Search Results for 'james'

Forums Search Search Results for 'james'

Viewing 20 results - 1 through 20 (of 32 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #7281
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      The 1935 Joseph Gerrard Challenge.

      While researching the Gerrard family of Ellastone I chanced upon a 1935 newspaper article in the Ashbourne Register. There were two articles in 1935 in this paper about the Gerrards, the second a follow up to the first. An advertisement was also placed offering a £1 reward to anyone who could find Joseph Gerrard’s baptism record.

      Ashbourne Telegraph – Friday 05 April 1935:

      1935 Ashbourne Register

       

       

      The author wanted to prove that the Joseph Gerrard “who was engaged in the library of King George the third from about 1775 to 1795, and whose death was recorded in the European Magazine in November 1799” was the son of John Gerrard of Ellastone Mills, Staffordshire. Included in the first article was a selected transcription of the 1796 will of John Gerrard. John’s son Joseph is mentioned in this will: John leaves him “£20 to buy a suit of mourning if he thinks proper.”

       

       

       

      This Joseph Gerrard however, born in 1739, died in 1815 at Brailsford. Joseph’s brother John also died at Brailsford Mill, and both of their ages at death give a birth year of 1739. Maybe they were twins. William Gerrard and Joseph Gerrard of Brailsford Mill are mentioned in a 1811 newspaper article in the Derby Mercury.

      I decided that there was nothing susbtantial about this claim, until I read the 1724 will of John Gerrard the elder, the father of John who died in 1796. In his will he leaves £100 to his son Joseph Gerrard, “secretary to the Bishop of Oxford”.

      Perhaps there was something to this story after all. Joseph, baptised in 1701 in Ellastone, was the son of John Gerrard the elder.

      I found Joseph Gerrard (and his son James Gerrard) mentioned in the Alumni Oxonienses: The Members of the University of Oxford, University of Oxford, ‎Joseph Foster, 1888. “Joseph Gerard son of John of Elleston county Stafford, pleb, Oriel Coll, matric, 30th May 1718, age 18, BA. 9th March 1721-2; of Merton Coll MA 1728.”

      In The Works of John Wesley 1735-1738, Joseph Gerrad is mentioned: “Joseph Gerard , matriculated at Oriel College 1718 , aged 18 , ordained 1727 to serve as curate of Cuddesdon , becoming rector of St. Martin’s , Oxford in 1729 , and vicar of Banbury in 1734.”

      In The History of Banbury Alfred Beesley 1842 “a visitation of smallpox occured at Banbury (Oxfordshire) in 1731 and continued until 1733.” Joseph Gerrard was the vicar of Banbury in 1734.

      According to the The History and Antiquities of the County of Buckingham George Lipscomb · 1847, Joseph Gerrard was made rector of Monks Risborough in 1738 “but he also continued to hold Stewkley until his death”.

      The Speculum of Archbishop Thomas Secker by Secker, Thomas, 1693-1768, also mentions Joseph Gerrard under Monks Risborough and adds that he “resides constantly in the Parsonage ho. except when he goes for a few days to Steukley county Bucks (Buckinghamshire)  of which he is vicar.”  Joseph’s son James Gerrard 1741-1789 is also mentioned as being a rector at Monks Risborough in 1783.

      Joseph Gerrard married Elizabeth Reynolds on 23 July 1739 in Monks Risborough, Buckinghamshire. They had five children between 1740 and 1750, including James baptised 1740 and Joseph baptised 1742.

      Joseph died in 1785 in Monks Risborough.

      So who was Joseph Gerrard of the Kings Library who died in 1799? It wasn’t Joseph’s son Joseph baptised in 1742 in Monks Risborough, because in his father’s 1785 will he mentions “my only son James”, indicating that Joseph died before that date.

      #7278
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Tomlinson of Wergs and Hancox of Penn

         

        John Tomlinson of Wergs (Tettenhall, Wolverhamton) 1766-1844, my 4X great grandfather, married Sarah Hancox 1772-1851. They were married on the 27th May 1793 by licence at St Peter in Wolverhampton.
        Between 1794 and 1819 they had twelve children, although four of them died in childhood or infancy. Catherine was born in 1794, Thomas in 1795 who died 6 years later, William (my 3x great grandfather) in 1797, Jemima in 1800, John, Richard and Matilda between 1802 and 1806 who all died in childhood, Emma in 1809, Mary Ann in 1811, Sidney in 1814, and Elijah in 1817 who died two years later.

        On the 1841 census John and Sarah were living in Hockley in Birmingham, with three of their children, and surgeon Charles Reynolds. John’s occupation was “Ind” meaning living by independent means. He was living in Hockley when he died in 1844, and in his will he was John Tomlinson, gentleman”.

        Sarah Hancox was born in 1772 in Penn, Wolverhampton. Her father William Hancox was also born in Penn in 1737. Sarah’s mother Elizabeth Parkes married William’s brother Francis in 1767. Francis died in 1768, and in 1770 Elizabeth married William.

        William’s father was William Hancox, yeoman, born in 1703 in Penn. He died intestate in 1772, his wife Sarah claiming her right to his estate. William Hancox and Sarah Evans, both of Penn, were married on the 9th December 1732 in Dudley, Worcestershire, by “certificate”. Marriages were usually either by banns or by licence. Apparently a marriage by certificate indicates that they were non conformists, or dissenters, and had the non conformist marriage “certified” in a Church of England church.

        1732 marriage of William Hancox and Sarah Evans:

        William Hancos Sarahh Evans marriage

         

        William and Sarah lost two daughters, Elizabeth, five years old, and Ann, three years old, within eight days of each other in February 1738.

         

        William the elder’s father was John Hancox born in Penn in 1668. He married Elizabeth Wilkes from Sedgley in 1691 at Himley. John Hancox, “of Straw Hall” according to the Wolverhampton burial register, died in 1730. Straw Hall is in Penn. John’s parents were Walter Hancox and Mary Noake. Walter was born in Tettenhall in 1625, his father Richard Hancox. Mary Noake was born in Penn in 1634. Walter died in Penn in 1689.

        Straw Hall thanks to Bradney Mitchell:
        “Here is a picture I have of Straw Hall, Penn Road.
        The painting is by John Reid circa 1878.
        Sketch commissioned by George Bradney Mitchell to record the town as it was before its redevelopment, in a book called Wolverhampton and its Environs. ©”

        Straw Hall, Wolverhampton

         

        And a photo of the demolition of Straw Hall with an interesting story:

        Straw Hall demolition

         

        In 1757 a child was abandoned on the porch of Straw Hall.  Aris’s Birmingham Gazette 1st August 1757:

        Straw Hall baby

         

        The Hancox family were living in Penn for at least 400 years. My great grandfather Charles Tomlinson built a house on Penn Common in the early 1900s, and other Tomlinson relatives have lived there. But none of the family knew of the Hancox connection to Penn. I don’t think that anyone imagined a Tomlinson ancestor would have been a gentleman, either.

