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  • #6471
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      The Jorid is a vessel that can travel through dimensions as well as time, within certain boundaries.

      The Jorid has been built and is operated by Georges and his companion Salomé.
      Georges was a French thief possibly from the 1800s, turned other-dimensional explorer, and along with Salomé, a girl of mysterious origins who he first met in the Alienor dimension but believed to be born in Northern India in a distant past, they have lived rich adventures together, and are deeply bound by love and mutual interests.

      Georges, with his handsome face, dark hair and amber gaze, is a bit of a daredevil at times, curious and engaging with others. He is very interesting in anything that shines, strange mechanisms and generally the ways consciousness works in living matter. Salomé, on the other hand is deeply intuitive, empath at times, quite logical and rational but also interested in mysticism, the ways of the Truth, and the “why” rather than the “how” of things.

      The world of Alienor (a pale green sun under which twin planets originally orbited – Duane, Murtuane – with an additional third, Phreal, home planet of the Guardians, an alien race of builders with god-like powers) lived through cataclysmic changes, finished by the time this story is told.

      The Jorid’s original prototype designs were crafted by Léonard, a mysterious figure, self-taught in the arts of dimensional magic in Alienor sects, who acted as a mentor to Georges during his adventures. It is not known where he is now.

      The story unfolds 14 years after we discovered Georges & Salomé in the story.

       

      (for more background information, refer to this thread)

      #6469

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      The door opened and Youssef saw Natalie, still waiting for him. Indeed, he needed help. He decided to accept  sands_of_time contact request, hopping it was not another Thi Gang trick.

      Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ✅ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

      A princess on horse back emerged from the sand. The veil on her hair floated in a wind that soon cleared all the dust from her garment and her mount, revealing a princess with a delicate face and some prominent attributes that didn’t leave Youssef indifferent. She was smiling at him, and her horse, who had six legs and looked a bit like a camel, snorted at the bear.

      “I love doing that, said the princess. At least I don’t get to spit sand afterward like when my sister’s grand-kids want to bury me in the sand at the beach…”

      It broke the charm. It reminded Youssef it was all a game. That princess was an avatar. Was it even a girl on the other side ? And how old ? Youssef, despite his stature, felt as vulnerable as when his mother left him for the afternoon with an old aunt in Sudan when he was five and she kept wanting to dress him with colourful girl outfits. He shivered and the bear growled at the camel-horse, reminding Youssef how hungry he was.

      sands_of_time?” he asked.

      “Yes. I like this AI game. Makes me feel like I’m twenty again. Not as fun as a mushroom trip though, but… with less secondary effects. Anyway, I saw you needed help with that girl. A ‘reel’ nuisance if you ask me, sticky like a sea cucumber.”

      “How do you know ? Did you plant bugs on my phone ? Are you with the Thi Gang ?” 

      The bear moved toward them and roared and the camel-horse did a strange sound. The princess appeased her mount with a touch of her hand.

      “Oh! Boy, calm down your heat. Nothing so prosaic. I have other means, she said with a grin. Call me Sweet Sophie, I’m a real life reporter. Was just laying down on my dream couch looking for clues about a Dr Patelonus, the man’s mixed up in some monkey trafficking business, when I saw that strange llama dressed like a tibetan monk, except it was a bit too mayonnaise for a tibetan monk. Anyway, he led me to you and told me to contact you through this Quirk Quest Game, suggesting you might have some intel for me about that monkey business of mine. So I put on my VR helmet, which actually reminds me of a time at the hair salon, and a gorgeous beehive… but anyway you wouldn’t understand. So I had to accept one of those quests and find you in the game. Which was a lot less easier than RV I can tell you. The only thing, I couldn’t interact with you unless you accepted contact. So here I am, ready for you to tell me about Dr Patelonus. But I can see that first we need to get you out of here.”

      Youssef had no idea about what she was talking about. VR; RV ? one and the same ? He decided not to tell her he knew nothing about monkeys or doctors until he was out of Natalie’s reach. If indeed sands_of_timecould help.

      “So what do I do ?” asked Youssef.

      “Let me first show you my real self. I’ve always wanted to try that. Wait a moment. I need to focus.”

      The princess avatar looked in the distance, her eyes lost beyond this world. Suddenly, Youssef felt a presence creeping into his mind. He heard a laugh and saw an old lady in yoga pants on a couch! He roared and almost let go of his phone again.

      The princess smiled.

      “Now, wouldn’t be fair if only I knew what you looked like in real life. Although you’re pretty close to your avatar… Don’t you seem a tad afraid of experimenting with new things. :yahoo_smug:

      She laughed again, and this time Youssef saw her “real” face superimposed on the princess avatar. It gave him goosebumps.

      “Now’s your opening, she said. The girl’s busy giving directions to someone else. Get out of the bathroom! Now!”

      Youssef had the strangest feeling that the voice had come at the same time from the phone speakers and from inside his head. His body acted on its own as if he was a puppet. He pushed the bathroom door open and rushed outside.

      #6467

      Ricardo, my dear, those new reporters are quite the catch.”

      Miss Bossy Pants remarked as she handed him the printed report. “Imagine that, if you can. A preliminary report sent, even before asking, AND with useful details. It’s as though they’re a new generation with improbable traits definitely not inherited from their forebearers…”

      Ricardo scanned the document, a look of intrigue on his face. “Indeed, they seem to have a knack for getting things done. I can’t help but notice that our boy Sproink omitted that Sweet Sophie had used her remote viewing skills to point out something was of interest on the Rock of Gibraltar. I wonder how much that influenced his decision to seek out Dr. Patelonus.”

      Miss Bossy Pants leaned back in her chair, a sly smile creeping across her lips. “Well, don’t quote me later on this, but some level of initiative is a valuable trait in a journalist. We can’t have drones regurgitating soothing nonsense. We need real, we need grit.” She paused in mid sentence. “By the way, heard anything from Hilda & Connie? I do hope they’re getting something back from this terribly long detour in the Nordics.”

       

      Dear Miss Bossy Pants,

      I am writing to give you a preliminary report on my investigation into the strange occurrences of Barbary macaques in Cartagena, Spain.

      Taking some initiative and straying from your initial instructions, I first traveled to Gibraltar to meet with Dr. Patelonus, an expert in simiantics (the study of ape languages). Dr. Patelonus provided me with valuable insights into the behavior of Barbary macaques, including their typical range and habits and what they may be after. He also mentioned that the recent reports of Barbary macaques venturing further away from their usual habitat in coastal towns like Cartagena is highly unusual, and that he suspects something else is influencing them. He mentioned chatter on the simian news netwoke, that his secretary, a lovely female gorilla by the name of Barbara was kind enough to get translated for us.

      I managed to find a wifi spot to send you this report before I board the next bus to Cartagena, where I plan to collect samples and observe the local macaque population. I have spoken with several tourists in Gib’ who have reported being assaulted and having their shoes stolen by the apes. It is again, a highly unusual behaviour for Barbary macaques, who seem untempted by the food left to appease them as a distraction, and I am currently trying to find out the reason behind this.

      As soon as I gather them, I will send samples collected in situ without delay to my colleague Giles Gibber at the newspaper for analysis. Hopefully, his findings will shed some light on the situation.

      I will continue my investigation and keep you appraised on any new developments.

      Sincerely,

      Samuel Sproink
      Rim of the Realm Newspaper.

      #6453

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Each group of people sharing the jeeps spent some time cleaning the jeeps from the sand, outside and inside. While cleaning the hood, Youssef noted that the storm had cleaned the eagles droppings. Soon, the young intern told them, avoiding their eyes, that the boss needed her to plan the shooting with the Lama. She said Kyle would take her place.

      “Phew, the yak I shared the yurt with yesterday smelled better,” he said to the guys when he arrived.

      Soon enough, Miss Tartiflate was going from jeep to jeep, her fiery hair half tied in a bun on top of her head, hurrying people to move faster as they needed to catch the shaman before he got away again. She carried her orange backpack at all time, as if she feared someone would steal its content. Rumour had it that it was THE NOTEBOOK where she wrote the blog entries in advance.

      “No need to waste more time! We’ll have breakfast at the Oasis!” she shouted as she walked toward Youssef’s jeep. When she spotted him, she left her right index finger as if she just remembered something and turned the other way.

      “Dunno what you did to her, but it seems Miss Yeti is avoiding you,” said Kyle with a wry smile.

      Youssef grunted. Yeti was the nickname given to Miss Tartiflate by one of her former lover during a trip to Himalaya. First an affectionate nickname based on her first name, Henrietty, it soon started to spread among the production team when the love affair turned sour. It sticked and became widespread in the milieu. Everybody knew, but nobody ever dared say it to her face.

      Youssef knew it wouldn’t last. He had heard that there was wifi at the oasis. He took a snack in his own backpack to quiet his stomach.

      It took them two hours to arrive as sand dunes had moved on the trail during the storm. Kyle had talked most of the time, boring them to death with detailed accounts of his life back in Boston. He didn’t seem to notice that nobody cared about his love rejection stories or his tips to talk to women.

      They parked outside the oasis among buses and vans. Kyle was following Youssef everywhere as if they were friends. Despite his unending flow of words, the guy managed to be funny.

