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  • #6276
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Ellastone and Mayfield
      Malkins and Woodwards
      Parish Registers

       

      Jane Woodward


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       

      Ellastone:

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

      Adam Bede Cottage, Ellastone:

      Ellasone Adam Bede

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

       

      Mary Malkin

      1765-1838

      Ellen Carrington’s mother was Mary Malkin.

      Ellastone:

      Ellastone

       

       

       

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

      Rowland Malkin marriage 1751

      #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-

        #6273
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Housley Letters
          THE NEIGHBORHOOD

           

          From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

          In July 1872, Joseph wrote to George who had been gone for 21 years: “You would not know Heanor now. It has got such a large place. They have got a town hall built where Charles’ stone yard was.”

          Then Joseph took George on a tour from Smalley to Heanor pointing out all the changes:

          Smalley Map

          Smalley Farms

           

          “Now we commence at Firby Brook. There is no public house there. It is turned into a market gardener’s place. Morley smithy stands as it did. You would know Chris Shepperd that used to keep the farm opposite. He is dead and the farm is got into other hands.”  (In 1851, Chris Shepherd, age 39, and his widowed mother, Mary, had a farm of 114 acres. Charles Carrington, age 14, worked for them as a “cow boy.” In 1851 Hollingsworths also lived at Morely smithy.) “The Rose and Crown stands and Antony Kerry keeps that yet.”  (In 1851, the census listed Kerry as a mason, builder, victicular, and farmer. He lived with his wife and four sons and numerous servants.) “They have pulled down Samuel Kerry’s farm house down and built him one in another place. Now we come to the Bell that was but they have pulled the old one down and made Isaac Potters House into the new Bell.” (In 1851, The Bell was run by Ann Weston, a widow.)

          Smalley Roundhouse:

          Smalley Roundhouse

           

          “The old Round House is standing yet but they have took the machine away. The Public House at the top end is kept by Mrs. Turton. I don’t know who she was before she married. Now we get to old Tom Oldknow. The old house is pulled down and a new one is put up but it is gone out of the family altogether. Now Jack is living at Stanley. He married Ann that used to live at Barbers at Smalley. That finishes Smalley. Now for Taghill. The old Jolly Collier is standing yet and a man of the name of Remmington keeps the new one opposite. Jack Foulkes son Jack used to keep that but has left just lately. There is the Nottingham House, Nags Head, Cross Keys and then the Red Lion but houses built on both sides all the way down Taghill. Then we get to the town hall that is built on the ground that Charles’ Stone Yard used to be. There is Joseph Watson’s shop standing yet in the old place. The King of Prussia, the White Lion and Hanks that is the Public House. You see there are more than there used to be. The Magistrate sits at the Town Hall and tries cases there every fortnight.”

          .

          #6269
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Housley Letters 

            From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

             

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

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

            William and Ellen Marriage

             

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

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

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

             

            ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

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

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

             

            Mary’s children:

            MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

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

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

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

             

            WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

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

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

             

            Ellen’s children:

            JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

            John Housley

             

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

             

            SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

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

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

            Housley Deaths

             

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

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

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

             

            EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

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

             

            ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

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

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

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

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

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

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

            The Carrington Farm:

            Carringtons Farm

             

            CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

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

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

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

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

             

            GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

             

            ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

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

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

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

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

             

            EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

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

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

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

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

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

            Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

            Emma Housley wedding

             

            JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

            Joseph Housley

            #6268
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued part 9

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbeya 1st November 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #6267
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 8

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Morogoro 20th January 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 30th July 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th August 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 25th December 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th January 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

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

                Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                Very much love,
                Eleanor.

                Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Much love,
                Eleanor.

                 

                #6266
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued part 7

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  George arrived today to take us home to Mbulu but Sister Marianne will not allow
                  me to travel for another week as I had a bit of a set back after baby’s birth. At first I was
                  very fit and on the third day Sister stripped the bed and, dictionary in hand, started me
                  off on ante natal exercises. “Now make a bridge Mrs Rushby. So. Up down, up down,’
                  whilst I obediently hoisted myself aloft on heels and head. By the sixth day she
                  considered it was time for me to be up and about but alas, I soon had to return to bed
                  with a temperature and a haemorrhage. I got up and walked outside for the first time this
                  morning.

                  I have had lots of visitors because the local German settlers seem keen to see
                  the first British baby born in the hospital. They have been most kind, sending flowers
                  and little German cards of congratulations festooned with cherubs and rather sweet. Most
                  of the women, besides being pleasant, are very smart indeed, shattering my illusion that
                  German matrons are invariably fat and dowdy. They are all much concerned about the
                  Czecko-Slovakian situation, especially Sister Marianne whose home is right on the
                  border and has several relations who are Sudentan Germans. She is ant-Nazi and
                  keeps on asking me whether I think England will declare war if Hitler invades Czecko-
                  Slovakia, as though I had inside information.

                  George tells me that he has had a grass ‘banda’ put up for us at Mbulu as we are
                  both determined not to return to those prison-like quarters in the Fort. Sister Marianne is
                  horrified at the idea of taking a new baby to live in a grass hut. She told George,
                  “No,No,Mr Rushby. I find that is not to be allowed!” She is an excellent Sister but rather
                  prim and George enjoys teasing her. This morning he asked with mock seriousness,
                  “Sister, why has my wife not received her medal?” Sister fluttered her dictionary before
                  asking. “What medal Mr Rushby”. “Why,” said George, “The medal that Hitler gives to
                  women who have borne four children.” Sister started a long and involved explanation
                  about the medal being only for German mothers whilst George looked at me and
                  grinned.

                  Later. Great Jubilation here. By the noise in Sister Marianne’s sitting room last night it
                  sounded as though the whole German population had gathered to listen to the wireless
                  news. I heard loud exclamations of joy and then my bedroom door burst open and
                  several women rushed in. “Thank God “, they cried, “for Neville Chamberlain. Now there
                  will be no war.” They pumped me by the hand as though I were personally responsible
                  for the whole thing.

                  George on the other hand is disgusted by Chamberlain’s lack of guts. Doesn’t
                  know what England is coming to these days. I feel too content to concern myself with
                  world affairs. I have a fine husband and four wonderful children and am happy, happy,
                  happy.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Here we are, comfortably installed in our little green house made of poles and
                  rushes from a nearby swamp. The house has of course, no doors or windows, but
                  there are rush blinds which roll up in the day time. There are two rooms and a little porch
                  and out at the back there is a small grass kitchen.

                  Here we have the privacy which we prize so highly as we are screened on one
                  side by a Forest Department plantation and on the other three sides there is nothing but
                  the rolling countryside cropped bare by the far too large herds of cattle and goats of the
                  Wambulu. I have a lovely lazy time. I still have Kesho-Kutwa and the cook we brought
                  with us from the farm. They are both faithful and willing souls though not very good at
                  their respective jobs. As one of these Mbeya boys goes on safari with George whose
                  job takes him from home for three weeks out of four, I have taken on a local boy to cut
                  firewood and heat my bath water and generally make himself useful. His name is Saa,
                  which means ‘Clock’

                  We had an uneventful but very dusty trip from Oldeani. Johnny Jo travelled in his
                  pram in the back of the boxbody and got covered in dust but seems none the worst for
                  it. As the baby now takes up much of my time and Kate was showing signs of
                  boredom, I have engaged a little African girl to come and play with Kate every morning.
                  She is the daughter of the head police Askari and a very attractive and dignified little
                  person she is. Her name is Kajyah. She is scrupulously clean, as all Mohammedan
                  Africans seem to be. Alas, Kajyah, though beautiful, is a bore. She simply does not
                  know how to play, so they just wander around hand in hand.

                  There are only two drawbacks to this little house. Mbulu is a very windy spot so
                  our little reed house is very draughty. I have made a little tent of sheets in one corner of
                  the ‘bedroom’ into which I can retire with Johnny when I wish to bathe or sponge him.
                  The other drawback is that many insects are attracted at night by the lamp and make it
                  almost impossible to read or sew and they have a revolting habit of falling into the soup.
                  There are no dangerous wild animals in this area so I am not at all nervous in this
                  flimsy little house when George is on safari. Most nights hyaenas come around looking
                  for scraps but our dogs, Fanny and Paddy, soon see them off.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Great news! a vacancy has occurred in the Game Department. George is to
                  transfer to it next month. There will be an increase in salary and a brighter prospect for
                  the future. It will mean a change of scene and I shall be glad of that. We like Mbulu and
                  the people here but the rains have started and our little reed hut is anything but water
                  tight.

                  Before the rain came we had very unpleasant dust storms. I think I told you that
                  this is a treeless area and the grass which normally covers the veldt has been cropped
                  to the roots by the hungry native cattle and goats. When the wind blows the dust
                  collects in tall black columns which sweep across the country in a most spectacular
                  fashion. One such dust devil struck our hut one day whilst we were at lunch. George
                  swept Kate up in a second and held her face against his chest whilst I rushed to Johnny
                  Jo who was asleep in his pram, and stooped over the pram to protect him. The hut
                  groaned and creaked and clouds of dust blew in through the windows and walls covering
                  our persons, food, and belongings in a black pall. The dogs food bowls and an empty
                  petrol tin outside the hut were whirled up and away. It was all over in a moment but you
                  should have seen what a family of sweeps we looked. George looked at our blackened
                  Johnny and mimicked in Sister Marianne’s primmest tones, “I find that this is not to be
                  allowed.”

                  The first rain storm caught me unprepared when George was away on safari. It
                  was a terrific thunderstorm. The quite violent thunder and lightening were followed by a
                  real tropical downpour. As the hut is on a slight slope, the storm water poured through
                  the hut like a river, covering the entire floor, and the roof leaked like a lawn sprinkler.
                  Johnny Jo was snug enough in the pram with the hood raised, but Kate and I had a
                  damp miserable night. Next morning I had deep drains dug around the hut and when
                  George returned from safari he managed to borrow an enormous tarpaulin which is now
                  lashed down over the roof.

                  It did not rain during the next few days George was home but the very next night
                  we were in trouble again. I was awakened by screams from Kate and hurriedly turned up
                  the lamp to see that we were in the midst of an invasion of siafu ants. Kate’s bed was
                  covered in them. Others appeared to be raining down from the thatch. I quickly stripped
                  Kate and carried her across to my bed, whilst I rushed to the pram to see whether
                  Johnny Jo was all right. He was fast asleep, bless him, and slept on through all the
                  commotion, whilst I struggled to pick all the ants out of Kate’s hair, stopping now and
                  again to attend to my own discomfort. These ants have a painful bite and seem to
                  choose all the most tender spots. Kate fell asleep eventually but I sat up for the rest of
                  the night to make sure that the siafu kept clear of the children. Next morning the servants
                  dispersed them by laying hot ash.

                  In spite of the dampness of the hut both children are blooming. Kate has rosy
                  cheeks and Johnny Jo now has a fuzz of fair hair and has lost his ‘old man’ look. He
                  reminds me of Ann at his age.

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa. 30th November 1938

                  Dearest Family,

                  Here we are back in the Southern Highlands and installed on the second floor of
                  another German Fort. This one has been modernised however and though not so
                  romantic as the Mbulu Fort from the outside, it is much more comfortable.We are all well
                  and I am really proud of our two safari babies who stood up splendidly to a most trying
                  journey North from Mbulu to Arusha and then South down the Great North Road to
                  Iringa where we expect to stay for a month.

                  At Arusha George reported to the headquarters of the Game Department and
                  was instructed to come on down here on Rinderpest Control. There is a great flap on in
                  case the rinderpest spread to Northern Rhodesia and possibly onwards to Southern
                  Rhodesia and South Africa. Extra veterinary officers have been sent to this area to
                  inoculate all the cattle against the disease whilst George and his African game Scouts will
                  comb the bush looking for and destroying diseased game. If the rinderpest spreads,
                  George says it may be necessary to shoot out all the game in a wide belt along the
                  border between the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and Northern Rhodesia, to
                  prevent the disease spreading South. The very idea of all this destruction sickens us
                  both.

                  George left on a foot safari the day after our arrival and I expect I shall be lucky if I
                  see him occasionally at weekends until this job is over. When rinderpest is under control
                  George is to be stationed at a place called Nzassa in the Eastern Province about 18
                  miles from Dar es Salaam. George’s orderly, who is a tall, cheerful Game Scout called
                  Juma, tells me that he has been stationed at Nzassa and it is a frightful place! However I
                  refuse to be depressed. I now have the cheering prospect of leave to England in thirty
                  months time when we will be able to fetch Ann and George and be a proper family
                  again. Both Ann and George look happy in the snapshots which mother-in-law sends
                  frequently. Ann is doing very well at school and loves it.