         

        Sarah Hancox’s brother William Hancox 1776-1848 had a busy year in 1804.
        On 29 Aug 1804 he applied for a licence to marry Ann Grovenor of Claverley.
        In August 1804 he had property up for auction in Penn. “part of Lightwoods, 3 plots, and the Coppice”
        On 14 Sept 1804 their first son John was baptised in Penn. According to a later census John was born in Claverley.  (before the parents got married)

        (Incidentally, John Hancox’s descendant married a Warren, who is a descendant of my 4x great grandfather Samuel Warren, on my mothers side,  from Newhall, Derbyshire!)

        On 30 Sept he married Ann in Penn.
        In December he was a bankrupt pig and sheep dealer.
        In July 1805 he’s in the papers under “certificates”: William Hancox the younger, sheep and pig dealer and chapman of Penn. (A certificate was issued after a bankruptcy if they fulfilled their obligations)
        He was a pig dealer in Penn in 1841, a widower, living with unmarried daughter Elizabeth.

         

        Sarah’s father William Hancox died in 1816. In his will, he left his “daughter Sarah, wife of John Tomlinson of the Wergs the sum of £100 secured to me upon the tolls arising from the turnpike road leading from Wombourne to Sedgeley to and for her sole and separate use”.
        The trustees of toll road would decide not to collect tolls themselves but get someone else to do it by selling the collecting of tolls for a fixed price. This was called “farming the tolls”. The Act of Parliament which set up the trust would authorise the trustees to farm out the tolls. This example is different. The Trustees of turnpikes needed to raise money to carry out work on the highway. The usual way they did this was to mortgage the tolls – they borrowed money from someone and paid the borrower interest; as security they gave the borrower the right, if they were not paid, to take over the collection of tolls and keep the proceeds until they had been paid off. In this case William Hancox has lent £100 to the turnpike and is leaving it (the right to interest and/or have the whole sum repaid) to his daughter Sarah Tomlinson. (this information on tolls from the Wolverhampton family history group.)

        William Hancox, Penn Wood, maltster, left a considerable amount of property to his children in 1816. All household effects he left to his wife Elizabeth, and after her decease to his son Richard Hancox: four dwelling houses in John St, Wolverhampton, in the occupation of various Pratts, Wright and William Clarke. He left £200 to his daughter Frances Gordon wife of James Gordon, and £100 to his daughter Ann Pratt widow of John Pratt. To his son William Hancox, all his various properties in Penn wood. To Elizabeth Tay wife of Thomas Tay he left £200, and to Richard Hancox various other properties in Penn Wood, and to his daughter Lucy Tay wife of Josiah Tay more property in Lower Penn. All his shops in St John Wolverhamton to his son Edward Hancox, and more properties in Lower Penn to both Francis Hancox and Edward Hancox. To his daughter Ellen York £200, and property in Montgomery and Bilston to his son John Hancox. Sons Francis and Edward were underage at the time of the will.  And to his daughter Sarah, his interest in the toll mentioned above.

        Sarah Tomlinson, wife of John Tomlinson of the Wergs, in William Hancox will:

        William Hancox will, Sarah Tomlinson

        #7267
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Thomas Josiah Tay

          22 Feb 1816 – 16 November 1878

           

          “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.”

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1878

           

          I first came across the name TAY in the 1844 will of John Tomlinson (1766-1844), gentleman of Wergs, Tettenhall. John’s friends, trustees and executors were Edward Moore, surgeon of Halesowen, and Edward Tay, timber merchant of Wolverhampton.

           

          1844 will John Tomlinson

           

          Edward Moore (born in 1805) was the son of John’s wife’s (Sarah Hancox born 1772) sister Lucy Hancox (born 1780) from her first marriage in 1801. In 1810 widowed Lucy married Josiah Tay (1775-1837).

          Edward Tay was the son of Sarah Hancox sister Elizabeth (born 1778), who married Thomas Tay in 1800. Thomas Tay (1770-1841) and Josiah Tay were brothers.

          Edward Tay (1803-1862) was born in Sedgley and was buried in Penn. He was innkeeper of The Fighting Cocks, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, as well as a builder and timber merchant, according to various censuses, trade directories, his marriage registration where his father Thomas Tay is also a timber merchant, as well as being named as a timber merchant in John Tomlinsons will.

          John Tomlinson’s daughter Catherine (born in 1794) married Benjamin Smith in Tettenhall in 1822. William Tomlinson (1797-1867), Catherine’s brother, and my 3x great grandfather, was one of the witnesses.

          1822 William Tomlinson witness

           

          Their daughter Matilda Sarah Smith (1823-1910) married Thomas Josiah Tay in 1850 in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah Tay (1816-1878) was Edward Tay’s brother, the sons of Elizabeth Hancox and Thomas Tay.

          Therefore, William Hancox 1737-1816 (the father of Sarah, Elizabeth and Lucy), was Matilda’s great grandfather and Thomas Josiah Tay’s grandfather.

           

          Thomas Josiah Tay’s relationship to me is the husband of first cousin four times removed, as well as my first cousin, five times removed.

           

          In 1837 Thomas Josiah Tay is mentioned in the will of his uncle Josiah Tay.

          1837 will Josiah Tay

           

          In 1841 Thomas Josiah Tay appears on the Stafford criminal registers for an “attempt to procure miscarriage”. He was found not guilty.

          According to the Staffordshire Advertiser on 14th March 1840 the listing for the Assizes included: “Thomas Ashmall and Thomas Josiah Tay, for administering noxious ingredients to Hannah Evans, of Wolverhampton, with intent to procure abortion.”

          The London Morning Herald on 19th March 1840 provides further information: “Mr Thomas Josiah Tay, a chemist and druggist, surrendered to take his trial on a charge of having administered drugs to Hannah Lear, now Hannah Evans, with intent to procure abortion.” She entered the service of Tay in 1837 and after four months “an intimacy was formed” and two months later she was “enciente”. Tay advised her to take some pills and a draught which he gave her and she became very ill. The prosecutrix admitted that she had made no mention of this until 1939. Verdict: not guilty.

          However, the case of Thomas Josiah Tay is also mentioned in a couple of law books, and the story varies slightly. In the 1841 Reports of Cases Argued and Rules at Nisi Prius, the Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case states that Thomas Ashmall feloniously, unlawfully, and maliciously, did use a certain instrument, and that Thomas Josiah Tay did procure the instrument, counsel and command Ashmall in the use of it. It concludes that Tay was not compellable to plead to the indictment, and that he did not.

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 2

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 3

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 4

           

          The Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case is also mentioned in the Encyclopedia of Forms and Precedents, 1896.

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 5

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 6

           

          In 1845 Thomas Josiah Tay married Isabella Southwick in Tettenhall. Two years later in 1847 Isabella died.

          In 1850 Thomas Josiah married Matilda Sarah Smith. (granddaughter of John Tomlinson, as mentioned above)

          On the 1851 census Thomas Josiah Tay was a farmer of 100 acres employing two labourers in Shelfield, Walsall, Staffordshire. Thomas Josiah and Matilda Sarah have a daughter Matilda under a year old, and they have a live in house servant.