      Miss Tartiflate seemed unusually nervous, pulling on a strand of her orange hair and pushing back her glasses up her nose every two minutes. She was bossing everyone around to take the cameras and the lighting gear to the market where the shaman was apparently performing a rain dance. She didn’t want to miss it. When everybody was ready, she came right to Youssef. When she pushed back her glasses on her nose, he noticed her fingers were the colour of her hair. Her mouth was twitching nervously. She told him to find the wifi and restore THE BLOG or he could find another job.

      “Phew! said Kyle. I don’t want to be near you when that happens.” He waved and left and joined the rest of the team.

      Youssef smiled, happy to be alone at last, he took his backpack containing his laptop and his phone and followed everyone to the market in the luscious oasis.

      At the center, near the lake, a crowd of tourists was gathered around a man wearing a colorful attire. Half his teeth and one eye were missing. The one that was left rolled furiously in his socket at the sound of a drum. He danced and jumped around like a monkey, and each of his movements were punctuated by the bells attached to the hem of his costume.

      Youssef was glad he was not part of the shooting team, they looked miserable as they assembled the gears under a deluge of orders. As he walked toward the market, the scents of spicy food made his stomach growled. The vendors were looking at the crowd and exchanging comments and laughs. They were certainly waiting for the performance to end and the tourists to flood the place in search of trinkets and spices. Youssef spotted a food stall tucked away on the edge. It seemed too shabby to interest anyone, which was perfect for him.

      The taciturn vendor, who looked caucasian, wore a yellow jacket and a bonnet oddly reminiscent of a llama’s scalp and ears. The dish he was preparing made Youssef drool.

      “What’s that?” he asked.

      “This is Lorgh Drülp, said the vendor. Ancient recipe from the silk road. Very rare. Very tasty.”

      He smiled when Youssef ordered a full plate with a side of tsampa. He told him to sit and wait on a stool beside an old and wobbly table.

      #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.

        #6386

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        At the board game, Zara was the first to break character, although Yasmin had been rolling her eyes in silence for quite some time.

        “They’re all so young and attractive…”

        Yasmin chimed in “Could you add averagely attractive to the prompt? Oh hark at me! Moaning already!”

        Xavier was glad at the break, and stretched his arms, leaning back against the chair. “Time for a bio-break guys, all this setting up is taking a lot of time.”

        Youssef, who was connected via a stream, started to post emojis of food in the chat. He’d been obviously hungry for a while as usual.

        “Ok guys,” said Zara sighing. “That’s settled for today then. Anyway, it’s pretty late for Youssef, let’s resume tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be posting the characters concept art, but don’t hold your breath on that.”

        #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.

          #6350
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Transportation

            Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

             

            Isaac was born in Churchill, Oxfordshire in 1804, and was the youngest brother of my 4X great grandfather Thomas Stokes. The Stokes family were stone masons for generations in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire, and Isaac’s occupation was a mason’s labourer in 1834 when he was sentenced at the Lent Assizes in Oxford to fourteen years transportation for stealing tools.

            Churchill where the Stokes stonemasons came from: on 31 July 1684 a fire destroyed 20 houses and many other buildings, and killed four people. The village was rebuilt higher up the hill, with stone houses instead of the old timber-framed and thatched cottages. The fire was apparently caused by a baker who, to avoid chimney tax, had knocked through the wall from her oven to her neighbour’s chimney.

            Isaac stole a pick axe, the value of 2 shillings and the property of Thomas Joyner of Churchill; a kibbeaux and a trowel value 3 shillings the property of Thomas Symms; a hammer and axe value 5 shillings, property of John Keen of Sarsden.

            (The word kibbeaux seems to only exists in relation to Isaac Stokes sentence and whoever was the first to write it was perhaps being creative with the spelling of a kibbo, a miners or a metal bucket. This spelling is repeated in the criminal reports and the newspaper articles about Isaac, but nowhere else).

            In March 1834 the Removal of Convicts was announced in the Oxford University and City Herald: Isaac Stokes and several other prisoners were removed from the Oxford county gaol to the Justitia hulk at Woolwich “persuant to their sentences of transportation at our Lent Assizes”.

            via digitalpanopticon:

            Hulks were decommissioned (and often unseaworthy) ships that were moored in rivers and estuaries and refitted to become floating prisons. The outbreak of war in America in 1775 meant that it was no longer possible to transport British convicts there. Transportation as a form of punishment had started in the late seventeenth century, and following the Transportation Act of 1718, some 44,000 British convicts were sent to the American colonies. The end of this punishment presented a major problem for the authorities in London, since in the decade before 1775, two-thirds of convicts at the Old Bailey received a sentence of transportation – on average 283 convicts a year. As a result, London’s prisons quickly filled to overflowing with convicted prisoners who were sentenced to transportation but had no place to go.

            To increase London’s prison capacity, in 1776 Parliament passed the “Hulks Act” (16 Geo III, c.43). Although overseen by local justices of the peace, the hulks were to be directly managed and maintained by private contractors. The first contract to run a hulk was awarded to Duncan Campbell, a former transportation contractor. In August 1776, the Justicia, a former transportation ship moored in the River Thames, became the first prison hulk. This ship soon became full and Campbell quickly introduced a number of other hulks in London; by 1778 the fleet of hulks on the Thames held 510 prisoners.
            Demand was so great that new hulks were introduced across the country. There were hulks located at Deptford, Chatham, Woolwich, Gosport, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Sheerness and Cork.

            The Justitia via rmg collections:

            Justitia

            Convicts perform hard labour at the Woolwich Warren. The hulk on the river is the ‘Justitia’. Prisoners were kept on board such ships for months awaiting deportation to Australia. The ‘Justitia’ was a 260 ton prison hulk that had been originally moored in the Thames when the American War of Independence put a stop to the transportation of criminals to the former colonies. The ‘Justitia’ belonged to the shipowner Duncan Campbell, who was the Government contractor who organized the prison-hulk system at that time. Campbell was subsequently involved in the shipping of convicts to the penal colony at Botany Bay (in fact Port Jackson, later Sydney, just to the north) in New South Wales, the ‘first fleet’ going out in 1788.

             

            While searching for records for Isaac Stokes I discovered that another Isaac Stokes was transported to New South Wales in 1835 as well. The other one was a butcher born in 1809, sentenced in London for seven years, and he sailed on the Mary Ann. Our Isaac Stokes sailed on the Lady Nugent, arriving in NSW in April 1835, having set sail from England in December 1834.

            Lady Nugent was built at Bombay in 1813. She made four voyages under contract to the British East India Company (EIC). She then made two voyages transporting convicts to Australia, one to New South Wales and one to Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). (via Wikipedia)

            via freesettlerorfelon website:

            On 20 November 1834, 100 male convicts were transferred to the Lady Nugent from the Justitia Hulk and 60 from the Ganymede Hulk at Woolwich, all in apparent good health. The Lady Nugent departed Sheerness on 4 December 1834.

            SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

            Oliver Sproule kept a Medical Journal from 7 November 1834 to 27 April 1835. He recorded in his journal the weather conditions they experienced in the first two weeks:

            ‘In the course of the first week or ten days at sea, there were eight or nine on the sick list with catarrhal affections and one with dropsy which I attribute to the cold and wet we experienced during that period beating down channel. Indeed the foremost berths in the prison at this time were so wet from leaking in that part of the ship, that I was obliged to issue dry beds and bedding to a great many of the prisoners to preserve their health, but after crossing the Bay of Biscay the weather became fine and we got the damp beds and blankets dried, the leaks partially stopped and the prison well aired and ventilated which, I am happy to say soon manifested a favourable change in the health and appearance of the men.

            Besides the cases given in the journal I had a great many others to treat, some of them similar to those mentioned but the greater part consisted of boils, scalds, and contusions which would not only be too tedious to enter but I fear would be irksome to the reader. There were four births on board during the passage which did well, therefore I did not consider it necessary to give a detailed account of them in my journal the more especially as they were all favourable cases.

            Regularity and cleanliness in the prison, free ventilation and as far as possible dry decks turning all the prisoners up in fine weather as we were lucky enough to have two musicians amongst the convicts, dancing was tolerated every afternoon, strict attention to personal cleanliness and also to the cooking of their victuals with regular hours for their meals, were the only prophylactic means used on this occasion, which I found to answer my expectations to the utmost extent in as much as there was not a single case of contagious or infectious nature during the whole passage with the exception of a few cases of psora which soon yielded to the usual treatment. A few cases of scurvy however appeared on board at rather an early period which I can attribute to nothing else but the wet and hardships the prisoners endured during the first three or four weeks of the passage. I was prompt in my treatment of these cases and they got well, but before we arrived at Sydney I had about thirty others to treat.’

            The Lady Nugent arrived in Port Jackson on 9 April 1835 with 284 male prisoners. Two men had died at sea. The prisoners were landed on 27th April 1835 and marched to Hyde Park Barracks prior to being assigned. Ten were under the age of 14 years.

            The Lady Nugent:

            Lady Nugent

             

            Isaac’s distinguishing marks are noted on various criminal registers and record books:

            “Height in feet & inches: 5 4; Complexion: Ruddy; Hair: Light brown; Eyes: Hazel; Marks or Scars: Yes [including] DEVIL on lower left arm, TSIS back of left hand, WS lower right arm, MHDW back of right hand.”

            Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

            “Two slight scars right side of mouth, 2 moles above right breast, figure of the devil and DEVIL and raised mole, lower left arm; anchor, seven dots half moon, TSIS and cross, back of left hand; a mallet, door post, A, mans bust, sun, WS, lower right arm; woman, MHDW and shut knife, back of right hand.”

             

            Lady Nugent record book

             

            From How tattoos became fashionable in Victorian England (2019 article in TheConversation by Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alkar):

            “Historical tattooing was not restricted to sailors, soldiers and convicts, but was a growing and accepted phenomenon in Victorian England. Tattoos provide an important window into the lives of those who typically left no written records of their own. As a form of “history from below”, they give us a fleeting but intriguing understanding of the identities and emotions of ordinary people in the past.
            As a practice for which typically the only record is the body itself, few systematic records survive before the advent of photography. One exception to this is the written descriptions of tattoos (and even the occasional sketch) that were kept of institutionalised people forced to submit to the recording of information about their bodies as a means of identifying them. This particularly applies to three groups – criminal convicts, soldiers and sailors. Of these, the convict records are the most voluminous and systematic.
            Such records were first kept in large numbers for those who were transported to Australia from 1788 (since Australia was then an open prison) as the authorities needed some means of keeping track of them.”

            On the 1837 census Isaac was working for the government at Illiwarra, New South Wales. This record states that he arrived on the Lady Nugent in 1835. There are three other indent records for an Isaac Stokes in the following years, but the transcriptions don’t provide enough information to determine which Isaac Stokes it was. In April 1837 there was an abscondment, and an arrest/apprehension in May of that year, and in 1843 there was a record of convict indulgences.

            From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

            “By the mid-1830s only six per cent of convicts were locked up. The vast majority worked for the government or free settlers and, with good behaviour, could earn a ticket of leave, conditional pardon or and even an absolute pardon. While under such orders convicts could earn their own living.”

             

            In 1856 in Camden, NSW, Isaac Stokes married Catherine Daly. With no further information on this record it would be impossible to know for sure if this was the right Isaac Stokes. This couple had six children, all in the Camden area, but none of the records provided enough information. No occupation or place or date of birth recorded for Isaac Stokes.

            I wrote to the National Library of Australia about the marriage record, and their reply was a surprise! Issac and Catherine were married on 30 September 1856, at the house of the Rev. Charles William Rigg, a Methodist minister, and it was recorded that Isaac was born in Edinburgh in 1821, to parents James Stokes and Sarah Ellis!  The age at the time of the marriage doesn’t match Isaac’s age at death in 1877, and clearly the place of birth and parents didn’t match either. Only his fathers occupation of stone mason was correct.  I wrote back to the helpful people at the library and they replied that the register was in a very poor condition and that only two and a half entries had survived at all, and that Isaac and Catherines marriage was recorded over two pages.

            I searched for an Isaac Stokes born in 1821 in Edinburgh on the Scotland government website (and on all the other genealogy records sites) and didn’t find it. In fact Stokes was a very uncommon name in Scotland at the time. I also searched Australian immigration and other records for another Isaac Stokes born in Scotland or born in 1821, and found nothing.  I was unable to find a single record to corroborate this mysterious other Isaac Stokes.

            As the age at death in 1877 was correct, I assume that either Isaac was lying, or that some mistake was made either on the register at the home of the Methodist minster, or a subsequent mistranscription or muddle on the remnants of the surviving register.  Therefore I remain convinced that the Camden stonemason Isaac Stokes was indeed our Isaac from Oxfordshire.

             

            I found a history society newsletter article that mentioned Isaac Stokes, stone mason, had built the Glenmore church, near Camden, in 1859.

            Glenmore Church

             

            From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

            Glenmore Church Stokes

             

            From the Camden History website:

            “The stone set over the porch of Glenmore Church gives the date of 1860. The church was begun in 1859 on land given by Joseph Moore. James Rogers of Picton was given the contract to build and local builder, Mr. Stokes, carried out the work. Elizabeth Moore, wife of Edward, laid the foundation stone. The first service was held on 19th March 1860. The cemetery alongside the church contains the headstones and memorials of the areas early pioneers.”

             

            Isaac died on the 3rd September 1877. The inquest report puts his place of death as Bagdelly, near to Camden, and another death register has put Cambelltown, also very close to Camden.  His age was recorded as 71 and the inquest report states his cause of death was “rupture of one of the large pulmonary vessels of the lung”.  His wife Catherine died in childbirth in 1870 at the age of 43.

             

            Isaac and Catherine’s children:

            William Stokes 1857-1928

            Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

            Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

            Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

            Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

            Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

             

            It’s possible that Catherine Daly was a transported convict from Ireland.

             

            Some time later I unexpectedly received a follow up email from The Oaks Heritage Centre in Australia.

            “The Gaudry papers which we have in our archive record him (Isaac Stokes) as having built: the church, the school and the teachers residence.  Isaac is recorded in the General return of convicts: 1837 and in Grevilles Post Office directory 1872 as a mason in Glenmore.”

            Isaac Stokes directory

            #6345
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Crime and Punishment in Tetbury

               

              I noticed that there were quite a number of Brownings of Tetbury in the newspaper archives involved in criminal activities while doing a routine newspaper search to supplement the information in the usual ancestry records. I expanded the tree to include cousins, and offsping of cousins, in order to work out who was who and how, if at all, these individuals related to our Browning family.

              I was expecting to find some of our Brownings involved in the Swing Riots in Tetbury in 1830, but did not. Most of our Brownings (including cousins) were stone masons. Most of the rioters in 1830 were agricultural labourers.

              The Browning crimes are varied, and by todays standards, not for the most part terribly serious ~ you would be unlikely to receive a sentence of hard labour for being found in an outhouse with the intent to commit an unlawful act nowadays, or for being drunk.

              The central character in this chapter is Isaac Browning (my 4x great grandfather), who did not appear in any criminal registers, but the following individuals can be identified in the family structure through their relationship to him.

               

              RICHARD LOCK BROWNING born in 1853 was Isaac’s grandson, his son George’s son. Richard was a mason. In 1879 he and Henry Browning of the same age were sentenced to one month hard labour for stealing two pigeons in Tetbury. Henry Browning was Isaac’s nephews son.
              In 1883 Richard Browning, mason of Tetbury, was charged with obtaining food and lodging under false pretences, but was found not guilty and acquitted.
              In 1884 Richard Browning, mason of Tetbury, was sentenced to one month hard labour for game trespass.

              Richard had been fined a number of times in Tetbury:

              Richard Browning

              Richard Lock Browning was five feet eight inches tall, dark hair, grey eyes, an oval face and a dark complexion. He had two cuts on the back of his head (in February 1879) and a scar on his right eyebrow.

               

              HENRY BROWNING, who was stealing pigeons with Richard Lock Browning in 1879, (Isaac’s brother Williams grandson, son of George Browning and his wife Charity) was charged with being drunk in 1882 and ordered to pay a fine of one shilling and costs of fourteen shillings, or seven days hard labour.

              Henry was found guilty of gaming in the highway at Tetbury in 1872 and was sentenced to seven days hard labour. In 1882 Henry (who was also a mason) was charged with assault but discharged.
              Henry was five feet five inches tall, brown hair and brown eyes, a long visage and a fresh complexion.
              Henry emigrated with his daughter to Canada in 1913, and died in Vancouver in 1919.

               

              THOMAS BUCKINGHAM 1808-1846 (Isaacs daughter Janes husband) was charged with stealing a black gelding in Tetbury in 1838. No true bill. (A “no true bill” means the jury did not find probable cause to continue a case.)

              Thomas did however neglect to pay his taxes in 1832:

              Thomas Buckingham

               

              LEWIN BUCKINGHAM (grandson of Isaac, his daughter Jane’s son) was found guilty in 1846 stealing two fowls in Tetbury when he was sixteen years old.
              In 1846 he was sentence to one month hard labour (or pay ten shillings fine and ten shillings costs) for loitering with the intent to trespass in search of conies.
              A year later in 1847, he and three other young men were sentenced to four months hard labour for larceny.
              Lewin was five feet three inches tall, with brown hair and brown eyes, long visage, sallow complexion, and had a scar on his left arm.

               

              JOHN BUCKINGHAM born circa 1832, a Tetbury labourer (Isaac’s grandson, Lewin’s brother) was sentenced to six weeks hard labour for larceny in 1855 for stealing a duck in Cirencester. The notes on the register mention that he had been employed by Mr LOCK, Angel Inn. (John’s grandmother was Mary Lock so this is likely a relative).

              John Buckingham

               

              The previous year in 1854 John was sentenced to one month or a one pound fine for assaulting and beating W. Wood.
              John was five feet eight and three quarter inches tall, light brown hair and grey eyes, an oval visage and a fresh complexion. He had a scar on his left arm and inside his right knee.

               

              JOSEPH PERRET was born circa 1831 and he was a Tetbury labourer. (He was Isaac’s granddaughter Charlotte Buckingham’s husband)
              In 1855 he assaulted William Wood and was sentenced to one month or a two pound ten shilling fine. Was it the same W Wood that his wifes cousin John assaulted the year before?
              In 1869 Joseph was sentenced to one month hard labour for feloniously receiving a cupboard known to be stolen.

