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      The Birmingham Bootmaker

      Samuel Jones 1816-1875


      Samuel Jones the elder was born in Belfast circa 1779.  He is one of just two direct ancestors found thus far born in Ireland.  Samuel married Jane Elizabeth Brooker (born in St Giles, London) on the 25th January 1807 at St George, Hanover Square in London.  Their first child Mary was born in 1808 in London, and then the family moved to Birmingham. Mary was my 3x great grandmother.

      But this chapter is about her brother Samuel Jones.  I noticed that on a number of other trees on the Ancestry site, Samuel Jones was a convict transported to Australia, but this didn’t tally with the records I’d found for Samuel in Birmingham.  In fact another Samuel Jones born at the same time in the same place was transported, but his occupation was a baker.  Our Samuel Jones was a bootmaker like his father.

      Samuel was born on 28th January 1816 in Birmingham and baptised at St Phillips on the 19th August of that year, the fourth child and first son of Samuel the elder and Jane’s eleven children.

      On the 1839 electoral register a Samuel Jones owned a property on Colmore Row, Birmingham.

      Samuel Jones, bootmaker of 15, Colmore Row is listed in the 1849 Birmingham post office directory, and in the 1855 White’s Directory.

      On the 1851 census, Samuel was an unmarried bootmaker employing sixteen men at 15, Colmore Row.  A 9 year old nephew Henry Harris was living with him, and his mother Ruth Harris, as well as a female servant.  Samuel’s sister Ruth was born in 1818 and married Henry Harris in 1840. Henry died in 1848.

      Samuel was a 45 year old bootmaker at 15 Colmore Row on the 1861 census, living with Maria Walcot, a 26 year old domestic servant.

      In October 1863 Samuel married Maria Walcot at St Philips in Birmingham.  They don’t appear to have had any children as none appear on the 1871 census, where Samuel and Maria are living at the same address, with another female servant and two male lodgers by the name of Messant from Ipswich.

      Marriage of Samuel Jones and Maria Walcot:

      1863 Samuel Jones


      In 1864 Samuel’s father died.  Samuel the son is mentioned in the probate records as one of the executors: “Samuel Jones of Colmore Row Birmingham in the county of Warwick boot and shoe manufacturer the son”.

      1864 Samuel Jones


      Indeed it could hardly be clearer that this Samuel Jones was not the convict transported to Australia in 1834!


      In 1867 Samuel Jones, bootmaker, was mentioned in the Birmingham Daily Gazette with regard to an unfortunate incident involving his American lodger, Cory McFarland.  The verdict was accidental death.

      Birmingham Daily Gazette – Friday 05 April 1867:

      Cory McFarland 1


      I asked a Birmingham history group for an old photo of Colmore Row. This photo is circa 1870 and number 15 is furthest from the camera.  The businesses on the street at the time were as follows:

      7 homeopathic chemist George John Morris. 8 surgeon dentist Frederick Sims. 9 Saul & Walter Samuel, Australian merchants. Surgeons occupied 10, pawnbroker John Aaron at 11 & 12. 15 boot & shoemaker. 17 auctioneer…

      Colmore Row 1870


      from Bird’s Eye View of Birmingham, 1886:

      Birmingham 1886


        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.


          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

          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


            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


              Matthew Orgill and His Family


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

              Matthew Orgill windowMatthew orgill window 2


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

              Measham Wharf


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

              Old Measham wharf


              But what to make of the inscription in the window?

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

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


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

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

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

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

              Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

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

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


                To Australia


                Charles Herbert Gretton 1876-1954

                Charles Gretton, my great grandmothers youngest brother, arrived in Sydney Australia on 12 February 1912, having set sail on 5 January 1912 from London. His occupation on the passenger list was stockman, and he was traveling alone.  Later that year, in October, his wife and two sons sailed out to join him.

                Gretton 1912 passenger


                Charles was born in Swadlincote.  He married Mary Anne Illsley, a local girl from nearby Church Gresley, in 1898. Their first son, Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton, was born in 1900 in Church Gresley, and their second son, George Herbert Gretton, was born in 1910 in Swadlincote.  In 1901 Charles was a colliery worker, and on the 1911 census, his occupation was a sanitary ware packer.

                Charles and Mary Anne had two more sons, both born in Footscray:  Frank Orgill Gretton in 1914, and Arthur Ernest Gretton in 1920.

                On the Australian 1914 electoral rolls, Charles and Mary Ann were living at 72 Moreland Street, Footscray, and in 1919 at 134 Cowper Street, Footscray, and Charles was a labourer.  In 1924, Charles was a sub foreman, living at 3, Ryan Street E, Footscray, Australia.  On a later electoral register, Charles was a foreman.  Footscray is a suburb of Melbourne, and developed into an industrial zone in the second half of the nineteenth century.

                Charles died in Victoria in 1954 at the age of 77. His wife Mary Ann died in 1958.

                Gretton obit 1954


                Charles and Mary Ann Gretton:

                Charles and Mary Ann Gretton


                Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton 1900-1955

                Leslie was an electrician.   He married Ethel Christine Halliday, born in 1900 in Footscray, in 1927.  They had four children: Tom, Claire, Nancy and Frank. By 1943 they were living in Yallourn.  Yallourn, Victoria was a company town in Victoria, Australia built between the 1920s and 1950s to house employees of the State Electricity Commission of Victoria, who operated the nearby Yallourn Power Station complex. However, expansion of the adjacent open-cut brown coal mine led to the closure and removal of the town in the 1980s.

                On the 1954 electoral registers, daughter Claire Elizabeth Gretton, occupation teacher, was living at the same address as Leslie and Ethel.

                Leslie died in Yallourn in 1955, and Ethel nine years later in 1964, also in Yallourn.


                George Herbert Gretton 1910-1970

                George married Florence May Hall in 1934 in Victoria, Australia.  In 1942 George was listed on the electoral roll as a grocer, likewise in 1949. In 1963 his occupation was a process worker, and in 1968 in Flinders, a horticultural advisor.

                George died in Lang Lang, not far from Melbourne, in 1970.


                Frank Orgill Gretton 1914-

                Arthur Ernest Gretton 1920-



                John Orgill 1835-1911

                John Orgill was Charles Herbert Gretton’s uncle.  He emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926 in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. They had seven children, and their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

                John Orgill was a councillor for the Shire of Dandenong in 1873, and between 1876 and 1879.

                John Orgill:

                John Orgill


                John Orgill obituary in the South Bourke and Mornington Journal, 21 December 1911:

                John Orgill obit



                John’s wife Elizabeth Orgill, a teacher and a “a public spirited lady” according to newspaper articles, opened a hydropathic hospital in Dandenong called Gladstone House.

                Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill:

                Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill


                On the Old Dandenong website:

                Gladstone House hydropathic hospital on the corner of Langhorne and Foster streets (153 Foster Street) Dandenong opened in 1896, working on the theory of water therapy, no medicine or operations. Her husband passed away in 1911 at 77, around similar time Dr Barclay Thompson obtained control of the practice. Mrs Orgill remaining on in some capacity.

                Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).

                Around 1912 Dr A. E. Taylor took over the location from Dr. Barclay Thompson. Mrs Orgill was still working here but no longer controlled the practice, having given it up to Barclay. Taylor served as medical officer for the Shire for before his death in 1939. After Taylor’s death Dr. T. C. Reeves bought his practice in 1939, later that year being appointed medical officer,

                Gladstone Road in Dandenong is named after her family, who owned and occupied a farming paddock in the area on former Police Paddock ground, the Police reserve having earlier been reduced back to Stud Road.

                Hydropathy (now known as Hydrotherapy) and also called water cure, is a part of medicine and alternative medicine, in particular of naturopathy, occupational therapy and physiotherapy, that involves the use of water for pain relief and treatment.

                Gladstone House, Dandenong:

                Gladstone House



                John’s brother Robert Orgill 1830-1915 also emigrated to Australia. I met (online) his great great grand daughter Lidya Orgill via the Old Dandenong facebook group.

                John’s other brother Thomas Orgill 1833-1908 also emigrated to the same part of Australia.

                Thomas Orgill:

                Thomas Orgill


                One of Thomas Orgills sons was George Albert Orgill 1880-1949:

                George Albert Orgill


                A letter was published in The South Bourke & Mornington Journal (Richmond, Victoria, Australia) on 17 Jun 1915, to Tom Orgill, Emerald Hill (South Melbourne) from hospital by his brother George Albert Orgill (4th Pioneers) describing landing of Covering Party prior to dawn invasion of Gallipoli:

                George Albert Orgill letter


                Another brother Henry Orgill 1837-1916 was born in Measham and died in Dandenong, Australia. Henry was a bricklayer living in Measham on the 1861 census. Also living with his widowed mother Elizabeth at that address was his sister Sarah and her husband Richard Gretton, the baker (my great great grandparents). In October of that year he sailed to Melbourne.  His occupation was bricklayer on his death records in 1916.

                Two of Henry’s sons, Arthur Garfield Orgill born 1888 and Ernest Alfred Orgill born 1880 were killed in action in 1917 and buried in Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France. Another son, Frederick Stanley Orgill, died in 1897 at the age of seven.

                A fifth brother, William Orgill 1842-   sailed from Liverpool to Melbourne in 1861, at 19 years of age. Four years later in 1865 he sailed from Victoria, Australia to New Zealand.


                I assumed I had found all of the Orgill brothers who went to Australia, and resumed research on the Orgills in Measham, in England. A search in the British Newspaper Archives for Orgills in Measham revealed yet another Orgill brother who had gone to Australia.

                Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 went to South Africa and to Australia, but returned to Measham.

                The Orgill brothers had two sisters. One was my great great great grandmother Sarah, and the other was Hannah.  Hannah married Francis Hart in Measham. One of her sons, John Orgill Hart 1862-1909, was born in Measham.  On the 1881 census he was a 19 year old carpenters apprentice.  Two years later in 1883 he was listed as a joiner on the passenger list of the ship Illawarra, bound for Australia.   His occupation at the time of his death in Dandenong in 1909 was contractor.

                An additional coincidental note about Dandenong: my step daughter Emily’s Australian partner is from Dandenong.




                Charles Housley 1823-1856

                Charles Housley emigrated to Australia in 1851, the same year that his brother George emigrated to USA.  Charles is mentioned in the Narrative on the Letters by Barbara Housley, and appears in the Housley Letters chapters.



                George “Mike” Rushby 1933-

                Mike moved to Australia from South Africa. His story is a separate chapter.


                  The Measham Thatchers

                  Orgills, Finches and Wards

                  Measham is a large village in north west Leicestershire, England, near the Derbyshire, Staffordshire and Warwickshire boundaries. Our family has a penchant for border straddling, and the Orgill’s of Measham take this a step further living on the boundaries of four counties.  Historically it was in an exclave of Derbyshire absorbed into Leicestershire in 1897, so once again we have two sets of county records to search.


                  Richard Gretton, the baker of Swadlincote and my great grandmother Florence Nightingale Grettons’ father, married Sarah Orgill (1840-1910) in 1861.

                  (Incidentally, Florence Nightingale Warren nee Gretton’s first child Hildred born in 1900 had the middle name Orgill. Florence’s brother John Orgill Gretton emigrated to USA.)

                  When they first married, they lived with Sarah’s widowed mother Elizabeth in Measham.  Elizabeth Orgill is listed on the 1861 census as a farmer of two acres.

                  Sarah Orgill’s father Matthew Orgill (1798-1859) was a thatcher, as was his father Matthew Orgill (1771-1852).

                  Matthew Orgill the elder left his property to his son Henry:

                  Matthew Orgills will


                  Sarah’s mother Elizabeth (1803-1876) was also an Orgill before her marriage to Matthew.

                  According to Pigot & Co’s Commercial Directory for Derbyshire, in Measham in 1835 Elizabeth Orgill was a straw bonnet maker, an ideal occupation for a thatchers wife.

                  Matthew Orgill, thatcher, is listed in White’s directory in 1857, and other Orgill’s are mentioned in Measham:

                  Mary Orgill, straw hat maker; Henry Orgill, grocer; Daniel Orgill, painter; another Matthew Orgill is a coal merchant and wheelwright. Likewise a number of Orgill’s are listed in the directories for Measham in the subsequent years, as farmers, plumbers, painters, grocers, thatchers, wheelwrights, coal merchants and straw bonnet makers.


                  Matthew and Elizabeth Orgill, Measham Baptist church:

                  Orgill grave


                  According to a history of thatching, for every six or seven thatchers appearing in the 1851 census there are now less than one.  Another interesting fact in the history of thatched roofs (via thatchinginfo dot com):

                  The Watling Street Divide…
                  The biggest dividing line of all, that between the angular thatching of the Northern and Eastern traditions and the rounded Southern style, still roughly follows a very ancient line; the northern section of the old Roman road of Watling Street, the modern A5. Seemingly of little significance today; this was once the border between two peoples. Agreed in the peace treaty, between the Saxon King Alfred and Guthrum, the Danish Viking leader; over eleven centuries ago.
                  After making their peace, various Viking armies settled down, to the north and east of the old road; firstly, in what was known as The Danelaw and later in Norse kingdoms, based in York. They quickly formed a class of farmers and peasants. Although the Saxon kings soon regained this area; these people stayed put. Their influence is still seen, for example, in the widespread use of boarded gable ends, so common in Danish thatching.
                  Over time, the Southern and Northern traditions have slipped across the old road, by a few miles either way. But even today, travelling across the old highway will often bring the differing thatching traditions quickly into view.

                  Pear Tree Cottage, Bosworth Road, Measham. 1900.  Matthew Orgill was a thatcher living on Bosworth road.

                  Bosworth road



                  Matthew the elder married Frances Finch 1771-1848, also of Measham.  On the 1851 census Matthew is an 80 year old thatcher living with his daughter Mary and her husband Samuel Piner, a coal miner.