          In 1861 Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife and their four children Ann, James, Josiah and Alice, live in Chelmarsh, Shropshire. He was a farmer of 224 acres. Mercy Smith, Matilda’s sister, lives with them, a 28 year old dairy maid.

          In 1863 Thomas Josiah Tay of Hampton Lode (Chelmarsh) Shropshire was bankrupt. Creditors include Frederick Weaver, druggist of Wolverhampton.

          In 1869 Thomas Josiah Tay was again bankrupt. He was an innkeeper at The Fighting Cocks on Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, at the time, the same inn as his uncle Edward Tay, aforementioned timber merchant.

           

          Fighting Cocks Inn

           

           

          In 1871, Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife Matilda, and their three children Alice, Edward and Maryann, were living in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah was a commercial traveller.

           

          He died on the 16th November 1878 at the age of 62 and was buried in Darlaston, Walsall. On his gravestone:

          “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.” Psalm XC 15 verse.

           

          Edward Moore, surgeon, was also a MAGISTRATE in later years. On the 1871 census he states his occupation as “magistrate for counties Worcester and Stafford, and deputy lieutenant of Worcester, formerly surgeon”. He lived at Townsend House in Halesowen for many years. His wifes name was PATTERN Lucas. Her mothers name was Pattern Hewlitt from Birmingham, an unusal name that I have not heard before. On the 1871 census, Edward’s son was a 22 year old solicitor.

          In 1861 an article appeared in the newspapers about the state of the morality of the women of Dudley. It was claimed that all the local magistrates agreed with the premise of the article, concerning unmarried women and their attitudes towards having illegitimate children. Letters appeared in subsequent newspapers signed by local magistrates, including Edward Moore, strongly disagreeing.

          Staffordshire Advertiser 17 August 1861:

          Dudley women 1861

          #7261
          TracyTracy
          Participant

             

            Long Lost Enoch Edwards

             

            Enoch Edwards

             

            My father used to mention long lost Enoch Edwards. Nobody in the family knew where he went to and it was assumed that he went to USA, perhaps to Utah to join his sister Sophie who was a Mormon handcart pioneer, but no record of him was found in USA.

            Andrew Enoch Edwards (my great great grandfather) was born in 1840, but was (almost) always known as Enoch. Although civil registration of births had started from 1 July 1837, neither Enoch nor his brother Stephen were registered. Enoch was baptised (as Andrew) on the same day as his brothers Reuben and Stephen in May 1843 at St Chad’s Catholic cathedral in Birmingham. It’s a mystery why these three brothers were baptised Catholic, as there are no other Catholic records for this family before or since. One possible theory is that there was a school attached to the church on Shadwell Street, and a Catholic baptism was required for the boys to go to the school. Enoch’s father John died of TB in 1844, and perhaps in 1843 he knew he was dying and wanted to ensure an education for his sons. The building of St Chads was completed in 1841, and it was close to where they lived.

            Enoch appears (as Enoch rather than Andrew) on the 1841 census, six months old. The family were living at Unett Street in Birmingham: John and Sarah and children Mariah, Sophia, Matilda, a mysterious entry transcribed as Lene, a daughter, that I have been unable to find anywhere else, and Reuben and Stephen.

            Enoch was just four years old when his father John, an engineer and millwright, died of consumption in 1844.

            In 1851 Enoch’s widowed mother Sarah was a mangler living on Summer Street, Birmingham, Matilda a dressmaker, Reuben and Stephen were gun percussionists, and eleven year old Enoch was an errand boy.

            On the 1861 census, Sarah was a confectionrer on Canal Street in Birmingham, Stephen was a blacksmith, and Enoch a button tool maker.

            On the 10th November 1867 Enoch married Emelia Parker, daughter of jeweller and rope maker Edward Parker, at St Philip in Birmingham. Both Emelia and Enoch were able to sign their own names, and Matilda and Edwin Eddington were witnesses (Enoch’s sister and her husband). Enoch’s address was Church Street, and his occupation button tool maker.

            1867 Enoch Edwards

             

            Four years later in 1871, Enoch was a publican living on Clifton Road. Son Enoch Henry was two years old, and Ralph Ernest was three months. Eliza Barton lived with them as a general servant.

            By 1881 Enoch was back working as a button tool maker in Bournebrook, Birmingham. Enoch and Emilia by then had three more children, Amelia, Albert Parker (my great grandfather) and Ada.

            Garnet Frederick Edwards was born in 1882. This is the first instance of the name Garnet in the family, and subsequently Garnet has been the middle name for the eldest son (my brother, father and grandfather all have Garnet as a middle name).

            Enoch was the licensed victualler at the Pack Horse Hotel in 1991 at Kings Norton. By this time, only daughters Amelia and Ada and son Garnet are living at home.

            Pack Horse Hotel

             

             

            Additional information from my fathers cousin, Paul Weaver:

            “Enoch refused to allow his son Albert Parker to go to King Edwards School in Birmingham, where he had been awarded a place. Instead, in October 1890 he made Albert Parker Edwards take an apprenticeship with a pawnboker in Tipton.
            Towards the end of the 19th century Enoch kept The Pack Horse in Alcester Road, Hollywood, where a twist was 1d an ounce, and beer was 2d a pint. The children had to get up early to get breakfast at 6 o’clock for the hay and straw men on their way to the Birmingham hay and straw market. Enoch is listed as a member of “The Kingswood & Pack Horse Association for the Prosecution of Offenders”, a kind of early Neighbourhood Watch, dated 25 October 1890.
            The Edwards family later moved to Redditch where they kept The Rifleman Inn at 35 Park Road. They must have left the Pack Horse by 1895 as another publican was in place by then.”

            Emelia his wife died in 1895 of consumption at the Rifleman Inn in Redditch, Worcestershire, and in 1897 Enoch married Florence Ethel Hedges in Aston. Enoch was 56 and Florence was just 21 years old.

            1897 Enoch Edwards

             

            The following year in 1898 their daughter Muriel Constance Freda Edwards was born in Deritend, Warwickshire.
            In 1901 Enoch, (Andrew on the census), publican, Florence and Muriel were living in Dudley. It was hard to find where he went after this.

            From Paul Weaver:

            “Family accounts have it that Enoch EDWARDS fell out with all his family, and at about the age of 60, he left all behind and emigrated to the U.S.A. Enoch was described as being an active man, and it is believed that he had another family when he settled in the U.S.A. Esmor STOKES has it that a postcard was received by the family from Enoch at Niagara Falls.

            On 11 June 1902 Harry Wright (the local postmaster responsible in those days for licensing) brought an Enoch EDWARDS to the Bedfordshire Petty Sessions in Biggleswade regarding “Hole in the Wall”, believed to refer to the now defunct “Hole in the Wall” public house at 76 Shortmead Street, Biggleswade with Enoch being granted “temporary authority”. On 9 July 1902 the transfer was granted. A year later in the 1903 edition of Kelly’s Directory of Bedfordshire, Hunts and Northamptonshire there is an Enoch EDWARDS running the Wheatsheaf Public House, Church Street, St. Neots, Huntingdonshire which is 14 miles south of Biggleswade.”