               

              JAMES BUCKINGAM born circa 1822 in Tetbury was a shoemaker. (Isaac’s nephew, his sister Hannah’s son)
              In 1854 the Tetbury shoemaker was sentenced to four months hard labour for stealing 30 lbs of lead off someones house.
              In 1856 the Tetbury shoemaker received two months hard labour or pay £2 fine and 12 s costs for being found in pursuit of game.
              In 1868 he was sentenced to two months hard labour for stealing a gander. A unspecified previous conviction is noted.
              1871 the Tetbury shoemaker was found in an outhouse for an unlawful purpose and received ten days hard labour. The register notes that his sister is Mrs Cook, the Green, Tetbury. (James sister Prudence married Thomas Cook)
              James sister Charlotte married a shoemaker and moved to UTAH.
              James was five feet eight inches tall, dark hair and blue eyes, a long visage and a florid complexion. He had a scar on his forehead and a mole on the right side of his neck and abdomen, and a scar on the right knee.

              #6342
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Brownings of Tetbury

                Tetbury 1839

                 

                Isaac Browning (1784-1848) married Mary Lock (1787-1870) in Tetbury in 1806. Both of them were born in Tetbury, Gloucestershire. Isaac was a stone mason. Between 1807 and 1832 they baptised fourteen children in Tetbury, and on 8 Nov 1829 Isaac and Mary baptised five daughters all on the same day.

                I considered that they may have been quintuplets, with only the last born surviving, which would have answered my question about the name of the house La Quinta in Broadway, the home of Eliza Browning and Thomas Stokes son Fred. However, the other four daughters were found in various records and they were not all born the same year. (So I still don’t know why the house in Broadway had such an unusual name).

                Their son George was born and baptised in 1827, but Louisa born 1821, Susan born 1822, Hesther born 1823 and Mary born 1826, were not baptised until 1829 along with Charlotte born in 1828. (These birth dates are guesswork based on the age on later censuses.) Perhaps George was baptised promptly because he was sickly and not expected to survive. Isaac and Mary had a son George born in 1814 who died in 1823. Presumably the five girls were healthy and could wait to be done as a job lot on the same day later.

                Eliza Browning (1814-1886), my great great great grandmother, had a baby six years before she married Thomas Stokes. Her name was Ellen Harding Browning, which suggests that her fathers name was Harding. On the 1841 census seven year old Ellen was living with her grandfather Isaac Browning in Tetbury. Ellen Harding Browning married William Dee in Tetbury in 1857, and they moved to Western Australia.

                Ellen Harding Browning Dee: (photo found on ancestry website)

                Ellen Harding Browning

                OBITUARY. MRS. ELLEN DEE.
                A very old and respected resident of Dongarra, in the person of Mrs. Ellen Dee, passed peacefully away on Sept. 27, at the advanced age of 74 years.

                The deceased had been ailing for some time, but was about and actively employed until Wednesday, Sept. 20, whenn she was heard groaning by some neighbours, who immediately entered her place and found her lying beside the fireplace. Tho deceased had been to bed over night, and had evidently been in the act of lighting thc fire, when she had a seizure. For some hours she was conscious, but had lost the power of speech, and later on became unconscious, in which state she remained until her death.

                The deceased was born in Gloucestershire, England, in 1833, was married to William Dee in Tetbury Church 23 years later. Within a month she left England with her husband for Western Australian in the ship City oí Bristol. She resided in Fremantle for six months, then in Greenough for a short time, and afterwards (for 42 years) in Dongarra. She was, therefore, a colonist of about 51 years. She had a family of four girls and three boys, and five of her children survive her, also 35 grandchildren, and eight great grandchildren. She was very highly respected, and her sudden collapse came as a great shock to many.

                 

                Eliza married Thomas Stokes (1816-1885) in September 1840 in Hempstead, Gloucestershire. On the 1841 census, Eliza and her mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) were staying with Thomas Lock and family in Cirencester. Strangely, Thomas Stokes has not been found thus far on the 1841 census, and Thomas and Eliza’s first child William James Stokes birth was registered in Witham, in Essex, on the 6th of September 1841.

                I don’t know why William James was born in Witham, or where Thomas was at the time of the census in 1841. One possibility is that as Thomas Stokes did a considerable amount of work with circus waggons, circus shooting galleries and so on as a journeyman carpenter initially and then later wheelwright, perhaps he was working with a traveling circus at the time.

                But back to the Brownings ~ more on William James Stokes to follow.

                One of Isaac and Mary’s fourteen children died in infancy:  Ann was baptised and died in 1811. Two of their children died at nine years old: the first George, and Mary who died in 1835.  Matilda was 21 years old when she died in 1844.

                Jane Browning (1808-)  married Thomas Buckingham in 1830 in Tetbury. In August 1838 Thomas was charged with feloniously stealing a black gelding.

                Susan Browning (1822-1879) married William Cleaver in November 1844 in Tetbury. Oddly thereafter they use the name Bowman on the census. On the 1851 census Mary Browning (Susan’s mother), widow, has grandson George Bowman born in 1844 living with her. The confusion with the Bowman and Cleaver names was clarified upon finding the criminal registers:

                30 January 1834. Offender: William Cleaver alias Bowman, Richard Bunting alias Barnfield and Jeremiah Cox, labourers of Tetbury. Crime: Stealing part of a dead fence from a rick barton in Tetbury, the property of Robert Tanner, farmer.

                 

                And again in 1836:

                29 March 1836 Bowman, William alias Cleaver, of Tetbury, labourer age 18; 5’2.5” tall, brown hair, grey eyes, round visage with fresh complexion; several moles on left cheek, mole on right breast. Charged on the oath of Ann Washbourn & others that on the morning of the 31 March at Tetbury feloniously stolen a lead spout affixed to the dwelling of the said Ann Washbourn, her property. Found guilty 31 March 1836; Sentenced to 6 months.

                On the 1851 census Susan Bowman was a servant living in at a large drapery shop in Cheltenham. She was listed as 29 years old, married and born in Tetbury, so although it was unusual for a married woman not to be living with her husband, (or her son for that matter, who was living with his grandmother Mary Browning), perhaps her husband William Bowman alias Cleaver was in trouble again. By 1861 they are both living together in Tetbury: William was a plasterer, and they had three year old Isaac and Thomas, one year old. In 1871 William was still a plasterer in Tetbury, living with wife Susan, and sons Isaac and Thomas. Interestingly, a William Cleaver is living next door but one!

                Susan was 56 when she died in Tetbury in 1879.

                 

                Three of the Browning daughters went to London.

                Louisa Browning (1821-1873) married Robert Claxton, coachman, in 1848 in Bryanston Square, Westminster, London. Ester Browning was a witness.

                Ester Browning (1823-1893)(or Hester) married Charles Hudson Sealey, cabinet maker, in Bethnal Green, London, in 1854. Charles was born in Tetbury. Charlotte Browning was a witness.

                Charlotte Browning (1828-1867?) was admitted to St Marylebone workhouse in London for “parturition”, or childbirth, in 1860. She was 33 years old.  A birth was registered for a Charlotte Browning, no mothers maiden name listed, in 1860 in Marylebone. A death was registered in Camden, buried in Marylebone, for a Charlotte Browning in 1867 but no age was recorded.  As the age and parents were usually recorded for a childs death, I assume this was Charlotte the mother.

                I found Charlotte on the 1851 census by chance while researching her mother Mary Lock’s siblings.  Hesther Lock married Lewin Chandler, and they were living in Stepney, London.  Charlotte is listed as a neice. Although Browning is mistranscribed as Broomey, the original page says Browning. Another mistranscription on this record is Hesthers birthplace which is transcribed as Yorkshire. The original image shows Gloucestershire.

                 

                Isaac and Mary’s first son was John Browning (1807-1860). John married Hannah Coates in 1834. John’s brother Charles Browning (1819-1853) married Eliza Coates in 1842. Perhaps they were sisters. On the 1861 census Hannah Browning, John’s wife, was a visitor in the Harding household in a village called Coates near Tetbury. Thomas Harding born in 1801 was the head of the household. Perhaps he was the father of Ellen Harding Browning.

                George Browning (1828-1870) married Louisa Gainey in Tetbury, and died in Tetbury at the age of 42.  Their son Richard Lock Browning, a 32 year old mason, was sentenced to one month hard labour for game tresspass in Tetbury in 1884.

                Isaac Browning (1832-1857) was the youngest son of Isaac and Mary. He was just 25 years old when he died in Tetbury.

                #6333
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Grattidge Family

                   

                  The first Grattidge to appear in our tree was Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) who married Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) in 1872.

                  Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) was their son and he married my great grandmother Nellie Fisher. Their daughter Margaret (later Peggy Edwards) was my grandmother on my fathers side.

                  Emma Grattidge was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs, born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs, a land carrier. William and Mary married at St Modwens church, Burton on Trent, in 1839. It’s unclear why they moved to Wolverhampton. On the 1841 census William was employed as an agent, and their first son William was nine months old. Thereafter, William was a licensed victuallar or innkeeper.

                  William Grattidge was born in Foston, Derbyshire in 1820. His parents were Thomas Grattidge, farmer (1779-1843) and Ann Gerrard (1789-1822) from Ellastone. Thomas and Ann married in 1813 in Ellastone. They had five children before Ann died at the age of 25:

                  Bessy was born in 1815, Thomas in 1818, William in 1820, and Daniel Augustus and Frederick were twins born in 1822. They were all born in Foston. (records say Foston, Foston and Scropton, or Scropton)

                  On the 1841 census Thomas had nine people additional to family living at the farm in Foston, presumably agricultural labourers and help.