                  Henry Finch 1743- and Mary Dennis 1749- , both of Measham, were Frances parents.  Henry’s father was also Henry Finch, born in 1707 in Measham, and he married Frances Ward, also born in 1707, and also from Measham.



                  The ancient boundary between the kingdom of Mercia and the Danelaw

                  I didn’t find much information on the history of Measham, but I did find a great deal of ancient history on the nearby village of Appleby Magna, two miles away.  The parish records indicate that the Ward and Finch branches of our family date back to the 1500’s in the village, and we can assume that the ancient history of the neighbouring village would be relevant to our history.

                  There is evidence of human settlement in Appleby from the early Neolithic period, 6,000 years ago, and there are also Iron Age and Bronze Age sites in the vicinity.  There is evidence of further activity within the village during the Roman period, including evidence of a villa or farm and a temple.  Appleby is near three known Roman roads: Watling Street, 10 miles south of the village; Bath Lane, 5 miles north of the village; and Salt Street, which forms the parish’s south boundary.

                  But it is the Scandinavian invasions that are particularly intriguing, with regard to my 58% Scandinavian DNA (and virtually 100% Midlands England ancestry). Repton is 13 miles from Measham. In the early 10th century Chilcote, Measham and Willesley were part of the royal Derbyshire estate of Repton.

                  The arrival of Scandinavian invaders in the second half of the ninth century caused widespread havoc throughout northern England. By the AD 870s the Danish army was occupying Mercia and it spent the winter of 873-74 at Repton, the headquarters of the Mercian kings. The events are recorded in detail in the Peterborough manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles…

                  Although the Danes held power for only 40 years, a strong, even subversive, Danish element remained in the population for many years to come. 

                  A Scandinavian influence may also be detected among the field names of the parish. Although many fields have relatively modern names, some clearly have elements which reach back to the time of Danish incursion and control.

                  The Borders:

                  The name ‘aeppel byg’ is given in the will of Wulfic Spot of AD 1004……………..The decision at Domesday to include this land in Derbyshire, as one of Burton Abbey’s Derbyshire manors, resulted in the division of the village of Appleby Magna between the counties of Leicester and Derby for the next 800 years

                  Richard Dunmore’s Appleby Magma website.

                  This division of Appleby between Leicestershire and Derbyshire persisted from Domesday until 1897, when the recently created county councils (1889) simplified the administration of many villages in this area by a radical realignment of the boundary:



                  I would appear that our family not only straddle county borders, but straddle ancient kingdom borders as well.  This particular branch of the family (we assume, given the absence of written records that far back) were living on the edge of the Danelaw and a strong element of the Danes survives to this day in my DNA.



                    Ellastone and Mayfield
                    Malkins and Woodwards
                    Parish Registers


                    Jane Woodward

                    It’s exciting, as well as enormously frustrating, to see so many Woodward’s in the Ellastone parish registers, and even more so because they go back so far. There are parish registers surviving from the 1500’s: in one, dated 1579, the death of Thomas Woodward was recorded. His father’s name was Humfrey.

                    Jane Woodward married Rowland Malkin in 1751, in Thorpe, Ashbourne. Jane was from Mathfield (also known as Mayfield), Ellastone, on the Staffordshire side of the river Dove. Rowland was from Clifton, Ashbourne, on the Derbyshire side of the river. They were neighbouring villages, but in different counties.

                    Jane Woodward was born in 1726 according to the marriage transcription. No record of the baptism can be found for her, despite there having been at least four other Woodward couples in Ellastone and Mayfield baptizing babies in the 1720’s and 1730’s.  Without finding out the baptism with her parents names on the parish register, it’s impossible to know which is the correct line to follow back to the earlier records.

                    I found a Mayfield history group on Facebook and asked if there were parish records existing that were not yet online. A member responded that she had a set on microfiche and had looked through the relevant years and didn’t see a Jane Woodward, but she did say that some of the pages were illegible.

                    The Ellasone parish records from the 1500s surviving at all, considering the events in 1673, is remarkable. To be so close, but for one indecipherable page from the 1700s, to tracing the family back to the 1500s! The search for the connecting link to the earlier records continues.

                    Some key events in the history of parish registers from familysearch:

                    In medieval times there were no parish registers. For some years before the Reformation, monastic houses (especially the smaller ones) the parish priest had been developing the custom of noting in an album or on the margins of the service books, the births and deaths of the leading local families.
                    1538 – Through the efforts of Thomas Cromwell a mandate was issued by Henry VIII to keep parish registers. This order that every parson, vicar or curate was to enter in a book every wedding, christening and burial in his parish. The parish was to provide a sure coffer with two locks, the parson having the custody of one key, the wardens the others. The entries were to be made each Sunday after the service in the presence of one of the wardens.
                    1642-60 – During the Civil War registers were neglected and Bishop Transcripts were not required.
                    1650 – In the restoration of Charles they went back to the church to keep christenings, marriages and burial. The civil records that were kept were filed in with the parish in their registers. it is quite usual to find entries explaining the situation during the Interregnum. One rector stated that on 23 April 1643 “Our church was defaced our font thrown down and new forms of prayer appointed”. Another minister not quite so bold wrote “When the war, more than a civil war was raging most grimly between royalists and parliamentarians throughout the greatest part of England, I lived well because I lay low”.
                    1653 – Cromwell, whose army had defeated the Royalists, was made Lord Protector and acted as king. He was a Puritan. The parish church of England was disorganized, many ministers fled for their lives, some were able to hide their registers and other registers were destroyed. Cromwell ruled that there would be no one religion in England all religions could be practiced. The government took away from the ministers not only the custody of the registers, but even the solemnization of the marriage ceremony. The marriage ceremony was entrusted to the justices to form a new Parish Register (not Registrar) elected by all the ratepayers in a parish, and sworn before and approved by a magistrate.. Parish clerks of the church were made a civil parish clerk and they recorded deaths, births and marriages in the civil parishes.



                    “Ellastone features as ‘Hayslope’ in George Eliot’s Adam Bede, published in 1859. It earned this recognition because the author’s father spent the early part of his life in the village working as a carpenter.”

                    Adam Bede Cottage, Ellastone:

                    Ellasone Adam Bede

                    “It was at Ellastone that Robert Evans, George Eliot’s father, passed his early years and worked as a carpenter with his brother Samuel; and it was partly from reminiscences of her father’s talk and from her uncle Samuel’s wife’s preaching experiences that the author constructed the very powerful and moving story of Adam Bede.”


                    Mary Malkin


                    Ellen Carrington’s mother was Mary Malkin.






                    Ashbourn the 31st day of May in the year of our Lord 1751.  The marriage of Rowland Malkin and Jane Woodward:

                    Rowland Malkin marriage 1751


                      The Housley Letters

                      The Carringtons

                      Carrington Farm, Smalley:

                      Carrington Farm


                      Ellen Carrington was born in 1795. Her father William Carrington 1755-1833 was from Smalley. Her mother Mary Malkin 1765-1838 was from Ellastone, in Staffordshire.  Ellastone is on the Derbyshire border and very close to Ashboure, where Ellen married William Housley.