                  To get back to our journey from Mbulu. It really was quite an experience. It
                  poured with rain most of the way and the road was very slippery and treacherous the
                  120 miles between Mbulu and Arusha. This is a little used earth road and the drains are
                  so blocked with silt as to be practically non existent. As usual we started our move with
                  the V8 loaded to capacity. I held Johnny on my knee and Kate squeezed in between
                  George and me. All our goods and chattels were in wooden boxes stowed in the back
                  and the two houseboys and the two dogs had to adjust themselves to the space that
                  remained. We soon ran into trouble and it took us all day to travel 47 miles. We stuck
                  several times in deep mud and had some most nasty skids. I simply clutched Kate in
                  one hand and Johnny Jo in the other and put my trust in George who never, under any
                  circumstances, loses his head. Poor Johnny only got his meals when circumstances
                  permitted. Unfortunately I had put him on a bottle only a few days before we left Mbulu
                  and, as I was unable to buy either a primus stove or Thermos flask there we had to
                  make a fire and boil water for each meal. Twice George sat out in the drizzle with a rain
                  coat rapped over his head to protect a miserable little fire of wet sticks drenched with
                  paraffin. Whilst we waited for the water to boil I pacified John by letting him suck a cube
                  of Tate and Lyles sugar held between my rather grubby fingers. Not at all according to
                  the book.

                  That night George, the children and I slept in the car having dumped our boxes
                  and the two servants in a deserted native hut. The rain poured down relentlessly all night
                  and by morning the road was more of a morass than ever. We swerved and skidded
                  alarmingly till eventually one of the wheel chains broke and had to be tied together with
                  string which constantly needed replacing. George was so patient though he was wet
                  and muddy and tired and both children were very good. Shortly before reaching the Great North Road we came upon Jack Gowan, the Stock Inspector from Mbulu. His car
                  was bogged down to its axles in black mud. He refused George’s offer of help saying
                  that he had sent his messenger to a nearby village for help.

                  I hoped that conditions would be better on the Great North Road but how over
                  optimistic I was. For miles the road runs through a belt of ‘black cotton soil’. which was
                  churned up into the consistency of chocolate blancmange by the heavy lorry traffic which
                  runs between Dodoma and Arusha. Soon the car was skidding more fantastically than
                  ever. Once it skidded around in a complete semi circle so George decided that it would
                  be safer for us all to walk whilst he negotiated the very bad patches. You should have
                  seen me plodding along in the mud and drizzle with the baby in one arm and Kate
                  clinging to the other. I was terrified of slipping with Johnny. Each time George reached
                  firm ground he would return on foot to carry Kate and in this way we covered many bad
                  patches.We were more fortunate than many other travellers. We passed several lorries
                  ditched on the side of the road and one car load of German men, all elegantly dressed in
                  lounge suits. One was busy with his camera so will have a record of their plight to laugh
                  over in the years to come. We spent another night camping on the road and next day
                  set out on the last lap of the journey. That also was tiresome but much better than the
                  previous day and we made the haven of the Arusha Hotel before dark. What a picture
                  we made as we walked through the hall in our mud splattered clothes! Even Johnny was
                  well splashed with mud but no harm was done and both he and Kate are blooming.
                  We rested for two days at Arusha and then came South to Iringa. Luckily the sun
                  came out and though for the first day the road was muddy it was no longer so slippery
                  and the second day found us driving through parched country and along badly
                  corrugated roads. The further South we came, the warmer the sun which at times blazed
                  through the windscreen and made us all uncomfortably hot. I have described the country
                  between Arusha and Dodoma before so I shan’t do it again. We reached Iringa without
                  mishap and after a good nights rest all felt full of beans.

                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  You will be surprised to note that we are back on the farm! At least the children
                  and I are here. George is away near the Rhodesian border somewhere, still on
                  Rinderpest control.

                  I had a pleasant time at Iringa, lots of invitations to morning tea and Kate had a
                  wonderful time enjoying the novelty of playing with children of her own age. She is not
                  shy but nevertheless likes me to be within call if not within sight. It was all very suburban
                  but pleasant enough. A few days before Christmas George turned up at Iringa and
                  suggested that, as he would be working in the Mbeya area, it might be a good idea for
                  the children and me to move to the farm. I agreed enthusiastically, completely forgetting
                  that after my previous trouble with the leopard I had vowed to myself that I would never
                  again live alone on the farm.

                  Alas no sooner had we arrived when Thomas, our farm headman, brought the
                  news that there were now two leopards terrorising the neighbourhood, and taking dogs,
                  goats and sheep and chickens. Traps and poisoned bait had been tried in vain and he
                  was sure that the female was the same leopard which had besieged our home before.
                  Other leopards said Thomas, came by stealth but this one advertised her whereabouts
                  in the most brazen manner.

                  George stayed with us on the farm over Christmas and all was quiet at night so I
                  cheered up and took the children for walks along the overgrown farm paths. However on
                  New Years Eve that darned leopard advertised her presence again with the most blood
                  chilling grunts and snarls. Horrible! Fanny and Paddy barked and growled and woke up
                  both children. Kate wept and kept saying, “Send it away mummy. I don’t like it.” Johnny
                  Jo howled in sympathy. What a picnic. So now the whole performance of bodyguards
                  has started again and ‘till George returns we confine our exercise to the garden.
                  Our little house is still cosy and sweet but the coffee plantation looks very
                  neglected. I wish to goodness we could sell it.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  After three months of moving around with two small children it is heavenly to be
                  settled in our own home, even though Nzassa is an isolated spot and has the reputation
                  of being unhealthy.

                  We travelled by car from Mbeya to Dodoma by now a very familiar stretch of
                  country, but from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam by train which made a nice change. We
                  spent two nights and a day in the Splendid Hotel in Dar es Salaam, George had some
                  official visits to make and I did some shopping and we took the children to the beach.
                  The bay is so sheltered that the sea is as calm as a pond and the water warm. It is
                  wonderful to see the sea once more and to hear tugs hooting and to watch the Arab
                  dhows putting out to sea with their oddly shaped sails billowing. I do love the bush, but
                  I love the sea best of all, as you know.

                  We made an early start for Nzassa on the 3rd. For about four miles we bowled
                  along a good road. This brought us to a place called Temeke where George called on
                  the District Officer. His house appears to be the only European type house there. The
                  road between Temeke and the turn off to Nzassa is quite good, but the six mile stretch
                  from the turn off to Nzassa is a very neglected bush road. There is nothing to be seen
                  but the impenetrable bush on both sides with here and there a patch of swampy
                  ground where rice is planted in the wet season.

                  After about six miles of bumpy road we reached Nzassa which is nothing more
                  than a sandy clearing in the bush. Our house however is a fine one. It was originally built
                  for the District Officer and there is a small court house which is now George’s office. The
                  District Officer died of blackwater fever so Nzassa was abandoned as an administrative
                  station being considered too unhealthy for Administrative Officers but suitable as
                  Headquarters for a Game Ranger. Later a bachelor Game Ranger was stationed here
                  but his health also broke down and he has been invalided to England. So now the
                  healthy Rushbys are here and we don’t mean to let the place get us down. So don’t
                  worry.

                  The house consists of three very large and airy rooms with their doors opening
                  on to a wide front verandah which we shall use as a living room. There is also a wide
                  back verandah with a store room at one end and a bathroom at the other. Both
                  verandahs and the end windows of the house are screened my mosquito gauze wire
                  and further protected by a trellis work of heavy expanded metal. Hasmani, the Game
                  Scout, who has been acting as caretaker, tells me that the expanded metal is very
                  necessary because lions often come out of the bush at night and roam around the
                  house. Such a comforting thought!

                  On our very first evening we discovered how necessary the mosquito gauze is.
                  After sunset the air outside is thick with mosquitos from the swamps. About an acre of
                  land has been cleared around the house. This is a sandy waste because there is no
                  water laid on here and absolutely nothing grows here except a rather revolting milky
                  desert bush called ‘Manyara’, and a few acacia trees. A little way from the house there is
                  a patch of citrus trees, grape fruit, I think, but whether they ever bear fruit I don’t know.
                  The clearing is bordered on three sides by dense dusty thorn bush which is
                  ‘lousy with buffalo’ according to George. The open side is the road which leads down to
                  George’s office and the huts for the Game Scouts. Only Hasmani and George’s orderly
                  Juma and their wives and families live there, and the other huts provide shelter for the
                  Game Scouts from the bush who come to Nzassa to collect their pay and for a short
                  rest. I can see that my daily walk will always be the same, down the road to the huts and
                  back! However I don’t mind because it is far too hot to take much exercise.

                  The climate here is really tropical and worse than on the coast because the thick
                  bush cuts us off from any sea breeze. George says it will be cooler when the rains start
                  but just now we literally drip all day. Kate wears nothing but a cotton sun suit, and Johnny
                  a napkin only, but still their little bodies are always moist. I have shorn off all Kate’s lovely
                  shoulder length curls and got George to cut my hair very short too.

                  We simply must buy a refrigerator. The butter, and even the cheese we bought
                  in Dar. simply melted into pools of oil overnight, and all our meat went bad, so we are
                  living out of tins. However once we get organised I shall be quite happy here. I like this
                  spacious house and I have good servants. The cook, Hamisi Issa, is a Swahili from Lindi
                  whom we engaged in Dar es Salaam. He is a very dignified person, and like most
                  devout Mohammedan Cooks, keeps both his person and the kitchen spotless. I
                  engaged the house boy here. He is rather a timid little body but is very willing and quite
                  capable. He has an excessively plain but cheerful wife whom I have taken on as ayah. I
                  do not really need help with the children but feel I must have a woman around just in
                  case I go down with malaria when George is away on safari.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  George’s birthday and we had a special tea party this afternoon which the
                  children much enjoyed. We have our frig now so I am able to make jellies and provide
                  them with really cool drinks.

                  Our very first visitor left this morning after spending only one night here. He is Mr
                  Ionides, the Game Ranger from the Southern Province. He acted as stand in here for a
                  short while after George’s predecessor left for England on sick leave, and where he has
                  since died. Mr Ionides returned here to hand over the range and office formally to
                  George. He seems a strange man and is from all accounts a bit of a hermit. He was at
                  one time an Officer in the Regular Army but does not look like a soldier, he wears the
                  most extraordinary clothes but nevertheless contrives to look top-drawer. He was
                  educated at Rugby and Sandhurst and is, I should say, well read. Ionides told us that he
                  hated Nzassa, particularly the house which he thinks sinister and says he always slept
                  down in the office.

                  The house, or at least one bedroom, seems to have the same effect on Kate.
                  She has been very nervous at night ever since we arrived. At first the children occupied
                  the bedroom which is now George’s. One night, soon after our arrival, Kate woke up
                  screaming to say that ‘something’ had looked at her through the mosquito net. She was
                  in such a hysterical state that inspite of the heat and discomfort I was obliged to crawl into
                  her little bed with her and remained there for the rest of the night.

                  Next night I left a night lamp burning but even so I had to sit by her bed until she
                  dropped off to sleep. Again I was awakened by ear-splitting screams and this time
                  found Kate standing rigid on her bed. I lifted her out and carried her to a chair meaning to
                  comfort her but she screeched louder than ever, “Look Mummy it’s under the bed. It’s
                  looking at us.” In vain I pointed out that there was nothing at all there. By this time
                  George had joined us and he carried Kate off to his bed in the other room whilst I got into
                  Kate’s bed thinking she might have been frightened by a rat which might also disturb
                  Johnny.

                  Next morning our houseboy remarked that he had heard Kate screaming in the
                  night from his room behind the kitchen. I explained what had happened and he must
                  have told the old Scout Hasmani who waylaid me that afternoon and informed me quite
                  seriously that that particular room was haunted by a ‘sheitani’ (devil) who hates children.
                  He told me that whilst he was acting as caretaker before our arrival he one night had his
                  wife and small daughter in the room to keep him company. He said that his small
                  daughter woke up and screamed exactly as Kate had done! Silly coincidence I
                  suppose, but such strange things happen in Africa that I decided to move the children
                  into our room and George sleeps in solitary state in the haunted room! Kate now sleeps
                  peacefully once she goes to sleep but I have to stay with her until she does.

