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  • #6342
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Brownings of Tetbury

      Tetbury 1839

       

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

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

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

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

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

      Ellen Harding Browning

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

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

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

       

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       

      And again in 1836:

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

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

      Susan was 56 when she died in Tetbury in 1879.

       

      Three of the Browning daughters went to London.

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

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

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

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

       

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

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

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

      #6330
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        My Fathers Family

        Edwards ~ Tomlinson ~ Stokes ~ Fisher

         

        Reginald Garnet Edwards was born on 2 April 1934 at the Worcester Cross pub in Kidderminster.

        The X on right is the room he was born in:

         

        Worcester Cross

         

        I hadn’t done much research on the Edwards family because my fathers cousin, Paul Weaver, had already done it and had an excellent website online.  I decided to start from scratch and do it all myself because it’s so much more interesting to do the research myself than look at lists of names and dates that don’t really mean anything.  Immediately after I decided to do this, I found that Paul’s family tree website was no longer online to refer to anyway!

         

        I started with the Edwards family in Birmingham and immediately had a problem: there were far too many John Edwards in Birmingham at the time.  I’ll return to the Edwards in a later chapter, and start with my fathers mothers mothers family, the Fishers.

         

         

         

         

        #6303
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Hollands of Barton under Needwood

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          William Richard Holland

           

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

          Holland House

           

          Excerpt from the book:

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

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

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

          Further excerpts from the book:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Wales End Farm

           

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

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

          Unice Holland

           

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

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

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

          A list of Holland ancestors:

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

          #6301
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Warrens of Stapenhill

             

            There were so many Warren’s in Stapenhill that it was complicated to work out who was who. I had gone back as far as Samuel Warren marrying Catherine Holland, and this was as far back as my cousin Ian Warren had gone in his research some decades ago as well. The Holland family from Barton under Needwood are particularly interesting, and will be a separate chapter.

            Stapenhill village by John Harden:

            Stapenhill

             

            Resuming the research on the Warrens, Samuel Warren 1771-1837 married Catherine Holland 1775-1861 in 1795 and their son Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge, whose childless brother Benjamin Bridge left the Warren Brothers Boiler Works in Newhall to his nephews, the Warren brothers.

            Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland marriage licence 1795:

            Samuel Warren Catherine Holland

             

            Samuel (born 1771) was baptised at Stapenhill St Peter and his parents were William and Anne Warren. There were at least three William and Ann Warrens in town at the time. One of those William’s was born in 1744, which would seem to be the right age to be Samuel’s father, and one was born in 1710, which seemed a little too old. Another William, Guiliamos Warren (Latin was often used in early parish registers) was baptised in Stapenhill in 1729.

            Stapenhill St Peter:

            Stapenhill St Peter

             

            William Warren (born 1744) appeared to have been born several months before his parents wedding. William Warren and Ann Insley married 16 July 1744, but the baptism of William in 1744 was 24 February. This seemed unusual ~ children were often born less than nine months after a wedding, but not usually before the wedding! Then I remembered the change from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1752. Prior to 1752, the first day of the year was Lady Day, March 25th, not January 1st. This meant that the birth in February 1744 was actually after the wedding in July 1744. Now it made sense. The first son was named William, and he was born seven months after the wedding.

            William born in 1744 died intestate in 1822, and his wife Ann made a legal claim to his estate. However he didn’t marry Ann Holland (Ann was Catherines Hollands sister, who married Samuel Warren the year before) until 1796, so this William and Ann were not the parents of Samuel.

            It seemed likely that William born in 1744 was Samuels brother. William Warren and Ann Insley had at least eight children between 1744 and 1771, and it seems that Samuel was their last child, born when William the elder was 61 and his wife Ann was 47.

            It seems it wasn’t unusual for the Warren men to marry rather late in life. William Warren’s (born 1710) parents were William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton. On the marriage licence in 1702/1703 (it appears to say 1703 but is transcribed as 1702), William was a 40 year old bachelor from Stapenhill, which puts his date of birth at 1662. Elizabeth was considerably younger, aged 19.

            William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton marriage licence 1703:

            William Warren 1702

             

            These Warren’s were farmers, and they were literate and able to sign their own names on various documents. This is worth noting, as most made the mark of an X.

            I found three Warren and Holland marriages. One was Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland in 1795, then William Warren and Ann Holland in 1796. William Warren and Ann Hollands daughter born in 1799 married John Holland in 1824.

            Elizabeth Hatterton (wife of William Warren who was born circa 1662) was born in Burton upon Trent in 1685. Her parents were Edward Hatterton 1655-1722, and Sara.

            A page from the 1722 will of Edward Hatterton:

            Edward Hatterton 1722

             

            The earliest Warren I found records for was William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton in 1703. The marriage licence states his age as 40 and that he was from Stapenhill, but none of the Stapenhill parish records online go back as far as 1662.  On other public trees on ancestry websites, a birth record from Suffolk has been chosen, probably because it was the only record to be found online with the right name and date. Once again, I don’t think that is correct, and perhaps one day I’ll find some earlier Stapenhill records to prove that he was born in locally.

             

            Subsequently, I found a list of the 1662 Hearth Tax for Stapenhill. On it were a number of Warrens, three William Warrens including one who was a constable. One of those William Warrens had a son he named William (as they did, hence the number of William Warrens in the tree) the same year as this hearth tax list.

            But was it the William Warren with 2 chimneys, the one with one chimney who was too poor to pay it, or the one who was a constable?

            from the list:
            Will. Warryn 2
            Richard Warryn 1
            William Warren Constable
            These names are not payable by Act:
            Will. Warryn 1
            Richard Warren John Watson
            over seers of the poore and churchwardens

            The Hearth Tax:

            via wiki:
            In England, hearth tax, also known as hearth money, chimney tax, or chimney money, was a tax imposed by Parliament in 1662, to support the Royal Household of King Charles II. Following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, Parliament calculated that the Royal Household needed an annual income of £1,200,000. The hearth tax was a supplemental tax to make up the shortfall. It was considered easier to establish the number of hearths than the number of heads, hearths forming a more stationary subject for taxation than people. This form of taxation was new to England, but had precedents abroad. It generated considerable debate, but was supported by the economist Sir William Petty, and carried through the Commons by the influential West Country member Sir Courtenay Pole, 2nd Baronet (whose enemies nicknamed him “Sir Chimney Poll” as a result).  The bill received Royal Assent on 19 May 1662, with the first payment due on 29 September 1662, Michaelmas.
            One shilling was liable to be paid for every firehearth or stove, in all dwellings, houses, edifices or lodgings, and was payable at Michaelmas, 29 September and on Lady Day, 25 March. The tax thus amounted to two shillings per hearth or stove per year. The original bill contained a practical shortcoming in that it did not distinguish between owners and occupiers and was potentially a major burden on the poor as there were no exemptions. The bill was subsequently amended so that the tax was paid by the occupier. Further amendments introduced a range of exemptions that ensured that a substantial proportion of the poorer people did not have to pay the tax.

             

            Indeed it seems clear that William Warren the elder came from Stapenhill and not Suffolk, and one of the William Warrens paying hearth tax in 1662 was undoubtedly the father of William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton.

            #6290
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Leicestershire Blacksmiths

              The Orgill’s of Measham led me further into Leicestershire as I traveled back in time.

              I also realized I had uncovered a direct line of women and their mothers going back ten generations:

              myself, Tracy Edwards 1957-
              my mother Gillian Marshall 1933-
              my grandmother Florence Warren 1906-1988
              her mother and my great grandmother Florence Gretton 1881-1927
              her mother Sarah Orgill 1840-1910
              her mother Elizabeth Orgill 1803-1876
              her mother Sarah Boss 1783-1847
              her mother Elizabeth Page 1749-
              her mother Mary Potter 1719-1780
              and her mother and my 7x great grandmother Mary 1680-

              You could say it leads us to the very heart of England, as these Leicestershire villages are as far from the coast as it’s possible to be. There are countless other maternal lines to follow, of course, but only one of mothers of mothers, and ours takes us to Leicestershire.

              The blacksmiths

              Sarah Boss was the daughter of Michael Boss 1755-1807, a blacksmith in Measham, and Elizabeth Page of nearby Hartshorn, just over the county border in Derbyshire.

              An earlier Michael Boss, a blacksmith of Measham, died in 1772, and in his will he left the possession of the blacksmiths shop and all the working tools and a third of the household furniture to Michael, who he named as his nephew. He left his house in Appleby Magna to his wife Grace, and five pounds to his mother Jane Boss. As none of Michael and Grace’s children are mentioned in the will, perhaps it can be assumed that they were childless.

              The will of Michael Boss, 1772, Measham:

              Michael Boss 1772 will

               

              Michael Boss the uncle was born in Appleby Magna in 1724. His parents were Michael Boss of Nelson in the Thistles and Jane Peircivall of Appleby Magna, who were married in nearby Mancetter in 1720.

              Information worth noting on the Appleby Magna website:

              In 1752 the calendar in England was changed from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar, as a result 11 days were famously “lost”. But for the recording of Church Registers another very significant change also took place, the start of the year was moved from March 25th to our more familiar January 1st.
              Before 1752 the 1st day of each new year was March 25th, Lady Day (a significant date in the Christian calendar). The year number which we all now use for calculating ages didn’t change until March 25th. So, for example, the day after March 24th 1750 was March 25th 1751, and January 1743 followed December 1743.
              This March to March recording can be seen very clearly in the Appleby Registers before 1752. Between 1752 and 1768 there appears slightly confused recording, so dates should be carefully checked. After 1768 the recording is more fully by the modern calendar year.

              Michael Boss the uncle married Grace Cuthbert.  I haven’t yet found the birth or parents of Grace, but a blacksmith by the name of Edward Cuthbert is mentioned on an Appleby Magna history website:

              An Eighteenth Century Blacksmith’s Shop in Little Appleby
              by Alan Roberts

              Cuthberts inventory

              The inventory of Edward Cuthbert provides interesting information about the household possessions and living arrangements of an eighteenth century blacksmith. Edward Cuthbert (als. Cutboard) settled in Appleby after the Restoration to join the handful of blacksmiths already established in the parish, including the Wathews who were prominent horse traders. The blacksmiths may have all worked together in the same shop at one time. Edward and his wife Sarah recorded the baptisms of several of their children in the parish register. Somewhat sadly three of the boys named after their father all died either in infancy or as young children. Edward’s inventory which was drawn up in 1732, by which time he was probably a widower and his children had left home, suggests that they once occupied a comfortable two-storey house in Little Appleby with an attached workshop, well equipped with all the tools for repairing farm carts, ploughs and other implements, for shoeing horses and for general ironmongery. 

              Edward Cuthbert born circa 1660, married Joane Tuvenet in 1684 in Swepston cum Snarestone , and died in Appleby in 1732. Tuvenet is a French name and suggests a Huguenot connection, but this isn’t our family, and indeed this Edward Cuthbert is not likely to be Grace’s father anyway.

              Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page appear to have married twice: once in 1776, and once in 1779. Both of the documents exist and appear correct. Both marriages were by licence. They both mention Michael is a blacksmith.

              Their first daughter, Elizabeth, was baptized in February 1777, just nine months after the first wedding. It’s not known when she was born, however, and it’s possible that the marriage was a hasty one. But why marry again three years later?

              But Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page did not marry twice.

              Elizabeth Page from Smisby was born in 1752 and married Michael Boss on the 5th of May 1776 in Measham. On the marriage licence allegations and bonds, Michael is a bachelor.