                      From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

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

                      The letters refer to a variety of “uncles” who were probably Ellen’s brothers, but could be her uncles. These include:


                      Probably the youngest Uncle, and certainly the most significant, is Richard. He was a trustee for some of the property which needed to be settled following Ellen’s death. Anne wrote in 1854 that Uncle Richard “has got a new house built” and his daughters are “fine dashing young ladies–the belles of Smalley.” Then she added, “Aunt looks as old as my mother.”

                      Richard was born somewhere between 1808 and 1812. Since Richard was a contemporary of the older Housley children, “Aunt,” who was three years younger, should not look so old!

                      Richard Carrington and Harriet Faulkner were married in Repton in 1833. A daughter Elizabeth was baptised March 24, 1834. In July 1872, Joseph wrote: Elizabeth is married too and a large family and is living in Uncle Thomas’s house for he is dead.” Elizabeth married Ayres (Eyres) Clayton of Lascoe. His occupation was listed as joiner and shopkeeper. They were married before 1864 since Elizabeth Clayton witnessed her sister’s marriage. Their children in April 1871 were Selina (1863), Agnes Maria (1866) and Elizabeth Ann (1868). A fourth daughter, Alice Augusta, was born in 1872 or 1873, probably by July 1872 to fit Joseph’s description “large family”! A son Charles Richard was born in 1880.

                      An Elizabeth Ann Clayton married John Arthur Woodhouse on May 12, 1913. He was a carpenter. His father was a miner. Elizabeth Ann’s father, Ayres, was also a carpenter. John Arthur’s age was given as 25. Elizabeth Ann’s age was given as 33 or 38. However, if she was born in 1868, her age would be 45. Possibly this is another case of a child being named for a deceased sibling. If she were 38 and born in 1875, she would fill the gap between Alice Augusta and Charles Richard.

                      Selina Clayton, who would have been 18, is not listed in the household in 1881. She died on June 11, 1914 at age 51. Agnes Maria Clayton died at the age of 25 and was buried March 31, 1891. Charles Richard died at the age of 5 and was buried on February 4, 1886. A Charles James Clayton, 18 months, was buried June 8, 1889 in Heanor.

                      Richard Carrington’s second daughter, Selina, born in 1837, married Walker Martin (b.1835) on February 11, 1864 and they were living at Kidsley Park Farm in 1872, according to a letter from Joseph, and, according to the census, were still there in 1881. This 100 acre farm was formerly the home of Daniel Smith and his daughter Elizabeth Davy Barber. Selina and Walker had at least five children: Elizabeth Ann (1865), Harriet Georgianna (1866/7), Alice Marian (September 6, 1868), Philip Richard (1870), and Walker (1873). In December 1972, Joseph mentioned the death of Philip Walker, a farmer of Prospect Farm, Shipley. This was probably Walker Martin’s grandfather, since Walker was born in Shipley. The stock was to be sold the following Monday, but his daughter (Walker’s mother?) died the next day. Walker’s father was named Thomas. An Annie Georgianna Martin age 13 of Shipley died in April of 1859.

                      Selina Martin died on October 29, 1906 but her estate was not settled until November 14, 1910. Her gross estate was worth L223.56. Her son Walker and her daughter Harriet Georgiana were her trustees and executers. Walker was to get Selina’s half of Richard’s farm. Harriet Georgiana and Alice Marian were to be allowed to live with him. Philip Richard received L25. Elizabeth Ann was already married to someone named Smith.

                      Richard and Harriet may also have had a son George. In 1851 a Harriet Carrington and her three year old son George were living with her step-father John Benniston in Heanor. John may have been recently widowed and needed her help. Or, the Carrington home may have been inadequate since Anne reported a new one was built by 1854. Selina’s second daughter’s name testifies to the presence of a “George” in the family! Could the death of this son account for the haggard appearance Anne described when she wrote: “Aunt looks as old as my mother?”
                      Harriet was buried May 19, 1866. She was 55 when she died.

                      In 1881, Georgianna then 14, was living with her grandfather and his niece, Zilpah Cooper, age 38–who lived with Richard on his 63 acre farm as early as 1871. A Zilpah, daughter of William and Elizabeth, was christened October 1843. Her brother, William Walter, was christened in 1846 and married Anna Maria Saint in 1873. There are four Selina Coopers–one had a son William Thomas Bartrun Cooper christened in 1864; another had a son William Cooper christened in 1873.

                      Our Zilpah was born in Bretley 1843. She died at age 49 and was buried on September 24, 1892. In her will, which was witnessed by Selina Martin, Zilpah’s sister, Frances Elizabeth Cleave, wife of Horatio Cleave of Leicester is mentioned. James Eley and Francis Darwin Huish (Richard’s soliciter) were executers.

                      Richard died June 10, 1892, and was buried on June 13. He was 85. As might be expected, Richard’s will was complicated. Harriet Georgiana Martin and Zilpah Cooper were to share his farm. If neither wanted to live there it was to go to Georgiana’s cousin Selina Clayton. However, Zilpah died soon after Richard. Originally, he left his piano, parlor and best bedroom furniture to his daughter Elizabeth Clayton. Then he revoked everything but the piano. He arranged for the payment of £150 which he owed. Later he added a codicil explaining that the debt was paid but he had borrowed £200 from someone else to do it!

                      Richard left a good deal of property including: The house and garden in Smalley occupied by Eyres Clayton with four messuages and gardens adjoining and large garden below and three messuages at the south end of the row with the frame work knitters shop and garden adjoining; a dwelling house used as a public house with a close of land; a small cottage and garden and four cottages and shop and gardens.



                      In August 1854, Anne wrote “Uncle Thomas is about as usual.” A Thomas Carrington married a Priscilla Walker in 1810.

                      Their children were baptised in August 1830 at the same time as the Housley children who at that time ranged in age from 3 to 17. The oldest of Thomas and Priscilla’s children, Henry, was probably at least 17 as he was married by 1836. Their youngest son, William Thomas, born 1830, may have been Mary Ellen Weston’s beau. However, the only Richard whose christening is recorded (1820), was the son of Thomas and Lucy. In 1872 Joseph reported that Richard’s daughter Elizabeth was married and living in Uncle Thomas’s house. In 1851, Alfred Smith lived in house 25, Foulks lived in 26, Thomas and Priscilla lived in 27, Bennetts lived in 28, Allard lived in 29 and Day lived in 30. Thomas and Priscilla do not appear in 1861. In 1871 Elizabeth Ann and Ayres Clayton lived in House 54. None of the families listed as neighbors in 1851 remained. However, Joseph Carrington, who lived in house 19 in 1851, lived in house 51 in 1871.