                  I like this house and it does not seem at all sinister to me. As I mentioned before,
                  the rooms are high ceilinged and airy, and have cool cement floors. We have made one
                  end of the enclosed verandah into the living room and the other end is the playroom for
                  the children. The space in between is a sort of no-mans land taken over by the dogs as
                  their special territory.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  George is on safari down in the Rufigi River area. He is away for about three
                  weeks in the month on this job. I do hate to see him go and just manage to tick over until
                  he comes back. But what fun and excitement when he does come home.
                  Usually he returns after dark by which time the children are in bed and I have
                  settled down on the verandah with a book. The first warning is usually given by the
                  dogs, Fanny and her son Paddy. They stir, sit up, look at each other and then go and sit
                  side by side by the door with their noses practically pressed to the mosquito gauze and
                  ears pricked. Soon I can hear the hum of the car, and so can Hasmani, the old Game
                  Scout who sleeps on the back verandah with rifle and ammunition by his side when
                  George is away. When he hears the car he turns up his lamp and hurries out to rouse
                  Juma, the houseboy. Juma pokes up the fire and prepares tea which George always
                  drinks whist a hot meal is being prepared. In the meantime I hurriedly comb my hair and
                  powder my nose so that when the car stops I am ready to rush out and welcome
                  George home. The boy and Hasmani and the garden boy appear to help with the
                  luggage and to greet George and the cook, who always accompanies George on
                  Safari. The home coming is always a lively time with much shouting of greetings.
                  ‘Jambo’, and ‘Habari ya safari’, whilst the dogs, beside themselves with excitement,
                  rush around like lunatics.

                  As though his return were not happiness enough, George usually collects the
                  mail on his way home so there is news of Ann and young George and letters from you
                  and bundles of newspapers and magazines. On the day following his return home,
                  George has to deal with official mail in the office but if the following day is a weekday we
                  all, the house servants as well as ourselves, pile into the boxbody and go to Dar es
                  Salaam. To us this means a mornings shopping followed by an afternoon on the beach.
                  It is a bit cooler now that the rains are on but still very humid. Kate keeps chubby
                  and rosy in spite of the climate but Johnny is too pale though sturdy enough. He is such
                  a good baby which is just as well because Kate is a very demanding little girl though
                  sunny tempered and sweet. I appreciate her company very much when George is
                  away because we are so far off the beaten track that no one ever calls.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  You all seem to wonder how I can stand the loneliness and monotony of living at
                  Nzassa when George is on safari, but really and truly I do not mind. Hamisi the cook
                  always goes on safari with George and then the houseboy Juma takes over the cooking
                  and I do the lighter housework. the children are great company during the day, and when
                  they are settled for the night I sit on the verandah and read or write letters or I just dream.
                  The verandah is entirely enclosed with both wire mosquito gauze and a trellis
                  work of heavy expanded metal, so I am safe from all intruders be they human, animal, or
                  insect. Outside the air is alive with mosquitos and the cicadas keep up their monotonous
                  singing all night long. My only companions on the verandah are the pale ghecco lizards
                  on the wall and the two dogs. Fanny the white bull terrier, lies always near my feet
                  dozing happily, but her son Paddy, who is half Airedale has a less phlegmatic
                  disposition. He sits alert and on guard by the metal trellis work door. Often a lion grunts
                  from the surrounding bush and then his hackles rise and he stands up stiffly with his nose
                  pressed to the door. Old Hasmani from his bedroll on the back verandah, gives a little
                  cough just to show he is awake. Sometimes the lions are very close and then I hear the
                  click of a rifle bolt as Hasmani loads his rifle – but this is usually much later at night when
                  the lights are out. One morning I saw large pug marks between the wall of my bedroom
                  and the garage but I do not fear lions like I did that beastly leopard on the farm.
                  A great deal of witchcraft is still practiced in the bush villages in the
                  neighbourhood. I must tell you about old Hasmani’s baby in connection with this. Last
                  week Hasmani came to me in great distress to say that his baby was ‘Ngongwa sana ‘
                  (very ill) and he thought it would die. I hurried down to the Game Scouts quarters to see
                  whether I could do anything for the child and found the mother squatting in the sun
                  outside her hut with the baby on her lap. The mother was a young woman but not an
                  attractive one. She appeared sullen and indifferent compared with old Hasmani who
                  was very distressed. The child was very feverish and breathing with difficulty and
                  seemed to me to be suffering from bronchitis if not pneumonia. I rubbed his back and
                  chest with camphorated oil and dosed him with aspirin and liquid quinine. I repeated the
                  treatment every four hours, but next day there was no apparent improvement.
                  In the afternoon Hasmani begged me to give him that night off duty and asked for
                  a loan of ten shillings. He explained to me that it seemed to him that the white man’s
                  medicine had failed to cure his child and now he wished to take the child to the local witch
                  doctor. “For ten shillings” said Hasmani, “the Maganga will drive the devil out of my
                  child.” “How?” asked I. “With drums”, said Hasmani confidently. I did not know what to
                  do. I thought the child was too ill to be exposed to the night air, yet I knew that if I
                  refused his request and the child were to die, Hasmani and all the other locals would hold
                  me responsible. I very reluctantly granted his request. I was so troubled by the matter
                  that I sent for George’s office clerk. Daniel, and asked him to accompany Hasmani to the
                  ceremony and to report to me the next morning. It started to rain after dark and all night
                  long I lay awake in bed listening to the drums and the light rain. Next morning when I
                  went out to the kitchen to order breakfast I found a beaming Hasmani awaiting me.
                  “Memsahib”, he said. “My child is well, the fever is now quite gone, the Maganga drove
                  out the devil just as I told you.” Believe it or not, when I hurried to his quarters after
                  breakfast I found the mother suckling a perfectly healthy child! It may be my imagination
                  but I thought the mother looked pretty smug.The clerk Daniel told me that after Hasmani
                  had presented gifts of money and food to the ‘Maganga’, the naked baby was placed
                  on a goat skin near the drums. Most of the time he just lay there but sometimes the witch
                  doctor picked him up and danced with the child in his arms. Daniel seemed reluctant to
                  talk about it. Whatever mumbo jumbo was used all this happened a week ago and the
                  baby has never looked back.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

                  Did I tell you that one of George’s Game Scouts was murdered last month in the
                  Maneromango area towards the Rufigi border. He was on routine patrol, with a porter
                  carrying his bedding and food, when they suddenly came across a group of African
                  hunters who were busy cutting up a giraffe which they had just killed. These hunters were
                  all armed with muzzle loaders, spears and pangas, but as it is illegal to kill giraffe without
                  a permit, the Scout went up to the group to take their names. Some argument ensued
                  and the Scout was stabbed.

                  The District Officer went to the area to investigate and decided to call in the Police
                  from Dar es Salaam. A party of police went out to search for the murderers but after
                  some days returned without making any arrests. George was on an elephant control
                  safari in the Bagamoyo District and on his return through Dar es Salaam he heard of the
                  murder. George was furious and distressed to hear the news and called in here for an
                  hour on his way to Maneromango to search for the murderers himself.

                  After a great deal of strenuous investigation he arrested three poachers, put them
                  in jail for the night at Maneromango and then brought them to Dar es Salaam where they
                  are all now behind bars. George will now have to prosecute in the Magistrate’s Court
                  and try and ‘make a case’ so that the prisoners may be committed to the High Court to
                  be tried for murder. George is convinced of their guilt and justifiably proud to have
                  succeeded where the police failed.

                  George had to borrow handcuffs for the prisoners from the Chief at
                  Maneromango and these he brought back to Nzassa after delivering the prisoners to
                  Dar es Salaam so that he may return them to the Chief when he revisits the area next
                  week.

                  I had not seen handcuffs before and picked up a pair to examine them. I said to
                  George, engrossed in ‘The Times’, “I bet if you were arrested they’d never get
                  handcuffs on your wrist. Not these anyway, they look too small.” “Standard pattern,”
                  said George still concentrating on the newspaper, but extending an enormous relaxed
                  left wrist. So, my dears, I put a bracelet round his wrist and as there was a wide gap I
                  gave a hard squeeze with both hands. There was a sharp click as the handcuff engaged
                  in the first notch. George dropped the paper and said, “Now you’ve done it, my love,
                  one set of keys are in the Dar es Salaam Police Station, and the others with the Chief at
                  Maneromango.” You can imagine how utterly silly I felt but George was an angel about it
                  and said as he would have to go to Dar es Salaam we might as well all go.

                  So we all piled into the car, George, the children and I in the front, and the cook
                  and houseboy, immaculate in snowy khanzus and embroidered white caps, a Game
                  Scout and the ayah in the back. George never once complain of the discomfort of the
                  handcuff but I was uncomfortably aware that it was much too tight because his arm
                  above the cuff looked red and swollen and the hand unnaturally pale. As the road is so
                  bad George had to use both hands on the wheel and all the time the dangling handcuff
                  clanked against the dashboard in an accusing way.

                  We drove straight to the Police Station and I could hear the roars of laughter as
                  George explained his predicament. Later I had to put up with a good deal of chaffing
                  and congratulations upon putting the handcuffs on George.

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 5th August 1939

                  Dearest Family,

                  George made a point of being here for Kate’s fourth birthday last week. Just
                  because our children have no playmates George and I always do all we can to make
                  birthdays very special occasions. We went to Dar es Salaam the day before the
                  birthday and bought Kate a very sturdy tricycle with which she is absolutely delighted.
                  You will be glad to know that your parcels arrived just in time and Kate loved all your
                  gifts especially the little shop from Dad with all the miniature tins and packets of
                  groceries. The tea set was also a great success and is much in use.

                  We had a lively party which ended with George and me singing ‘Happy
                  Birthday to you’, and ended with a wild game with balloons. Kate wore her frilly white net
                  party frock and looked so pretty that it seemed a shame that there was no one but us to
                  see her. Anyway it was a good party. I wish so much that you could see the children.
                  Kate keeps rosy and has not yet had malaria. Johnny Jo is sturdy but pale. He
                  runs a temperature now and again but I am not sure whether this is due to teething or
                  malaria. Both children of course take quinine every day as George and I do. George
                  quite frequently has malaria in spite of prophylactic quinine but this is not surprising as he
                  got the germ thoroughly established in his system in his early elephant hunting days. I
                  get it too occasionally but have not been really ill since that first time a month after my
                  arrival in the country.

                  Johnny is such a good baby. His chief claim to beauty is his head of soft golden
                  curls but these are due to come off on his first birthday as George considers them too
                  girlish. George left on safari the day after the party and the very next morning our wood
                  boy had a most unfortunate accident. He was chopping a rather tough log when a chip
                  flew up and split his upper lip clean through from mouth to nostril exposing teeth and
                  gums. A truly horrible sight and very bloody. I cleaned up the wound as best I could
                  and sent him off to the hospital at Dar es Salaam on the office bicycle. He wobbled
                  away wretchedly down the road with a white cloth tied over his mouth to keep off the
                  dust. He returned next day with his lip stitched and very swollen and bearing a
                  resemblance to my lip that time I used the hair remover.

                  Eleanor.

                  Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

                  So now another war has started and it has disrupted even our lives. We have left
                  Nzassa for good. George is now a Lieutenant in the King’s African Rifles and the children
                  and I are to go to a place called Morogoro to await further developments.
                  I was glad to read in today’s paper that South Africa has declared war on
                  Germany. I would have felt pretty small otherwise in this hotel which is crammed full of
                  men who have been called up for service in the Army. George seems exhilarated by
                  the prospect of active service. He is bursting out of his uniform ( at the shoulders only!)
                  and all too ready for the fray.

                  The war came as a complete surprise to me stuck out in the bush as I was without
                  wireless or mail. George had been away for a fortnight so you can imagine how
                  surprised I was when a messenger arrived on a bicycle with a note from George. The
                  note informed me that war had been declared and that George, as a Reserve Officer in
                  the KAR had been called up. I was to start packing immediately and be ready by noon
                  next day when George would arrive with a lorry for our goods and chattels. I started to
                  pack immediately with the help of the houseboy and by the time George arrived with
                  the lorry only the frig remained to be packed and this was soon done.

                  Throughout the morning Game Scouts had been arriving from outlying parts of
                  the District. I don’t think they had the least idea where they were supposed to go or
                  whom they were to fight but were ready to fight anybody, anywhere, with George.
                  They all looked very smart in well pressed uniforms hung about with water bottles and
                  ammunition pouches. The large buffalo badge on their round pill box hats absolutely
                  glittered with polish. All of course carried rifles and when George arrived they all lined up
                  and they looked most impressive. I took some snaps but unfortunately it was drizzling
                  and they may not come out well.

                  We left Nzassa without a backward glance. We were pretty fed up with it by
                  then. The children and I are spending a few days here with George but our luggage, the
                  dogs, and the houseboys have already left by train for Morogoro where a small house
                  has been found for the children and me.

                  George tells me that all the German males in this Territory were interned without a
                  hitch. The whole affair must have been very well organised. In every town and
                  settlement special constables were sworn in to do the job. It must have been a rather
                  unpleasant one but seems to have gone without incident. There is a big transit camp
                  here at Dar for the German men. Later they are to be sent out of the country, possibly to
                  Rhodesia.

                  The Indian tailors in the town are all terribly busy making Army uniforms, shorts
                  and tunics in khaki drill. George swears that they have muddled their orders and he has
                  been given the wrong things. Certainly the tunic is far too tight. His hat, a khaki slouch hat
                  like you saw the Australians wearing in the last war, is also too small though it is the
                  largest they have in stock. We had a laugh over his other equipment which includes a
                  small canvas haversack and a whistle on a black cord. George says he feels like he is
                  back in his Boy Scouting boyhood.