            It seems that Enoch and his new family moved away from the midlands in the early 1900s, but again the trail went cold.

            When I started doing the genealogy research, I joined a local facebook group for Redditch in Worcestershire. Enoch’s son Albert Parker Edwards (my great grandfather) spent most of his life there. I asked in the group about Enoch, and someone posted an illustrated advertisement for Enoch’s dog powders.  Enoch was a well known breeder/keeper of St Bernards and is cited in a book naming individuals key to the recovery/establishment of ‘mastiff’ size dog breeds.

             

            We had not known that Enoch was a breeder of champion St Bernard dogs!

            Once I knew about the St Bernard dogs and the names Mount Leo and Plinlimmon via the newspaper adverts, I did an internet search on Enoch Edwards in conjunction with these dogs.

            Enoch’s St Bernard dog “Mount Leo” was bred from the famous Plinlimmon, “the Emperor of Saint Bernards”. He was reported to have sent two puppies to Omaha and one of his stud dogs to America for a season, and in 1897 Enoch made the news for selling a St Bernard to someone in New York for £200. Plinlimmon, bred by Thomas Hall, was born in Liverpool, England on June 29, 1883. He won numerous dog shows throughout Europe in 1884, and in 1885, he was named Best Saint Bernard.

            In the Birmingham Mail on 14th June 1890:

            “Mr E Edwards, of Bournebrook, has been well to the fore with his dogs of late. He has gained nine honours during the past fortnight, including a first at the Pontypridd show with a St Bernard dog, The Speaker, a son of Plinlimmon.”

            In the Alcester Chronicle on Saturday 05 June 1897:

            Enoch St Bernards

            Enoch press releases

             

            It was discovered that Enoch, Florence and Muriel moved to Canada, not USA as the family had assumed. The 1911 census for Montreal St Jaqcues, Quebec, stated that Enoch, (Florence) Ethel, and (Muriel) Frida had emigrated in 1906. Enoch’s occupation was machinist in 1911. The census transcription is not very good. Edwards was transcribed as Edmand, but the dates of birth for all three are correct. Birthplace is correct ~ A for Anglitan (the census is in French) but race or tribe is also an A but the transcribers have put African black! Enoch by this time was 71 years old, his wife 33 and daughter 11.

            Additional information from Paul Weaver:

            “In 1906 he and his new family travelled to Canada with Enoch travelling first and Ethel and Frida joined him in Quebec on 25 June 1906 on board the ‘Canada’ from Liverpool.
            Their immigration record suggests that they were planning to travel to Winnipeg, but five years later in 1911, Enoch, Florence Ethel and Frida were still living in St James, Montreal. Enoch was employed as a machinist by Canadian Government Railways working 50 hours. It is the 1911 census record that confirms his birth as November 1840. It also states that Enoch could neither read nor write but managed to earn $500 in 1910 for activity other than his main profession, although this may be referring to his innkeeping business interests.
            By 1921 Florence and Muriel Frida are living in Langford, Neepawa, Manitoba with Peter FUCHS, an Ontarian farmer of German descent who Florence had married on 24 Jul 1913 implying that Enoch died sometime in 1911/12, although no record has been found.”

            The extra $500 in earnings was perhaps related to the St Bernard dogs.  Enoch signed his name on the register on his marriage to Emelia, and I think it’s very unlikely that he could neither read nor write, as stated above.

            However, it may not be Enoch’s wife Florence Ethel who married Peter Fuchs.  A Florence Emma Edwards married Peter Fuchs,  and on the 1921 census in Neepawa her daugther Muriel Elizabeth Edwards, born in 1902, lives with them.  Quite a coincidence, two Florence and Muriel Edwards in Neepawa at the time.  Muriel Elizabeth Edwards married and had two children but died at the age of 23 in 1925.  Her mother Florence was living with the widowed husband and the two children on the 1931 census in Neepawa.  As there was no other daughter on the 1911 census with Enoch, Florence and Muriel in Montreal, it must be a different Florence and daughter.  We don’t know, though, why Muriel Constance Freda married in Neepawa.

            Indeed, Florence was not a widow in 1913.  Enoch died in 1924 in Montreal, aged 84.  Neither Enoch, Florence or their daughter has been found yet on the 1921 census. The search is not easy, as Enoch sometimes used the name Andrew, Florence used her middle name Ethel, and daughter Muriel used Freda, Valerie (the name she added when she married in Neepawa), and died as Marcheta.   The only name she NEVER used was Constance!

            A Canadian genealogist living in Montreal phoned the cemetery where Enoch was buried. She said “Enoch Edwards who died on Feb 27 1924  is not buried in the Mount Royal cemetery, he was only cremated there on March 4, 1924. There are no burial records but he died of an abcess and his body was sent to the cemetery for cremation from the Royal Victoria Hospital.”

             

            1924 Obituary for Enoch Edwards:

            Cimetière Mont-Royal Outremont, Montreal Region, Quebec, Canada

            The Montreal Star 29 Feb 1924, Fri · Page 31

            1924 death Enoch Edwards

             

            Muriel Constance Freda Valerie Edwards married Arthur Frederick Morris on 24 Oct 1925 in Neepawa, Manitoba. (She appears to have added the name Valerie when she married.)

            Unexpectedly a death certificate appeared for Muriel via the hints on the ancestry website. Her name was “Marcheta Morris” on this document, however it also states that she was the widow of Arthur Frederick Morris and daughter of Andrew E Edwards and Florence Ethel Hedges. She died suddenly in June 1948 in Flos, Simcoe, Ontario of a coronary thrombosis, where she was living as a housekeeper.

            Marcheta Morris

            #6350
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Transportation

              Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

               

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

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

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

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

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

              via digitalpanopticon:

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

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

              The Justitia via rmg collections:

              Justitia

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

               

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

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

              via freesettlerorfelon website:

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

              SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

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

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

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

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

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

              The Lady Nugent:

              Lady Nugent

               

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

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

              Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

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

               

              Lady Nugent record book

               

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

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

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

              From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

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

               

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

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

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

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

               

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

              Glenmore Church

               

              From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

              Glenmore Church Stokes

               

              From the Camden History website:

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

               

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

               

              Isaac and Catherine’s children:

              William Stokes 1857-1928

              Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

              Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

              Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

              Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

              Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

               

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

               

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

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

              Isaac Stokes directory

              #6348
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Wong Sang

                 

                Wong Sang was born in China in 1884. In October 1916 he married Alice Stokes in Oxford.

                Alice was the granddaughter of William Stokes of Churchill, Oxfordshire and William was the brother of Thomas Stokes the wheelwright (who was my 3X great grandfather). In other words Alice was my second cousin, three times removed, on my fathers paternal side.