                      In August 1854, Anne wrote: “Uncle John is with Will and Frank has been home in a comfortable place in Cotmanhay.” Although John and William are two of the most popular Carrington names, only two John’s have sons named William. John and Rachel Buxton Carrington had a son William christened in 1788. At the time of the letters this John would have been over 100 years old. Their son John and his wife Ann had a son William who was born in 1805. However, this William age 46 was living with his widowed mother in 1851. A Robert Carrington and his wife Ann had a son John born 1n 1805. He would be the right age to be a brother to Francis Carrington discussed below. This John was living with his widowed mother in 1851 and was unmarried. There are no known Williams in this family grouping. A William Carrington of undiscovered parentage was born in 1821. It is also possible that the Will in question was Anne’s brother Will Housley.

                      –Two Francis Carringtons appear in the 1841 census both of them aged 35. One is living with Richard and Harriet Carrington. The other is living next door to Samuel and Ellen Carrington Kerry (the trustee for “father’s will”!). The next name in this sequence is John Carrington age 15 who does not seem to live with anyone! but may be part of the Kerry household.

                      FRANK (see above)

                      While Anne did not preface her mention of the name Frank with an “Uncle,” Joseph referred to Uncle Frank and James Carrington in the same sentence. A James Carrington was born in 1814 and had a wife Sarah. He worked as a framework knitter. James may have been a son of William and Anne Carrington. He lived near Richard according to the 1861 census. Other children of William and Anne are Hannah (1811), William (1815), John (1816), and Ann (1818). An Ann Carrington married a Frank Buxton in 1819. This might be “Uncle Frank.”

                      An Ellen Carrington was born to John and Rachel Carrington in 1785. On October 25, 1809, a Samuel Kerry married an Ellen Carrington. However this Samuel Kerry is not the trustee involved in settling Ellen’s estate. John Carrington died July 1815.

                      William and Mary Carrington:

                      William Carrington


                        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.


                        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.


                        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

                        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.


                        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.


                        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

                        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.


                        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

                        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

                        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

                        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.


                        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

                        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


                        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

                        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.”


                        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.


                        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

                        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


                        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.


                        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

                        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!.



                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          continued part 8

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Morogoro 20th January 1941

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                          Morogoro 30th July 1941

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                          Morogoro 26th August 1941

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                          Morogoro 25th December 1941

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                          Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                          Morogoro 26th January 1944

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                          Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                          Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


                          Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                          Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


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

                          Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                          Very much love,

                          Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love,



                            Warren Brothers Boiler Makers

                            Samuel Warren, my great grandfather, and husband of Florence Nightingale Gretton, worked with the family company of boiler makers in Newhall in his early years.  He developed an interest in motor cars, and left the family business to start up on his own. By all accounts, he made some bad decisions and borrowed a substantial amount of money from his sister. It was because of this disastrous state of affairs that the impoverished family moved from Swadlincote/Newhall to Stourbridge.

                            1914:  Tram no 10 on Union Road going towards High Street Newhall. On the left Henry Harvey Engineer, on the right Warren Bros Boiler Manufacturers & Engineers:

                            Warren Bros Newhall


                            I found a newspaper article in the Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal dated the 2nd October 1915 about a Samuel Warren of Warren Brothers Boilermakers, but it was about my great grandfathers uncle, also called Samuel.

                            DEATH OF MR. SAMUEL WARREN, OF NEWHALL. Samuel Warren, of Rose Villa, Newhall, passed away on Saturday evening at the age of 85.. Of somewhat retiring disposition, he took little or no active part in public affairs, but for many years was trustee of the loyal British Oak Lodge of the M.U. of Oddfellows, and in many other ways served His community when opportunity permitted. He was member of the firm of Warren Bros., of the Boiler Works, Newhall. This thriving business was established by the late Mr. Benjamin Bridge, over 60 years ago, and on his death it was taken over by his four nephews. Mr. William Warren died several years ago, and with the demise Mr. Samuel Warren, two brothers remain, Messrs. Henry and Benjamin Warren. He leaves widow, six daughters, and three sons to mourn his loss. 

                            Samuel Warren


                            This was the first I’d heard of Benjamin Bridge.  William Warren mentioned in the article as having died previously was Samuel’s father, my great great grandfather. William’s brother Henry was the father of Ben Warren, the footballer.

                            But who was Benjamin Bridge?

                            Samuel’s father was William Warren 1835-1881. He had a brother called Samuel, mentioned above, and William’s father was also named Samuel.  Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge 1813-1872. Benjamin Bridge 1811-1898 was Elizabeth’s brother.

                            Burton Chronicle 28 July 1898:

                            Benjamin Bridge

                            Benjamin and his wife Jane had no children. According to the obituary in the newspaper, the couple were fondly remembered for their annual tea’s for the widows of the town. Benjamin Bridge’s house was known as “the preachers house”. He was superintendent of Newhall Sunday School and member of Swadlincote’s board of health. And apparently very fond of a tall white hat!

                            On the 1881 census, Benjamin Bridge and his wife live near to the Warren family in Newhall.  The Warren’s live in the “boiler yard” and the family living in between the Bridge’s and the Warren’s include an apprentice boiler maker, so we can assume these were houses incorporated in the boiler works property. Benjamin is a 72 year old retired boiler maker.  Elizabeth Warren is a widow (William died in 1881), two of her sons are boiler makers, and Samuel, my great grandfather, is on the next page of the census, at seven years old.

                            Bridge Warren Census 1881


                            Warren Brothers made boilers for the Burton breweries, including Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton.

                            This receipt from Warrens Boiler yard for a new boiler in 1885 was purchased off Ebay by Colin Smith. He gave it to one of the grandsons of Robert Adolphus Warren, to keep in the Warren family. It is in his safe at home, and he promised Colin that it will stay in the family forever.

                            Warren Bros Receipt


                              William Housley’s Will and the Court Case

                              William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872.  The court case was in 1873.  Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew,  in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far.  However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.

                              William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813.  They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne.  Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal.  This point is mentioned in one of the letters.

                              One of the pages of William Housley’s will:

                              William Housleys Will


                              An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                              A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.

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

                              There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”
                              Mary Ann was still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”

                              In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter)
                              In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”

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

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

                              Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth.
                              In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:
                              “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that”

                              However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.

                              Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:

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

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

                              In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875

                              HOUSLEY – wanted information
                              as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and
                              Children of Charles Housley, formerly of
                              Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at
                              Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria
                              August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with
                              Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England.
                              June 16,1875.

                              The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:

                              Victoria Diggings, Australie


                              The court case:

                               Kerry v Housley.
                              Documents: Bill, demurrer.
                              Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley.
                              Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted).
                              Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire.
                              Date: 1873

                              From the Narrative on the Letters:

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

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

                              In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”
                              On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

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

                              Joseph’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”

                              In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”

                              On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”

                              Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father.
                              But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.”
                              Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”

                              The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?”
                              After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything.
                              In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.

                              George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.”
                              In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.

                              On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.