                  George has just come in to say the we will be leaving for Morogoro tomorrow
                  afternoon.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

                  Morogoro is a complete change from Nzassa. This is a large and sprawling
                  township. The native town and all the shops are down on the flat land by the railway but
                  all the European houses are away up the slope of the high Uluguru Mountains.
                  Morogoro was a flourishing town in the German days and all the streets are lined with
                  trees for coolness as is the case in other German towns. These trees are the flamboyant
                  acacia which has an umbrella top and throws a wide but light shade.

                  Most of the houses have large gardens so they cover a considerable area and it
                  is quite a safari for me to visit friends on foot as our house is on the edge of this area and
                  the furthest away from the town. Here ones house is in accordance with ones seniority in
                  Government service. Ours is a simple affair, just three lofty square rooms opening on to
                  a wide enclosed verandah. Mosquitoes are bad here so all doors and windows are
                  screened and we will have to carry on with our daily doses of quinine.

                  George came up to Morogoro with us on the train. This was fortunate because I
                  went down with a sharp attack of malaria at the hotel on the afternoon of our departure
                  from Dar es Salaam. George’s drastic cure of vast doses of quinine, a pillow over my
                  head, and the bed heaped with blankets soon brought down the temperature so I was
                  fit enough to board the train but felt pretty poorly on the trip. However next day I felt
                  much better which was a good thing as George had to return to Dar es Salaam after two
                  days. His train left late at night so I did not see him off but said good-bye at home
                  feeling dreadful but trying to keep the traditional stiff upper lip of the wife seeing her
                  husband off to the wars. He hopes to go off to Abyssinia but wrote from Dar es Salaam
                  to say that he is being sent down to Rhodesia by road via Mbeya to escort the first
                  detachment of Rhodesian white troops.

                  First he will have to select suitable camping sites for night stops and arrange for
                  supplies of food. I am very pleased as it means he will be safe for a while anyway. We
                  are both worried about Ann and George in England and wonder if it would be safer to
                  have them sent out.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 4th November 1939

                  Dearest Family,

                  My big news is that George has been released from the Army. He is very
                  indignant and disappointed because he hoped to go to Abyssinia but I am terribly,
                  terribly glad. The Chief Secretary wrote a very nice letter to George pointing out that he
                  would be doing a greater service to his country by his work of elephant control, giving
                  crop protection during the war years when foodstuffs are such a vital necessity, than by
                  doing a soldiers job. The Government plan to start a huge rice scheme in the Rufiji area,
                  and want George to control the elephant and hippo there. First of all though. he must go
                  to the Southern Highlands Province where there is another outbreak of Rinderpest, to
                  shoot out diseased game especially buffalo, which might spread the disease.

                  So off we go again on our travels but this time we are leaving the two dogs
                  behind in the care of Daniel, the Game Clerk. Fanny is very pregnant and I hate leaving
                  her behind but the clerk has promised to look after her well. We are taking Hamisi, our
                  dignified Swahili cook and the houseboy Juma and his wife whom we brought with us
                  from Nzassa. The boy is not very good but his wife makes a cheerful and placid ayah
                  and adores Johnny.

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa 8th December 1939

                  Dearest Family,

                  The children and I are staying in a small German house leased from the
                  Custodian of Enemy Property. I can’t help feeling sorry for the owners who must be in
                  concentration camps somewhere.George is away in the bush dealing with the
                  Rinderpest emergency and the cook has gone with him. Now I have sent the houseboy
                  and the ayah away too. Two days ago my houseboy came and told me that he felt
                  very ill and asked me to write a ‘chit’ to the Indian Doctor. In the note I asked the Doctor
                  to let me know the nature of his complaint and to my horror I got a note from him to say
                  that the houseboy had a bad case of Venereal Disease. Was I horrified! I took it for
                  granted that his wife must be infected too and told them both that they would have to
                  return to their home in Nzassa. The boy shouted and the ayah wept but I paid them in
                  lieu of notice and gave them money for the journey home. So there I was left servant
                  less with firewood to chop, a smokey wood burning stove to control, and of course, the
                  two children.

                  To add to my troubles Johnny had a temperature so I sent for the European
                  Doctor. He diagnosed malaria and was astonished at the size of Johnny’s spleen. He
                  said that he must have had suppressed malaria over a long period and the poor child
                  must now be fed maximum doses of quinine for a long time. The Doctor is a fatherly
                  soul, he has been recalled from retirement to do this job as so many of the young
                  doctors have been called up for service with the army.

                  I told him about my houseboy’s complaint and the way I had sent him off
                  immediately, and he was very amused at my haste, saying that it is most unlikely that
                  they would have passed the disease onto their employers. Anyway I hated the idea. I
                  mean to engage a houseboy locally, but will do without an ayah until we return to
                  Morogoro in February.

                  Something happened today to cheer me up. A telegram came from Daniel which
                  read, “FLANNEL HAS FIVE CUBS.”

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 10th March 1940

                  Dearest Family,

                  We are having very heavy rain and the countryside is a most beautiful green. In
                  spite of the weather George is away on safari though it must be very wet and
                  unpleasant. He does work so hard at his elephant hunting job and has got very thin. I
                  suppose this is partly due to those stomach pains he gets and the doctors don’t seem
                  to diagnose the trouble.

                  Living in Morogoro is much like living in a country town in South Africa, particularly
                  as there are several South African women here. I go out quite often to morning teas. We
                  all take our war effort knitting, and natter, and are completely suburban.
                  I sometimes go and see an elderly couple who have been interred here. They
                  are cold shouldered by almost everyone else but I cannot help feeling sorry for them.
                  Usually I go by invitation because I know Mrs Ruppel prefers to be prepared and
                  always has sandwiches and cake. They both speak English but not fluently and
                  conversation is confined to talking about my children and theirs. Their two sons were
                  students in Germany when war broke out but are now of course in the German Army.
                  Such nice looking chaps from their photographs but I suppose thorough Nazis. As our
                  conversation is limited I usually ask to hear a gramophone record or two. They have a
                  large collection.

                  Janet, the ayah whom I engaged at Mbeya, is proving a great treasure. She is a
                  trained hospital ayah and is most dependable and capable. She is, perhaps, a little strict
                  but the great thing is that I can trust her with the children out of my sight.
                  Last week I went out at night for the first time without George. The occasion was
                  a farewell sundowner given by the Commissioner of Prisoners and his wife. I was driven
                  home by the District Officer and he stopped his car by the back door in a large puddle.
                  Ayah came to the back door, storm lamp in hand, to greet me. My escort prepared to
                  drive off but the car stuck. I thought a push from me might help, so without informing the
                  driver, I pushed as hard as I could on the back of the car. Unfortunately the driver
                  decided on other tactics. He put the engine in reverse and I was knocked flat on my back
                  in the puddle. The car drove forward and away without the driver having the least idea of
                  what happened. The ayah was in quite a state, lifting me up and scolding me for my
                  stupidity as though I were Kate. I was a bit shaken but non the worse and will know
                  better next time.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th July 1940

                  Dearest Family,

                  How good it was of Dad to send that cable to Mother offering to have Ann and
                  George to live with you if they are accepted for inclusion in the list of children to be
                  evacuated to South Africa. It would be wonderful to know that they are safely out of the
                  war zone and so much nearer to us but I do dread the thought of the long sea voyage
                  particularly since we heard the news of the sinking of that liner carrying child evacuees to
                  Canada. I worry about them so much particularly as George is so often away on safari.
                  He is so comforting and calm and I feel brave and confident when he is home.
                  We have had no news from England for five weeks but, when she last wrote,
                  mother said the children were very well and that she was sure they would be safe in the
                  country with her.

                  Kate and John are growing fast. Kate is such a pretty little girl, rosy in spite of the
                  rather trying climate. I have allowed her hair to grow again and it hangs on her shoulders
                  in shiny waves. John is a more slightly built little boy than young George was, and quite
                  different in looks. He has Dad’s high forehead and cleft chin, widely spaced brown eyes
                  that are not so dark as mine and hair that is still fair and curly though ayah likes to smooth it
                  down with water every time she dresses him. He is a shy child, and although he plays
                  happily with Kate, he does not care to play with other children who go in the late
                  afternoons to a lawn by the old German ‘boma’.

                  Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves
                  to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go
                  too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea
                  and always calls JanetJohn’s ayah”. One morning I went to a knitting session at a
                  neighbours house. We are all knitting madly for the troops. As there were several other
                  women in the lounge and no other children, I installed Kate in the dining room with a
                  colouring book and crayons. My hostess’ black dog was chained to the dining room
                  table leg, but as he and Kate are on friendly terms I was not bothered by this.
                  Some time afterwards, during a lull in conversation, I heard a strange drumming
                  noise coming from the dining room. I went quickly to investigate and, to my horror, found
                  Kate lying on her back with the dog chain looped around her neck. The frightened dog
                  was straining away from her as far as he could get and the chain was pulled so tightly
                  around her throat that she could not scream. The drumming noise came from her heels
                  kicking in a panic on the carpet.

                  Even now I do not know how Kate got herself into this predicament. Luckily no
                  great harm was done but I think I shall do my knitting at home in future.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 16th November 1940

                  Dearest Family,

                  I much prefer our little house on the hillside to the larger one we had down below.
                  The only disadvantage is that the garden is on three levels and both children have had
                  some tumbles down the steps on the tricycle. John is an extremely stoical child. He
                  never cries when he hurts himself.

                  I think I have mentioned ‘Morningside’ before. It is a kind of Resthouse high up in
                  the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro. Jess Howe-Browne, who runs the large
                  house as a Guest House, is a wonderful woman. Besides running the boarding house
                  she also grows vegetables, flowers and fruit for sale in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam.
                  Her guests are usually women and children from Dar es Salaam who come in the hot
                  season to escape the humidity on the coast. Often the mothers leave their children for
                  long periods in Jess Howe-Browne’s care. There is a road of sorts up the mountain side
                  to Morningside, but this is so bad that cars do not attempt it and guests are carried up
                  the mountain in wicker chairs lashed to poles. Four men carry an adult, and two a child,
                  and there are of course always spare bearers and they work in shifts.

                  Last week the children and I went to Morningside for the day as guests. John
                  rode on my lap in one chair and Kate in a small chair on her own. This did not please
                  Kate at all. The poles are carried on the bearers shoulders and one is perched quite high.
                  The motion is a peculiar rocking one. The bearers chant as they go and do not seem
                  worried by shortness of breath! They are all hillmen of course and are, I suppose, used
                  to trotting up and down to the town.

                  Morningside is well worth visiting and we spent a delightful day there. The fresh
                  cool air is a great change from the heavy air of the valley. A river rushes down the
                  mountain in a series of cascades, and the gardens are shady and beautiful. Behind the
                  property is a thick indigenous forest which stretches from Morningside to the top of the
                  mountain. The house is an old German one, rather in need of repair, but Jess has made
                  it comfortable and attractive, with some of her old family treasures including a fine old
                  Grandfather clock. We had a wonderful lunch which included large fresh strawberries and
                  cream. We made the return journey again in the basket chairs and got home before dark.
                  George returned home at the weekend with a baby elephant whom we have
                  called Winnie. She was rescued from a mud hole by some African villagers and, as her
                  mother had abandoned her, they took her home and George was informed. He went in
                  the truck to fetch her having first made arrangements to have her housed in a shed on the
                  Agriculture Department Experimental Farm here. He has written to the Game Dept
                  Headquarters to inform the Game Warden and I do not know what her future will be, but
                  in the meantime she is our pet. George is afraid she will not survive because she has
                  had a very trying time. She stands about waist high and is a delightful creature and quite
                  docile. Asian and African children as well as Europeans gather to watch her and George
                  encourages them to bring fruit for her – especially pawpaws which she loves.
                  Whilst we were there yesterday one of the local ladies came, very smartly
                  dressed in a linen frock, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. She watched fascinated
                  whilst Winnie neatly split a pawpaw and removed the seeds with her trunk, before
                  scooping out the pulp and putting it in her mouth. It was a particularly nice ripe pawpaw
                  and Winnie enjoyed it so much that she stretched out her trunk for more. The lady took
                  fright and started to run with Winnie after her, sticky trunk outstretched. Quite an
                  entertaining sight. George managed to stop Winnie but not before she had left a gooey
                  smear down the back of the immaculate frock.

                  Eleanor.

                   

                  #6265
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued  ~ part 6

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Mchewe 6th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    With much love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 25th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Lots of love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 9th July 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor

                    Mchewe 8th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 17th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 20th June 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Karatu 3rd July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Karatu 12th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    #6264
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued  ~ part 5

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Chunya 16th December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      With love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Chunya 29th January 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      We should be with you in three weeks time!