                Wong Sang was an interpreter, according to the baptism registers of his children and the Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital admission registers in 1930.  The hospital register also notes that he was employed by the Blue Funnel Line, and that his address was 11, Limehouse Causeway, E 14. (London)

                “The Blue Funnel Line offered regular First-Class Passenger and Cargo Services From the UK to South Africa, Malaya, China, Japan, Australia, Java, and America.  Blue Funnel Line was Owned and Operated by Alfred Holt & Co., Liverpool.
                The Blue Funnel Line, so-called because its ships have a blue funnel with a black top, is more appropriately known as the Ocean Steamship Company.”

                 

                Wong Sang and Alice’s daughter, Frances Eileen Sang, was born on the 14th July, 1916 and baptised in 1920 at St Stephen in Poplar, Tower Hamlets, London.  The birth date is noted in the 1920 baptism register and would predate their marriage by a few months, although on the death register in 1921 her age at death is four years old and her year of birth is recorded as 1917.

                Charles Ronald Sang was baptised on the same day in May 1920, but his birth is recorded as April of that year.  The family were living on Morant Street, Poplar.

                James William Sang’s birth is recorded on the 1939 census and on the death register in 2000 as being the 8th March 1913.  This definitely would predate the 1916 marriage in Oxford.

                William Norman Sang was born on the 17th October 1922 in Poplar.

                Alice and the three sons were living at 11, Limehouse Causeway on the 1939 census, the same address that Wong Sang was living at when he was admitted to Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital on the 15th January 1930. Wong Sang died in the hospital on the 8th March of that year at the age of 46.

                Alice married John Patterson in 1933 in Stepney. John was living with Alice and her three sons on Limehouse Causeway on the 1939 census and his occupation was chef.

                Via Old London Photographs:

                “Limehouse Causeway is a street in east London that was the home to the original Chinatown of London. A combination of bomb damage during the Second World War and later redevelopment means that almost nothing is left of the original buildings of the street.”

                Limehouse Causeway in 1925:

                Limehouse Causeway

                 

                From The Story of Limehouse’s Lost Chinatown, poplarlondon website:

                “Limehouse was London’s first Chinatown, home to a tightly-knit community who were demonised in popular culture and eventually erased from the cityscape.

                As recounted in the BBC’s ‘Our Greatest Generation’ series, Connie was born to a Chinese father and an English mother in early 1920s Limehouse, where she used to play in the street with other British and British-Chinese children before running inside for teatime at one of their houses. 

                Limehouse was London’s first Chinatown between the 1880s and the 1960s, before the current Chinatown off Shaftesbury Avenue was established in the 1970s by an influx of immigrants from Hong Kong. 

                Connie’s memories of London’s first Chinatown as an “urban village” paint a very different picture to the seedy area portrayed in early twentieth century novels. 

                The pyramid in St Anne’s church marked the entrance to the opium den of Dr Fu Manchu, a criminal mastermind who threatened Western society by plotting world domination in a series of novels by Sax Rohmer. 

                Thomas Burke’s Limehouse Nights cemented stereotypes about prostitution, gambling and violence within the Chinese community, and whipped up anxiety about sexual relationships between Chinese men and white women. 

                Though neither novelist was familiar with the Chinese community, their depictions made Limehouse one of the most notorious areas of London. 

                Travel agent Thomas Cook even organised tours of the area for daring visitors, despite the rector of Limehouse warning that “those who look for the Limehouse of Mr Thomas Burke simply will not find it.”

                All that remains is a handful of Chinese street names, such as Ming Street, Pekin Street, and Canton Street — but what was Limehouse’s chinatown really like, and why did it get swept away?

                Chinese migration to Limehouse 

                Chinese sailors discharged from East India Company ships settled in the docklands from as early as the 1780s.

                By the late nineteenth century, men from Shanghai had settled around Pennyfields Lane, while a Cantonese community lived on Limehouse Causeway. 

                Chinese sailors were often paid less and discriminated against by dock hirers, and so began to diversify their incomes by setting up hand laundry services and restaurants. 

                Old photographs show shopfronts emblazoned with Chinese characters with horse-drawn carts idling outside or Chinese men in suits and hats standing proudly in the doorways. 

                In oral histories collected by Yat Ming Loo, Connie’s husband Leslie doesn’t recall seeing any Chinese women as a child, since male Chinese sailors settled in London alone and married working-class English women. 

                In the 1920s, newspapers fear-mongered about interracial marriages, crime and gambling, and described chinatown as an East End “colony.” 

                Ironically, Chinese opium-smoking was also demonised in the press, despite Britain waging war against China in the mid-nineteenth century for suppressing the opium trade to alleviate addiction amongst its people. 

                The number of Chinese people who settled in Limehouse was also greatly exaggerated, and in reality only totalled around 300. 

                The real Chinatown 

                Although the press sought to characterise Limehouse as a monolithic Chinese community in the East End, Connie remembers seeing people of all nationalities in the shops and community spaces in Limehouse.

                She doesn’t remember feeling discriminated against by other locals, though Connie does recall having her face measured and IQ tested by a member of the British Eugenics Society who was conducting research in the area. 

                Some of Connie’s happiest childhood memories were from her time at Chung-Hua Club, where she learned about Chinese culture and language.

                Why did Chinatown disappear? 

                The caricature of Limehouse’s Chinatown as a den of vice hastened its erasure. 

                Police raids and deportations fuelled by the alarmist media coverage threatened the Chinese population of Limehouse, and slum clearance schemes to redevelop low-income areas dispersed Chinese residents in the 1930s. 

                The Defence of the Realm Act imposed at the beginning of the First World War criminalised opium use, gave the authorities increased powers to deport Chinese people and restricted their ability to work on British ships.

                Dwindling maritime trade during World War II further stripped Chinese sailors of opportunities for employment, and any remnants of Chinatown were destroyed during the Blitz or erased by postwar development schemes.”

                 

                Wong Sang 1884-1930

                The year 1918 was a troublesome one for Wong Sang, an interpreter and shipping agent for Blue Funnel Line.  The Sang family were living at 156, Chrisp Street.

                Chrisp Street, Poplar, in 1913 via Old London Photographs:

                Chrisp Street

                 

                In February Wong Sang was discharged from a false accusation after defending his home from potential robbers.

                East End News and London Shipping Chronicle – Friday 15 February 1918:

                1918 Wong Sang

                 

                In August of that year he was involved in an incident that left him unconscious.

                Faringdon Advertiser and Vale of the White Horse Gazette – Saturday 31 August 1918:

                1918 Wong Sang 2

                 

                Wong Sang is mentioned in an 1922 article about “Oriental London”.

                London and China Express – Thursday 09 February 1922:

                1922 Wong Sang

                A photograph of the Chee Kong Tong Chinese Freemason Society mentioned in the above article, via Old London Photographs:

                Chee Kong Tong

                 

                Wong Sang was recommended by the London Metropolitan Police in 1928 to assist in a case in Wellingborough, Northampton.