                              January 14, 1876:  “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
                              Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
                              Abram J. Flint”

                              September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
                              “I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”

                              1874 in chancery:

                              Housley Estate Sale


                                William Marshall’s Parents

                                William Marshall  1876-1968, my great grandfather, married Mary Ann Gilman Purdy in Buxton. We assumed that both their families came from Buxton, but this was not the case.  The Marshall’s came from Elton, near Matlock; the Purdy’s from Eastwood, Nottinghamshire.

                                William Marshall, seated in centre, with colleagues from the insurance company:

                                William Marshall



                                William and all his siblings were born in Fairfield in Buxton. But both Emma Featherstone 1847-1928, his mother, and John Marshall 1842-1930, his father, came from rural Derbyshire. Emma from Ashbourne (or Biggin, Newhaven, or Hartington, depending on what she chose to put on the census, which are all tiny rural places in the same area).

                                Emma and John Marshall in the middle, photo says “William Marshall’s parents” on the back:

                                Emma and John Marshall


                                John Marshall was a carter, later a coal carter, and was born in Elton, Derbyshire. Elton is a rural village near to Matlock. He was unable to write (at least at the time of his wedding) but Emma signed her own name.

                                In 1851 Emma is 3 or 4 years old living with family at the Jug and Glass Inn, Hartington. In 1861 Emma was a 14 year old servant at a 112 acre farm, Heathcote, but her parents were still living at the Jug and Glass. Emma Featherstone’s parents both died when she was 18, in 1865.
                                In 1871 she was a servant at Old House Farm, Nether Hartington Quarter, Ashborne.

                                On the census, a female apprentice was listed as a servant, a boy as an apprentice. It seems to have been quite normal, at least that’s what I’ve found so far,  for all teenagers to go and live in another household to learn a trade, to be independent from the parents, and so doesn’t necessarily mean a servant as we would think of it. Often they stayed with family friends, and usually married in their early twenties and had their own household ~ often with a “servant” or teenager from someone else’s family.

                                The only marriage I could find for Emma and John was in Manchester in 1873, which didn’t make much sense. If Emma was single on the 1871 census, and her first child James was born in 1873, her marriage had to be between those dates. But the marriage register in Manchester appears to be correct, John was a carter, Emma’s father was Francis Featherstone. But why Manchester?

                                Marshall Featherstone marriage

                                I noticed that the witnesses to the marriage were Francis and Elizabeth Featherstone. He father was Francis, but who was Elizabeth? Emma’s mother was Sarah. Then I found that Emma’s brother Francis married Elizabeth, and they lived in Manchester on the 1871 census. Henry Street, Ardwick. Emma and John’s address on the marriage register is Emily Street, Ardwick. Both of them at the same address.

                                The marriage was in February 1873, and James, the first child was born in July, 1873, in Buxton.

                                It would seem that Emma and John had to get married, hence the move to Manchester where her brother was, and then quickly moved to Buxton for the birth of the child.  It was far from uncommon, I’ve found while making notes of dates in registers, for a first child to be born six or 7 months after the wedding.

                                Emma died in 1928 at the age of 80, two years before her husband John. She left him a little money in her will! This seems unusual so perhaps she had her own money, possibly from the death of her parents before she married, and perhaps from the sale of the Jug and Glass.

                                I found a photo of the Jug and Glass online.  It looks just like the pub I’d seen in my family history meditations on a number of occasions:

                                Jug and Glass


                                  Kate Purdy and the DH Lawrence Connection

                                  Catherine (Kate) Purdy 1874-1950  was my grandfather George Marshall’s aunt, and the mother of George Rushby who went to Africa.  The photo is one of our family photos, and we knew that the woman at the back third from the right was an aunt of my grandfather’s. We didn’t know that it was Kate until we saw other photos of her in Mike’s collection.

                                  DH Lawrence was born in Eastwood at roughly the same time as my great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy. Apparently his books are based on actual people living in the area at the time, so I read as many of his books as I could find, to help paint the picture of the time and place.  I also found out via an Eastwood facebook group, that he was not well liked there, and still isn’t. They say he was a wife beater, a groper and was cruel to animals, and they did not want a statue of him in their town!

                                  Kate Rushby third from right back row:

                                  Kate Rushby

                                  Kate Rushby’s story as told by her grandson Mike:

                                  George’s daughter Catherine (Kate) Purdy grew up in Eastwood and was living at Walnut Tree Lane when, at the age of 21, and on the 24 Sep 1894, she married John Henry Payling Rushby who was a policeman in the Grimsby Police. John Henry left the Police and together they bought a public house “The Three Tuns Inn” at Beggarlee. The establishment was frequented by amongst others, the writer D.H.Lawrence who wrote much of his book “Sons and Lovers” in the Inn. In his book he calls the Inn “The Moon and Stars” and mentions Kate. though not by name.

                                  John Henry Rushby had two children, Charlotte and George Gilman Rushby. But a year after the birth of George on 28 Feb 1900, John Henry died at the age of thirty on 13 Sep 1901. He liked to show off his strength to his friends by lifting above his head an oak barrel full of beer. This would have weighed almost 200 kilograms. “He bust his gut” Kate said. He died of peritonitis following a hernia.

                                  Following the death of John Henry, Kate managed the Three Tuns Inn on her own. But a regular visitor to the Inn was Frank Freer who was a singer and used to entertain the patrons with his fine baritone voice and by playing the cornet. He and Kate got married, but he turned out to be a drunk who beat his wife and was cruel to her son. They separated and he died from alcoholism, though he may also have been struck on the head with a beer bottle by a person unknown. She then married Mr Gregory Simpson who fathered a daughter Catherine, and then died from gas injuries he suffered on the battlefield in the first world war.

                                  Despite her lack of men able to stay the course, Catherine became a very successful business woman. She ran the Three Tuns Inn and later moved to Jacksdale where she owned ”ThePortland Arms Hotel”. She travelled extensively to Europe in times of peace, to Africa several times, and around England frequently. She settled in Selston Lane Jacksdale in a large house bracketed by the homes of her daughters Lottie and Cath. She was a strong and tenacious woman who became the surrogate mother of her grandchildren Ann and George when they were separated from their parents by the second world war.

                                  Mike Rushby’s photo of Kate:

                                  Kate Purdy Rushby




                                    George Gilman Rushby: The Cousin Who Went To Africa

                                    The portrait of the woman has “mother of Catherine Housley, Smalley” written on the back, and one of the family photographs has “Francis Purdy” written on the back. My first internet search was “Catherine Housley Smalley Francis Purdy”. Easily found was the family tree of George (Mike) Rushby, on one of the genealogy websites. It seemed that it must be our family, but the African lion hunter seemed unlikely until my mother recalled her father had said that he had a cousin who went to Africa. I also noticed that the lion hunter’s middle name was Gilman ~ the name that Catherine Housley’s daughter ~ my great grandmother, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy ~ adopted, from her aunt and uncle who brought her up.