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      With love to you all,
                      Eleanor.

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

                      George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      #6263
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued  ~ part 4

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Life is very quiet just now. Our neighbours have left and I miss them all especially
                        Joni who was always a great bearer of news. We also grew fond of his Swedish
                        brother-in-law Max, whose loud ‘Hodi’ always brought a glad ‘Karibu’ from us. His wife,
                        Marion, I saw less often. She is not strong and seldom went visiting but has always
                        been friendly and kind and ready to share her books with me.

                        Ann’s birthday is looming ahead and I am getting dreadfully anxious that her
                        parcels do not arrive in time. I am delighted that you were able to get a good head for
                        her doll, dad, but horrified to hear that it was so expensive. You would love your
                        ‘Charming Ann’. She is a most responsible little soul and seems to have outgrown her
                        mischievous ways. A pity in a way, I don’t want her to grow too serious. You should see
                        how thoroughly Ann baths and towels herself. She is anxious to do Georgie and Kate
                        as well.

                        I did not mean to teach Ann to write until after her fifth birthday but she has taught
                        herself by copying the large print in newspaper headlines. She would draw a letter and
                        ask me the name and now I find that at four Ann knows the whole alphabet. The front
                        cement steps is her favourite writing spot. She uses bits of white clay we use here for
                        whitewashing.

                        Coffee prices are still very low and a lot of planters here and at Mbosi are in a
                        mess as they can no longer raise mortgages on their farms or get advances from the
                        Bank against their crops. We hear many are leaving their farms to try their luck on the
                        Diggings.

                        George is getting fed up too. The snails are back on the shamba and doing
                        frightful damage. Talk of the plagues of Egypt! Once more they are being collected in
                        piles and bashed into pulp. The stench on the shamba is frightful! The greybeards in the
                        village tell George that the local Chief has put a curse on the farm because he is angry
                        that the Government granted George a small extension to the farm two years ago! As
                        the Chief was consulted at the time and was agreeable this talk of a curse is nonsense
                        but goes to show how the uneducated African put all disasters down to witchcraft.

                        With much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Ann’s birthday yesterday was not quite the gay occasion we had hoped. The
                        seventh was mail day so we sent a runner for the mail, hoping against hope that your
                        parcel containing the dolls head had arrived. The runner left for Mbeya at dawn but, as it
                        was a very wet day, he did not return with the mail bag until after dark by which time Ann
                        was fast asleep. My heart sank when I saw the parcel which contained the dolls new
                        head. It was squashed quite flat. I shed a few tears over that shattered head, broken
                        quite beyond repair, and George felt as bad about it as I did. The other parcel arrived in
                        good shape and Ann loves her little sewing set, especially the thimble, and the nursery
                        rhymes are a great success.

                        Ann woke early yesterday and began to open her parcels. She said “But
                        Mummy, didn’t Barbara’s new head come?” So I had to show her the fragments.
                        Instead of shedding the flood of tears I expected, Ann just lifted the glass eyes in her
                        hand and said in a tight little voice “Oh poor Barbara.” George saved the situation. as
                        usual, by saying in a normal voice,”Come on Ann, get up and lets play your new
                        records.” So we had music and sweets before breakfast. Later I removed Barbara’s
                        faded old blond wig and gummed on the glossy new brown one and Ann seems quite
                        satisfied.

                        Last night, after the children were tucked up in bed, we discussed our financial
                        situation. The coffee trees that have survived the plagues of borer beetle, mealie bugs
                        and snails look strong and fine, but George says it will be years before we make a living
                        out of the farm. He says he will simply have to make some money and he is leaving for
                        the Lupa on Saturday to have a look around on the Diggings. If he does decide to peg
                        a claim and work it he will put up a wattle and daub hut and the children and I will join him
                        there. But until such time as he strikes gold I shall have to remain here on the farm and
                        ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’.

                        Now don’t go and waste pity on me. Women all over the country are having to
                        stay at home whilst their husbands search for a livelihood. I am better off than most
                        because I have a comfortable little home and loyal servants and we still have enough
                        capitol to keep the wolf from the door. Anyway this is the rainy season and hardly the
                        best time to drag three small children around the sodden countryside on prospecting
                        safaris.

                        So I’ll stay here at home and hold thumbs that George makes a lucky strike.

                        Heaps of love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Well, George has gone but here we are quite safe and cosy. Kate is asleep and
                        Ann and Georgie are sprawled on the couch taking it in turns to enumerate the things
                        God has made. Every now and again Ann bothers me with an awkward question. “Did
                        God make spiders? Well what for? Did he make weeds? Isn’t He silly, mummy? She is
                        becoming a very practical person. She sews surprisingly well for a four year old and has
                        twice made cakes in the past week, very sweet and liberally coloured with cochineal and
                        much appreciated by Georgie.

                        I have been without George for a fortnight and have adapted myself to my new
                        life. The children are great company during the day and I have arranged my evenings so
                        that they do not seem long. I am determined that when George comes home he will find
                        a transformed wife. I read an article entitled ‘Are you the girl he married?’ in a magazine
                        last week and took a good look in the mirror and decided that I certainly was not! Hair dry,
                        skin dry, and I fear, a faint shadow on the upper lip. So now I have blown the whole of
                        your Christmas Money Order on an order to a chemist in Dar es Salaam for hair tonic,
                        face cream and hair remover and am anxiously awaiting the parcel.

                        In the meantime, after tucking the children into bed at night, I skip on the verandah
                        and do the series of exercises recommended in the magazine article. After this exertion I
                        have a leisurely bath followed by a light supper and then read or write letters to pass
                        the time until Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I have arranged for Janey to sleep in the house.
                        She comes in at 9.30 pm and makes up her bed on the living room floor by the fire.

                        The days are by no means uneventful. The day before yesterday the biggest
                        troop of monkeys I have ever seen came fooling around in the trees and on the grass
                        only a few yards from the house. These monkeys were the common grey monkeys
                        with black faces. They came in all sizes and were most entertaining to watch. Ann and
                        Georgie had a great time copying their antics and pulling faces at the monkeys through
                        the bedroom windows which I hastily closed.

                        Thomas, our headman, came running up and told me that this troop of monkeys
                        had just raided his maize shamba and asked me to shoot some of them. I would not of
                        course do this. I still cannot bear to kill any animal, but I fired a couple of shots in the air
                        and the monkeys just melted away. It was fantastic, one moment they were there and
                        the next they were not. Ann and Georgie thought I had been very unkind to frighten the
                        poor monkeys but honestly, when I saw what they had done to my flower garden, I
                        almost wished I had hardened my heart and shot one or two.

                        The children are all well but Ann gave me a nasty fright last week. I left Ann and
                        Georgie at breakfast whilst I fed Fanny, our bull terrier on the back verandah. Suddenly I
                        heard a crash and rushed inside to find Ann’s chair lying on its back and Ann beside it on
                        the floor perfectly still and with a paper white face. I shouted for Janey to bring water and
                        laid Ann flat on the couch and bathed her head and hands. Soon she sat up with a wan
                        smile and said “I nearly knocked my head off that time, didn’t I.” She must have been
                        standing on the chair and leaning against the back. Our brick floors are so terribly hard that
                        she might have been seriously hurt.

                        However she was none the worse for the fall, but Heavens, what an anxiety kids
                        are.

                        Lots of love,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        It was marvellous of you to send another money order to replace the one I spent
                        on cosmetics. With this one I intend to order boots for both children as a protection from
                        snake bite, though from my experience this past week the threat seems to be to the
                        head rather than the feet. I was sitting on the couch giving Kate her morning milk from a
                        cup when a long thin snake fell through the reed ceiling and landed with a thud just behind
                        the couch. I shouted “Nyoka, Nyoka!” (Snake,Snake!) and the houseboy rushed in with
                        a stick and killed the snake. I then held the cup to Kate’s mouth again but I suppose in
                        my agitation I tipped it too much because the baby choked badly. She gasped for
                        breath. I quickly gave her a sharp smack on the back and a stream of milk gushed
                        through her mouth and nostrils and over me. Janey took Kate from me and carried her
                        out into the fresh air on the verandah and as I anxiously followed her through the door,
                        another long snake fell from the top of the wall just missing me by an inch or so. Luckily
                        the houseboy still had the stick handy and dispatched this snake also.

                        The snakes were a pair of ‘boomslangs’, not nice at all, and all day long I have
                        had shamba boys coming along to touch hands and say “Poli Memsahib” – “Sorry
                        madam”, meaning of course ‘Sorry you had a fright.’

                        Apart from that one hectic morning this has been a quiet week. Before George
                        left for the Lupa he paid off most of the farm hands as we can now only afford a few
                        labourers for the essential work such as keeping the weeds down in the coffee shamba.
                        There is now no one to keep the grass on the farm roads cut so we cannot use the pram
                        when we go on our afternoon walks. Instead Janey carries Kate in a sling on her back.
                        Janey is a very clean slim woman, and her clothes are always spotless, so Kate keeps
                        cool and comfortable. Ann and Georgie always wear thick overalls on our walks as a
                        protection against thorns and possible snakes. We usually make our way to the
                        Mchewe River where Ann and Georgie paddle in the clear cold water and collect shiny
                        stones.

                        The cosmetics parcel duly arrived by post from Dar es Salaam so now I fill the
                        evenings between supper and bed time attending to my face! The much advertised
                        cream is pink and thick and feels revolting. I smooth it on before bedtime and keep it on
                        all night. Just imagine if George could see me! The advertisements promise me a skin
                        like a rose in six weeks. What a surprise there is in store for George!

                        You will have been wondering what has happened to George. Well on the Lupa
                        he heard rumours of a new gold strike somewhere in the Sumbawanga District. A couple
                        of hundred miles from here I think, though I am not sure where it is and have no one to
                        ask. You look it up on the map and tell me. John Molteno is also interested in this and
                        anxious to have it confirmed so he and George have come to an agreement. John
                        Molteno provided the porters for the journey together with prospecting tools and
                        supplies but as he cannot leave his claims, or his gold buying business, George is to go
                        on foot to the area of the rumoured gold strike and, if the strike looks promising will peg
                        claims in both their names.

                        The rainy season is now at its height and the whole countryside is under water. All
                        roads leading to the area are closed to traffic and, as there are few Europeans who
                        would attempt the journey on foot, George proposes to get a head start on them by
                        making this uncomfortable safari. I have just had my first letter from George since he left
                        on this prospecting trip. It took ages to reach me because it was sent by runner to
                        Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia, then on by lorry to Mpika where it was put on a plane
                        for Mbeya. George writes the most charming letters which console me a little upon our
                        all too frequent separations.

                        His letter was cheerful and optimistic, though reading between the lines I should
                        say he had a grim time. He has reached Sumbawanga after ‘a hell of a trip’, to find that
                        the rumoured strike was at Mpanda and he had a few more days of foot safari ahead.
                        He had found the trip from the Lupa even wetter than he had expected. The party had
                        three days of wading through swamps sometimes waist deep in water. Of his sixteen
                        porters, four deserted an the second day out and five others have had malaria and so
                        been unable to carry their loads. He himself is ‘thin but very fit’, and he sounds full of
                        beans and writes gaily of the marvellous holiday we will have if he has any decent luck! I
                        simply must get that mink and diamonds complexion.

                        The frustrating thing is that I cannot write back as I have no idea where George is
                        now.

                        With heaps of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

                        Dearest Family,
                        How kind you are. Another parcel from home. Although we are very short
                        of labourers I sent a special runner to fetch it as Ann simply couldn’t bear the suspense
                        of waiting to see Brenda, “My new little girl with plaits.” Thank goodness Brenda is
                        unbreakable. I could not have born another tragedy. She really is an exquisite little doll
                        and has hardly been out of Ann’s arms since arrival. She showed Brenda proudly to all
                        the staff. The kitchen boy’s face was a study. His eyes fairly came out on sticks when he
                        saw the dolls eyes not only opening and shutting, but moving from side to side in that
                        incredibly lifelike way. Georgie loves his little model cars which he carries around all day
                        and puts under his pillow at night.

                        As for me, I am enchanted by my very smart new frock. Janey was so lavish with
                        her compliments when I tried the frock on, that in a burst of generosity I gave her that
                        rather tartish satin and lace trousseau nighty, and she was positively enthralled. She
                        wore it that very night when she appeared as usual to doss down by the fire.
                        By the way it was Janey’s turn to have a fright this week. She was in the
                        bathroom washing the children’s clothes in an outsize hand basin when it happened. As
                        she took Georgie’s overalls from the laundry basket a large centipede ran up her bare
                        arm. Luckily she managed to knock the centipede off into the hot water in the hand basin.
                        It was a brute, about six inches long of viciousness with a nasty sting. The locals say that
                        the bite is much worse than a scorpions so Janey had a lucky escape.