                Difficulty of Getting an Interpreter: Northampton Mercury – Friday 16 March 1928:

                1928 Wong Sang

                1928 Wong Sang 2

                The difficulty was that “this man speaks the Cantonese language only…the Northeners and the Southerners in China have differing languages and the interpreter seemed to speak one that was in between these two.”

                 

                In 1917, Alice Wong Sang was a witness at her sister Harriet Stokes marriage to James William Watts in Southwark, London.  Their father James Stokes occupation on the marriage register is foreman surveyor, but on the census he was a council roadman or labourer. (I initially rejected this as the correct marriage for Harriet because of the discrepancy with the occupations. Alice Wong Sang as a witness confirmed that it was indeed the correct one.)

                1917 Alice Wong Sang

                 

                 

                James William Sang 1913-2000 was a clock fitter and watch assembler (on the 1939 census). He married Ivy Laura Fenton in 1963 in Sidcup, Kent. James died in Southwark in 2000.

                Charles Ronald Sang 1920-1974  was a draughtsman (1939 census). He married Eileen Burgess in 1947 in Marylebone.  Charles and Eileen had two sons:  Keith born in 1951 and Roger born in 1952.  He died in 1974 in Hertfordshire.

                William Norman Sang 1922-2000 was a clerk and telephone operator (1939 census).  William enlisted in the Royal Artillery in 1942. He married Lily Mullins in 1949 in Bethnal Green, and they had three daughters: Marion born in 1950, Christine in 1953, and Frances in 1959.  He died in Redbridge in 2000.

                 

                I then found another two births registered in Poplar by Alice Sang, both daughters.  Doris Winifred Sang was born in 1925, and Patricia Margaret Sang was born in 1933 ~ three years after Wong Sang’s death.  Neither of the these daughters were on the 1939 census with Alice, John Patterson and the three sons.  Margaret had presumably been evacuated because of the war to a family in Taunton, Somerset. Doris would have been fourteen and I have been unable to find her in 1939 (possibly because she died in 2017 and has not had the redaction removed  yet on the 1939 census as only deceased people are viewable).

                Doris Winifred Sang 1925-2017 was a nursing sister. She didn’t marry, and spent a year in USA between 1954 and 1955. She stayed in London, and died at the age of ninety two in 2017.

                Patricia Margaret Sang 1933-1998 was also a nurse. She married Patrick L Nicely in Stepney in 1957.  Patricia and Patrick had five children in London: Sharon born 1959, Donald in 1960, Malcolm was born and died in 1966, Alison was born in 1969 and David in 1971.

                 

                I was unable to find a birth registered for Alice’s first son, James William Sang (as he appeared on the 1939 census).  I found Alice Stokes on the 1911 census as a 17 year old live in servant at a tobacconist on Pekin Street, Limehouse, living with Mr Sui Fong from Hong Kong and his wife Sarah Sui Fong from Berlin.  I looked for a birth registered for James William Fong instead of Sang, and found it ~ mothers maiden name Stokes, and his date of birth matched the 1939 census: 8th March, 1913.

                On the 1921 census, Wong Sang is not listed as living with them but it is mentioned that Mr Wong Sang was the person returning the census.  Also living with Alice and her sons James and Charles in 1921 are two visitors:  (Florence) May Stokes, 17 years old, born in Woodstock, and Charles Stokes, aged 14, also born in Woodstock. May and Charles were Alice’s sister and brother.

                 

                I found Sharon Nicely on social media and she kindly shared photos of Wong Sang and Alice Stokes:

                Wong Sang

                 

                Alice Stokes

                #6346
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Mormon Browning Who Went To Utah

                   

                  Isaac Browning’s (1784-1848) sister Hannah  married Francis Buckingham. There were at least three Browning Buckingham marriages in Tetbury.  Their daughter Charlotte married James Paskett, a shoemaker.  Charlotte was born in 1818 and in 1871 she and her family emigrated to Utah, USA.

                  Charlotte’s relationship to me is first cousin five times removed.

                  James and Charlotte: (photos found online)

                  James Paskett

                   

                  The house of James and Charlotte in Tetbury:

                  James Paskett 2

                   

                  The home of James and Charlotte in Utah:

                  James Paskett3

                  Obituary:

                  James Pope Paskett Dead.

                  Veteran of 87 Laid to rest. Special Correspondence Coalville, Summit Co., Oct 28—James Pope Paskett of Henefer died Oct. 24, 1903 of old age and general debility. Funeral services were held at Henefer today. Elders W.W. Cluff, Alma Elderge, Robert Jones, Oscar Wilkins and Bishop M.F. Harris were the speakers. There was a large attendance many coming from other wards in the stake. James Pope Paskett was born in Chippenham, Wiltshire, England, on March 12, 1817; married Chalotte Buckingham in the year 1839; eight children were born to them, three sons and five daughters, all of whom are living and residing in Utah, except one in Brisbane, Australia. Father Paskett joined the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in 1847, and emigrated to Utah in 1871, and has resided in Henefer ever since. He leaves his faithful and aged wife. He was respected and esteemed by all who knew him.

                   

                  Charlotte died in Henefer, Utah, on 27th December 1910 at the age of 91.

                  James and Charlotte in later life:

                  James Paskett 4

                  #6345
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Crime and Punishment in Tetbury

                     

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

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

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

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

                     

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

                    Richard had been fined a number of times in Tetbury:

                    Richard Browning

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

                     

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

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

                     

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

                    Thomas did however neglect to pay his taxes in 1832:

                    Thomas Buckingham

                     

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

                     

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

                    John Buckingham

                     

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

                     

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

                     

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

                    #6343
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum

                      William James Stokes

                       

                      William James Stokes was the first son of Thomas Stokes and Eliza Browning. Oddly, his birth was registered in Witham in Essex, on the 6th September 1841.

                      Birth certificate of William James Stokes:

                      birth William Stokes

                       

                      His father Thomas Stokes has not yet been found on the 1841 census, and his mother Eliza was staying with her uncle Thomas Lock in Cirencester in 1841. Eliza’s mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) was staying there too. Thomas and Eliza were married in September 1840 in Hempstead in Gloucestershire.

                      It’s a mystery why William was born in Essex but one possibility is that his father Thomas, who later worked with the Chipperfields making circus wagons, was staying with the Chipperfields who were wheelwrights in Witham in 1841. Or perhaps even away with a traveling circus at the time of the census, learning the circus waggon wheelwright trade. But this is a guess and it’s far from clear why Eliza would make the journey to Witham to have the baby when she was staying in Cirencester a few months prior.

                      In 1851 Thomas and Eliza, William and four younger siblings were living in Bledington in Oxfordshire.

                      William was a 19 year old wheelwright living with his parents in Evesham in 1861. He married Elizabeth Meldrum in December 1867 in Hackney, London. He and his father are both wheelwrights on the marriage register.

                      Marriage of William James Stokes and Elizabeth Meldrum in 1867:

                      1867 William Stokes

                       

                      William and Elizabeth had a daughter, Elizabeth Emily Stokes, in 1868 in Shoreditch, London.