                  After Ann died, Thomas had three children with Kezia Gibbs (30 years his junior) before marrying her in 1836, then had a further four with her before dying in 1843. Then Kezia married Thomas’s nephew Frederick Augustus Grattidge (born in 1816 in Stafford) in London in 1847 and had two more!

                   

                  The siblings of William Grattidge (my 3x great grandfather):

                   

                  Frederick Grattidge (1822-1872) was a schoolmaster and never married. He died at the age of 49 in Tamworth at his twin brother Daniels address.

                  Daniel Augustus Grattidge (1822-1903) was a grocer at Gungate in Tamworth.

                  Thomas Grattidge (1818-1871) married in Derby, and then emigrated to Illinois, USA.

                  Bessy Grattidge  (1815-1840) married John Buxton, farmer, in Ellastone in January 1838. They had three children before Bessy died in December 1840 at the age of 25: Henry in 1838, John in 1839, and Bessy Buxton in 1840. Bessy was baptised in January 1841. Presumably the birth of Bessy caused the death of Bessy the mother.

                  Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

                  “Sacred to the memory of Bessy Buxton, the affectionate wife of John Buxton of Stanton She departed this life December 20th 1840, aged 25 years. “Husband, Farewell my life is Past, I loved you while life did last. Think on my children for my sake, And ever of them with I take.”

                  20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

                  Bessy Buxton

                   

                  In the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge, farmer of Foston, he leaves fifth shares of his estate, including freehold real estate at Findern,  to his wife Kezia, and sons William, Daniel, Frederick and Thomas. He mentions that the children of his late daughter Bessy, wife of John Buxton, will be taken care of by their father.  He leaves the farm to Keziah in confidence that she will maintain, support and educate his children with her.

                  An excerpt from the will:

                  I give and bequeath unto my dear wife Keziah Grattidge all my household goods and furniture, wearing apparel and plate and plated articles, linen, books, china, glass, and other household effects whatsoever, and also all my implements of husbandry, horses, cattle, hay, corn, crops and live and dead stock whatsoever, and also all the ready money that may be about my person or in my dwelling house at the time of my decease, …I also give my said wife the tenant right and possession of the farm in my occupation….

                  A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

                  1843 Thomas Grattidge

                   

                  William Grattidges half siblings (the offspring of Thomas Grattidge and Kezia Gibbs):

                   

                  Albert Grattidge (1842-1914) was a railway engine driver in Derby. In 1884 he was driving the train when an unfortunate accident occured outside Ambergate. Three children were blackberrying and crossed the rails in front of the train, and one little girl died.

                  Albert Grattidge:

                  Albert Grattidge

                   

                  George Grattidge (1826-1876) was baptised Gibbs as this was before Thomas married Kezia. He was a police inspector in Derby.

                  George Grattidge:

                  George Grattidge

                   

                  Edwin Grattidge (1837-1852) died at just 15 years old.

                  Ann Grattidge (1835-) married Charles Fletcher, stone mason, and lived in Derby.

                  Louisa Victoria Grattidge (1840-1869) was sadly another Grattidge woman who died young. Louisa married Emmanuel Brunt Cheesborough in 1860 in Derby. In 1861 Louisa and Emmanuel were living with her mother Kezia in Derby, with their two children Frederick and Ann Louisa. Emmanuel’s occupation was sawyer. (Kezia Gibbs second husband Frederick Augustus Grattidge was a timber merchant in Derby)

                  At the time of her death in 1869, Emmanuel was the landlord of the White Hart public house at Bridgegate in Derby.

                  The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

                  “On Wednesday morning Mr Coroner Vallack held an inquest in the Grand
                  Jury-room, Town-hall, on the body of Louisa Victoria Cheeseborough, aged
                  33, the wife of the landlord of the White Hart, Bridge-gate, who committed
                  suicide by poisoning at an early hour on Sunday morning. The following
                  evidence was taken:

                  Mr Frederick Borough, surgeon, practising in Derby, deposed that he was
                  called in to see the deceased about four o’clock on Sunday morning last. He
                  accordingly examined the deceased and found the body quite warm, but dead.
                  He afterwards made enquiries of the husband, who said that he was afraid
                  that his wife had taken poison, also giving him at the same time the
                  remains of some blue material in a cup. The aunt of the deceased’s husband
                  told him that she had seen Mrs Cheeseborough put down a cup in the
                  club-room, as though she had just taken it from her mouth. The witness took
                  the liquid home with him, and informed them that an inquest would
                  necessarily have to be held on Monday. He had made a post mortem
                  examination of the body, and found that in the stomach there was a great
                  deal of congestion. There were remains of food in the stomach and, having
                  put the contents into a bottle, he took the stomach away. He also examined
                  the heart and found it very pale and flabby. All the other organs were
                  comparatively healthy; the liver was friable.

                  Hannah Stone, aunt of the deceased’s husband, said she acted as a servant
                  in the house. On Saturday evening, while they were going to bed and whilst
                  witness was undressing, the deceased came into the room, went up to the
                  bedside, awoke her daughter, and whispered to her. but what she said the
                  witness did not know. The child jumped out of bed, but the deceased closed
                  the door and went away. The child followed her mother, and she also
                  followed them to the deceased’s bed-room, but the door being closed, they
                  then went to the club-room door and opening it they saw the deceased
                  standing with a candle in one hand. The daughter stayed with her in the
                  room whilst the witness went downstairs to fetch a candle for herself, and
                  as she was returning up again she saw the deceased put a teacup on the
                  table. The little girl began to scream, saying “Oh aunt, my mother is
                  going, but don’t let her go”. The deceased then walked into her bed-room,
                  and they went and stood at the door whilst the deceased undressed herself.
                  The daughter and the witness then returned to their bed-room. Presently
                  they went to see if the deceased was in bed, but she was sitting on the
                  floor her arms on the bedside. Her husband was sitting in a chair fast
                  asleep. The witness pulled her on the bed as well as she could.
                  Ann Louisa Cheesborough, a little girl, said that the deceased was her
                  mother. On Saturday evening last, about twenty minutes before eleven
                  o’clock, she went to bed, leaving her mother and aunt downstairs. Her aunt
                  came to bed as usual. By and bye, her mother came into her room – before
                  the aunt had retired to rest – and awoke her. She told the witness, in a
                  low voice, ‘that she should have all that she had got, adding that she
                  should also leave her her watch, as she was going to die’. She did not tell
                  her aunt what her mother had said, but followed her directly into the
                  club-room, where she saw her drink something from a cup, which she
                  afterwards placed on the table. Her mother then went into her own room and
                  shut the door. She screamed and called her father, who was downstairs. He
                  came up and went into her room. The witness then went to bed and fell
                  asleep. She did not hear any noise or quarrelling in the house after going
                  to bed.

                  Police-constable Webster was on duty in Bridge-gate on Saturday evening
                  last, about twenty minutes to one o’clock. He knew the White Hart
                  public-house in Bridge-gate, and as he was approaching that place, he heard
                  a woman scream as though at the back side of the house. The witness went to
                  the door and heard the deceased keep saying ‘Will you be quiet and go to
                  bed’. The reply was most disgusting, and the language which the
                  police-constable said was uttered by the husband of the deceased, was
                  immoral in the extreme. He heard the poor woman keep pressing her husband
                  to go to bed quietly, and eventually he saw him through the keyhole of the
                  door pass and go upstairs. his wife having gone up a minute or so before.
                  Inspector Fearn deposed that on Sunday morning last, after he had heard of
                  the deceased’s death from supposed poisoning, he went to Cheeseborough’s
                  public house, and found in the club-room two nearly empty packets of
                  Battie’s Lincoln Vermin Killer – each labelled poison.

                  Several of the Jury here intimated that they had seen some marks on the
                  deceased’s neck, as of blows, and expressing a desire that the surgeon
                  should return, and re-examine the body. This was accordingly done, after
                  which the following evidence was taken:

                  Mr Borough said that he had examined the body of the deceased and observed
                  a mark on the left side of the neck, which he considered had come on since
                  death. He thought it was the commencement of decomposition.
                  This was the evidence, after which the jury returned a verdict “that the
                  deceased took poison whilst of unsound mind” and requested the Coroner to
                  censure the deceased’s husband.

                  The Coroner told Cheeseborough that he was a disgusting brute and that the
                  jury only regretted that the law could not reach his brutal conduct.
                  However he had had a narrow escape. It was their belief that his poor
                  wife, who was driven to her own destruction by his brutal treatment, would
                  have been a living woman that day except for his cowardly conduct towards
                  her.

                  The inquiry, which had lasted a considerable time, then closed.”

                   

                  In this article it says:

                  “it was the “fourth or fifth remarkable and tragical event – some of which were of the worst description – that has taken place within the last twelve years at the White Hart and in the very room in which the unfortunate Louisa Cheesborough drew her last breath.”

                  Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

                  Louisa Cheesborough

                  #6324
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    STONE MANOR

                     

                    Hildred Orgill Warren born in 1900, my grandmothers sister, married Reginald Williams in Stone, Worcestershire in March 1924. Their daughter Joan was born there in October of that year.