                        Kate cut her first two teeth yesterday and will, I hope, sleep better now. I don’t
                        feel that pink skin food is getting a fair trial with all those broken nights. There is certainly
                        no sign yet of ‘The skin he loves to touch”. Kate, I may say, is rosy and blooming. She
                        can pull herself upright providing she has something solid to hold on to. She is so plump
                        I have horrible visions of future bow legs so I push her down, but she always bobs up
                        again.

                        Both Ann and Georgie are mad on books. Their favourites are ‘Barbar and
                        Celeste” and, of all things, ‘Struvel Peter’ . They listen with absolute relish to the sad tale
                        of Harriet who played with matches.

                        I have kept a laugh for the end. I am hoping that it will not be long before George
                        comes home and thought it was time to take the next step towards glamour, so last
                        Wednesday after lunch I settled the children on their beds and prepared to remove the ,
                        to me, obvious down on my upper lip. (George always loyally says that he can’t see
                        any.) Well I got out the tube of stuff and carefully followed the directions. I smoothed a
                        coating on my upper lip. All this was watched with great interest by the children, including
                        the baby, who stood up in her cot for a better view. Having no watch, I had propped
                        the bedroom door open so that I could time the operation by the cuckoo clock in the
                        living room. All the children’s surprised comments fell on deaf ears. I would neither talk
                        nor smile for fear of cracking the hair remover which had set hard. The set time was up
                        and I was just about to rinse the remover off when Kate slipped, knocking her head on
                        the corner of the cot. I rushed to the rescue and precious seconds ticked off whilst I
                        pacified her.

                        So, my dears, when I rinsed my lip, not only the plaster and the hair came away
                        but the skin as well and now I really did have a Ronald Coleman moustache – a crimson
                        one. I bathed it, I creamed it, powdered it but all to no avail. Within half an hour my lip
                        had swollen until I looked like one of those Duckbilled West African women. Ann’s
                        comments, “Oh Mummy, you do look funny. Georgie, doesn’t Mummy look funny?”
                        didn’t help to soothe me and the last straw was that just then there was the sound of a car drawing up outside – the first car I had heard for months. Anyway, thank heaven, it
                        was not George, but the representative of a firm which sells agricultural machinery and
                        farm implements, looking for orders. He had come from Dar es Salaam and had not
                        heard that all the planters from this district had left their farms. Hospitality demanded that I
                        should appear and offer tea. I did not mind this man because he was a complete
                        stranger and fat, middle aged and comfortable. So I gave him tea, though I didn’t
                        attempt to drink any myself, and told him the whole sad tale.

                        Fortunately much of the swelling had gone next day and only a brown dryness
                        remained. I find myself actually hoping that George is delayed a bit longer. Of one thing
                        I am sure. If ever I grow a moustache again, it stays!

                        Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. George is home again. The safari, I am sad
                        to say, was a complete washout in more ways than one. Anyway it was lovely to be
                        together again and we don’t yet talk about the future. The home coming was not at all as
                        I had planned it. I expected George to return in our old A.C. car which gives ample
                        warning of its arrival. I had meant to wear my new frock and make myself as glamourous
                        as possible, with our beautiful babe on one arm and our other jewels by my side.
                        This however is what actually happened. Last Saturday morning at about 2 am , I
                        thought I heard someone whispering my name. I sat up in bed, still half asleep, and
                        there was George at the window. He was thin and unshaven and the tiredest looking
                        man I have ever seen. The car had bogged down twenty miles back along the old Lupa
                        Track, but as George had had no food at all that day, he decided to walk home in the
                        bright moonlight.

                        This is where I should have served up a tasty hot meal but alas, there was only
                        the heal of a loaf and no milk because, before going to bed I had given the remaining
                        milk to the dog. However George seemed too hungry to care what he ate. He made a
                        meal off a tin of bully, a box of crustless cheese and the bread washed down with cup
                        after cup of black tea. Though George was tired we talked for hours and it was dawn
                        before we settled down to sleep.

                        During those hours of talk George described his nightmarish journey. He started
                        up the flooded Rukwa Valley and there were days of wading through swamp and mud
                        and several swollen rivers to cross. George is a strong swimmer and the porters who
                        were recruited in that area, could also swim. There remained the problem of the stores
                        and of Kianda the houseboy who cannot swim. For these they made rough pole rafts
                        which they pulled across the rivers with ropes. Kianda told me later that he hopes never
                        to make such a journey again. He swears that the raft was submerged most of the time
                        and that he was dragged through the rivers underwater! You should see the state of
                        George’s clothes which were packed in a supposedly water tight uniform trunk. The
                        whole lot are mud stained and mouldy.

                        To make matters more trying for George he was obliged to live mostly on
                        porters rations, rice and groundnut oil which he detests. As all the district roads were
                        closed the little Indian Sores in the remote villages he passed had been unable to
                        replenish their stocks of European groceries. George would have been thinner had it not
                        been for two Roman Catholic missions enroute where he had good meals and dry
                        nights. The Fathers are always wonderfully hospitable to wayfarers irrespective of
                        whether or not they are Roman Catholics. George of course is not a Catholic. One finds
                        the Roman Catholic missions right out in the ‘Blue’ and often on spots unhealthy to
                        Europeans. Most of the Fathers are German or Dutch but they all speak a little English
                        and in any case one can always fall back on Ki-Swahili.

                        George reached his destination all right but it soon became apparent that reports
                        of the richness of the strike had been greatly exaggerated. George had decided that
                        prospects were brighter on the Lupa than on the new strike so he returned to the Lupa
                        by the way he had come and, having returned the borrowed equipment decided to
                        make his way home by the shortest route, the old and now rarely used road which
                        passes by the bottom of our farm.

                        The old A.C. had been left for safe keeping at the Roman Catholic Galala
                        Mission 40 miles away, on George’s outward journey, and in this old car George, and
                        the houseboy Kianda , started for home. The road was indescribably awful. There were long stretches that were simply one big puddle, in others all the soil had been washed
                        away leaving the road like a rocky river bed. There were also patches where the tall
                        grass had sprung up head high in the middle of the road,
                        The going was slow because often the car bogged down because George had
                        no wheel chains and he and Kianda had the wearisome business of digging her out. It
                        was just growing dark when the old A.C. settled down determinedly in the mud for the
                        last time. They could not budge her and they were still twenty miles from home. George
                        decided to walk home in the moonlight to fetch help leaving Kianda in charge of the car
                        and its contents and with George’s shot gun to use if necessary in self defence. Kianda
                        was reluctant to stay but also not prepared to go for help whilst George remained with
                        the car as lions are plentiful in that area. So George set out unarmed in the moonlight.
                        Once he stopped to avoid a pride of lion coming down the road but he circled safely
                        around them and came home without any further alarms.

                        Kianda said he had a dreadful night in the car, “With lions roaming around the car
                        like cattle.” Anyway the lions did not take any notice of the car or of Kianda, and the next
                        day George walked back with all our farm boys and dug and pushed the car out of the
                        mud. He brought car and Kianda back without further trouble but the labourers on their
                        way home were treed by the lions.

                        The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                        Lots and lots of love,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Young George’s third birthday passed off very well yesterday. It started early in
                        the morning when he brought his pillow slip of presents to our bed. Kate was already
                        there and Ann soon joined us. Young George liked all the presents you sent, especially
                        the trumpet. It has hardly left his lips since and he is getting quite smart about the finger
                        action.

                        We had quite a party. Ann and I decorated the table with Christmas tree tinsel
                        and hung a bunch of balloons above it. Ann also decorated young George’s chair with
                        roses and phlox from the garden. I had made and iced a fruit cake but Ann begged to
                        make a plain pink cake. She made it entirely by herself though I stood by to see that
                        she measured the ingredients correctly. When the cake was baked I mixed some soft
                        icing in a jug and she poured it carefully over the cake smoothing the gaps with her
                        fingers!

                        During the party we had the gramophone playing and we pulled crackers and
                        wore paper hats and altogether had a good time. I forgot for a while that George is
                        leaving again for the Lupa tomorrow for an indefinite time. He was marvellous at making
                        young George’s party a gay one. You will have noticed the change from Georgie to
                        young George. Our son declares that he now wants to be called George, “Like Dad”.
                        He an Ann are a devoted couple and I am glad that there is only a fourteen
                        months difference in their ages. They play together extremely well and are very
                        independent which is just as well for little Kate now demands a lot of my attention. My
                        garden is a real cottage garden and looks very gay and colourful. There are hollyhocks
                        and Snapdragons, marigolds and phlox and of course the roses and carnations which, as
                        you know, are my favourites. The coffee shamba does not look so good because the
                        small labour force, which is all we can afford, cannot cope with all the weeds. You have
                        no idea how things grow during the wet season in the tropics.

                        Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when George is home, so I’m afraid this
                        letter is rather dull. I wanted you to know though, that largely due to all your gifts of toys
                        and sweets, Georgie’s 3rd birthday party went with a bang.

                        Your very affectionate,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        I am sorry to hear that Mummy worries about me so much. “Poor Eleanor”,
                        indeed! I have a quite exceptional husband, three lovely children, a dear little home and
                        we are all well.It is true that I am in rather a rut but what else can we do? George comes
                        home whenever he can and what excitement there is when he does come. He cannot
                        give me any warning because he has to take advantage of chance lifts from the Diggings
                        to Mbeya, but now that he is prospecting nearer home he usually comes walking over
                        the hills. About 50 miles of rough going. Really and truly I am all right. Although our diet is
                        monotonous we have plenty to eat. Eggs and milk are cheap and fruit plentiful and I
                        have a good cook so can devote all my time to the children. I think it is because they are
                        my constant companions that Ann and Georgie are so grown up for their years.
                        I have no ayah at present because Janey has been suffering form rheumatism
                        and has gone home for one of her periodic rests. I manage very well without her except
                        in the matter of the afternoon walks. The outward journey is all right. George had all the
                        grass cut on his last visit so I am able to push the pram whilst Ann, George and Fanny
                        the dog run ahead. It is the uphill return trip that is so trying. Our walk back is always the
                        same, down the hill to the river where the children love to play and then along the car
                        road to the vegetable garden. I never did venture further since the day I saw a leopard
                        jump on a calf. I did not tell you at the time as I thought you might worry. The cattle were
                        grazing on a small knoll just off our land but near enough for me to have a clear view.
                        Suddenly the cattle scattered in all directions and we heard the shouts of the herd boys
                        and saw – or rather had the fleeting impression- of a large animal jumping on a calf. I
                        heard the herd boy shout “Chui, Chui!” (leopard) and believe me, we turned in our
                        tracks and made for home. To hasten things I picked up two sticks and told the children
                        that they were horses and they should ride them home which they did with
                        commendable speed.

                        Ann no longer rides Joseph. He became increasingly bad tempered and a
                        nuisance besides. He took to rolling all over my flower beds though I had never seen
                        him roll anywhere else. Then one day he kicked Ann in the chest, not very hard but
                        enough to send her flying. Now George has given him to the native who sells milk to us
                        and he seems quite happy grazing with the cattle.

                        With love to you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Since I last wrote George has been home and we had a lovely time as usual.
                        Whilst he was here the District Commissioner and his wife called. Mr Pollock told
                        George that there is to be a big bush clearing scheme in some part of the Mbeya
                        District to drive out Tsetse Fly. The game in the area will have to be exterminated and
                        there will probably be a job for George shooting out the buffalo. The pay would be
                        good but George says it is a beastly job. Although he is a professional hunter, he hates
                        slaughter.

                        Mrs P’s real reason for visiting the farm was to invite me to stay at her home in
                        Mbeya whilst she and her husband are away in Tukuyu. Her English nanny and her small
                        daughter will remain in Mbeya and she thought it might be a pleasant change for us and
                        a rest for me as of course Nanny will do the housekeeping. I accepted the invitation and I
                        think I will go on from there to Tukuyu and visit my friend Lillian Eustace for a fortnight.
                        She has given us an open invitation to visit her at any time.

                        I had a letter from Dr Eckhardt last week, telling me that at a meeting of all the
                        German Settlers from Mbeya, Tukuyu and Mbosi it had been decided to raise funds to
                        build a school at Mbeya. They want the British Settlers to co-operate in this and would
                        be glad of a subscription from us. I replied to say that I was unable to afford a
                        subscription at present but would probably be applying for a teaching job.
                        The Eckhardts are the leaders of the German community here and are ardent
                        Nazis. For this reason they are unpopular with the British community but he is the only
                        doctor here and I must say they have been very decent to us. Both of them admire
                        George. George has still not had any luck on the Lupa and until he makes a really
                        promising strike it is unlikely that the children and I will join him. There is no fresh milk there
                        and vegetables and fruit are imported from Mbeya and Iringa and are very expensive.
                        George says “You wouldn’t be happy on the diggings anyway with a lot of whores and
                        their bastards!”