                      On the 3rd of December 1870, William James Stokes was admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum. One week later on the 10th of December, he was dead.

                      On his death certificate the cause of death was “general paralysis and exhaustion, certified. MD Edgar Sheppard in attendance.” William was just 29 years old.

                      Death certificate William James Stokes:

                      death William Stokes

                       

                      I asked on a genealogy forum what could possibly have caused this death at such a young age. A retired pathology professor replied that “in medicine the term General Paralysis is only used in one context – that of Tertiary Syphilis.”
                      “Tertiary syphilis is the third and final stage of syphilis, a sexually transmitted disease that unfolds in stages when the individual affected doesn’t receive appropriate treatment.”

                      From the article “Looking back: This fascinating and fatal disease” by Jennifer Wallis:

                      “……in asylums across Britain in the late 19th century, with hundreds of people receiving the diagnosis of general paralysis of the insane (GPI). The majority of these were men in their 30s and 40s, all exhibiting one or more of the disease’s telltale signs: grandiose delusions, a staggering gait, disturbed reflexes, asymmetrical pupils, tremulous voice, and muscular weakness. Their prognosis was bleak, most dying within months, weeks, or sometimes days of admission.

                      The fatal nature of GPI made it of particular concern to asylum superintendents, who became worried that their institutions were full of incurable cases requiring constant care. The social effects of the disease were also significant, attacking men in the prime of life whose admission to the asylum frequently left a wife and children at home. Compounding the problem was the erratic behaviour of the general paralytic, who might get themselves into financial or legal difficulties. Delusions about their vast wealth led some to squander scarce family resources on extravagant purchases – one man’s wife reported he had bought ‘a quantity of hats’ despite their meagre income – and doctors pointed to the frequency of thefts by general paralytics who imagined that everything belonged to them.”

                       

                      The London Archives hold the records for Colney Hatch, but they informed me that the particular records for the dates that William was admitted and died were in too poor a condition to be accessed without causing further damage.

                      Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum gained such notoriety that the name “Colney Hatch” appeared in various terms of abuse associated with the concept of madness. Infamous inmates that were institutionalized at Colney Hatch (later called Friern Hospital) include Jack the Ripper suspect Aaron Kosminski from 1891, and from 1911 the wife of occultist Aleister Crowley. In 1993 the hospital grounds were sold and the exclusive apartment complex called Princess Park Manor was built.

                      Colney Hatch:

                      Colney Hatch

                       

                      In 1873 Williams widow married William Hallam in Limehouse in London. Elizabeth died in 1930, apparently unaffected by her first husbands ailment.

                      #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.

                        #6334
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The House on Penn Common

                          Toi Fang and the Duke of Sutherland

                           

                          Tomlinsons

                           

                           

                          Penn Common

                          Grassholme

                           

                          Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) my great grandfather, was born in Wolverhampton in 1873. His father Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) was a licensed victualler or publican, or alternatively a vet/castrator. He married Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) in 1872. On the 1881 census they were living at The Wheel in Wolverhampton.

                          Charles married Nellie Fisher (1877-1956) in Wolverhampton in 1896. In 1901 they were living next to the post office in Upper Penn, with children (Charles) Sidney Tomlinson (1896-1955), and Hilda Tomlinson (1898-1977) . Charles was a vet/castrator working on his own account.

                          In 1911 their address was 4, Wakely Hill, Penn, and living with them were their children Hilda, Frank Tomlinson (1901-1975), (Dorothy) Phyllis Tomlinson (1905-1982), Nellie Tomlinson (1906-1978) and May Tomlinson (1910-1983). Charles was a castrator working on his own account.

                          Charles and Nellie had a further four children: Charles Fisher Tomlinson (1911-1977), Margaret Tomlinson (1913-1989) (my grandmother Peggy), Major Tomlinson (1916-1984) and Norah Mary Tomlinson (1919-2010).

                          My father told me that my grandmother had fallen down the well at the house on Penn Common in 1915 when she was two years old, and sent me a photo of her standing next to the well when she revisted the house at a much later date.

                          Peggy next to the well on Penn Common:

                          Peggy well Penn

                           

                          My grandmother Peggy told me that her father had had a racehorse called Toi Fang. She remembered the racing colours were sky blue and orange, and had a set of racing silks made which she sent to my father.
                          Through a DNA match, I met Ian Tomlinson. Ian is the son of my fathers favourite cousin Roger, Frank’s son. Ian found some racing silks and sent a photo to my father (they are now in contact with each other as a result of my DNA match with Ian), wondering what they were.

                          Toi Fang

                           

                          When Ian sent a photo of these racing silks, I had a look in the newspaper archives. In 1920 there are a number of mentions in the racing news of Mr C Tomlinson’s horse TOI FANG. I have not found any mention of Toi Fang in the newspapers in the following years.

                          The Scotsman – Monday 12 July 1920:

                          Toi Fang

                           

                           

                          The other story that Ian Tomlinson recalled was about the house on Penn Common. Ian said he’d heard that the local titled person took Charles Tomlinson to court over building the house but that Tomlinson won the case because it was built on common land and was the first case of it’s kind.

                          Penn Common

                           

                          Penn Common Right of Way Case:
                          Staffordshire Advertiser March 9, 1912

                          In the chancery division, on Tuesday, before Mr Justice Joyce, it was announced that a settlement had been arrived at of the Penn Common Right of Way case, the hearing of which occupied several days last month. The action was brought by the Duke of Sutherland (as Lord of the Manor of Penn) and Mr Harry Sydney Pitt (on behalf of himself and other freeholders of the manor having a right to pasturage on Penn Common) to restrain Mr James Lakin, Carlton House, Penn; Mr Charles Tomlinson, Mayfield Villa, Wakely Hill, Penn; and Mr Joseph Harold Simpkin, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, from drawing building materials across the common, or otherwise causing injury to the soil.

                          The real point in dispute was whether there was a public highway for all purposes running by the side of the defendants land from the Turf Tavern past the golf club to the Barley Mow.
                          Mr Hughes, KC for the plaintiffs, now stated that the parties had been in consultation, and had come to terms, the substance of which was that the defendants admitted that there was no public right of way, and that they were granted a private way. This, he thought, would involve the granting of some deed or deeds to express the rights of the parties, and he suggested that the documents should be be settled by some counsel to be mutually agreed upon.

                          His lordship observed that the question of coal was probably the important point. Mr Younger said Mr Tomlinson was a freeholder, and the plaintiffs could not mine under him. Mr Hughes: The coal actually under his house is his, and, of course, subsidence might be produced by taking away coal some distance away. I think some document is required to determine his actual rights.
                          Mr Younger said he wanted to avoid anything that would increase the costs, but, after further discussion, it was agreed that Mr John Dixon (an expert on mineral rights), or failing him, another counsel satisfactory to both parties, should be invited to settle the terms scheduled in the agreement, in order to prevent any further dispute.

                           

                          Penn Common case

                           

                          The name of the house is Grassholme.  The address of Mayfield Villas is the house they were living in while building Grassholme, which I assume they had not yet moved in to at the time of the newspaper article in March 1912.