              Baby Elizabeth was baptised in Measham on the 9th February 1777. Mother Elizabeth died on the 18th February 1777, also in Measham.

              In 1779 Michael Boss married another Elizabeth Page! She was born in 1749 in Hartshorn, and Michael is a widower on the marriage licence allegations and bonds.

              Hartshorn and Smisby are neighbouring villages, hence the confusion.  But a closer look at the documents available revealed the clues.  Both Elizabeth Pages were literate, and indeed their signatures on the marriage registers are different:

              Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Smisby in 1776:

              Elizabeth Page 1776

               

              Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Harsthorn in 1779:

              Elizabeth Page 1779

               

              Not only did Michael Boss marry two women both called Elizabeth Page but he had an unusual start in life as well. His uncle Michael Boss left him the blacksmith business and a third of his furniture. This was all in the will. But which of Uncle Michaels brothers was nephew Michaels father?

              The only Michael Boss born at the right time was in 1750 in Edingale, Staffordshire, about eight miles from Appleby Magna. His parents were Thomas Boss and Ann Parker, married in Edingale in 1747.  Thomas died in August 1750, and his son Michael was baptised in the December, posthumus son of Thomas and his widow Ann. Both entries are on the same page of the register.

              1750 posthumus

               

              Ann Boss, the young widow, married again. But perhaps Michael and his brother went to live with their childless uncle and aunt, Michael Boss and Grace Cuthbert.

              The great grandfather of Michael Boss (the Measham blacksmith born in 1850) was also Michael Boss, probably born in the 1660s. He died in Newton Regis in Warwickshire in 1724, four years after his son (also Michael Boss born 1693) married Jane Peircivall.  The entry on the parish register states that Michael Boss was buried ye 13th Affadavit made.

              I had not seen affadavit made on a parish register before, and this relates to the The Burying in Woollen Acts 1666–80.  According to Wikipedia:

               “Acts of the Parliament of England which required the dead, except plague victims and the destitute, to be buried in pure English woollen shrouds to the exclusion of any foreign textiles.  It was a requirement that an affidavit be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace (usually by a relative of the deceased), confirming burial in wool, with the punishment of a £5 fee for noncompliance. Burial entries in parish registers were marked with the word “affidavit” or its equivalent to confirm that affidavit had been sworn; it would be marked “naked” for those too poor to afford the woollen shroud.  The legislation was in force until 1814, but was generally ignored after 1770.”

              Michael Boss buried 1724 “Affadavit made”:

              Michael Boss affadavit 1724

               

               

               

              Elizabeth Page‘s father was William Page 1717-1783, a wheelwright in Hartshorn.  (The father of the first wife Elizabeth was also William Page, but he was a husbandman in Smisby born in 1714. William Page, the father of the second wife, was born in Nailstone, Leicestershire, in 1717. His place of residence on his marriage to Mary Potter was spelled Nelson.)

              Her mother was Mary Potter 1719- of nearby Coleorton.  Mary’s father, Richard Potter 1677-1731, was a blacksmith in Coleorton.

              A page of the will of Richard Potter 1731:

              Richard Potter 1731

               

              Richard Potter states: “I will and order that my son Thomas Potter shall after my decease have one shilling paid to him and no more.”  As he left £50 to each of his daughters, one can’t help but wonder what Thomas did to displease his father.

              Richard stipulated that his son Thomas should have one shilling paid to him and not more, for several good considerations, and left “the house and ground lying in the parish of Whittwick in a place called the Long Lane to my wife Mary Potter to dispose of as she shall think proper.”

              His son Richard inherited the blacksmith business:  “I will and order that my son Richard Potter shall live and be with his mother and serve her duly and truly in the business of a blacksmith, and obey and serve her in all lawful commands six years after my decease, and then I give to him and his heirs…. my house and grounds Coulson House in the Liberty of Thringstone”

              Richard wanted his son John to be a blacksmith too: “I will and order that my wife bring up my son John Potter at home with her and teach or cause him to be taught the trade of a blacksmith and that he shall serve her duly and truly seven years after my decease after the manner of an apprentice and at the death of his mother I give him that house and shop and building and the ground belonging to it which I now dwell in to him and his heirs forever.”

              To his daughters Margrett and Mary Potter, upon their reaching the age of one and twenty, or the day after their marriage, he leaves £50 each. All the rest of his goods are left to his loving wife Mary.

               

              An inventory of the belongings of Richard Potter, 1731:

              Richard Potter inventory

               

              Richard Potters father was also named Richard Potter 1649-1719, and he too was a blacksmith.

              Richard Potter of Coleorton in the county of Leicester, blacksmith, stated in his will:  “I give to my son and daughter Thomas and Sarah Potter the possession of my house and grounds.”

              He leaves ten pounds each to his daughters Jane and Alice, to his son Francis he gives five pounds, and five shillings to his son Richard. Sons Joseph and William also receive five shillings each. To his daughter Mary, wife of Edward Burton, and her daughter Elizabeth, he gives five shillings each. The rest of his good, chattels and wordly substance he leaves equally between his son and daugter Thomas and Sarah. As there is no mention of his wife, it’s assumed that she predeceased him.

              The will of Richard Potter, 1719:

              Richard Potter 1719

               

              Richard Potter’s (1649-1719) parents were William Potter and Alse Huldin, both born in the early 1600s.  They were married in 1646 at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire.  The name Huldin appears to originate in Finland.

              William Potter was a blacksmith. In the 1659 parish registers of Breedon on the Hill, William Potter of Breedon blacksmith buryed the 14th July.

              #6286
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Matthew Orgill and His Family

                 

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

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

                LATE MATTHEW ORGILL PEACEFUL END TO A BLAMELESS LIFE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                 

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

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

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

                Matthew Orgill window

                Matthew orgill window 2

                 

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

                Measham Wharf

                 

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

                Old Measham wharf

                 

                But what to make of the inscription in the window?

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

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

                 

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

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

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

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

                Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

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

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

                #6281
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  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.

                  ORGILL

                  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

                   

                  FINCH

                  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.

                  WARD

                   

                  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:

                  Appleby

                   

                  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.

                   

                  #6275
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                    and a mystery about George

                     

                    I had overlooked this interesting part of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on the Letters” initially, perhaps because I was more focused on finding Samuel Housley.  But when I did eventually notice, I wondered how I had missed it!  In this particularly interesting letter excerpt from Joseph, Barbara has not put the date of the letter ~ unusually, because she did with all of the others.  However I dated the letter to later than 1867, because Joseph mentions his wife, and they married in 1867. This is important, because there are two Emma Housleys. Joseph had a sister Emma, born in 1836, two years before Joseph was born.  At first glance, one would assume that a reference to Emma in the letters would mean his sister, but Emma the sister was married in Derby in 1858, and by 1869 had four children.

                    But there was another Emma Housley, born in 1851.

                     

                    From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                    “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                    A MYSTERY

                    A very mysterious comment is contained in a letter from Joseph:

                    “And now about Emma.  I have only seen her once and she came to me to get your address but I did not feel at liberty to give it to her until I had wrote to you but however she got it from someone.  I think it was in this way.  I was so pleased to hear from you in the first place and with John’s family coming to see me I let them read one or two of your letters thinking they would like to hear of you and I expect it was Will that noticed your address and gave it to her.  She came up to our house one day when I was at work to know if I had heard from you but I had not heard from you since I saw her myself and then she called again after that and my wife showed her your boys’ portraits thinking no harm in doing so.”

                    At this point Joseph interrupted himself to thank them for sending the portraits.  The next sentence is:

                    “Your son JOHN I have never seen to know him but I hear he is rather wild,” followed by: “EMMA has been living out service but don’t know where she is now.”

                    Since Joseph had just been talking about the portraits of George’s three sons, one of whom is John Eley, this could be a reference to things George has written in despair about a teen age son–but could Emma be a first wife and John their son?  Or could Emma and John both be the children of a first wife?

                    Elsewhere, Joseph wrote, “AMY ELEY died 14 years ago. (circa 1858)  She left a son and a daughter.”

                    An Amey Eley and a George Housley were married on April 1, 1849 in Duffield which is about as far west of Smalley as Heanor is East.  She was the daughter of John, a framework knitter, and Sarah Eley.  George’s father is listed as William, a farmer.  Amey was described as “of full age” and made her mark on the marriage document.

                    Anne wrote in August 1854:  JOHN ELEY is living at Derby Station so must take the first opportunity to get the receipt.” Was John Eley Housley named for him?

                    (John Eley Housley is George Housley’s son in USA, with his second wife, Sarah.)

                     

                    George Housley married Amey Eley in 1849 in Duffield.  George’s father on the register is William Housley, farmer.  Amey Eley’s father is John Eley, framework knitter.

                    George Housley Amey Eley

                     

                    On the 1851 census, George Housley and his wife Amey Housley are living with her parents in Heanor, John Eley, a framework knitter, and his wife Rebecca.  Also on the census are Charles J Housley, born in 1849 in Heanor, and Emma Housley, three months old at the time of the census, born in 1851.  George’s birth place is listed as Smalley.

                    1851 George Housley

                     

                     

                    On the 31st of July 1851 George Housley arrives in New York. In 1854 George Housley marries Sarah Ann Hill in USA.

                     

                    On the 1861 census in Heanor, Rebecca Eley was a widow, her husband John having died in 1852, and she had three grandchildren living with her: Charles J Housley aged 12, Emma Housley, 10, and mysteriously a William Housley aged 5!  Amey Housley, the childrens mother,  died in 1858.

                    Housley Eley 1861

                     

                    Back to the mysterious comment in Joseph’s letter.  Joseph couldn’t have been speaking of his sister Emma.  She was married with children by the time Joseph wrote that letter, so was not just out of service, and Joseph would have known where she was.   There is no reason to suppose that the sister Emma was trying unsuccessfully to find George’s addresss: she had been sending him letters for years.   Joseph must have been referring to George’s daughter Emma.

                    Joseph comments to George “Your son John…is rather wild.” followed by the remark about Emma’s whereabouts.  Could Charles John Housley have used his middle name of John instead of Charles?

                    As for the child William born five years after George left for USA, despite his name of Housley, which was his mothers married name, we can assume that he was not a Housley ~ not George’s child, anyway. It is not clear who his father was, as Amey did not remarry.

                    A further excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                    Certainly there was some mystery in George’s life. George apparently wanted his whereabouts kept secret. Anne wrote: “People are at a loss to know where you are. The general idea is you are with Charles. We don’t satisfy them.” In that same letter Anne wrote: “I know you could not help thinking of us very often although you neglected writing…and no doubt would feel grieved for the trouble you at times caused (our mother). She freely forgives all.” Near the end of the letter, Anne added: “Mother sends her love to you and hopes you will write and if you want to tell her anything you don’t want all to see you must write it on a piece of loose paper and put it inside the letter.”

                    In a letter to George from his sister Emma:

                    Emma wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.”

                    In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

                    It would seem that George Housley named his first son with his second wife after his first wife’s father ~ while he was married to both of them.

                     

                    Emma Housley

                    1851-1935

                     

                    In 1871 Emma was 20 years old and “in service” living as a lodger in West Hallam, not far from Heanor.  As she didn’t appear on a 1881 census, I looked for a marriage, but the only one that seemed right in every other way had Emma Housley’s father registered as Ralph Wibberly!