                    Hildred was a chaffeur on the 1921 census, living at home in Stourbridge with her father (my great grandfather) Samuel Warren, mechanic. I recall my grandmother saying that Hildred was one of the first lady chauffeurs. On their wedding certificate, Reginald is also a chauffeur.

                    1921 census, Stourbridge:

                    Hildred 1921

                     

                    Hildred and Reg worked at Stone Manor.  There is a family story of Hildred being involved in a car accident involving a fatality and that she had to go to court.

                    Stone Manor is in a tiny village called Stone, near Kidderminster, Worcestershire. It used to be a private house, but has been a hotel and nightclub for some years. We knew in the family that Hildred and Reg worked at Stone Manor and that Joan was born there. Around 2007 Joan held a family party there.

                    Stone Manor, Stone, Worcestershire:

                    stone manor

                     

                     

                    I asked on a Kidderminster Family Research group about Stone Manor in the 1920s:

                    “the original Stone Manor burnt down and the current building dates from the early 1920’s and was built for James Culcheth Hill, completed in 1926”
                    But was there a fire at Stone Manor?
                    “I’m not sure there was a fire at the Stone Manor… there seems to have been a fire at another big house a short distance away and it looks like stories have crossed over… as the dates are the same…”

                     

                    JC Hill was one of the witnesses at Hildred and Reginalds wedding in Stone in 1924. K Warren, Hildreds sister Kay, was the other:

                    Hildred and Reg marriage

                     

                    I searched the census and electoral rolls for James Culcheth Hill and found him at the Stone Manor on the 1929-1931 electoral rolls for Stone, and Hildred and Reginald living at The Manor House Lodge, Stone:

                    Hildred Manor Lodge

                     

                    On the 1911 census James Culcheth Hill was a 12 year old student at Eastmans Royal Naval Academy, Northwood Park, Crawley, Winchester. He was born in Kidderminster in 1899. On the same census page, also a student at the school, is Reginald Culcheth Holcroft, born in 1900 in Stourbridge.  The unusual middle name would seem to indicate that they might be related.

                    A member of the Kidderminster Family Research group kindly provided this article:

                    stone manor death

                     

                     

                    SHOT THROUGH THE TEMPLE

                    Well known Worcestershire man’s tragic death.

                    Dudley Chronicle 27 March 1930.

                    Well known in Worcestershire, especially the Kidderminster district, Mr Philip Rowland Hill MA LLD who was mayor of Kidderminster in 1907 was found dead with a bullet wound through his temple on board his yacht, anchored off Cannes, on Friday, recently. A harbour watchman discovered the dead man huddled in a chair on board the yacht. A small revolver was lying on the blood soaked carpet beside him.

                    Friends of Mr Hill, whose London address is given as Grosvenor House, Park Lane, say that he appeared despondent since last month when he was involved in a motor car accident on the Antibes ~ Nice road. He was then detained by the police after his car collided with a small motor lorry driven by two Italians, who were killed in the crash. Later he was released on bail of 180,000 francs (£1440) pending an investigation of a charge of being responsible for the fatal accident. …….

                    Mr Rowland Hill (Philips father) was heir to Sir Charles Holcroft, the wealthy Staffordshire man, and managed his estates for him, inheriting the property on the death of Sir Charles. On the death of Mr Rowland HIll, which took place at the Firs, Kidderminster, his property was inherited by Mr James (Culcheth) Hill who had built a mansion at Stone, near Kidderminster. Mr Philip Rowland Hill assisted his brother in managing the estate. …….

                    At the time of the collison both brothers were in the car.

                    This article doesn’t mention who was driving the car ~ could the family story of a car accident be this one?  Hildred and Reg were working at Stone Manor, both were (or at least previously had been) chauffeurs, and Philip Hill was helping James Culcheth Hill manage the Stone Manor estate at the time.

                     

                    This photograph was taken circa 1931 in Llanaeron, Wales.  Hildred is in the middle on the back row:

                    Llanaeron

                    Sally Gray sent the photo with this message:

                    “Joan gave me a short note: Photo was taken when they lived in Wales, at Llanaeron, before Janet was born, & Aunty Lorna (my mother) lived with them, to take Joan to school in Aberaeron, as they only spoke Welsh at the local school.”

                    Hildred and Reginalds daughter Janet was born in 1932 in Stratford.  It would appear that Hildred and Reg moved to Wales just after the car accident, and shortly afterwards moved to Stratford.

                    In 1921 James Culcheth Hill was living at Red Hill House in Stourbridge. Although I have not been able to trace Reginald Williams yet, perhaps this Stourbridge connection with his employer explains how Hildred met Reginald.

                    Sir Reginald Culcheth Holcroft, the other pupil at the school in Winchester with James Culcheth Hill, was indeed related, as Sir Holcroft left his estate to James Culcheth Hill’s father.  Sir Reginald was born in 1899 in Upper Swinford, Stourbridge.  Hildred also lived in that part of Stourbridge in the early 1900s.

                    1921 Red Hill House:

                    Red Hill House 1921

                     

                    The 2007 family reunion organized by Joan Williams at Stone Manor: Joan in black and white at the front.

                    2007 Stone Manor

                     

                    Unrelated to the Warrens, my fathers friends (and customers at The Fox when my grandmother Peggy Edwards owned it) Geoff and Beryl Lamb later bought Stone Manor.

                    #6318

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    “You’d better sit down,” said Olga gesturing to the end of her bed. As a rule, she did not have visitors so she saw no need to clutter up the available space in her tiny room with an extra chair. A large proportion of her life was spent in her armchair and she was content that way. While Egbert perched on the end of the bed, she lowered herself into the soft and familiar confines of her armchair and felt instantly soothed. It was true, sometimes she felt a tinge of regret when she considered how disappointed her younger self would be to see her now. But she hadn’t lived through what I’ve lived through so she can mind her own damn business,” she thought.

                    “It is just a story, twisted in the telling I expect.” Olga knew her voice held no conviction.

                    Egbert opened his mouth as though to speak. Closed it again.

                    “You look like a fish,” said Olga folding her arms.

                    “They say you and the Mayor go back a long way. Are you telling me that is not true?

                    “And what if we do?”

                    “You know he is Ursula’s uncle and a very powerful man. They say even the great president Voldomeer Zumbaskee holds him in great regard. They say …”

                    “Pfft! They say!” snapped Olga. “Who are these chattering fools you listen to, Egbert Gofindlevsky?  I’d rather end up on the streets than ask a favour from that mountebank.”

                    Egbert jumped up from the bed and shook a fist at her. “And end up on the streets you will, Olga Herringbonevsky, along with the rest of us. You really want that on  your conscience?”

                    #6317

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    The sharp rat-a-tat on the door startled Olga Herringbonevsky. The initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance. It was 11am and she wasn’t expecting a knock on the door at 11am. At 10am she expected a knock. It would be Larysa with the lukewarm cup of tea and a stale biscuit. Sometimes Olga complained about it and Larysa would say, Well you’re on the third floor so what do you expect? And she’d look cross and pour the tea so some of it slopped into the saucer. So the biscuits go stale on the way up do they? Olga would mutter. At 10:30am Larysa would return to collect the cup and saucer. I can’t do this much longer, she’d say. I’m not young any more and all these damn stairs. She’d been saying that for as long as Olga could remember.

                    For a moment, Olga contemplated ignoring the intrusion but the knocking started up again, this time accompanied by someone shouting her name.

                    With a very loud sigh, she put her book on the side table, face down so she would not lose her place for it was a most enjoyable whodunit, and hauled herself up from the chair. Her ankle was not good since she’d gone over on it the other day and Olga was in a very poor mood by the time she reached the door.

                    “Yes?” She glowered at Egbert.

                    “Have you seen this?” Egbert was waving a piece of paper at her.

                    “No,” Olga started to close the door.

                    Olga stop!” Egbert’s face had reddened and Olga wondered if he might cry. Again, he waved the piece of paper in her face and then let his hand fall defeated to his side. “Olga, it’s bad news. You should have got a letter .”

                    Olga glanced at the pile of unopened letters on her dresser. It was never good news. She couldn’t be bothered with letters any more.

                    “Well, Egbert, I suppose you’d better come in”.

                    “That Ursula has a heart of steel,” said Olga when she’d heard the news.

                    “Pfft,” said Egbert. “She has no heart. This place has always been about money for her.”

                    “It’s bad times, Egbert. Bad times.”

                    Egbert nodded. “It is, Olga. But there must be something we can do.” He pursed his lips and Olga noticed that he would not meet her eyes.

                    “What? Spit it out, Old Man.”

                    He looked at her briefly before his eyes slid back to the dirty grey carpet. “I have heard stories, Olga. That you are … well connected. That you know people.”

                    Olga noticed that it had become difficult to breathe. Seeing Egbert looking at her with concern, she made an effort to steady herself. She took an extra big gasp of air and pointed to the book face-down on the side table. “That is a very good book I am reading. You may borrow it when I have finished.”

                    Egbert nodded. “Thank you.” he said and they both stared at the book.

                    “It was a long time ago, Egbert. And no business of anyone else.” Olga  knew her voice was sharp but not sharp enough it seemed as Egbert was not done yet with all his prying words.

                    Olga, you said it yourself. These are bad times. And desperate measures are needed or we will all perish.” Now he looked her in the eyes. “Old woman, swallow your pride. You must save yourself and all of us here.”

