities.

                  Give each of them a color, and an animal, and a secret name in a funny language

                  The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, each have their own unique traits that make them stand out and recognizable.

                  Zara is the leader of the group, her color is red, her animal is a lion, and her secret name in a funny language is “Zaraloon”

                  Xavier is the joker of the group, his color is orange, his animal is a monkey, and his secret name in a funny language is “Xavimunk”

                  Yasmin is the brains of the group, her color is blue, her animal is an owl, and her secret name in a funny language is “Yasminowl”

                  Youssef is the muscle of the group, his color is green, his animal is a bear, and his secret name in a funny language is “Youssefbear”

                  Now, we need physical descriptions for each of them. Also, their ages, height, clothes, facial features, ethnicity (for instance Youssef may be half Yemeni and half Norwegian), etc. with a good mix of generic and eccentric. We also need surnames congruent with their described ethnicity, not too bland, but not too daft either. For instance Youssef Olafsson, Zara Patara-Smythe, etc. Also explain how they become friends.

                  Zara Patara-Smythe 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 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 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 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.

                  The four of them became friends in college, they were all studying different majors, but they all shared a love for adventure and exploration. They found themselves in the same class project, and from there they formed a strong bond. After college, they decided to keep exploring the world together, and went on many trips and adventures, always seeking for something new and exciting.

                  1/ Change the ages of Zara, Xavier, Yasmin and Youssef to more random patterns – rewrite if needed how they met each other to reflect eventual age gaps. Give them some flaws, mental or physical challenges.
                  2/ increase again the age gaps while keeping the youngest one a young adult, and remove “minor” from the flaws descriptions

                  Zara is a 22-year-old woman who is the youngest of the group. She is a free-spirited, adventurous person, but also a bit reckless and impulsive. She has a scar on her cheek that she got from a Skateboarding accident when she was a teenager.

                  Xavier is a 45-year-old man who is the oldest of the group. He is a responsible and level-headed person, but also a bit of a perfectionist and can be hard on himself and others. He has dyslexia which he has been able to work around and it doesn’t impede his daily life.

                  Yasmin is a 38-year-old woman who is the second oldest of the group. She is a kind and compassionate person, but also a bit of a pushover and can have trouble standing up for herself. She has social anxiety that affect her in certain situations and she have been working on coping mechanisms.

                  Youssef is a 33-year-old man who is the second youngest of the group. He is a charismatic and outgoing person, but also a bit of a flirt and can be a bit insensitive to others feelings. He has ADHD which he has been able to manage with medication, but it still affects him from time to time.

                  The group met each other through different means, Xavier and Yasmin met at work, Zara and Youssef met at a college class, and eventually, they all became friends through common interests and activities. They decided to go on this adventure together because they were all looking for a change in their lives and wanted to explore the unknown.

                  #6299

                  In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                  Looking at the blemish feverish man on the camp bed, General Lyaksandro Rudechenko clenched his fists. The wooden leg, that had been the symbol of the Oocranian Resistance for the last year was now lying on the floor. President Voldomeer had contracted a virus that confounded their best doctors and the remaining chiefs of the Oocranian Resistance feared he would soon join the men fallen for their country.

                  — Nobody must know that the sexiest man of Oocrane is incapacitated. We need a replacement, said the General.

                  — President Voldomeer told me of a man, the very man who made that wooden leg, said Major Myroslava Kovalev, the candle light reflecting in her glass eye. He lives in the Dumbass region. He’s a secret twin or something, President Voldomeer was not so clear about that part, but at least they look alike. To make it more real, we can have his leg removed, she added pointing at the wooden leg.

                  She was proud of being one of the only women ranking that high in the military. His fellow people might not be Lazies, but they had some old idea about women, that were not the best choice for fighting. Myroslava had always wanted to prove them wrong, and this conflict had been her chance to rise almost to the top. She looked at the dying man who was once her ladder. He had been sexy, and certainly could do many things with his wooden leg. Now he was but the shadow of a man, pale and blurry as cataract. If she had loved him, she might have shed a tear.

                  Myroslava looked at General Rudechenko’s pockmarked face and shivered. She wouldn’t even share a cab with him. But he was the next in command, and before Voldomeer fell ill, she was on her way to take his place, even closer to the top.

                  — Let me bring him to you, she added.

                  — That’s a suicide mission, said the general. Permission granted.

                  — Thank you General ! said Myroslava doing the military salute before leaving the tent.

                  Despite his being from Dumbass and having made some mistakes in his life, Lyaksandro was not stupid. He knew quite well what that woman wanted. He called, Glib, his aide-de-camp.

                  — Make sure she gets lost behind the enemy lines.

                  #6291
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Jane Eaton

                    The Nottingham Girl

                     

                    Jane Eaton 1809-1879

                    Francis Purdy, the Beggarlea Bulldog and Methodist Minister, married Jane Eaton in 1837 in Nottingham. Jane was his second wife.

                    Jane Eaton, photo says “Grandma Purdy” on the back:

                    Jane Eaton

                     

                    Jane is described as a “Nottingham girl” in a book excerpt sent to me by Jim Giles, a relation who shares the same 3x great grandparents, Francis and Jane Purdy.

                    Jane Eaton Nottingham

                    Jane Eaton 2

                     

                    Elizabeth, Francis Purdy’s first wife, died suddenly at chapel in 1836, leaving nine children.

                    On Christmas day the following year Francis married Jane Eaton at St Peters church in Nottingham. Jane married a Methodist Minister, and didn’t realize she married the bare knuckle fighter she’d seen when she was fourteen until he undressed and she saw his scars.

                    jane eaton 3

                     

                    William Eaton 1767-1851

                    On the marriage certificate Jane’s father was William Eaton, occupation gardener. Francis’s father was William Purdy, engineer.