                    Who was Ralph Wibberly?  A family friend or neighbour, perhaps, someone who had been a father figure?  The first Ralph Wibberly I found was a blind wood cutter living in Derby. He had a son also called Ralph Wibberly. I did not think Ralph Wibberly would be a very common name, but I was wrong.

                    I then found a Ralph Wibberly living in Heanor, with a son also named Ralph Wibberly. A Ralph Wibberly married an Emma Salt from Heanor. In 1874, a 36 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1838) was on trial in Derby for inflicting grevious bodily harm on William Fretwell of Heanor. His occupation is “platelayer” (a person employed in laying and maintaining railway track.) The jury found him not guilty.

                    In 1851 a 23 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1828) was a prisoner in Derby Gaol. However, Ralph Wibberly, a 50 year old labourer born in 1801 and his son Ralph Wibberly, aged 13 and born in 1838, are living in Belper on the 1851 census. Perhaps the son was the same Ralph Wibberly who was found not guilty of GBH in 1874. This appears to be the one who married Emma Salt, as his wife on the 1871 census is called Emma, and his occupation is “Midland Company Railway labourer”.

                    Which was the Ralph Wibberly that Emma chose to name as her father on the marriage register? We may never know, but perhaps we can assume it was Ralph Wibberly born in 1801.  It is unlikely to be the blind wood cutter from Derby; more likely to be the local Ralph Wibberly.  Maybe his son Ralph, who we know was involved in a fight in 1874, was a friend of Emma’s brother Charles John, who was described by Joseph as a “wild one”, although Ralph was 11 years older than Charles John.

                    Emma Housley married James Slater on Christmas day in Heanor in 1873.  Their first child, a daughter, was called Amy. Emma’s mother was Amy Eley. James Slater was a colliery brakesman (employed to work the steam-engine, or other machinery used in raising the coal from the mine.)

                    It occurred to me to wonder if Emma Housley (George’s daughter) knew Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine (Samuel’s daughters). They were cousins, lived in the vicinity, and they had in common with each other having been deserted by their fathers who were brothers. Emma was born two years after Catherine. Catherine was living with John Benniston, a framework knitter in Heanor, from 1851 to 1861. Emma was living with her grandfather John Ely, a framework knitter in Heanor. In 1861, George Purdy was also living in Heanor. He was listed on the census as a 13 year old coal miner! George Purdy and Catherine Housley married in 1866 in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire ~ just over the county border. Emma’s first child Amy was born in Heanor, but the next two children, Eliza and Lilly, were born in Eastwood, in 1878 and 1880. Catherine and George’s fifth child, my great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, was born in Eastwood in 1880, the same year as Lilly Slater.

                    By 1881 Emma and James Slater were living in Woodlinkin, Codnor and Loscoe, close to Heanor and Eastwood, on the Derbyshire side of the border. On each census up to 1911 their address on the census is Woodlinkin. Emma and James had nine children: six girls and 3 boys, the last, Alfred Frederick, born in 1901.

                    Emma and James lived three doors up from the Thorn Tree pub in Woodlinkin, Codnor:

                    Woodlinkin

                     

                    Emma Slater died in 1935 at the age of 84.

                     

                    IN
                    LOVING MEMORY OF
                    EMMA SLATER
                    (OF WOODLINKIN)
                    WHO DIED
                    SEPT 12th 1935
                    AGED 84 YEARS
                    AT REST

                    Crosshill Cemetery, Codnor, Amber Valley Borough, Derbyshire, England:

                    Emma Slater

                     

                    Charles John Housley

                    1949-

                    #6271
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The Housley Letters

                      FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

                      from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                       

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

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

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

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

                      Lyon 1861 census

                       

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

                       

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

                      Davy Death

                       

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

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

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

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

                      Kiddsley Park Farm

                       

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

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

                      #6269
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The Housley Letters 

                        From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

                         

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

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

                        William and Ellen Marriage

                         

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

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

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

                         

                        ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

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

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

                         

                        Mary’s children:

                        MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

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

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

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

                         

                        WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

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

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

                         

                        Ellen’s children:

                        JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        John Housley

                         

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

                         

                        SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

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

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

                        Housley Deaths

                         

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

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

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

                         

                        EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

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

                         

                        ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        The Carrington Farm:

                        Carringtons Farm

                         

                        CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

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

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

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

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

                         

                        GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                         

                        ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

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

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

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

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

                         

                        EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

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

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

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

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

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

                        Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

                        Emma Housley wedding

                         

                        JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

                        Joseph Housley

                        #6268
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          continued part 9

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Lyamungu 14 May 1945

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Lyamungu 19th September 1945

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

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

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

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

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

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

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

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

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Mbeya 1st November 1946

                          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          #6267
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            From Tanganyika with Love

                            continued part 8

                            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                            Morogoro 20th January 1941

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Morogoro 30th July 1941

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Morogoro 26th August 1941

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Morogoro 25th December 1941

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Morogoro 26th January 1944

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

                            Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                            Very much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Much love,
                            Eleanor.

                             

                            #6265
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              continued  ~ part 6

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                              Mchewe 6th June 1937

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              With much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe 25th June 1937

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe 9th July 1937

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor

                              Mchewe 8th October 1937

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe 17th October 1937

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe 18th November 1937

                              My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                              Mchewe 18th November 1937

                              Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mbulu 20th June 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Karatu 3rd July 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Karatu 12th July 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              #6261
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                From Tanganyika with Love

                                continued

                                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                                Dearest Family,

                                You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is
                                not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her
                                very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very
                                fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the
                                natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the
                                houseboy both speak basic English.

                                I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do
                                run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly
                                from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All
                                farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.

                                George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot
                                of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for
                                hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans
                                have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was
                                disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of
                                pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he
                                recovered.

                                But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath.
                                Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are.
                                Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time
                                for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are
                                always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no
                                knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always
                                welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the
                                house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is
                                produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is.
                                The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and
                                diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields.
                                This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with
                                whom. This is a great country for gossip.

                                Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with
                                George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than
                                his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features,
                                burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into
                                song.

                                Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over
                                sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George
                                walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a
                                great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a
                                hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his
                                neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were
                                carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but
                                George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always
                                wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front.
                                George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.

                                I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu,
                                all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George
                                reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears
                                the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite
                                but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to
                                add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by.
                                Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.

                                George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind
                                the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and
                                filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for
                                washing pots and pans and for bath water.

                                Lots of love,
                                Eleanor

                                Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                                Dearest Family,

                                I think it is about time I told you that we are going to have a baby. We are both
                                thrilled about it. I have not seen a Doctor but feel very well and you are not to worry. I
                                looked it up in my handbook for wives and reckon that the baby is due about February
                                8th. next year.

                                The announcement came from George, not me! I had been feeling queasy for
                                days and was waiting for the right moment to tell George. You know. Soft lights and
                                music etc. However when I was listlessly poking my food around one lunch time
                                George enquired calmly, “When are you going to tell me about the baby?” Not at all
                                according to the book! The problem is where to have the baby. February is a very wet
                                month and the nearest Doctor is over 50 miles away at Tukuyu. I cannot go to stay at
                                Tukuyu because there is no European accommodation at the hospital, no hotel and no
                                friend with whom I could stay.

                                George thinks I should go South to you but Capetown is so very far away and I
                                love my little home here. Also George says he could not come all the way down with
                                me as he simply must stay here and get the farm on its feet. He would drive me as far
                                as the railway in Northern Rhodesia. It is a difficult decision to take. Write and tell me what
                                you think.

                                The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be
                                supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and
                                decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a
                                solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I
                                jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy
                                were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate.
                                He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on
                                the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so
                                he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used
                                part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.

                                The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had
                                fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we
                                are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the
                                Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the
                                waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.

                                Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth
                                their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large
                                bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was
                                healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am
                                becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other
                                way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before
                                going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned
                                it is like the best brisket.

                                See what a housewife I am becoming.
                                With much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                                Dearest Family,

                                I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving
                                Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the
                                bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it
                                before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and
                                so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the
                                hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really
                                healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would
                                love to stay on here.

                                George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a
                                South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is
                                very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby
                                is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as
                                possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It
                                may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking
                                forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night.
                                Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He
                                goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the
                                men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers
                                at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the
                                house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out
                                some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the
                                chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion
                                and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it
                                together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the
                                size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air.
                                Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment.
                                The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It
                                was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too
                                obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said
                                it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former
                                cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby
                                monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that
                                dish.

                                And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad
                                shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and
                                dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The
                                body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the
                                ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well
                                Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled
                                soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a
                                lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was.
                                I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that
                                the baby will be a girl.

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Note
                                “There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
                                because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
                                Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
                                birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.

                                A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
                                started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
                                stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
                                train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
                                old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
                                was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
                                baby.

                                He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
                                though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
                                and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.

                                My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
                                down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
                                weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
                                Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
                                that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
                                punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
                                My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
                                comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
                                on the appointed day, Feb.8th.

                                I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
                                rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
                                absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
                                are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
                                surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
                                some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
                                pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
                                melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
                                She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
                                at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
                                went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
                                see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
                                nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
                                through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
                                Tanganyika!”

                                The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
                                of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
                                stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
                                who longed to cuddle the child.

                                As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
                                to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
                                Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
                                put us on the plane for Mbeya.

                                Eleanor Rushby

                                 

                                Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                                Dearest Family,

                                You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very
                                happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way.
                                Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went
                                to meals in the dining car.

                                We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for
                                us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where
                                the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the
                                Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between
                                Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk
                                all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant
                                Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the
                                circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead
                                by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was
                                most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust
                                health.

                                Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate
                                fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and
                                offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are
                                several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya.
                                After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm
                                welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the
                                new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely
                                surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with
                                willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table
                                and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship
                                which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to
                                the rather old world air of our living room.

                                In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has
                                strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top
                                of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which
                                George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The
                                new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and
                                they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the
                                kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for
                                washing up. Lovely!

                                George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings
                                planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are
                                orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely
                                adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long
                                journey.

                                It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I
                                have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm,
                                Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann
                                sends a special bubble for granddad.

                                Your very loving,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                                Dearest Family,

                                Ann at five months is enchanting. She is a very good baby, smiles readily and is
                                gaining weight steadily. She doesn’t sleep much during the day but that does not
                                matter, because, apart from washing her little things, I have nothing to do but attend to
                                her. She sleeps very well at night which is a blessing as George has to get up very
                                early to start work on the shamba and needs a good nights rest.
                                My nights are not so good, because we are having a plague of rats which frisk
                                around in the bedroom at night. Great big ones that come up out of the long grass in the
                                gorge beside the house and make cosy homes on our reed ceiling and in the thatch of
                                the roof.

                                We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann
                                with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between
                                the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly
                                born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more.
                                Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.

                                I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and
                                sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down
                                the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the
                                floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few
                                mosquitoes.

                                Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little
                                finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to
                                attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet
                                arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content.
                                The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see
                                her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child
                                and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or
                                a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they
                                value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman,
                                who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.

                                Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the
                                baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in
                                South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey.
                                They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms
                                around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah
                                walked beside it.

                                It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole
                                countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.

                                Lots and lots of love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                                Dearest Family,

                                George has been very unwell for the past week. He had a nasty gash on his
                                knee which went septic. He had a swelling in the groin and a high temperature and could
                                not sleep at night for the pain in his leg. Ann was very wakeful too during the same
                                period, I think she is teething. I luckily have kept fit though rather harassed. Yesterday the
                                leg looked so inflamed that George decided to open up the wound himself. he made
                                quite a big cut in exactly the right place. You should have seen the blackish puss
                                pouring out.