                        Time ticks away very pleasantly here. Young George and Kate are blooming
                        and I keep well. Only Ann does not look well. She is growing too fast and is listless and
                        pale. If I do go to Mbeya next week I shall take her to the doctor to be overhauled.
                        We do not go for our afternoon walks now that George has returned to the Lupa.
                        That leopard has been around again and has killed Tubbage that cowardly Alsatian. We
                        gave him to the village headman some months ago. There is no danger to us from the
                        leopard but I am terrified it might get Fanny, who is an excellent little watchdog and
                        dearly loved by all of us. Yesterday I sent a note to the Boma asking for a trap gun and
                        today the farm boys are building a trap with logs.

                        I had a mishap this morning in the garden. I blundered into a nest of hornets and
                        got two stings in the left arm above the elbow. Very painful at the time and the place is
                        still red and swollen.

                        Much love to you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Well here we are at Mbeya, comfortably installed in the District Commissioner’s
                        house. It is one of two oldest houses in Mbeya and is a charming gabled place with tiled
                        roof. The garden is perfectly beautiful. I am enjoying the change very much. Nanny
                        Baxter is very entertaining. She has a vast fund of highly entertaining tales of the goings
                        on amongst the British Aristocracy, gleaned it seems over the nursery teacup in many a
                        Stately Home. Ann and Georgie are enjoying the company of other children.
                        People are very kind about inviting us out to tea and I gladly accept these
                        invitations but I have turned down invitations to dinner and one to a dance at the hotel. It
                        is no fun to go out at night without George. There are several grass widows at the pub
                        whose husbands are at the diggings. They have no inhibitions about parties.
                        I did have one night and day here with George, he got the chance of a lift and
                        knowing that we were staying here he thought the chance too good to miss. He was
                        also anxious to hear the Doctor’s verdict on Ann. I took Ann to hospital on my second
                        day here. Dr Eckhardt said there was nothing specifically wrong but that Ann is a highly
                        sensitive type with whom the tropics does not agree. He advised that Ann should
                        spend a year in a more temperate climate and that the sooner she goes the better. I felt
                        very discouraged to hear this and was most relieved when George turned up
                        unexpectedly that evening. He phoo-hood Dr Eckhardt’s recommendation and next
                        morning called in Dr Aitkin, the Government Doctor from Chunya and who happened to
                        be in Mbeya.

                        Unfortunately Dr Aitkin not only confirmed Dr Eckhardt’s opinion but said that he
                        thought Ann should stay out of the tropics until she had passed adolescence. I just don’t
                        know what to do about Ann. She is a darling child, very sensitive and gentle and a
                        lovely companion to me. Also she and young George are inseparable and I just cannot
                        picture one without the other. I know that you would be glad to have Ann but how could
                        we bear to part with her?

                        Your worried but affectionate,
                        Eleanor.

                        Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        As you see we have moved to Tukuyu and we are having a lovely time with
                        Lillian Eustace. She gave us such a warm welcome and has put herself out to give us
                        every comfort. She is a most capable housekeeper and I find her such a comfortable
                        companion because we have the same outlook in life. Both of us are strictly one man
                        women and that is rare here. She has a two year old son, Billy, who is enchanted with
                        our rolly polly Kate and there are other children on the station with whom Ann and
                        Georgie can play. Lillian engaged a temporary ayah for me so I am having a good rest.
                        All the children look well and Ann in particular seems to have benefited by the
                        change to a cooler climate. She has a good colour and looks so well that people all
                        exclaim when I tell them, that two doctors have advised us to send Ann out of the
                        country. Perhaps after all, this holiday in Tukuyu will set her up.

                        We had a trying journey from Mbeya to Tukuyu in the Post Lorry. The three
                        children and I were squeezed together on the front seat between the African driver on
                        one side and a vast German on the other. Both men smoked incessantly – the driver
                        cigarettes, and the German cheroots. The cab was clouded with a blue haze. Not only
                        that! I suddenly felt a smarting sensation on my right thigh. The driver’s cigarette had
                        burnt a hole right through that new checked linen frock you sent me last month.
                        I had Kate on my lap all the way but Ann and Georgie had to stand against the
                        windscreen all the way. The fat German offered to take Ann on his lap but she gave him
                        a very cold “No thank you.” Nor did I blame her. I would have greatly enjoyed the drive
                        under less crowded conditions. The scenery is gorgeous. One drives through very high
                        country crossing lovely clear streams and at one point through rain forest. As it was I
                        counted the miles and how thankful I was to see the end of the journey.
                        In the days when Tanganyika belonged to the Germans, Tukuyu was the
                        administrative centre for the whole of the Southern Highlands Province. The old German
                        Fort is still in use as Government offices and there are many fine trees which were
                        planted by the Germans. There is a large prosperous native population in this area.
                        They go in chiefly for coffee and for bananas which form the basis of their diet.
                        There are five British married couples here and Lillian and I go out to tea most
                        mornings. In the afternoon there is tennis or golf. The gardens here are beautiful because
                        there is rain or at least drizzle all the year round. There are even hedge roses bordering
                        some of the district roads. When one walks across the emerald green golf course or
                        through the Boma gardens, it is hard to realise that this gentle place is Tropical Africa.
                        ‘Such a green and pleasant land’, but I think I prefer our corner of Tanganyika.

                        Much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        We had a lovely holiday but it is so nice to be home again, especially as Laza,
                        the local Nimrod, shot that leopard whilst we were away (with his muzzleloader gun). He
                        was justly proud of himself, and I gave him a tip so that he could buy some native beer
                        for a celebration. I have never seen one of theses parties but can hear the drums and
                        sounds of merrymaking, especially on moonlight nights.

                        Our house looks so fresh and uncluttered. Whilst I was away, the boys
                        whitewashed the house and my houseboy had washed all the curtains, bedspreads,
                        and loose covers and watered the garden. If only George were here it would be
                        heaven.

                        Ann looked so bonny at Tukuyu that I took her to the Government Doctor there
                        hoping that he would find her perfectly healthy, but alas he endorsed the finding of the
                        other two doctors so, when an opportunity offers, I think I shall have to send Ann down
                        to you for a long holiday from the Tropics. Mother-in-law has offered to fetch her next
                        year but England seems so far away. With you she will at least be on the same
                        continent.

                        I left the children for the first time ever, except for my stay in hospital when Kate
                        was born, to go on an outing to Lake Masoko in the Tukuyu district, with four friends.
                        Masoko is a beautiful, almost circular crater lake and very very deep. A detachment of
                        the King’s African Rifles are stationed there and occupy the old German barracks
                        overlooking the lake.

                        We drove to Masoko by car and spent the afternoon there as guests of two
                        British Army Officers. We had a good tea and the others went bathing in the lake but i
                        could not as I did not have a costume. The Lake was as beautiful as I had been lead to
                        imagine and our hosts were pleasant but I began to grow anxious as the afternoon
                        advanced and my friends showed no signs of leaving. I was in agonies when they
                        accepted an invitation to stay for a sundowner. We had this in the old German beer
                        garden overlooking the Lake. It was beautiful but what did I care. I had promised the
                        children that I would be home to give them their supper and put them to bed. When I
                        did at length return to Lillian’s house I found the situation as I had expected. Ann, with her
                        imagination had come to the conclusion that I never would return. She had sobbed
                        herself into a state of exhaustion. Kate was screaming in sympathy and George 2 was
                        very truculent. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Poor Lillian had had a trying time.
                        We did not return to Mbeya by the Mail Lorry. Bill and Lillian drove us across to
                        Mbeya in their new Ford V8 car. The children chattered happily in the back of the car
                        eating chocolate and bananas all the way. I might have known what would happen! Ann
                        was dreadfully and messily car sick.

                        I engaged the Mbeya Hotel taxi to drive us out to the farm the same afternoon
                        and I expect it will be a long time before we leave the farm again.

                        Lots and lots of love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Chunya 27th November 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        You will be surprised to hear that we are all together now on the Lupa goldfields.
                        I have still not recovered from my own astonishment at being here. Until last Saturday
                        night I never dreamed of this move. At about ten o’clock I was crouched in the inglenook
                        blowing on the embers to make a fire so that I could heat some milk for Kate who is
                        cutting teeth and was very restless. Suddenly I heard a car outside. I knew it must be
                        George and rushed outside storm lamp in hand. Sure enough, there was George
                        standing by a strange car, and beaming all over his face. “Something for you my love,”
                        he said placing a little bundle in my hand. It was a knotted handkerchief and inside was a
                        fine gold nugget.

                        George had that fire going in no time, Kate was given the milk and half an aspirin
                        and settles down to sleep, whilst George and I sat around for an hour chatting over our
                        tea. He told me that he had borrowed the car from John Molteno and had come to fetch
                        me and the children to join him on the diggings for a while. It seems that John, who has a
                        camp at Itewe, a couple of miles outside the township of Chunya, the new
                        Administrative Centre of the diggings, was off to the Cape to visit his family for a few
                        months. John had asked George to run his claims in his absence and had given us the
                        loan of his camp and his car.

                        George had found the nugget on his own claim but he is not too elated because
                        he says that one good month on the diggings is often followed by several months of
                        dead loss. However, I feel hopeful, we have had such a run of bad luck that surely it is
                        time for the tide to change. George spent Sunday going over the farm with Thomas, the
                        headman, and giving him instructions about future work whilst I packed clothes and
                        kitchen equipment. I have brought our ex-kitchenboy Kesho Kutwa with me as cook and
                        also Janey, who heard that we were off to the Lupa and came to offer her services once
                        more as ayah. Janey’s ex-husband Abel is now cook to one of the more successful
                        diggers and I think she is hoping to team up with him again.

                        The trip over the Mbeya-Chunya pass was new to me and I enjoyed it very
                        much indeed. The road winds over the mountains along a very high escarpment and
                        one looks down on the vast Usangu flats stretching far away to the horizon. At the
                        highest point the road rises to about 7000 feet, and this was too much for Ann who was
                        leaning against the back of my seat. She was very thoroughly sick, all over my hair.
                        This camp of John Molteno’s is very comfortable. It consists of two wattle and
                        daub buildings built end to end in a clearing in the miombo bush. The main building
                        consists of a large living room, a store and an office, and the other of one large bedroom
                        and a small one separated by an area for bathing. Both buildings are thatched. There are
                        no doors, and there are no windows, but these are not necessary because one wall of
                        each building is built up only a couple of feet leaving a six foot space for light and air. As
                        this is the dry season the weather is pleasant. The air is fresh and dry but not nearly so
                        hot as I expected.

                        Water is a problem and must be carried long distances in kerosene tins.
                        vegetables and fresh butter are brought in a van from Iringa and Mbeya Districts about
                        once a fortnight. I have not yet visited Chunya but I believe it is as good a shopping
                        centre as Mbeya so we will be able to buy all the non perishable food stuffs we need.
                        What I do miss is the fresh milk. The children are accustomed to drinking at least a pint of
                        milk each per day but they do not care for the tinned variety.

                        Ann and young George love being here. The camp is surrounded by old
                        prospecting trenches and they spend hours each day searching for gold in the heaps of gravel. Sometimes they find quartz pitted with little spots of glitter and they bring them
                        to me in great excitement. Alas it is only Mica. We have two neighbours. The one is a
                        bearded Frenchman and the other an Australian. I have not yet met any women.
                        George looks very sunburnt and extremely fit and the children also look well.
                        George and I have decided that we will keep Ann with us until my Mother-in-law comes
                        out next year. George says that in spite of what the doctors have said, he thinks that the
                        shock to Ann of being separated from her family will do her more harm than good. She
                        and young George are inseparable and George thinks it would be best if both
                        George and Ann return to England with my Mother-in-law for a couple of years. I try not
                        to think at all about the breaking up of the family.

                        Much love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                         

                        #6262
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          continued  ~ part 3

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got
                          my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George
                          calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding
                          astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much
                          prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named
                          ‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes
                          ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was.
                          It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has
                          decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am
                          very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on
                          their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of
                          selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of
                          caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is
                          off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in
                          Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come
                          and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really
                          friendly terms with them.

                          Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps
                          the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still
                          reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she
                          has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with
                          the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things.
                          Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks.

                          She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very
                          active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can
                          manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They
                          have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly
                          pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs.
                          Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the
                          shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the
                          baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on
                          Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down
                          the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He
                          grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant
                          stride up the hill, half walking half riding.

                          Very much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be
                          arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning
                          but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best
                          of what we have.

                          George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening.
                          This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the
                          farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden
                          frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire.