                    On the 1841 census living in Sollory’s Yard, Nottingham St Mary, William Eaton was a 70 year old gardener. It doesn’t say which county he was born in but indicates that it was not Nottinghamshire. Living with him were Mary Eaton, milliner, age 35, Mary Eaton, milliner, 15, and Elizabeth Rhodes age 35, a sempstress (another word for seamstress). The three women were born in Nottinghamshire.

                    But who was Elizabeth Rhodes?

                    Elizabeth Eaton was Jane’s older sister, born in 1797 in Nottingham. She married William Rhodes, a private in the 5th Dragoon Guards, in Leeds in October 1815.

                    I looked for Elizabeth Rhodes on the 1851 census, which stated that she was a widow. I was also trying to determine which William Eaton death was the right one, and found William Eaton was still living with Elizabeth in 1851 at Pilcher Gate in Nottingham, but his name had been entered backwards: Eaton William. I would not have found him on the 1851 census had I searched for Eaton as a last name.

                    Pilcher Gate gets its strange name from pilchers or fur dealers and was once a very narrow thoroughfare. At the lower end stood a pub called The Windmill – frequented by the notorious robber and murderer Charlie Peace.

                    This was a lucky find indeed, because William’s place of birth was listed as Grantham, Lincolnshire. There were a couple of other William Eaton’s born at the same time, both near to Nottingham. It was tricky to work out which was the right one, but as it turned out, neither of them were.

                    William Eaton Grantham

                     

                    Now we had Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire border straddlers, so the search moved to the Lincolnshire records.
                    But first, what of the two Mary Eatons living with William?

                    William and his wife Mary had a daughter Mary in 1799 who died in 1801, and another daughter Mary Ann born in 1803. (It was common to name children after a previous infant who had died.)  It seems that Mary Ann didn’t marry but had a daughter Mary Eaton born in 1822.

                    William and his wife Mary also had a son Richard Eaton born in 1801 in Nottingham.

                    Who was William Eaton’s wife Mary?

                    There are two possibilities: Mary Cresswell and a marriage in Nottingham in 1797, or Mary Dewey and a marriage at Grantham in 1795. If it’s Mary Cresswell, the first child Elizabeth would have been born just four or five months after the wedding. (This was far from unusual). However, no births in Grantham, or in Nottingham, were recorded for William and Mary in between 1795 and 1797.

                    We don’t know why William moved from Grantham to Nottingham or when he moved there. According to Dearden’s 1834 Nottingham directory, William Eaton was a “Gardener and Seedsman”.

                    gardener and seedsan William Eaton

                    There was another William Eaton selling turnip seeds in the same part of Nottingham. At first I thought it must be the same William, but apparently not, as that William Eaton is recorded as a victualler, born in Ruddington. The turnip seeds were advertised in 1847 as being obtainable from William Eaton at the Reindeer Inn, Wheeler Gate. Perhaps he was related.

                    William lived in the Lace Market part of Nottingham.   I wondered where a gardener would be working in that part of the city.  According to CreativeQuarter website, “in addition to the trades and housing (sometimes under the same roof), there were a number of splendid mansions being built with extensive gardens and orchards. Sadly, these no longer exist as they were gradually demolished to make way for commerce…..The area around St Mary’s continued to develop as an elegant residential district during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, with buildings … being built for nobility and rich merchants.”

                    William Eaton died in Nottingham in September 1851, thankfully after the census was taken recording his place of birth.

                    #6286
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Matthew Orgill and His Family

                       

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

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

                      LATE MATTHEW ORGILL PEACEFUL END TO A BLAMELESS LIFE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                       

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

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

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

                      Matthew Orgill window

                      Matthew orgill window 2

                       

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

                      Measham Wharf

                       

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

                      Old Measham wharf

                       

                      But what to make of the inscription in the window?

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

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

                       

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

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

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

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

                      Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

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

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

                      #6271
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The Housley Letters

                        FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

                        from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                         

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

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

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

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

                        Lyon 1861 census

                         

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

                         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

                        Davy Death

                         

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

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

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

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

                        Kiddsley Park Farm

                         

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

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

                        #6269
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The Housley Letters 

                          From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

                           

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

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

                          William and Ellen Marriage

                           

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

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

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

                           

                          ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

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

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

                           

                          Mary’s children:

                          MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

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

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

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

                           

                          WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

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

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

                           

                          Ellen’s children:

                          JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          John Housley

                           

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

                           

                          SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

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

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

                          Housley Deaths

                           

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

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

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

                           

                          EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

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

                           

                          ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          The Carrington Farm:

                          Carringtons Farm

                           

                          CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

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

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

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

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

                           

                          GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                           

                          ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

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

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

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

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

                           

                          EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

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

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

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

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

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

                          Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

                          Emma Housley wedding

                           

                          JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

                          Joseph Housley

                          #6268
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            From Tanganyika with Love

                            continued part 9

                            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                            Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 14 May 1945

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 19th September 1945

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Mbeya 1st November 1946

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            #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.

                               

                              #6265
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                From Tanganyika with Love

                                continued  ~ part 6

                                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                Mchewe 6th June 1937

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                With much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe 25th June 1937

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Lots of love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe 9th July 1937

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor

                                Mchewe 8th October 1937

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe 17th October 1937

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe 18th November 1937

                                My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                                Mchewe 18th November 1937

                                Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Mbulu 20th June 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Karatu 3rd July 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Karatu 12th July 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                #6264
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  From Tanganyika with Love

                                  continued  ~ part 5

                                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                  Chunya 16th December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Much love to all,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  With love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Chunya 29th January 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  We should be with you in three weeks time!

                                  Very much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  With love to you all,
                                  Eleanor.

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

                                  George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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