                                After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has
                                the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and
                                pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it
                                to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job
                                of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some
                                husband!

                                The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George
                                and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was
                                suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen.
                                They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly
                                and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up
                                swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying
                                the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I
                                felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window
                                behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s
                                hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound,
                                taking cover.

                                George returned quite soon to say that apparently the commotion made by the
                                women and children had frightened the lions off. He found their tracks in the soft earth
                                round the huts and a bag of maize that had been playfully torn open but the lions had
                                moved on.

                                Next day we heard that they had moved to Hickson-Wood’s shamba. Hicky
                                came across to say that the lions had jumped over the wall of his cattle boma and killed
                                both his white Muskat riding donkeys.
                                He and a friend sat up all next night over the remains but the lions did not return to
                                the kill.

                                Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very
                                fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both
                                cheeks. We are very proud of her.

                                Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I
                                am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever
                                seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens
                                we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”

                                Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.

                                Much love to all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                                Dearest Family,

                                News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I
                                hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are
                                rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a
                                German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good
                                living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles
                                radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also
                                Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings.
                                Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no
                                teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has
                                breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her
                                amusement and my exasperation!

                                You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we
                                haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even
                                heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies
                                in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down
                                there.

                                The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and
                                wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently.
                                Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The
                                Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs.
                                Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss
                                his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle
                                over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good
                                hunter.

                                Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs
                                and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the
                                idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of
                                stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck.
                                Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for
                                cooking and very like beef fat.

                                Much love to all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932

                                Dearest Family,

                                George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up
                                here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of
                                staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.

                                Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting
                                together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and
                                settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town
                                in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little
                                car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard
                                the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over
                                the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long
                                journey in so tiny a car.

                                Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in
                                the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when
                                the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot,
                                sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous
                                wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in
                                happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a
                                treat for a pregnant female.

                                We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a
                                smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size,
                                peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like
                                broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning
                                after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast
                                and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a
                                little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she
                                placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t
                                know whether that was the thing to do.

                                We all send our love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                                Dearest Family,

                                Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the
                                arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again
                                to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with
                                other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair
                                roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl
                                now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.

                                George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in
                                here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in
                                hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There
                                is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the
                                Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.

                                As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to
                                Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm.
                                The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The
                                machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too
                                comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four
                                of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief
                                bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort
                                of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up
                                the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least
                                George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would
                                have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.

                                George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind
                                George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best
                                attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour
                                shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and
                                bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.

                                Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had
                                an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.

                                During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small
                                daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They
                                played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my
                                sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the
                                room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her,
                                looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off
                                half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the
                                job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.

                                I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and
                                then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a
                                bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant
                                towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously.
                                I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                                Dearest Family,

                                Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was
                                with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit
                                of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann
                                with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her
                                supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a
                                great comfort it was to know that he was there.

                                The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital
                                just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The
                                doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny
                                looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black
                                silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache.
                                George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out
                                laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t
                                understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at
                                him.

                                Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is
                                transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere
                                without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all
                                snowy white.

                                George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for
                                company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and
                                away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that
                                tea is a medicine and good for him.

                                Much love from a proud mother of two.
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                                Dearest Family,

                                We are all together at home again and how lovely it feels. Even the house
                                servants seem pleased. The boy had decorated the lounge with sprays of
                                bougainvillaea and Abel had backed one of his good sponge cakes.

                                Ann looked fat and rosy but at first was only moderately interested in me and the
                                new baby but she soon thawed. George is good with her and will continue to dress Ann
                                in the mornings and put her to bed until I am satisfied with Georgie.

                                He, poor mite, has a nasty rash on face and neck. I am sure it is just due to that
                                tea the nurse used to give him at night. He has lost his moustache and is fast loosing his
                                wild black hair and emerging as quite a handsome babe. He is a very masculine looking
                                infant with much more strongly marked eyebrows and a larger nose that Ann had. He is
                                very good and lies quietly in his basket even when awake.

                                George has been making a hatching box for brown trout ova and has set it up in
                                a small clear stream fed by a spring in readiness for the ova which is expected from
                                South Africa by next weeks plane. Some keen fishermen from Mbeya and the District
                                have clubbed together to buy the ova. The fingerlings are later to be transferred to
                                streams in Mbeya and Tukuyu Districts.

                                I shall now have my hands full with the two babies and will not have much time for the
                                garden, or I fear, for writing very long letters. Remember though, that no matter how
                                large my family becomes, I shall always love you as much as ever.

                                Your affectionate,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                                Dearest Family,

                                The four of us are all well but alas we have lost our dear Kelly. He was rather a
                                silly dog really, although he grew so big he retained all his puppy ways but we were all
                                very fond of him, especially George because Kelly attached himself to George whilst I
                                was away having Ann and from that time on he was George’s shadow. I think he had
                                some form of biliary fever. He died stretched out on the living room couch late last night,
                                with George sitting beside him so that he would not feel alone.

                                The children are growing fast. Georgie is a darling. He now has a fluff of pale
                                brown hair and his eyes are large and dark brown. Ann is very plump and fair.
                                We have had several visitors lately. Apart from neighbours, a car load of diggers
                                arrived one night and John Molteno and his bride were here. She is a very attractive girl
                                but, I should say, more suited to life in civilisation than in this back of beyond. She has
                                gone out to the diggings with her husband and will have to walk a good stretch of the fifty
                                or so miles.

                                The diggers had to sleep in the living room on the couch and on hastily erected
                                camp beds. They arrived late at night and left after breakfast next day. One had half a
                                beard, the other side of his face had been forcibly shaved in the bar the night before.

                                your affectionate,
                                Eleanor

                                Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                                Dearest Family,

                                George is away on safari with two Indian Army officers. The money he will get for
                                his services will be very welcome because this coffee growing is a slow business, and
                                our capitol is rapidly melting away. The job of acting as White Hunter was unexpected
                                or George would not have taken on the job of hatching the ova which duly arrived from
                                South Africa.

                                George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane
                                by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It
                                came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David
                                Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to
                                the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took
                                several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking
                                them up in a glass tube.

                                When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to
                                take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry
                                have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry
                                down to feed the trout.

                                The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words
                                and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.

                                Very much love
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                                Dear Family,

                                All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and
                                Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.

                                There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called
                                for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the
                                sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in
                                progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop
                                fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an
                                enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and
                                the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified.
                                By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath
                                to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces
                                too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out
                                of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the
                                kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen
                                boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me.
                                I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major
                                Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of
                                us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for
                                Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to
                                entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.

                                George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement
                                on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered
                                from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor,
                                because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid
                                being left high and dry.

                                Lots and lots of love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933

                                Dearest Family,

                                Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good
                                deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such
                                sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair
                                and the other dark.

                                The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so
                                that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the
                                doctor had no vaccine.

                                George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby
                                Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to
                                have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.

                                We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of
                                us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the
                                gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where
                                the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very
                                tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled
                                three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the
                                Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.

                                The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble
                                with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and
                                there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.

                                George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope
                                the children will enjoy riding it later on.

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                                Dearest Family,

                                You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly
                                afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys
                                you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next
                                day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed
                                her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was
                                awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that
                                Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was
                                perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed
                                Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and
                                gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same
                                thing over again.

                                At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in
                                vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on
                                the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither
                                George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in
                                the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann.
                                That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of
                                convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the
                                next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only
                                small sips of water since the onset of the attack.

                                The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething.
                                George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle
                                bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours
                                Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now
                                up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and
                                white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie
                                behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to
                                sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all
                                subdued.

                                This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on
                                our road or the doctor might not have got through.

                                Much love to all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                                Dearest Family,

                                We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a
                                fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and
                                Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a
                                beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the
                                edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which
                                carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not
                                move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and
                                bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble
                                began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head
                                against the cot.

                                George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not
                                take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone
                                through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two
                                men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the
                                diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor
                                allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to
                                treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!

                                There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is
                                doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by
                                that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The
                                coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of
                                coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good
                                return for all his hard work.

                                Lots of love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                                Dearest Family,

                                George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well.
                                The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me
                                and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though
                                he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of
                                high powered rifles with telescopic sights.

                                It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad
                                home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return
                                George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the
                                shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a
                                car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car
                                Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However
                                can we afford one?”

                                “Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold
                                this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it
                                cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an
                                A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.

                                So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for
                                the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we
                                heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her
                                way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator.
                                Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her
                                points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most
                                comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like
                                a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and
                                she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.

                                Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road
                                on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward
                                one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George
                                carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch
                                of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally
                                under her own steam.

                                George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t
                                be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country.
                                I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for
                                Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with
                                kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re
                                definitely carriage folk now.

                                Lots of love to all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                                Dearest Family,

                                Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George
                                declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new
                                clothes.

                                Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now
                                rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of
                                a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go
                                he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of
                                Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’,
                                follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that
                                I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge
                                delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing,
                                the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.

                                The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday.
                                They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very
                                afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some
                                guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk
                                back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and
                                sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better.
                                We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up.
                                Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby
                                and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up
                                in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day
                                went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her.
                                They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car
                                had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne
                                refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and
                                tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past
                                being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the
                                feathers had rotted off.

                                The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door
                                closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.

                                I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her
                                belated Christmas dinner with relish.

                                I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able
                                to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.

                                Much love to you all,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                                Dearest Family,

                                You cannot imagine how lovely it is to have Marjorie here. She came just in time
                                because I have had pernicious vomiting and have lost a great deal of weight and she
                                took charge of the children and made me spend three days in hospital having treatment.
                                George took me to the hospital on the afternoon of New Years Eve and decided
                                to spend the night at the hotel and join in the New Years Eve celebrations. I had several
                                visitors at the hospital that evening and George actually managed to get some imported
                                grapes for me. He returned to the farm next morning and fetched me from the hospital
                                four days later. Of course the old A.C. just had to play up. About half way home the
                                back axle gave in and we had to send a passing native some miles back to a place
                                called Mbalizi to hire a lorry from a Greek trader to tow us home to the farm.
                                The children looked well and were full of beans. I think Marjorie was thankful to
                                hand them over to me. She is delighted with Ann’s motherly little ways but Georgie she
                                calls “a really wild child”. He isn’t, just has such an astonishing amount of energy and is
                                always up to mischief. Marjorie brought us all lovely presents. I am so thrilled with my
                                sewing machine. It may be an old model but it sews marvellously. We now have an
                                Alsatian pup as well as Joseph the donkey and the two cats.

                                Marjorie had a midnight encounter with Joseph which gave her quite a shock but
                                we had a good laugh about it next day. Some months ago George replaced our wattle
                                and daub outside pit lavatory by a substantial brick one, so large that Joseph is being
                                temporarily stabled in it at night. We neglected to warn Marj about this and one night,
                                storm lamp in hand, she opened the door and Joseph walked out braying his thanks.
                                I am afraid Marjorie is having a quiet time, a shame when the journey from Cape
                                Town is so expensive. The doctor has told me to rest as much as I can, so it is
                                impossible for us to take Marj on sight seeing trips.

                                I hate to think that she will be leaving in ten days time.