                    #6315

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    It was not yet 9am and Eusebius Kazandis was already sweating. The morning sun was hitting hard on the tarp of his booth. He put the last cauldron among lines of cauldrons on a sagging table at the summer fair of Innsbruck, Austria. It was a tiny three-legged black cauldron with a simple Celtic knot on one side and a tree on the other side, like all the others. His father’s father’s father used to make cauldrons for a living, the kind you used to distil ouzo or cook meals for an Inn. But as time went by and industrialisation made it easier for cooks, the trade slowly evolved toward smaller cauldrons for modern Wiccans. A modern witch wanted it portable and light, ready to use in everyday life situations, and Eusebius was there to provide it for them.

                    Eusebius sat on his chair and sighed. He couldn’t help but notice the woman in colourful dress who had spread a shawl on the grass under the tall sequoia tree. Nobody liked this spot under the branches oozing sticky resin. She didn’t seem to mind. She was arranging small colourful bottles of oil on her shawl. A sign near her said : Massage oils, Fragrant oils, Polishing oils, all with different names evocative of different properties. He hadn’t noticed her yesterday when everybody was installing their stalls. He wondered if she had paid her fee.

                    Rosa was smiling as she spread in front of her the meadow flowers she’d picked on her way to the market. It was another beautiful day, under the shade and protection of the big sequoia tree watching over her. She assembled small bouquets and put them in between the vials containing her precious handmade oils. She had noticed people, and especially women, would naturally gather around well dressed stalls and engage conversation. Since she left her hometown of Torino, seven years ago, she’d followed the wind on her journey across Europe. It had led her to Innsbruck and had suddenly stopped blowing. That usually meant she had something to do there, but it also meant that she would have to figure out what she was meant to do before she could go on with her life.

                    The stout man waiting behind his dark cauldrons, was watching her again. He looked quite sad, and she couldn’t help but thinking he was not where he needed to be. When she looked at him, she saw Hephaestus whose inner fire had been tamed. His banner was a mishmash of religious stuff, aimed at pagans and budding witches. Although his grim booth would most certainly benefit from a feminine touch, but she didn’t want to offend him by a misplaced suggestion. It was not her place to find his place.

                    Rosa, who knew to cultivate any available friendship when she arrived somewhere, waved at the man. Startled, he looked away as if caught doing something inappropriate. Rosa sighed. Maybe she should have bring him some coffee.

                    As her first clients arrived, she prayed for a gush of wind to tell her where to go next. But the branches of the old tree remained perfectly still under the scorching sun.

                    #6312

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    When she’d heard of the miracle happening at the Flovlinden Tree, Egna initially shrugged it off as another conman’s attempt at fooling the crowds.

                    “No, it’s real, my Auntie saw it.”

                    “Stop fretting” she’d told the little girl, as she was carefully removing the lice from her hair. “This is just someone’s idea of a smart joke. Don’t get fooled, you’re smarter than this.”

                    She sure wasn’t responsible for that one. If that were a true miracle, she would have known. The little calf next week being resuscitated after being dead a few minutes, well, that was her. Shame nobody was even there to notice. Most of the best miracles go about this way anyway.

                    So, after having lived close to a millennia in relatively rock solid health and with surprisingly unaging looks, Egna had thought she’d seen it all; at least last time the tree started to ooze sacred oil, it didn’t last for too long, people’s greed starting to sell it stopped it right in its tracks.

                    But maybe there was more to it this time. Egna’d often wondered why God had let her live that long. She was a useful instrument to Her for sure, but living in secrecy, claiming no ownership, most miracles were just facts of life. She somehow failed to see the point, even after 957 years of existence.

                    The little girl had left to go back to her nearby town. This side of the country was still quite safe from all the craziness. Egna knew well most of the branches of the ancestral trees leading to that particular little leaf. This one had probably no idea she shared a common ancestor with President Voldomeer, but Egna remembered the fellow. He was a clogmaker in the turn of the 18th century, as was his father before. That was until a rather unexpected turn of events precipitated him to a different path as his brother.

                    She had a book full of these records, as she’d tracked the lives of many, to keep them alive, and maybe remind people they all share so much in common. That is, if people were able to remember more than 2 generations before them.

                    “Well, that’s set.” she said to herself and to Her as She’s always listening “I’ll go and see for myself.”
                    her trusty old musty cloak at the door seemed to have been begging for the journey.

                    #6305
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The Hair’s and Leedham’s of Netherseal

                       

                      Samuel Warren of Stapenhill married Catherine Holland of Barton under Needwood in 1795. Catherine’s father was Thomas Holland; her mother was Hannah Hair.

                      Hannah was born in Netherseal, Derbyshire, in 1739. Her parents were Joseph Hair 1696-1746 and Hannah.
                      Joseph’s parents were Isaac Hair and Elizabeth Leedham.  Elizabeth was born in Netherseal in 1665.  Isaac and Elizabeth were married in Netherseal in 1686.

                      Marriage of Isaac Hair and Elizabeth Leedham: (variously spelled Ledom, Leedom, Leedham, and in one case mistranscribed as Sedom):

                       

                      1686 marriage Nicholas Leedham

                       

                      Isaac was buried in Netherseal on 14 August 1709 (the transcript says the 18th, but the microfiche image clearly says the 14th), but I have not been able to find a birth registered for him. On other public trees on an ancestry website, Isaac Le Haire was baptised in Canterbury and was a Huguenot, but I haven’t found any evidence to support this.

                      Isaac Hair’s death registered 14 August 1709 in Netherseal:

                      Isaac Hair death 1709

                       

                      A search for the etymology of the surname Hair brings various suggestions, including:

                      “This surname is derived from a nickname. ‘the hare,’ probably affixed on some one fleet of foot. Naturally looked upon as a complimentary sobriquet, and retained in the family; compare Lightfoot. (for example) Hugh le Hare, Oxfordshire, 1273. Hundred Rolls.”

                      From this we may deduce that the name Hair (or Hare) is not necessarily from the French Le Haire, and existed in England for some considerable time before the arrival of the Huguenots.

                      Elizabeth Leedham was born in Netherseal in 1665. Her parents were Nicholas Leedham 1621-1670 and Dorothy. Nicholas Leedham was born in Church Gresley (Swadlincote) in 1621, and died in Netherseal in 1670.

                      Nicholas was a Yeoman and left a will and inventory worth £147.14s.8d (one hundred and forty seven pounds fourteen shillings and eight pence).

                      The 1670 inventory of Nicholas Leedham:

                      1670 will Nicholas Leedham

                       

                      According to local historian Mark Knight on the Netherseal History facebook group, the Seale (Netherseal and Overseal)  parish registers from the year 1563 to 1724 were digitized during lockdown.

                      via Mark Knight:

                      “There are five entries for Nicholas Leedham.
                      On March 14th 1646 he and his wife buried an unnamed child, presumably the child died during childbirth or was stillborn.
                      On November 28th 1659 he buried his wife, Elizabeth. He remarried as on June 13th 1664 he had his son William baptised.
                      The following year, 1665, he baptised a daughter on November 12th. (Elizabeth) On December 23rd 1672 the parish record says that Dorithy daughter of Dorithy was buried. The Bishops Transcript has Dorithy a daughter of Nicholas. Nicholas’ second wife was called Dorithy and they named a daughter after her. Alas, the daughter died two years after Nicholas. No further Leedhams appear in the record until after 1724.”

                      Dorothy daughter of Dorothy Leedham was buried 23 December 1672:

                      Dorothy

                       

                       

                      William, son of Nicholas and Dorothy also left a will. In it he mentions “My dear wife Elizabeth. My children Thomas Leedom, Dorothy Leedom , Ann Leedom, Christopher Leedom and William Leedom.”

                      1726 will of William Leedham:

                      1726 will William Leedham

                       

                      I found a curious error with the the parish register entries for Hannah Hair. It was a transcription error, but not a recent one. The original parish registers were copied: “HO Copy of ye register of Seale anno 1739.” I’m not sure when the copy was made, but it wasn’t recently. I found a burial for Hannah Hair on 22 April 1739 in the HO copy, which was the same day as her baptism registered on the original. I checked both registers name by name and they are exactly copied EXCEPT for Hannah Hairs. The rector, Richard Inge, put burial instead of baptism by mistake.

                      The original Parish register baptism of Hannah Hair:

                      Hannah Hair 1

                       

                      The HO register copy incorrectly copied:

                      Hannah Hair 2

                      #6303
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The Hollands of Barton under Needwood

                         

                        Samuel Warren of Stapenhill married Catherine Holland of Barton under Needwood in 1795.

                        I joined a Barton under Needwood History group and found an incredible amount of information on the Holland family, but first I wanted to make absolutely sure that our Catherine Holland was one of them as there were also Hollands in Newhall. Not only that, on the marriage licence it says that Catherine Holland was from Bretby Park Gate, Stapenhill.

                        Then I noticed that one of the witnesses on Samuel’s brother Williams marriage to Ann Holland in 1796 was John Hair. Hannah Hair was the wife of Thomas Holland, and they were the Barton under Needwood parents of Catherine. Catherine was born in 1775, and Ann was born in 1767.