                                    I tried to contact George (Mike) Rushby via the ancestry website, but got no reply. I searched for his name on Facebook and found a photo of a wildfire in a place called Wardell, in Australia, and he was credited with taking the photograph. A comment on the photo, which was a few years old, got no response, so I found a Wardell Community group on Facebook, and joined it. A very small place, population some 700 or so, and I had an immediate response on the group to my question. They knew Mike, exchanged messages, and we were able to start emailing. I was in the chair at the dentist having an exceptionally long canine root canal at the time that I got the message with his email address, and at that moment the song Down in Africa started playing.

                                    Mike said it was clever of me to track him down which amused me, coming from the son of an elephant and lion hunter.  He didn’t know why his father’s middle name was Gilman, and was not aware that Catherine Housley’s sister married a Gilman.

                                    Mike Rushby kindly gave me permission to include his family history research in my book.  This is the story of my grandfather George Marshall’s cousin.  A detailed account of George Gilman Rushby’s years in Africa can be found in another chapter called From Tanganyika With Love; the letters Eleanor wrote to her family.

                                    George Gilman Rushby:

                                    George Gilman Rushby


                                    The story of George Gilman Rushby 1900-1969, as told by his son Mike:

                                    George Gilman Rushby:
                                    Elephant hunter,poacher, prospector, farmer, forestry officer, game ranger, husband to Eleanor, and father of 6 children who now live around the world.

                                    George Gilman Rushby was born in Nottingham on 28 Feb 1900 the son of Catherine Purdy and John Henry Payling Rushby. But John Henry died when his son was only one and a half years old, and George shunned his drunken bullying stepfather Frank Freer and was brought up by Gypsies who taught him how to fight and took him on regular poaching trips. His love of adventure and his ability to hunt were nurtured at an early stage of his life.
                                    The family moved to Eastwood, where his mother Catherine owned and managed The Three Tuns Inn, but when his stepfather died in mysterious circumstances, his mother married a wealthy bookmaker named Gregory Simpson. He could afford to send George to Worksop College and to Rugby School. This was excellent schooling for George, but the boarding school environment, and the lack of a stable home life, contributed to his desire to go out in the world and do his own thing. When he finished school his first job was as a trainee electrician with Oaks & Co at Pye Bridge. He also worked part time as a motor cycle mechanic and as a professional boxer to raise the money for a voyage to South Africa.

                                    In May 1920 George arrived in Durban destitute and, like many others, living on the beach and dependant upon the Salvation Army for a daily meal. However he soon got work as an electrical mechanic, and after a couple of months had earned enough money to make the next move North. He went to Lourenco Marques where he was appointed shift engineer for the town’s power station. However he was still restless and left the comfort of Lourenco Marques for Beira in August 1921.

                                    Beira was the start point of the new railway being built from the coast to Nyasaland. George became a professional hunter providing essential meat for the gangs of construction workers building the railway. He was a self employed contractor with his own support crew of African men and began to build up a satisfactory business. However, following an incident where he had to shoot and kill a man who attacked him with a spear in middle of the night whilst he was sleeping, George left the lower Zambezi and took a paddle steamer to Nyasaland (Malawi). On his arrival in Karongo he was encouraged to shoot elephant which had reached plague proportions in the area – wrecking African homes and crops, and threatening the lives of those who opposed them.

                                    His next move was to travel by canoe the five hundred kilometre length of Lake Nyasa to Tanganyika, where he hunted for a while in the Lake Rukwa area, before walking through Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) to the Congo. Hunting his way he overachieved his quota of ivory resulting in his being charged with trespass, the confiscation of his rifles, and a fine of one thousand francs. He hunted his way through the Congo to Leopoldville then on to the Portuguese enclave, near the mouth of the mighty river, where he worked as a barman in a rough and tough bar until he received a message that his old friend Lumb had found gold at Lupa near Chunya. George set sail on the next boat for Antwerp in Belgium, then crossed to England and spent a few weeks with his family in Jacksdale before returning by sea to Dar es Salaam. Arriving at the gold fields he pegged his claim and almost immediately went down with blackwater fever – an illness that used to kill three out of four within a week.

                                    When he recovered from his fever, George exchanged his gold lease for a double barrelled .577 elephant rifle and took out a special elephant control licence with the Tanganyika Government. He then headed for the Congo again and poached elephant in Northern Rhodesia from a base in the Congo. He was known by the Africans as “iNyathi”, or the Buffalo, because he was the most dangerous in the long grass. After a profitable hunting expedition in his favourite hunting ground of the Kilombera River he returned to the Congo via Dar es Salaam and Mombassa. He was after the Kabalo district elephant, but hunting was restricted, so he set up his base in The Central African Republic at a place called Obo on the Congo tributary named the M’bomu River. From there he could make poaching raids into the Congo and the Upper Nile regions of the Sudan. He hunted there for two and a half years. He seldom came across other Europeans; hunters kept their own districts and guarded their own territories. But they respected one another and he made good and lasting friendships with members of that small select band of adventurers.

                                    Leaving for Europe via the Congo, George enjoyed a short holiday in Jacksdale with his mother. On his return trip to East Africa he met his future bride in Cape Town. She was 24 year old Eleanor Dunbar Leslie; a high school teacher and daughter of a magistrate who spent her spare time mountaineering, racing ocean yachts, and riding horses. After a whirlwind romance, they were betrothed within 36 hours.

                                    On 25 July 1930 George landed back in Dar es Salaam. He went directly to the Mbeya district to find a home. For one hundred pounds he purchased the Waizneker’s farm on the banks of the Mntshewe Stream. Eleanor, who had been delayed due to her contract as a teacher, followed in November. Her ship docked in Dar es Salaam on 7 Nov 1930, and they were married that day. At Mchewe Estate, their newly acquired farm, they lived in a tent whilst George with some help built their first home – a lovely mud-brick cottage with a thatched roof. George and Eleanor set about developing a coffee plantation out of a bush block. It was a very happy time for them. There was no electricity, no radio, and no telephone. Newspapers came from London every two months. There were a couple of neighbours within twenty miles, but visitors were seldom seen. The farm was a haven for wild life including snakes, monkeys and leopards. Eleanor had to go South all the way to Capetown for the birth of her first child Ann, but with the onset of civilisation, their first son George was born at a new German Mission hospital that had opened in Mbeya.

                                    Occasionally George had to leave the farm in Eleanor’s care whilst he went off hunting to make his living. Having run the coffee plantation for five years with considerable establishment costs and as yet no return, George reluctantly started taking paying clients on hunting safaris as a “white hunter”. This was an occupation George didn’t enjoy. but it brought him an income in the days when social security didn’t exist. Taking wealthy clients on hunting trips to kill animals for trophies and for pleasure didn’t amuse George who hunted for a business and for a way of life. When one of George’s trackers was killed by a leopard that had been wounded by a careless client, George was particularly upset.
                                    The coffee plantation was approaching the time of its first harvest when it was suddenly attacked by plagues of borer beetles and ring barking snails. At the same time severe hail storms shredded the crop. The pressure of the need for an income forced George back to the Lupa gold fields. He was unlucky in his gold discoveries, but luck came in a different form when he was offered a job with the Forestry Department. The offer had been made in recognition of his initiation and management of Tanganyika’s rainbow trout project. George spent most of his short time with the Forestry Department encouraging the indigenous people to conserve their native forests.