                                Much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                                Dearest Family,

                                You must be able to visualise our life here quite well now that Marj is back and
                                has no doubt filled in all the details I forget to mention in my letters. What a journey we
                                had in the A.C. when we took her to the plane. George, the children and I sat in front and
                                Marj sat behind with numerous four gallon tins of water for the insatiable radiator. It was
                                raining and the canvas hood was up but part of the side flaps are missing and as there is
                                no glass in the windscreen the rain blew in on us. George got fed up with constantly
                                removing the hot radiator cap so simply stuffed a bit of rag in instead. When enough
                                steam had built up in the radiator behind the rag it blew out and we started all over again.
                                The car still roars like an aeroplane engine and yet has little power so that George sent
                                gangs of boys to the steep hills between the farm and the Mission to give us a push if
                                necessary. Fortunately this time it was not, and the boys cheered us on our way. We
                                needed their help on the homeward journey however.

                                George has now bought an old Chev engine which he means to install before I
                                have to go to hospital to have my new baby. It will be quite an engineering feet as
                                George has few tools.

                                I am sorry to say that I am still not well, something to do with kidneys or bladder.
                                George bought me some pills from one of the several small shops which have opened
                                in Mbeya and Ann is most interested in the result. She said seriously to Kath Wood,
                                “Oh my Mummy is a very clever Mummy. She can do blue wee and green wee as well
                                as yellow wee.” I simply can no longer manage the children without help and have
                                engaged the cook’s wife, Janey, to help. The children are by no means thrilled. I plead in
                                vain that I am not well enough to go for walks. Ann says firmly, “Ann doesn’t want to go
                                for a walk. Ann will look after you.” Funny, though she speaks well for a three year old,
                                she never uses the first person. Georgie say he would much rather walk with
                                Keshokutwa, the kitchen boy. His name by the way, means day-after-tomorrow and it
                                suits him down to the ground, Kath Wood walks over sometimes with offers of help and Ann will gladly go walking with her but Georgie won’t. He on the other hand will walk with Anne Molteno
                                and Ann won’t. They are obstinate kids. Ann has developed a very fertile imagination.
                                She has probably been looking at too many of those nice women’s magazines you
                                sent. A few days ago she said, “You are sick Mummy, but Ann’s got another Mummy.
                                She’s not sick, and my other mummy (very smugly) has lovely golden hair”. This
                                morning’ not ten minutes after I had dressed her, she came in with her frock wet and
                                muddy. I said in exasperation, “Oh Ann, you are naughty.” To which she instantly
                                returned, “My other Mummy doesn’t think I am naughty. She thinks I am very nice.” It
                                strikes me I shall have to get better soon so that I can be gay once more and compete
                                with that phantom golden haired paragon.

                                We had a very heavy storm over the farm last week. There was heavy rain with
                                hail which stripped some of the coffee trees and the Mchewe River flooded and the
                                water swept through the lower part of the shamba. After the water had receded George
                                picked up a fine young trout which had been stranded. This was one of some he had
                                put into the river when Georgie was a few months old.

                                The trials of a coffee farmer are legion. We now have a plague of snails. They
                                ring bark the young trees and leave trails of slime on the glossy leaves. All the ring
                                barked trees will have to be cut right back and this is heartbreaking as they are bearing
                                berries for the first time. The snails are collected by native children, piled upon the
                                ground and bashed to a pulp which gives off a sickening stench. I am sorry for the local
                                Africans. Locusts ate up their maize and now they are losing their bean crop to the snails.

                                Lots of love, Eleanor

                                #6260
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  From Tanganyika with Love

                                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                  • “The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa
                                    concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and
                                    joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.

                                  These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
                                  the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
                                  kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
                                  important part of her life.

                                  Prelude
                                  Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
                                  in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
                                  made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
                                  Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
                                  in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
                                  while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to
                                  Africa.

                                  Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
                                  to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
                                  sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
                                  Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
                                  she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
                                  teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
                                  well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
                                  and told her what ship you are arriving on.”

                                  Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
                                  Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
                                  despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
                                  High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
                                  George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
                                  their home.

                                  These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
                                  George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.

                                   

                                  Dearest Marj,
                                  Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I
                                  met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in
                                  imagining!!

                                  The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our
                                  El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum
                                  scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that
                                  she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such
                                  good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she
                                  ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession.
                                  Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a
                                  millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant
                                  hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.

                                  Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as
                                  a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I
                                  need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast.
                                  Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but
                                  he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says
                                  he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t
                                  care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.

                                  He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear
                                  on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must
                                  buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes
                                  hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no
                                  time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.”
                                  George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of
                                  view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small
                                  coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which
                                  will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the
                                  pot boiling.

                                  Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose
                                  you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact
                                  that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The
                                  boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well
                                  you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of
                                  those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that
                                  African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the
                                  most gracious chores.

                                  George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good
                                  looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut
                                  very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and
                                  very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and
                                  even and he has a quiet voice.

                                  I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for
                                  yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as
                                  soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.

                                  Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time
                                  to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and
                                  apply a bit of glamour.

                                  Much love my dear,
                                  your jubilant
                                  Eleanor

                                  S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.

                                  Dearest Family,
                                  Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and
                                  could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable
                                  voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women,
                                  but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to
                                  myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I
                                  am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.

                                  I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The
                                  butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for
                                  the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.

                                  The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety
                                  served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course
                                  get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no
                                  problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his
                                  fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an
                                  ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff.
                                  Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow
                                  from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never
                                  met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect
                                  of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her
                                  husband and only child in an accident.

                                  I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay
                                  young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty,
                                  from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a
                                  grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t
                                  surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s
                                  “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight
                                  mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and
                                  stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.

                                  However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she
                                  was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the
                                  Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain
                                  told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to
                                  Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but
                                  she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop
                                  whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.

                                  The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with
                                  the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no
                                  sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he
                                  was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film
                                  Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief
                                  Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up
                                  for it in mime.

                                  I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at
                                  Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both
                                  places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee
                                  percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.

                                  At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a
                                  perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck
                                  engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is
                                  no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up.
                                  The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port
                                  Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for
                                  an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me,
                                  Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited
                                  whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very
                                  lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was
                                  temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a
                                  pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is
                                  now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or
                                  worse.

                                  I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by
                                  the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held
                                  up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days.
                                  Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was
                                  dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.

                                  Bless you all,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and
                                  Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we
                                  took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have
                                  something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked
                                  mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells
                                  me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who
                                  pursues Mrs C everywhere.

                                  The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he
                                  has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type.
                                  I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it
                                  was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he
                                  said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was
                                  a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather
                                  doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing
                                  establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no
                                  time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent
                                  leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend.
                                  Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and
                                  ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only
                                  too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed
                                  had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.

                                  The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination
                                  and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I
                                  could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could
                                  protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and
                                  filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I
                                  was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice,
                                  very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief
                                  Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.

                                  In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the
                                  Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better.
                                  At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of
                                  Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man,
                                  very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and
                                  exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She
                                  looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two
                                  other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing
                                  very much.

                                  It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the
                                  town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina
                                  trees.

                                  The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very
                                  imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a
                                  flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.

                                  The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her
                                  and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a
                                  lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she
                                  had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was
                                  jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed
                                  things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea
                                  with them.

                                  Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr
                                  Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed.
                                  We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by
                                  the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered
                                  around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny
                                  crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on
                                  to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew
                                  straight up into the rigging.

                                  The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said
                                  “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he
                                  was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those
                                  birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.

                                  Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with
                                  compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends.
                                  It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little
                                  discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird
                                  catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I
                                  was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably
                                  remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.

                                  During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name
                                  is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the
                                  name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the
                                  table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had
                                  champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage.
                                  A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an
                                  appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer

                                  I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed
                                  there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin,
                                  shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my
                                  hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched
                                  creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that
                                  heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly.
                                  “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by
                                  stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one
                                  came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George
                                  Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar
                                  es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on
                                  so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs
                                  Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This
                                  seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old
                                  lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel
                                  the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked
                                  that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals.
                                  This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given
                                  some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old
                                  lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet
                                  passenger to the wedding.

                                  This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while
                                  writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your
                                  love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty
                                  sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited
                                  that I shall not sleep.

                                  Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time.
                                  with my “bes respeks”,

                                  Eleanor Leslie.

                                  Eleanor and George Rushby:

                                  Eleanor and George Rushby

                                  Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to
                                  pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has
                                  gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an
                                  excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here.
                                  I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the
                                  mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is
                                  heavenly.

                                  We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov).
                                  The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly
                                  no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my
                                  dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on
                                  the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of
                                  the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson
                                  Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel
                                  anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had
                                  missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom
                                  prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly
                                  there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a
                                  boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on
                                  some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George.
                                  We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and
                                  looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then
                                  George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my
                                  travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the
                                  couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood
                                  was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of
                                  beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear
                                  such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky
                                  says he was not amused.

                                  Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath
                                  Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was
                                  married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of
                                  blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son
                                  of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper
                                  though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be
                                  bad tempered.

                                  Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst
                                  George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone
                                  seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through,
                                  except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble
                                  on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl.
                                  Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans
                                  offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst
                                  George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod
                                  wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to
                                  be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind.  We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined
                                  with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw
                                  stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which
                                  had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.

                                  Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours
                                  time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would
                                  be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me.
                                  I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood
                                  came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of
                                  asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock
                                  and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then
                                  she too left for the church.

                                  I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to
                                  be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said,
                                  “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a
                                  tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.”
                                  Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if
                                  the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.

                                  I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the
                                  curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African
                                  Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when
                                  the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in
                                  the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.

                                  Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and
                                  her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my
                                  friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to
                                  me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with
                                  Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality
                                  passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.

                                  In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete
                                  strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church,
                                  standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were
                                  waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted
                                  they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well
                                  because they would not have fitted in at all well.

                                  Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his
                                  large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a
                                  small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake
                                  and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’
                                  and I shall remember it for ever.

                                  The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship
                                  enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the-
                                  Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old
                                  lady was wearing a carnation.

                                  When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been
                                  moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and
                                  clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a
                                  chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet
                                  discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by
                                  Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt
                                  that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a
                                  generous tip there and then.

                                  I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts
                                  and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our
                                  wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.

                                  After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye
                                  as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very
                                  much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam
                                  are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the
                                  Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less
                                  romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant
                                  green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.

                                  There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and
                                  George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the
                                  bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the
                                  luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.

                                  We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to
                                  get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores,
                                  tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There
                                  were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.

                                  We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy
                                  letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It
                                  appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed
                                  the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham
                                  was bad.

                                  Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the
                                  other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To
                                  my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We
                                  had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a
                                  mattress.

                                  Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down
                                  on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a
                                  handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much
                                  for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.

                                  Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the
                                  room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very
                                  low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided
                                  to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I
                                  slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out
                                  of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for
                                  water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements
                                  around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was
                                  standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put
                                  George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need
                                  hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my
                                  aid like a knight of old.  Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings
                                  here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw.
                                  I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small,
                                  seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear
                                  colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy
                                  trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset.
                                  This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break
                                  was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The
                                  Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an
                                  Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.

                                  I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping
                                  expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me
                                  on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that
                                  when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the
                                  harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the
                                  description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said
                                  “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the
                                  jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel.
                                  With much love to all.

                                  Your cave woman
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced
                                  Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later.
                                  We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage
                                  and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our
                                  wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in
                                  the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the
                                  roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent
                                  looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one
                                  simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see
                                  myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.