                        The 1851 census clinched it: Catherine Warren 74 years old, widow and formerly a farmers wife, was living in the household of her son John Warren, and her place of birth is listed as Barton under Needwood. In 1841 Catherine was a 64 year old widow, her husband Samuel having died in 1837, and she was living with her son Samuel, a farmer. The 1841 census did not list place of birth, however. Catherine died on 31 March 1861 and does not appear on the 1861 census.

                        Once I had established that our Catherine Holland was from Barton under Needwood, I had another look at the information available on the Barton under Needwood History group, compiled by local historian Steve Gardner.

                        Catherine’s parents were Thomas Holland 1737-1828 and Hannah Hair 1739-1822.

                        Steve Gardner had posted a long list of the dates, marriages and children of the Holland family. The earliest entries in parish registers were Thomae Holland 1562-1626 and his wife Eunica Edwardes 1565-1632. They married on 10th July 1582. They were born, married and died in Barton under Needwood. They were direct ancestors of Catherine Holland, and as such my direct ancestors too.

                        The known history of the Holland family in Barton under Needwood goes back to Richard De Holland. (Thanks once again to Steve Gardner of the Barton under Needwood History group for this information.)

                        “Richard de Holland was the first member of the Holland family to become resident in Barton under Needwood (in about 1312) having been granted lands by the Earl of Lancaster (for whom Richard served as Stud and Stock Keeper of the Peak District) The Holland family stemmed from Upholland in Lancashire and had many family connections working for the Earl of Lancaster, who was one of the biggest Barons in England. Lancaster had his own army and lived at Tutbury Castle, from where he ruled over most of the Midlands area. The Earl of Lancaster was one of the main players in the ‘Barons Rebellion’ and the ensuing Battle of Burton Bridge in 1322. Richard de Holland was very much involved in the proceedings which had so angered Englands King. Holland narrowly escaped with his life, unlike the Earl who was executed.
                        From the arrival of that first Holland family member, the Hollands were a mainstay family in the community, and were in Barton under Needwood for over 600 years.”

                        Continuing with various items of information regarding the Hollands, thanks to Steve Gardner’s Barton under Needwood history pages:

                        “PART 6 (Final Part)
                        Some mentions of The Manor of Barton in the Ancient Staffordshire Rolls:
                        1330. A Grant was made to Herbert de Ferrars, at le Newland in the Manor of Barton.
                        1378. The Inquisitio bonorum – Johannis Holand — an interesting Inventory of his goods and their value and his debts.
                        1380. View of Frankpledge ; the Jury found that Richard Holland was feloniously murdered by his wife Joan and Thomas Graunger, who fled. The goods of the deceased were valued at iiij/. iijj. xid. ; one-third went to the dead man, one-third to his son, one- third to the Lord for the wife’s share. Compare 1 H. V. Indictments. (1413.)
                        That Thomas Graunger of Barton smyth and Joan the wife of Richard de Holond of Barton on the Feast of St. John the Baptist 10 H. II. (1387) had traitorously killed and murdered at night, at Barton, Richard, the husband of the said Joan. (m. 22.)
                        The names of various members of the Holland family appear constantly among the listed Jurors on the manorial records printed below : —
                        1539. Richard Holland and Richard Holland the younger are on the Muster Roll of Barton
                        1583. Thomas Holland and Unica his wife are living at Barton.
                        1663-4. Visitations. — Barton under Needword. Disclaimers. William Holland, Senior, William Holland, Junior.
                        1609. Richard Holland, Clerk and Alice, his wife.
                        1663-4. Disclaimers at the Visitation. William Holland, Senior, William Holland, Junior.”

                        I was able to find considerably more information on the Hollands in the book “Some Records of the Holland Family (The Hollands of Barton under Needwood, Staffordshire, and the Hollands in History)” by William Richard Holland. Luckily the full text of this book can be found online.

                        William Richard Holland (Died 1915) An early local Historian and author of the book:

                        William Richard Holland

                         

                        ‘Holland House’ taken from the Gardens (sadly demolished in the early 60’s):

                        Holland House

                         

                        Excerpt from the book:

                        “The charter, dated 1314, granting Richard rights and privileges in Needwood Forest, reads as follows:

                        “Thomas Earl of Lancaster and Leicester, high-steward of England, to whom all these present shall come, greeting: Know ye, that we have given, &c., to Richard Holland of Barton, and his heirs, housboot, heyboot, and fireboot, and common of pasture, in our forest of Needwood, for all his beasts, as well in places fenced as lying open, with 40 hogs, quit of pawnage in our said forest at all times in the year (except hogs only in fence month). All which premises we will warrant, &c. to the said Richard and his heirs against all people for ever”

                        “The terms “housboot” “heyboot” and “fireboot” meant that Richard and his heirs were to have the privilege of taking from the Forest, wood needed for house repair and building, hedging material for the repairing of fences, and what was needful for purposes of fuel.”

                        Further excerpts from the book:

                        “It may here be mentioned that during the renovation of Barton Church, when the stone pillars were being stripped of the plaster which covered them, “William Holland 1617” was found roughly carved on a pillar near to the belfry gallery, obviously the work of a not too devout member of the family, who, seated in the gallery of that time, occupied himself thus during the service. The inscription can still be seen.”

                        “The earliest mention of a Holland of Upholland occurs in the reign of John in a Final Concord, made at the Lancashire Assizes, dated November 5th, 1202, in which Uchtred de Chryche, who seems to have had some right in the manor of Upholland, releases his right in fourteen oxgangs* of land to Matthew de Holland, in consideration of the sum of six marks of silver. Thus was planted the Holland Tree, all the early information of which is found in The Victoria County History of Lancaster.

                        As time went on, the family acquired more land, and with this, increased position. Thus, in the reign of Edward I, a Robert de Holland, son of Thurstan, son of Robert, became possessed of the manor of Orrell adjoining Upholland and of the lordship of Hale in the parish of Childwall, and, through marriage with Elizabeth de Samlesbury (co-heiress of Sir Wm. de Samlesbury of Samlesbury, Hall, near to Preston), of the moiety of that manor….

                        * An oxgang signified the amount of land that could be ploughed by one ox in one day”

                        “This Robert de Holland, son of Thurstan, received Knighthood in the reign of Edward I, as did also his brother William, ancestor of that branch of the family which later migrated to Cheshire. Belonging to this branch are such noteworthy personages as Mrs. Gaskell, the talented authoress, her mother being a Holland of this branch, Sir Henry Holland, Physician to Queen Victoria, and his two sons, the first Viscount Knutsford, and Canon Francis Holland ; Sir Henry’s grandson (the present Lord Knutsford), Canon Scott Holland, etc. Captain Frederick Holland, R.N., late of Ashbourne Hall, Derbyshire, may also be mentioned here.*”

                        Thanks to the Barton under Needwood history group for the following:

                        WALES END FARM:
                        In 1509 it was owned and occupied by Mr Johannes Holland De Wallass end who was a well to do Yeoman Farmer (the origin of the areas name – Wales End).  Part of the building dates to 1490 making it probably the oldest building still standing in the Village:

                        Wales End Farm

                         

                        I found records for all of the Holland’s listed on the Barton under Needwood History group and added them to my ancestry tree. The earliest will I found was for Eunica Edwardes, then Eunica Holland, who died in 1632.

                        A page from the 1632 will and inventory of Eunica (Unice) Holland:

                        Unice Holland

                         

                        I’d been reading about “pedigree collapse” just before I found out her maiden name of Edwardes. Edwards is my own maiden name.

                        “In genealogy, pedigree collapse describes how reproduction between two individuals who knowingly or unknowingly share an ancestor causes the family tree of their offspring to be smaller than it would otherwise be.
                        Without pedigree collapse, a person’s ancestor tree is a binary tree, formed by the person, the parents, grandparents, and so on. However, the number of individuals in such a tree grows exponentially and will eventually become impossibly high. For example, a single individual alive today would, over 30 generations going back to the High Middle Ages, have roughly a billion ancestors, more than the total world population at the time. This apparent paradox occurs because the individuals in the binary tree are not distinct: instead, a single individual may occupy multiple places in the binary tree. This typically happens when the parents of an ancestor are cousins (sometimes unbeknownst to themselves). For example, the offspring of two first cousins has at most only six great-grandparents instead of the normal eight. This reduction in the number of ancestors is pedigree collapse. It collapses the binary tree into a directed acyclic graph with two different, directed paths starting from the ancestor who in the binary tree would occupy two places.” via wikipedia

                        There is nothing to suggest, however, that Eunica’s family were related to my fathers family, and the only evidence so far in my tree of pedigree collapse are the marriages of Orgill cousins, where two sets of grandparents are repeated.

                        A list of Holland ancestors:

                        Catherine Holland 1775-1861
                        her parents:
                        Thomas Holland 1737-1828   Hannah Hair 1739-1832
                        Thomas’s parents:
                        William Holland 1696-1756   Susannah Whiteing 1715-1752
                        William’s parents:
                        William Holland 1665-    Elizabeth Higgs 1675-1720
                        William’s parents:
                        Thomas Holland 1634-1681   Katherine Owen 1634-1728
                        Thomas’s parents:
                        Thomas Holland 1606-1680   Margaret Belcher 1608-1664
                        Thomas’s parents:
                        Thomas Holland 1562-1626   Eunice Edwardes 1565- 1632

                        #6280

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        What did the children hear?

                        #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.

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