                                    In November 1938 he transferred to the Game Department as Ranger for the Eastern Province of Tanganyika, and over several years was based at Nzasa near Dar es Salaam, at the old German town of Morogoro, and at lovely Lyamungu on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Then the call came for him to be transferred to Mbeya in the Southern Province for there was a serious problem in the Njombe district, and George was selected by the Department as the only man who could possibly fix the problem.

                                    Over a period of several years, people were being attacked and killed by marauding man-eating lions. In the Wagingombe area alone 230 people were listed as having been killed. In the Njombe district, which covered an area about 200 km by 300 km some 1500 people had been killed. Not only was the rural population being decimated, but the morale of the survivors was so low, that many of them believed that the lions were not real. Many thought that evil witch doctors were controlling the lions, or that lion-men were changing form to kill their enemies. Indeed some wichdoctors took advantage of the disarray to settle scores and to kill for reward.

                                    By hunting down and killing the man-eaters, and by showing the flesh and blood to the doubting tribes people, George was able to instil some confidence into the villagers. However the Africans attributed the return of peace and safety, not to the efforts of George Rushby, but to the reinstallation of their deposed chief Matamula Mangera who had previously been stood down for corruption. It was Matamula , in their eyes, who had called off the lions.

                                    Soon after this adventure, George was appointed Deputy Game Warden for Tanganyika, and was based in Arusha. He retired in 1956 to the Njombe district where he developed a coffee plantation, and was one of the first in Tanganyika to plant tea as a major crop. However he sensed a swing in the political fortunes of his beloved Tanganyika, and so sold the plantation and settled in a cottage high on a hill overlooking the Navel Base at Simonstown in the Cape. It was whilst he was there that TV Bulpin wrote his biography “The Hunter is Death” and George wrote his book “No More The Tusker”. He died in the Cape, and his youngest son Henry scattered his ashes at the Southern most tip of Africa where the currents of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet .

                                    George Gilman Rushby:


                                      “What’s the matter with you?” asked Finnley, noticing Liz looking uncharacteristically quiet and pensive. Was that a tear in her eye glistening as the morning sun slanted in the French window?

                                      “I’ve just had a letter from one of my characters,” replied Liz. “Here, look.”

                                      Finnley put her duster on Liz’s desk and sat in the armchair to read it.

                                      Dear Liz, it said.

                                      Henry appeared on the same day my young niece arrived from Sweden with her grandma. My mother had already arrived, and we’d just returned from picking them up from the airport. A black puppy was waiting outside my gate.

                                      “We can’t leave him out here,” I said, my hands full of bags. “Grab him, Mom.”

                                      She picked him up and carried him inside and put him down on the driveway. We went up to the house and introduced all the other dogs to the newcomers, and then we heard howling and barking. I’d forgotten to introduce the other dogs to the new puppy, so quickly went down and pulled the terrified black puppy out from under the car and picked him up. I kept him in my arms for a while and attended to the guests.

                                      From then on he followed me everywhere. In later years when he was arthritic, he’d sigh as if to say, where is she going now, and stagger to his feet. Later still, he was very slow at following me, and I’d often bump into and nearly fall over him on the return. Or he’d lie down in the doorway so when I tripped over him, he’d know I was going somewhere. When we went for walks, before he got too old to walk much, he never needed a lead, because he was always right by my side.

                                      When he was young he’d have savage fights with a plastic plant pot, growling at it and tossing it around. We had a game of “where’s Henry” every morning when I made the bed, and he hid under the bedclothes.

                                      He was a greedy fat boy most of his life and adored food. He was never the biggest dog, but had an authority over any plates of leftovers on the floor by sheer greedy determination. Even when he was old and had trouble getting up, he was like a rocket if any food was dropped on the floor. Even when he had hardly any teeth left he’d shovel it up somehow, growling at the others to keep them away. The only dog he’d share with was Bill, who is a bit of a growly steam roller with food as well, despite being small.

                                      I always wondered which dog it was that was pissing inside the house, and for years I never knew. What I would have given to know which one was doing it! I finally found out it was Henry when it was too late to do anything about it ~ by then he had bladder problems.

                                      I started leaving him outside on the patio when we went out. One morning towards the end, in the dark, we didn’t notice him slip out of the patio gate as we were leaving. In the light from the street light outside, we saw him marching off down the road! Where was he going?! It was as if he’d packed his bags and said, That’s it, I’m off!

                                      Eventually he died at home, sixteen years old, after staggering around on his last legs for quite some time. Stoic and stalwart were words used to describe him. He was a character.

                                      A couple of hours before he died, I noticed something on the floor beside his head. It was a gold earring I’d never seen before, with a honeycomb design. Just after he died, Ben went and sat right next to him. We buried him under the oak tree at the bottom of the garden, and gave him a big Buddha head stone. Charlie goes down there every day now. Maybe he wonders if he will be next. He pisses on the Buddha head. Maybe he’s paying his respects, but maybe he’s just doing what dogs do.


                                        Artemesium Absinthium was a very sought-after trance inducing beverage.

                                        Its secret recipe was traced back from as early as the little known Carpathian Sisterhood, and allegedly written on the prophetic toilet paper scrolls of Dildegarde von Bicken.

                                        It was thought to contain a few identifiable ingredients; mainly: leek and watermelon juice, goatweed and cabbage, and possibly either mushroomic pee or toad warts.

                                        (From The Early Lore of the Carpathian Sisterhood, by Henry Gin)


                                          Hang on a minute, Sam said to the Nanaconda. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve dealt with this bucket of dung.

                                          The rainbow Nanaconda raised her eyebrows (or gave the impression of that facial expression, at any rate).

                                          As Sam tipped the bucket out, hundreds of dung beetles scurried in every direction.

                                          Whoa! exclaimed Sam, taking an involuntary step backwards.

                                          Nanaconda sniggered in a somewhat sinister fashion and said, Ah, the Symbolic scarab beetles strike again.

                                          As Sam stood transfixed by the sight of the beetles running in all directions, an extraordinary thing happened. All the beetles stopped moving, as one, and then with a seemingly united purpose, they all started moving in the same direction. Within seconds a long black army of dung beetles marched off across the field.

                                          Sam picked up the empty bucket and followed them.

                                          Nanaconda followed him, grinning wickedly.


                                            In the middle of the Aborigines Village in Tasmania, Sam was carrying a heavy wooden pail of kangaroos shite to spread on the crops of the Dreamtime.

                                            Looking at the scene, a Tasmanian Devil was laughing frantically.
                                            — Hinhiiinhiiiin, that old woman was tricky wasn’t sheeeeeee?

                                            He was now standing in front of a huge rainbow-coloured Nanaconda.

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