                                  We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of
                                  the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with
                                  weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This
                                  part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo.
                                  The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with
                                  wood and not coal as in South Africa.

                                  Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to
                                  continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and
                                  whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal
                                  verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious –
                                  that there had been a party the night before.

                                  When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah,
                                  because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside
                                  the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the
                                  room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see
                                  our car before breakfast.

                                  Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That
                                  means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the
                                  one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed
                                  to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat.
                                  Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and
                                  helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases
                                  there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and
                                  water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and
                                  an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.

                                  When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between
                                  goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a
                                  mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over
                                  bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal
                                  Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all.
                                  In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy
                                  building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below
                                  the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I
                                  did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only
                                  piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears
                                  and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows
                                  and rounded roofs covered with earth.

                                  Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to
                                  look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one
                                  shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears.
                                  The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most
                                  tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country.
                                  Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept
                                  comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a
                                  small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the
                                  Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course.
                                  our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when
                                  ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot
                                  water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.

                                  When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed
                                  by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome
                                  compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic
                                  glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.

                                  After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
                                  waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
                                  walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
                                  saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
                                  and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
                                  cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
                                  innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
                                  moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
                                  my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
                                  me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
                                  Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
                                  old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
                                  after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
                                  Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
                                  baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
                                  grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
                                  started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
                                  sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
                                  rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
                                  Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
                                  picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
                                  sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
                                  pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

                                  The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
                                  of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
                                  foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
                                  as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

                                  Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
                                  This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
                                  average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
                                  he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
                                  neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
                                  this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
                                  We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
                                  is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
                                  bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
                                  long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
                                  “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
                                  stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
                                  were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
                                  good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

                                  Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
                                  soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
                                  land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
                                  hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
                                  of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
                                  safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
                                  has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
                                  coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
                                  are too small to be of use.

                                  George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
                                  There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
                                  and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
                                  shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
                                  heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
                                  black tail feathers.

                                  There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
                                  and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
                                  another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
                                  once, the bath will be cold.

                                  I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
                                  worry about me.

                                  Much love to you all,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
                                  building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of
                                  course.

                                  On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
                                  clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
                                  a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
                                  There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
                                  my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
                                  and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

                                  I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
                                  thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
                                  facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
                                  glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
                                  feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
                                  the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
                                  saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
                                  George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

                                  It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
                                  of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
                                  wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
                                  dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the
                                  sun.

                                  Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
                                  dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
                                  walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
                                  building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
                                  house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
                                  heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
                                  at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
                                  bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
                                  to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
                                  Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
                                  by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
                                  or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
                                  good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
                                  only sixpence each.

                                  I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
                                  for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
                                  comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
                                  Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
                                  Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
                                  goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
                                  office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
                                  District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
                                  only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
                                  plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
                                  because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
                                  unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
                                  saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
                                  only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
                                  miles away.

                                  Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
                                  clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
                                  gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
                                  of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
                                  though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
                                  on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
                                  they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
                                  hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
                                  weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
                                  However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
                                  they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
                                  trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
                                  hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
                                  We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
                                  present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

                                  Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
                                  his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
                                  Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
                                  George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
                                  reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
                                  peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
                                  shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
                                  glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
                                  George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
                                  He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
                                  when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
                                  my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
                                  bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
                                  trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
                                  I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
                                  phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

                                  We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
                                  to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
                                  tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
                                  was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
                                  This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
                                  by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
                                  we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

                                  Your loving
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
                                  convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
                                  experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my
                                  bounce.

                                  I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
                                  splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
                                  who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
                                  blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
                                  George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
                                  kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
                                  miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George
                                  now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you?
                                  You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but
                                  throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house
                                  women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we
                                  could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the
                                  tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They
                                  have not yet returned from the coast.

                                  George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a
                                  messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas
                                  hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly
                                  arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so
                                  the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by
                                  Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into
                                  bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not
                                  improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu
                                  about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two
                                  injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to
                                  spend a further four days in bed.

                                  We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which
                                  time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not
                                  return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very
                                  comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very
                                  quickly.

                                  The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on
                                  his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around
                                  and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front
                                  of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill.
                                  Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower
                                  garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her
                                  second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm
                                  entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria
                                  within a few weeks of her marriage.

                                  The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but
                                  seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some
                                  kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki
                                  shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the
                                  base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy.
                                  I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not
                                  seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to
                                  the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity.
                                  The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are
                                  back with our very welcome mail.

                                  Very much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC.
                                  who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to
                                  protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from
                                  poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his
                                  first elephant safari to show him the ropes.

                                  George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to
                                  leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that
                                  I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands
                                  and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.

                                  So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub
                                  house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with
                                  a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine
                                  she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through
                                  the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven
                                  children.

                                  I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the
                                  store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now
                                  owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be
                                  built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England
                                  and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about
                                  Mbeya will become quite suburban.

                                  26th December 1930

                                  George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and
                                  it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the
                                  Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a
                                  festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at
                                  Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.

                                  I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to
                                  save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the
                                  river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now
                                  thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living
                                  room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large
                                  square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the
                                  front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone
                                  Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the
                                  kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.

                                  You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some
                                  furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and
                                  chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other
                                  things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George
                                  has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon.
                                  We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet
                                  who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the
                                  house.

                                  Lots and lots of love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night
                                  and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed
                                  about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter.
                                  The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to
                                  move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that
                                  we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking
                                  pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be
                                  able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way
                                  but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a
                                  success.

                                  However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George
                                  hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from
                                  Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.

                                  Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there
                                  are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles
                                  from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a
                                  very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South
                                  African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the
                                  Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are
                                  some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road.
                                  The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is
                                  Major Jones.

                                  All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now
                                  returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are
                                  not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to
                                  connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right
                                  down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very
                                  often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all
                                  save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.

                                  The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The
                                  rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the
                                  range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun
                                  shines again.

                                  I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.

                                  Your loving,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to
                                  produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon
                                  petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen,
                                  lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put
                                  in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat
                                  piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I
                                  have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.

                                  Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard
                                  work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s
                                  chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day
                                  but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is
                                  to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns
                                  on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a
                                  chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish
                                  wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and
                                  around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen
                                  boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the
                                  corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.

                                  I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept
                                  in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct
                                  way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that
                                  may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous
                                  Memsahibs has complained.

                                  My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a
                                  good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably
                                  pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron
                                  only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there
                                  has not been a mishap.

                                  It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we
                                  have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my
                                  favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings
                                  and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes
                                  play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to
                                  me.

                                  Very much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                                  Dearest Family,

                                  It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different
                                  from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown
                                  grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.

                                  Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in
                                  the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts
                                  and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on
                                  the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour
                                  card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work
                                  and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off
                                  to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because
                                  these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or
                                  when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings
                                  to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they
                                  need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a
                                  salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the
                                  same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern
                                  Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.

                                  We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the
                                  countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He
                                  has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a
                                  perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets
                                  which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.

                                  We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our
                                  garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the
                                  natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his
                                  shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids
                                  grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look.
                                  A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie
                                  Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I
                                  wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain
                                  road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any
                                  kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I
                                  did not see him again until the following night.

                                  George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature
                                  and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his
                                  attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some
                                  places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and
                                  George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten
                                  the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially
                                  as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely
                                  and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as
                                  Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                                  Dear Family,

                                  I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George
                                  spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the
                                  house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee
                                  during the dry season.

                                  It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift
                                  surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera
                                  tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line.
                                  The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers
                                  but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them
                                  work unless he is there to supervise.

                                  I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the
                                  material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing
                                  machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an
                                  ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy
                                  affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive.
                                  Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a
                                  native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and
                                  it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced
                                  monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to
                                  watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning
                                  before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they
                                  lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.

                                  I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang
                                  around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is
                                  a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.

                                  George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had
                                  a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas
                                  arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a
                                  haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so
                                  I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however,
                                  complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas
                                  and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack
                                  and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.

                                  I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again
                                  appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the
                                  previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the
                                  rest. Ah me!

                                  The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went
                                  across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All
                                  the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about
                                  twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus
                                  men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural
                                  Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took
                                  a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the
                                  Tukuyu district.

                                  On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe.
                                  They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around
                                  their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt
                                  from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful
                                  garb I assure you.

                                  We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last
                                  war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour.
                                  There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined
                                  walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting
                                  the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major
                                  Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney.
                                  I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked
                                  and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the
                                  bedroom whilst George handled the situation.

                                  Eleanor.

                                  #6252
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    The USA Housley’s

                                    This chapter is copied from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on Historic Letters, with thanks to her brother Howard Housley for sharing it with me.  Interesting to note that Housley descendants  (on the Marshall paternal side) and Gretton descendants (on the Warren maternal side) were both living in Trenton, New Jersey at the same time.

                                    GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

                                    George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The service was performed by Attorney James Gilkyson.

                                    Doylestown

                                    In her first letter (February 1854), Anne (George’s sister in Smalley, Derbyshire) wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

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

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

                                    According to his obituary, John Eley was born at Wrightstown and “removed” to Lumberville at the age of 19. John was married first to Lucy Wilson with whom he had three sons: George Wilson (1883), Howard (1893) and Raymond (1895); and then to Elizabeth Kilmer with whom he had one son Albert Kilmer (1907). John Eley Housley died November 20, 1926 at the age of 71. For many years he had worked for John R. Johnson who owned a store. According to his son Albert, John was responsible for caring for Johnson’s horses. One named Rex was considered to be quite wild, but was docile in John’s hands. When John would take orders, he would leave the wagon at the first house and walk along the backs of the houses so that he would have access to the kitchens. When he reached the seventh house he would climb back over the fence to the road and whistle for the horses who would come to meet him. John could not attend church on Sunday mornings because he was working with the horses and occasionally Albert could convince his mother that he was needed also. According to Albert, John was regular in attendance at church on Sunday evenings.

                                    John was a member of the Carversville Lodge 261 IOOF and the Carversville Lodge Knights of Pythias. Internment was in the Carversville cemetery; not, however, in the plot owned by his father. In addition to his sons, he was survived by his second wife Elizabeth who lived to be 80 and three grandchildren: George’s sons, Kenneth Worman and Morris Wilson and Raymond’s daughter Miriam Louise. George had married Katie Worman about the time John Eley married Elizabeth Kilmer. Howard’s first wife Mary Brink and daughter Florence had died and he remarried Elsa Heed who also lived into her eighties. Raymond’s wife was Fanny Culver.

                                    Two more sons followed: Joseph Sackett, who was known as Sackett, September 12, 1856 and Edwin or Edward Rose, November 11, 1858. Joseph Sackett Housley married Anna Hubbs of Plumsteadville on January 17, 1880. They had one son Nelson DeC. who in turn had two daughters, Eleanor Mary and Ruth Anna, and lived on Bert Avenue in Trenton N.J. near St. Francis Hospital. Nelson, who was an engineer and built the first cement road in New Jersey, died at the age of 51. His daughters were both single at the time of his death. However, when his widow, the former Eva M. Edwards, died some years later, her survivors included daughters, Mrs. Herbert D. VanSciver and Mrs. James J. McCarrell and four grandchildren. One of the daughters (the younger) was quite crippled in later years and would come to visit her great-aunt Elizabeth (John’s widow) in a chauffeur driven car. Sackett died in 1929 at the age of 70. He was a member of the Warrington Lodge IOOF of Jamison PA, the Uncas tribe and the Uncas Hayloft 102 ORM of Trenton, New Jersey. The interment was in Greenwood cemetery where he had been caretaker since his retirement from one of the oldest manufacturing plants in Trenton (made milk separators for one thing). Sackett also was the caretaker for two other cemeteries one located near the Clinton Street station and the other called Riverside.