                           

                           

                          What my grandmother didn’t tell anyone was how her father died in 1929:

                           

                          1929 Charles Tomlinson

                           

                           

                          On the 1921 census, Charles, Nellie and eight of their children were living at 269 Coleman Street, Wolverhampton.

                          1921 census Tomlinson

                           

                           

                          They were living on Coleman Street in 1915 when Charles was fined for staying open late.

                          Staffordshire Advertiser – Saturday 13 February 1915:

                           

                          1915 butcher fined

                           

                          What is not yet clear is why they moved from the house on Penn Common sometime between 1912 and 1915. And why did he have a racehorse in 1920?

                          #6324
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            STONE MANOR

                             

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

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

                            1921 census, Stourbridge:

                            Hildred 1921

                             

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

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

                            Stone Manor, Stone, Worcestershire:

                            stone manor

                             

                             

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

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

                             

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

                            Hildred and Reg marriage

                             

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

                            Hildred Manor Lodge

                             

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

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

                            stone manor death

                             

                             

                            SHOT THROUGH THE TEMPLE

                            Well known Worcestershire man’s tragic death.

                            Dudley Chronicle 27 March 1930.

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

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

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

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

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

                             

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

                            Llanaeron

                            Sally Gray sent the photo with this message:

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

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

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

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

                            1921 Red Hill House:

                            Red Hill House 1921

                             

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

                            2007 Stone Manor

                             

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

                            #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-

                              #6272
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                The Housley Letters

                                The Carringtons

                                Carrington Farm, Smalley:

                                Carrington Farm

                                 

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

                                 

                                From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

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

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

                                RICHARD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                 

                                THOMAS

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

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

                                 

                                JOHN

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

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

                                FRANK (see above)

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

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

                                William and Mary Carrington:

                                William Carrington

                                #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

                                  #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.

                                     

                                    #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.

                                      #6258
                                      TracyTracy
                                      Participant

                                        The Buxton Marshalls

                                        and the DNA Match

                                        Several years before I started researching the family tree, a friend treated me to a DNA test just for fun. The ethnicity estimates were surprising (and still don’t make much sense): I am apparently 58% Scandinavian, 37% English, and a little Iberian, North African, and even a bit Nigerian! My ancestry according to genealogical research is almost 100% Midlands English for the past three hundred years.

                                        Not long after doing the DNA test, I was contacted via the website by Jim Perkins, who had noticed my Marshall name on the DNA match. Jim’s grandfather was James Marshall, my great grandfather William Marshall’s brother. Jim told me he had done his family tree years before the advent of online genealogy. Jim didn’t have a photo of James, but we had several photos with “William Marshall’s brother” written on the back.

                                        Jim sent me a photo of his uncle, the man he was named after. The photo shows Charles James Marshall in his army uniform. He escaped Dunkirk in 1940 by swimming out to a destroyer, apparently an excellent swimmer. Sadly he was killed, aged 25 and unmarried, on Sep 2 1942 at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa. Jim was born exactly one year later.

                                        Jim and I became friends on Facebook. In 2021 a relative kindly informed me that Jim had died. I’ve since been in contact with his sister Marilyn.  Jim’s grandfather James Marshall was the eldest of John and Emma’s children, born in 1873. James daughter with his first wife Martha, Hilda, married James Perkins, Jim and Marilyn’s parents. Charles James Marshall who died in North Africa was James son by a second marriage.  James was a railway engine fireman on the 1911 census, and a retired rail driver on the 1939 census.

                                        Charles James Marshall 1917-1942 died at the Battle of Alma-Halfa in North Africa:

                                        photo thanks to Jim Perkins

                                        Charles James Marshall

                                         

                                        Anna Marshall, born in 1875, was a dressmaker and never married. She was still living with her parents John and Emma in Buxton on the 1921 census. One the 1939 census she was still single at the age of 66, and was living with John J Marshall born 1916. Perhaps a nephew?

                                        Annie Marshall 1939

                                         

                                        John Marshall was born in 1877. Buxton is a spa town with many hotels, and John was the 2nd porter living in at the Crescent Hotel on the 1901 census, although he married later that year. In the 1911 census John was married with three children and living in Fairfield, Buxton, and his occupation was Hotel Porter and Boots.  John and Alice had four children, although one son died in infancy, leaving two sons and a daughter, Lily.

                                        My great grandfather William Marshall was born in 1878, and Edward Marshall was born in 1880. According to the family stories, one of William’s brothers was chief of police in Lincolnshire, and two of the family photos say on the back “Frank Marshall, chief of police Lincolnshire”. But it wasn’t Frank, it was Edward, and it wasn’t Lincolnshire, it was Lancashire.

                                        The records show that Edward Marshall was a hotel porter at the Pulteney Hotel in Bath, Somerset, in 1901. Presumably he started working in hotels in Buxton prior to that. James married Florence in Bath in 1903, and their first four children were born in Bath. By 1911 the family were living in Salmesbury, near Blackburn Lancashire, and Edward was a police constable. On the 1939 census, James was a retired police inspector, still living in Lancashire. Florence and Edward had eight children.

                                        It became clear that the two photographs we have that were labeled “Frank Marshall Chief of police” were in fact Edward, when I noticed that both photos were taken by a photographer in Bath. They were correctly labeled as the policeman, but we had the name wrong.

                                        Edward and Florence Marshall, Bath, Somerset:

                                        Edward Marshall, Bath

                                         

                                        Sarah Marshall was born in 1882 and died two years later.

                                        Nellie Marshall was born in 1885 and I have not yet found a marriage or death for her.

                                        Harry Marshall was John and Emma’s next child, born in 1887. On the 1911 census Harry is 24 years old, and  lives at home with his parents and sister Ann. His occupation is a barman in a hotel. I haven’t yet found any further records for Harry.

                                        Frank Marshall was the youngest, born in 1889. In 1911 Frank was living at the George Hotel in Buxton, employed as a boot boy. Also listed as live in staff at the hotel was Lily Moss, a kitchenmaid.

                                        Frank Marshall

                                        In 1913 Frank and Lily were married, and in 1914 their first child Millicent Rose was born. On the 1921 census Frank, Lily, William Rose and one other (presumably Millicent Rose) were living in Hartington Upper Quarter, Buxton.

                                        The George Hotel, Buxton:

                                        George Hotel Buxton

                                         

                                        One of the photos says on the back “Jack Marshall, brother of William Marshall, WW1”:

                                        Jack Marshall

                                        Another photo that says on the back “William Marshalls brother”:

                                        WM brother 1

                                        Another “William Marshalls brother”:

                                        WM b 2

                                        And another “William Marshalls brother”:

                                        wm b 3

                                        Unlabeled but clearly a Marshall:

                                        wmb 4

                                        The last photo is clearly a Marshall, but I haven’t yet found a Burnley connection with any of the Marshall brothers.

                                        #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

                                          Viewing 20 results - 1 through 20 (of 32 total)