                                    Ed’s wife was named Lydia. They had two daughters, Mary and Margaret and a third child who died in infancy. Mary had seven children–one was named for his grandfather–and settled in lower Bucks county. Margaret never married. She worked for Woolworths in Flemington, N. J. and then was made manager in Somerville, N.J., where she lived until her death. Ed survived both of his brothers, and at the time of Sackett’s death was living in Flemington, New Jersey where he had worked as a grocery clerk.

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

                                    In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….” The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.

                                    On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

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

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

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

                                    Another matter which George took care of during the years the estate was being settled was the purchase of a cemetery plot! On March 24, 1873, George purchased plot 67 section 19 division 2 in the Carversville (Bucks County PA) Cemetery (incorporated 1859). The plot cost $15.00, and was located at the very edge of the cemetery. It was in this cemetery, in 1991, while attending the funeral of Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, that sixteen month old Laura Ann visited the graves of her great-great-great grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley.

                                    George died on August 13, 1877 and was buried three days later. The text for the funeral sermon was Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”

                                    #6248
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      Bakewell Not Eyam

                                      The Elton Marshalls

                                      Some years ago I read a book about Eyam, the Derbyshire village devastated by the plague in 1665, and about how the villagers quarantined themselves to prevent further spread. It was quite a story. Each year on ‘Plague Sunday’, at the end of August, residents of Eyam mark the bubonic plague epidemic that devastated their small rural community in the years 1665–6. They wear the traditional costume of the day and attend a memorial service to remember how half the village sacrificed themselves to avoid spreading the disease further.

                                      My 4X great grandfather James Marshall married Ann Newton in 1792 in Elton. On a number of other people’s trees on an online ancestry site, Ann Newton was from Eyam.  Wouldn’t that have been interesting, to find ancestors from Eyam, perhaps going back to the days of the plague. Perhaps that is what the people who put Ann Newton’s birthplace as Eyam thought, without a proper look at the records.

                                      But I didn’t think Ann Newton was from Eyam. I found she was from Over Haddon, near Bakewell ~ much closer to Elton than Eyam. On the marriage register, it says that James was from Elton parish, and she was from Darley parish. Her birth in 1770 says Bakewell, which was the registration district for the villages of Over Haddon and Darley. Her parents were George Newton and Dorothy Wipperley of Over Haddon,which is incidentally very near to Nether Haddon, and Haddon Hall. I visited Haddon Hall many years ago, as well as Chatsworth (and much preferred Haddon Hall).

                                      I looked in the Eyam registers for Ann Newton, and found a couple of them around the time frame, but the men they married were not James Marshall.

                                      Ann died in 1806 in Elton (a small village just outside Matlock) at the age of 36 within days of her newborn twins, Ann and James.  James and Ann had two sets of twins.  John and Mary were twins as well, but Mary died in 1799 at the age of three.

                                      1796 baptism of twins John and Mary of James and Ann Marshall

                                      Marshall baptism

                                       

                                      Ann’s husband James died 42 years later at the age of eighty,  in Elton in 1848. It was noted in the parish register that he was for years parish clerk.

                                      James Marshall

                                       

                                      On the 1851 census John Marshall born in 1796, the son of James Marshall the parish clerk, was a lead miner occupying six acres in Elton, Derbyshire.

                                      His son, also John, was registered on the census as a lead miner at just eight years old.

                                       

                                      The mining of lead was the most important industry in the Peak district of Derbyshire from Roman times until the 19th century – with only agriculture being more important for the livelihood of local people. The height of lead mining in Derbyshire came in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the evidence is still visible today – most obviously in the form of lines of hillocks from the more than 25,000 mineshafts which once existed.

                                      Peak District Mines Historical Society

                                      Smelting, or extracting the lead from the ore by melting it, was carried out in a small open hearth. Lead was cast in layers as each batch of ore was smelted; the blocks of lead thus produced were referred to as “pigs”. Examples of early smelting-hearths found within the county were stone lined, with one side open facing the prevailing wind to create the draught needed. The hilltops of the Matlocks would have provided very suitable conditions.

                                      The miner used a tool called a mattock or a pick, and hammers and iron wedges in harder veins, to loosen the ore. They threw the ore onto ridges on each side of the vein, going deeper where the ore proved richer.

                                      Many mines were very shallow and, once opened, proved too poor to develop. Benjamin Bryan cited the example of “Ember Hill, on the shoulder of Masson, above Matlock Bath” where there are hollows in the surface showing where there had been fruitless searches for lead.

                                      There were small buildings, called “coes”, near each mine shaft which were used for tool storage, to provide shelter and as places for changing into working clothes. It was here that the lead was smelted and stored until ready for sale.

                                      Lead is, of course, very poisonous. As miners washed lead-bearing material, great care was taken with the washing vats, which had to be covered. If cattle accidentally drank the poisoned water they would die from something called “belland”.

                                      Cornish and Welsh miners introduced the practice of buddling for ore into Derbyshire about 1747.  Buddling involved washing the heaps of rubbish in the slag heaps,  the process of separating the very small particles from the dirt and spar with which they are mixed, by means of a small stream of water. This method of extraction was a major pollutant, affecting farmers and their animals (poisoned by Belland from drinking the waste water), the brooks and streams and even the River Derwent.

                                      Women also worked in the mines. An unattributed account from 1829, says: “The head is much enwrapped, and the features nearly hidden in a muffling of handkerchiefs, over which is put a man’s hat, in the manner of the paysannes of Wales”. He also describes their gowns, usually red, as being “tucked up round the waist in a sort of bag, and set off by a bright green petticoat”. They also wore a man’s grey or dark blue coat and shoes with 3″ thick soles that were tied round with cords. The 1829 writer called them “complete harridans!”

                                      Lead Mining in Matlock & Matlock Bath, The Andrews Pages

                                      John’s wife Margaret died at the age of 42 in 1847.  I don’t know the cause of death, but perhaps it was lead poisoning.  John’s son John, despite a very early start in the lead mine, became a carter and lived to the ripe old age of 88.

                                      The Pig of Lead pub, 1904:

                                      The Pig of Lead 1904

                                       

                                      The earliest Marshall I’ve found so far is Charles, born in 1742. Charles married Rebecca Knowles, 1775-1823.  I don’t know what his occupation was but when he died in 1819 he left a not inconsiderable sum to his wife.

                                      1819 Charles Marshall probate:

                                      Charles Marshall Probate

                                       

                                       

                                      There are still Marshall’s living in Elton and Matlock, not our immediate known family, but probably distantly related.  I asked a Matlock group on facebook:

                                      “…there are Marshall’s still in the village. There are certainly families who live here who have done generation after generation & have many memories & stories to tell. Visit The Duke on a Friday night…”

                                      The Duke, Elton:

                                      Duke Elton

                                      #6246
                                      TracyTracy
                                      Participant

                                        Florence Nightingale Gretton

                                        1881-1927

                                        Florence’s father was Richard Gretton, a baker in Swadlincote, Derbyshire. When Richard married Sarah Orgill in 1861, they lived with her mother, a widow, in Measham, Ashby de la Zouch in Leicestershire. On the 1861 census Sarah’s mother, Elizabeth, is a farmer of two acres.

                                        (Swadlincote and Ashby de la Zouch are on the Derbyshire Leicestershire border and not far from each other. Swadlincote is near to Burton upon Trent which is sometimes in Staffordshire, sometimes in Derbyshire. Newhall, Church Gresley, and Swadlincote are all very close to each other or districts in the same town.)

                                        Ten years later in 1871 Richard and Sarah have their own place in Swadlincote, he is a baker, and they have four children. A fourteen year old apprentice or servant is living with them.

                                        In the Ashby-de-la-Zouch Gazette on 28 February 1880, it was reported that Richard Gretton, baker, of Swadlincote, was charged by Captain Bandys with carrying bread in a cart for sale, the said cart not being provided with scales and weights, according to the requirements of the Act, on the 17th January last.—Defendant pleaded guilty, but urged in extenuation of the offence that in the hurry he had forgotten to put the scales in the cart before his son started.—The Bench took this view of the case, regarding it as an oversight, and fined him one shilling only and costs.  This was not his only offence.

                                        In 1883, he was fined twenty shillings, and ten shillings and sixpence costs.

                                        Richard Gretton

                                        By 1881 they have 4 more children, and Florence Nightingale is the youngest at four months. Richard is 48 by now, and Sarah is 44. Florence’s older brother William is a blacksmith.

                                        Interestingly on the same census page, two doors down Thomas and Selina Warren live at the Stanhope Arms.  Richards son John Gretton lives at the pub, a 13 year old servant. Incidentally, I noticed on Thomas and Selena’s marriage register that Richard and Sarah Gretton were the witnesses at the wedding.

                                        Ten years later in 1891, Florence Nightingale and her sister Clara are living with Selina Warren, widow, retired innkeeper, one door down from the Stanhope Arms. Florence is ten, Clara twelve and they are scholars.
                                        Richard and Sarah are still living three doors up on the other side of the Stanhope Arms, with three of their sons. But the two girls lived up the road with the Warren widow!

                                        The Stanhope Arms, Swadlincote: it’s possible that the shop with the awning was Richard Gretton’s bakers shop (although not at the time of this later photo).

                                        Stanhope Arms

                                         

                                        Richard died in 1898, a year before Florence married Samuel Warren.

                                        Sarah is a widowed 60 year old baker on the 1901 census. Her son 26 year old son Alf, also a baker,  lives at the same address, as does her 22 year old daughter Clara who is a district nurse.

                                        Clara Gretton and family, photo found online:

                                        Clara Gretton

                                         

                                        In 1901 Florence Nightingale (who we don’t have a photograph of!) is now married and is Florrie Warren on the census, and she, her husband Samuel, and their one year old daughter Hildred are visitors at the address of  Elizabeth (Staley)Warren, 60 year old widow and Samuel’s mother, and Samuel’s 36 year old brother William. Samuel and William are engineers.

                                        Samuel and Florrie had ten children between 1900 and 1925 (and all but two of them used their middle name and not first name: my mother and I had no idea until I found all the records.  My grandmother Florence Noreen was known as Nora, which we knew of course, uncle Jack was actually Douglas John, and so on).

                                        Hildred, Clara, Billy, and Nora were born in Swadlincote. Sometime between my grandmother’s birth in 1907 and Kay’s birth in 1911, the family moved to Oldswinford, in Stourbridge. Later they moved to Market Street.

                                        1911 census, Oldswinford, Stourbridge:

                                        Oldswinford 1911

                                         

                                        Oddly, nobody knew when Florrie Warren died. My mothers cousin Ian Warren researched the Warren family some years ago, while my grandmother was still alive. She contributed family stories and information, but couldn’t remember if her mother died in 1929 or 1927.  A recent search of records confirmed that it was the 12th November 1927.

                                        She was 46 years old. We were curious to know how she died, so my mother ordered a paper copy of her death certificate. It said she died at 31 Market Street, Stourbridge at the age of 47. Clara May Warren, her daughter, was in attendance. Her husband Samuel Warren was a motor mechanic. The Post mortem was by Percival Evans, coroner for Worcestershire, who clarified the cause of death as vascular disease of the heart. There was no inquest. The death was registered on 15 Nov 1927.

                                        I looked for a photo of 31 Market Street in Stourbridge, and was astonished to see that it was the house next door to one I lived in breifly in the 1980s.  We didn’t know that the Warren’s lived in Market Street until we started searching the records.

                                        Market Street, Stourbridge. I lived in the one on the corner on the far right, my great grandmother died in the one next door.

                                        Market Street

                                         

                                        I found some hitherto unknown emigrants in the family. Florence Nightingale Grettons eldest brother William 1861-1940 stayed in Swadlincote. John Orgill Gretton born in 1868 moved to Trenton New Jersey USA in 1888, married in 1892 and died in 1949 in USA. Michael Thomas born in 1870 married in New York in 1893 and died in Trenton in 1940. Alfred born 1875 stayed in Swadlincote. Charles Herbert born 1876 married locally and then moved to Australia in 1912, and died in Victoria in 1954. Clara Elizabeth was a district nurse, married locally and died at the age of 99.

                                        #6243
                                        TracyTracy
                                        Participant

                                          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

                                          #6240
                                          TracyTracy
                                          Participant

                                            Phyllis Ellen Marshall

                                            1909 – 1983

                                            Phyllis Marshall

                                             

                                            Phyllis, my grandfather George Marshall’s sister, never married. She lived in her parents home in Love Lane, and spent decades of her later life bedridden, living alone and crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. She had her bed in the front downstairs room, and had cords hanging by her bed to open the curtains, turn on the tv and so on, and she had carers and meals on wheels visit her daily. The room was dark and grim, but Phyllis was always smiling and cheerful.  Phyllis loved the Degas ballerinas and had a couple of prints on the walls.

                                            I remember visiting her, but it has only recently registered that this was my great grandparents house. When I was a child, we visited her and she indicated a tin on a chest of drawers and said I could take a biscuit. It was a lemon puff, and was the stalest biscuit I’d ever had. To be polite I ate it. Then she offered me another one! I declined, but she thought I was being polite and said “Go on! You can have another!” I ate another one, and have never eaten a lemon puff since that day.

                                            Phyllis’s nephew Bryan Marshall used to visit her regularly. I didn’t realize how close they were until recently, when I resumed contact with Bryan, who emigrated to USA in the 1970s following a successful application for a job selling stained glass windows and church furnishings.

                                            I asked on a Stourbridge facebook group if anyone remembered her.

                                            AF  Yes I remember her. My friend and I used to go up from Longlands school every Friday afternoon to do jobs for her. I remember she had a record player and we used to put her 45rpm record on Send in the Clowns for her. Such a lovely lady. She had her bed in the front room.

                                            KW I remember very clearly a lady in a small house in Love Lane with alley at the left hand.  I was intrigued by this lady who used to sit with the front door open and she was in a large chair of some sort. I used to see people going in and out and the lady was smiling. I was young then (31) and wondered how she coped but my sense was she had lots of help.  I’ve never forgotten that lady in Love Lane sitting in the open door way I suppose when it was warm enough.

                                            LR I used to deliver meals on wheels to her lovely lady.

                                            I sent Bryan the comments from the Stourbridge group and he replied:

                                            Thanks Tracy. I don’t recognize the names here but lovely to see such kind comments.
                                            In the early 70’s neighbors on Corser Street, Mr. & Mrs. Walter Braithwaite would pop around with occasional visits and meals. Walter was my piano teacher for awhile when I was in my early twenties. He was a well known music teacher at Rudolph Steiner School (former Elmfield School) on Love Lane. A very fine school. I seem to recall seeing a good article on Walter recently…perhaps on the Stourbridge News website. He was very well known.
                                            I’m ruminating about life with my Aunt Phyllis. We were very close. Our extra special time was every Saturday at 5pm (I seem to recall) we’d watch Doctor Who. Right from the first episode. We loved it. Likewise I’d do the children’s crossword out of Woman’s Realm magazine…always looking to win a camera but never did ! She opened my mind to the Bible, music and ballet. She once got tickets and had a taxi take us into Birmingham to see the Bolshoi Ballet…at a time when they rarely left their country. It was a very big deal in the early 60’s. ! I’ve many fond memories about her and grandad which I’ll share in due course. I’d change the steel needle on the old record player, following each play of the 78rpm records…oh my…another world.

                                            Bryan continues reminiscing about Phyllis in further correspondence:

                                            Yes, I can recall those two Degas prints. I don’t know much of Phyllis’ early history other than she was a hairdresser in Birmingham. I want to say at John Lewis, for some reason (so there must have been a connection and being such a large store I bet they did have a salon?)
                                            You will know that she had severe and debilitating rheumatoid arthritis that eventually gnarled her hands and moved through her body. I remember strapping on her leg/foot braces and hearing her writhe in pain as I did so but she wanted to continue walking standing/ getting up as long as she could. I’d take her out in the wheelchair and I can’t believe I say it along …but down Stanley Road!! (I had subsequent nightmares about what could have happened to her, had I tripped or let go!) She loved Mary Stevens Park, the swans, ducks and of course Canadian geese. Was grateful for everything in creation. As I used to go over Hanbury Hill on my visit to Love Lane, she would always remind me to smell the “sea-air” as I crested the hill.
                                            In the earlier days she smoked cigarettes with one of those long filters…looking like someone from the twenties.

                                            I’ll check on “Send in the clowns”. I do recall that music. I remember also she loved to hear Neil Diamond. Her favorites in classical music gave me an appreciation of Elgar and Delius especially. She also loved ballet music such as Swan Lake and Nutcracker. Scheherazade and La Boutique Fantastic also other gems.
                                            When grandad died she and aunt Dorothy shared more about grandma (who died I believe when John and I were nine-months old…therefore early 1951). Grandma (Mary Ann Gilman Purdy) played the piano and loved Strauss and Offenbach. The piano in the picture you sent had a bad (wonky) leg which would fall off and when we had the piano at 4, Mount Road it was rather dangerous. In any event my parents didn’t want me or others “banging on it” for fear of waking the younger brothers so it disappeared at sometime.
                                            By the way, the dog, Flossy was always so rambunctious (of course, she was a JRT!) she was put on the stairway which fortunately had a door on it. Having said that I’ve always loved dogs so was very excited to see her and disappointed when she was not around. 

                                            Phyllis with her parents William and Mary Marshall, and Flossie the dog in the garden at Love Lane:

                                            Phyllis William and Mary Marshall

                                             

                                            Bryan continues:

                                            I’ll always remember the early days with the outside toilet with the overhead cistern caked in active BIG spider webs. I used to have to light a candle to go outside, shielding the flame until destination. In that space I’d set the candle down and watch the eery shadows move from side to side whilst…well anyway! Then I’d run like hell back into the house. Eventually the kitchen wall was broken through so it became an indoor loo. Phew!
                                            In the early days the house was rented for ten-shillings a week…I know because I used to take over a ten-bob-note to a grumpy lady next door who used to sign the receipt in the rent book. Then, I think she died and it became available for $600.00 yes…the whole house for $600.00 but it wasn’t purchased then. Eventually aunt Phyllis purchased it some years later…perhaps when grandad died.

                                            I used to work much in the back garden which was a lovely walled garden with arch-type decorations in the brickwork and semicircular shaped capping bricks. The abundant apple tree. Raspberry and loganberry canes. A gooseberry bush and huge Victoria plum tree on the wall at the bottom of the garden which became a wonderful attraction for wasps! (grandad called the “whasps”). He would stew apples and fruit daily.
                                            Do you remember their black and white cat Twinky? Always sat on the pink-screen TV and when she died they were convinced that “that’s wot got ‘er”. Grandad of course loved all his cats and as he aged, he named them all “Billy”.

                                            Have you come across the name “Featherstone” in grandma’s name. I don’t recall any details but Dorothy used to recall this. She did much searching of the family history Such a pity she didn’t hand anything on to anyone. She also said that we had a member of the family who worked with James Watt….but likewise I don’t have details.
                                            Gifts of chocolates to Phyllis were regular and I became the recipient of the overflow!

                                            What a pity Dorothy’s family history research has disappeared!  I have found the Featherstone’s, and the Purdy who worked with James Watt, but I wonder what else Dorothy knew.

                                            I mentioned DH Lawrence to Bryan, and the connection to Eastwood, where Bryan’s grandma (and Phyllis’s mother) Mary Ann Gilman Purdy was born, and shared with him the story about Francis Purdy, the Primitive Methodist minister, and about Francis’s son William who invented the miners lamp.

                                            He replied:

                                            As a nosy young man I was looking through the family bookcase in Love Lane and came across a brown paper covered book. Intrigued, I found “Sons and Lovers” D.H. Lawrence. I knew it was a taboo book (in those days) as I was growing up but now I see the deeper connection. Of course! I know that Phyllis had I think an earlier boyfriend by the name of Maurice who lived in Perry Barr, Birmingham. I think he later married but was always kind enough to send her a book and fond message each birthday (Feb.12). I guess you know grandad’s birthday – July 28. We’d always celebrate those days. I’d usually be the one to go into Oldswinford and get him a cardigan or pullover and later on, his 2oz tins of St. Bruno tobacco for his pipe (I recall the room filled with smoke as he puffed away).
                                            Dorothy and Phyllis always spoke of their ancestor’s vocation as a Minister. So glad to have this history! Wow, what a story too. The Lord rescued him from mischief indeed. Just goes to show how God can change hearts…one at a time.
                                            So interesting to hear about the Miner’s Lamp. My vicar whilst growing up at St. John’s in Stourbridge was from Durham and each Harvest Festival, there would be a miner’s lamp placed upon the altar as a symbol of the colliery and the bountiful harvest.

                                            More recollections from Bryan about the house and garden at Love Lane:

                                            I always recall tea around the three legged oak table bedecked with a colorful seersucker cloth. Battenburg cake. Jam Roll. Rich Tea and Digestive biscuits. Mr. Kipling’s exceedingly good cakes! Home-made jam.  Loose tea from the Coronation tin cannister. The ancient mangle outside the back door and the galvanized steel wash tub with hand-operated agitator on the underside of the lid. The hand operated water pump ‘though modernisation allowed for a cold tap only inside, above the single sink and wooden draining board. A small gas stove and very little room for food preparation. Amazing how the Marshalls (×7) managed in this space!

                                            The small window over the sink in the kitchen brought in little light since the neighbor built on a bathroom annex at the back of their house, leaving #47 with limited light, much to to upset of grandad and Phyllis. I do recall it being a gloomy place..i.e.the kitchen and back room.

                                            The garden was lovely. Long and narrow with privet hedge dividing the properties on the right and the lovely wall on the left. Dorothy planted spectacular lilac bushes against the wall. Vivid blues, purples and whites. Double-flora. Amazing…and with stunning fragrance. Grandad loved older victorian type plants such as foxgloves and comfrey. Forget-me-nots and marigolds (calendulas) in abundance.  Rhubarb stalks. Always plantings of lettuce and other vegetables. Lots of mint too! A large varigated laurel bush outside the front door!

                                            Such a pleasant walk through the past. 

                                            An autograph book belonging to Phyllis from the 1920s has survived in which each friend painted a little picture, drew a cartoon, or wrote a verse.  This entry is perhaps my favourite:

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