                          Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom
                          which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as
                          there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically
                          to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for
                          Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs
                          whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look.
                          To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day
                          of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the
                          Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane.
                          Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair,
                          normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this
                          because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract
                          attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law.
                          Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting
                          habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look
                          how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration.

                          Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                          your loving but anxious,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare
                          to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the
                          mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very
                          much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface
                          mail has not yet arrived.

                          Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden
                          brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very
                          handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once
                          Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course,
                          was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin-
                          law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to
                          her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her
                          family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the
                          same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but
                          mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley.
                          Perhaps number three will be a Leslie.

                          What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty
                          and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I
                          also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother
                          has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy
                          in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at
                          entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times.
                          Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her
                          room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes.

                          I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook
                          took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers
                          drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here.
                          The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a
                          thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he
                          wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose
                          and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and
                          as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother!
                          A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch
                          so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and
                          not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and
                          cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe.
                          Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when
                          he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the
                          spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by
                          scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible
                          for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of
                          eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get
                          another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe
                          with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what
                          transformations will be worked when I am in hospital.

                          Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because
                          she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large
                          saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house
                          servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first
                          come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist.
                          One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married,
                          mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home
                          like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of
                          George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a
                          month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot.
                          To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom
                          George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky
                          and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet.

                          Very much love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket
                          beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and
                          her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her
                          Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine.
                          I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping
                          successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and
                          carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor
                          wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy.

                          For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for
                          Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple
                          of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of
                          the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So
                          George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering
                          what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering
                          with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into
                          Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I
                          settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby
                          would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank
                          goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she
                          had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights.

                          Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but
                          anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I
                          would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the
                          wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She
                          got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to
                          bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,”
                          and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat
                          spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around
                          to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying
                          warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked
                          “Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and
                          there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor
                          arrived.

                          A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had
                          kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept
                          in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s
                          future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten
                          o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note
                          from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on
                          the sixth to fetch me home.

                          I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What
                          more could anyone possibly want.

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid
                          and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not
                          so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga
                          being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is
                          dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire
                          her when she is lying alone in her basket.

                          George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and
                          native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts
                          and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house
                          spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge.
                          Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and
                          decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen
                          one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table
                          back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up
                          without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He
                          was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked,
                          enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she
                          left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to
                          push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she
                          put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room
                          exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We
                          looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched
                          the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful,
                          you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to
                          get that sylph-like figure.”

                          When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that
                          live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home.
                          Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the
                          journey.

                          Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly
                          refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have
                          a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants
                          to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit.
                          Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your
                          baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.”

                          Who would be a mother!
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at
                          Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George
                          says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam
                          of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful.
                          About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of
                          George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp
                          lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded
                          Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy
                          had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache
                          out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with
                          Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism.

                          I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill
                          with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does
                          George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake
                          for Kate’s ten o’clock feed.

                          I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George
                          to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill
                          with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked.
                          “I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He
                          has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on
                          vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no
                          enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand
                          Alfani.

                          George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This
                          is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is
                          secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned
                          up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme!
                          Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in
                          trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging
                          from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched
                          upwards to support his head.

                          Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have.
                          Lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a
                          good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She
                          arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by
                          the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was
                          dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid
                          Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked
                          “Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember
                          how livid you were, dad?

                          I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said,
                          “What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki-
                          Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate
                          who is thriving and bonny and placid.

                          Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have
                          some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne.
                          Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come
                          into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for
                          ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She
                          disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered
                          Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her
                          former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and
                          her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed
                          and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was.

                          Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching
                          hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children
                          love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much.
                          The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell
                          Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be
                          astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call
                          Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels
                          on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t
                          touch it, it’s hot.”

                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          I take back the disparaging things I said about my new Ayah, because she has
                          proved her worth in an unexpected way. On Wednesday morning I settled Kate in he
                          cot after her ten o’clock feed and sat sewing at the dining room table with Ann and
                          Georgie opposite me, both absorbed in painting pictures in identical seed catalogues.
                          Suddenly there was a terrific bang on the back door, followed by an even heavier blow.
                          The door was just behind me and I got up and opened it. There, almost filling the door
                          frame, stood a huge native with staring eyes and his teeth showing in a mad grimace. In
                          his hand he held a rolled umbrella by the ferrule, the shaft I noticed was unusually long
                          and thick and the handle was a big round knob.

                          I was terrified as you can imagine, especially as, through the gap under the
                          native’s raised arm, I could see the new cook and the kitchen boy running away down to
                          the shamba! I hastily tried to shut and lock the door but the man just brushed me aside.
                          For a moment he stood over me with the umbrella raised as though to strike. Rather
                          fortunately, I now think, I was too petrified to say a word. The children never moved but
                          Tubbage, the Alsatian, got up and jumped out of the window!

                          Then the native turned away and still with the same fixed stare and grimace,
                          began to attack the furniture with his umbrella. Tables and chairs were overturned and
                          books and ornaments scattered on the floor. When the madman had his back turned and
                          was busily bashing the couch, I slipped round the dining room table, took Ann and
                          Georgie by the hand and fled through the front door to the garage where I hid the
                          children in the car. All this took several minutes because naturally the children were
                          terrified. I was worried to death about the baby left alone in the bedroom and as soon
                          as I had Ann and Georgie settled I ran back to the house.

                          I reached the now open front door just as Kianda the houseboy opened the back
                          door of the lounge. He had been away at the river washing clothes but, on hearing of the
                          madman from the kitchen boy he had armed himself with a stout stick and very pluckily,
                          because he is not a robust boy, had returned to the house to eject the intruder. He
                          rushed to attack immediately and I heard a terrific exchange of blows behind me as I
                          opened our bedroom door. You can imagine what my feelings were when I was
                          confronted by an empty cot! Just then there was an uproar inside as all the farm
                          labourers armed with hoes and pangas and sticks, streamed into the living room from the
                          shamba whence they had been summoned by the cook. In no time at all the huge
                          native was hustled out of the house, flung down the front steps, and securely tied up
                          with strips of cloth.

                          In the lull that followed I heard a frightened voice calling from the bathroom.
                          ”Memsahib is that you? The child is here with me.” I hastily opened the bathroom door
                          to find Mary couched in a corner by the bath, shielding Kate with her body. Mary had
                          seen the big native enter the house and her first thought had been for her charge. I
                          thanked her and promised her a reward for her loyalty, and quickly returned to the garage
                          to reassure Ann and Georgie. I met George who looked white and exhausted as well
                          he might having run up hill all the way from the coffee store. The kitchen boy had led him
                          to expect the worst and he was most relieved to find us all unhurt if a bit shaken.
                          We returned to the house by the back way whilst George went to the front and
                          ordered our labourers to take their prisoner and lock him up in the store. George then
                          discussed the whole affair with his Headman and all the labourers after which he reported
                          to me. “The boys say that the bastard is an ex-Askari from Nyasaland. He is not mad as
                          you thought but he smokes bhang and has these attacks. I suppose I should take him to
                          Mbeya and have him up in court. But if I do that you’ll have to give evidence and that will be a nuisance as the car won’t go and there is also the baby to consider.”

                          Eventually we decided to leave the man to sleep off the effects of the Bhang
                          until evening when he would be tried before an impromptu court consisting of George,
                          the local Jumbe(Headman) and village Elders, and our own farm boys and any other
                          interested spectators. It was not long before I knew the verdict because I heard the
                          sound of lashes. I was not sorry at all because I felt the man deserved his punishment
                          and so did all the Africans. They love children and despise anyone who harms or
                          frightens them. With great enthusiasm they frog-marched him off our land, and I sincerely
                          hope that that is the last we see or him. Ann and Georgie don’t seem to brood over this
                          affair at all. The man was naughty and he was spanked, a quite reasonable state of
                          affairs. This morning they hid away in the small thatched chicken house. This is a little brick
                          building about four feet square which Ann covets as a dolls house. They came back
                          covered in stick fleas which I had to remove with paraffin. My hens are laying well but
                          they all have the ‘gapes’! I wouldn’t run a chicken farm for anything, hens are such fussy,
                          squawking things.

                          Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things
                          happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the
                          children’s pranks is very tranquil.

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          The hot winds have dried up the shamba alarmingly and we hope every day for
                          rain. The prices for coffee, on the London market, continue to be low and the local
                          planters are very depressed. Coffee grows well enough here but we are over 400
                          miles from the railway and transport to the railhead by lorry is very expensive. Then, as
                          there is no East African Marketing Board, the coffee must be shipped to England for
                          sale. Unless the coffee fetches at least 90 pounds a ton it simply doesn’t pay to grow it.
                          When we started planting in 1931 coffee was fetching as much as 115 pounds a ton but
                          prices this year were between 45 and 55 pounds. We have practically exhausted our
                          capitol and so have all our neighbours. The Hickson -Woods have been keeping their
                          pot boiling by selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi but now everyone is
                          broke and there is not a market for fertilisers. They are offering their farm for sale at a very
                          low price.

                          Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of
                          returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the
                          Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply
                          here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit.
                          There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine
                          berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning,
                          before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn
                          the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine
                          berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily
                          ceremony of presentation.

                          The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy
                          disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last
                          week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens
                          as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box.
                          The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager
                          anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga
                          and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from
                          several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them
                          forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly
                          didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped
                          once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he
                          would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said
                          than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats
                          climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed
                          ceiling.

                          I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats
                          away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the
                          ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was
                          put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats.

                          I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in
                          this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I
                          have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same
                          reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire.

                          So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say
                          didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children?

                          Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          To set your minds at rest I must tell you that the native who so frightened me and
                          the children is now in jail for attacking a Greek at Mbalizi. I hear he is to be sent back to
                          Rhodesia when he has finished his sentence.

                          Yesterday we had one of our rare trips to Mbeya. George managed to get a couple of
                          second hand tyres for the old car and had again got her to work so we are celebrating our
                          wedding anniversary by going on an outing. I wore the green and fawn striped silk dress
                          mother bought me and the hat and shoes you sent for my birthday and felt like a million
                          dollars, for a change. The children all wore new clothes too and I felt very proud of them.
                          Ann is still very fair and with her refined little features and straight silky hair she
                          looks like Alice in Wonderland. Georgie is dark and sturdy and looks best in khaki shirt
                          and shorts and sun helmet. Kate is a pink and gold baby and looks good enough to eat.
                          We went straight to the hotel at Mbeya and had the usual warm welcome from
                          Ken and Aunty May Menzies. Aunty May wears her hair cut short like a mans and
                          usually wears shirt and tie and riding breeches and boots. She always looks ready to go
                          on safari at a moments notice as indeed she is. She is often called out to a case of illness
                          at some remote spot.

                          There were lots of people at the hotel from farms in the district and from the
                          diggings. I met women I had not seen for four years. One, a Mrs Masters from Tukuyu,
                          said in the lounge, “My God! Last time I saw you , you were just a girl and here you are
                          now with two children.” To which I replied with pride, “There is another one in a pram on
                          the verandah if you care to look!” Great hilarity in the lounge. The people from the
                          diggings seem to have plenty of money to throw around. There was a big party on the
                          go in the bar.

                          One of our shamba boys died last Friday and all his fellow workers and our
                          house boys had the day off to attend the funeral. From what I can gather the local
                          funerals are quite cheery affairs. The corpse is dressed in his best clothes and laid
                          outside his hut and all who are interested may view the body and pay their respects.
                          The heir then calls upon anyone who had a grudge against the dead man to say his say
                          and thereafter hold his tongue forever. Then all the friends pay tribute to the dead man
                          after which he is buried to the accompaniment of what sounds from a distance, very
                          cheerful keening.

                          Most of our workmen are pagans though there is a Lutheran Mission nearby and
                          a big Roman Catholic Mission in the area too. My present cook, however, claims to be
                          a Christian. He certainly went to a mission school and can read and write and also sing
                          hymns in Ki-Swahili. When I first engaged him I used to find a large open Bible
                          prominently displayed on the kitchen table. The cook is middle aged and arrived here
                          with a sensible matronly wife. To my surprise one day he brought along a young girl,
                          very plump and giggly and announced proudly that she was his new wife, I said,”But I
                          thought you were a Christian Jeremiah? Christians don’t have two wives.” To which he
                          replied, “Oh Memsahib, God won’t mind. He knows an African needs two wives – one
                          to go with him when he goes away to work and one to stay behind at home to cultivate
                          the shamba.

                          Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot.

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind
                          the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The
                          kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under
                          the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both
                          lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the
                          casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I
                          heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann
                          was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well
                          Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.”
                          George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is
                          what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of
                          coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol
                          is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used
                          to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a
                          beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills
                          anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice.
                          We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was
                          delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut
                          into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry.

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week
                          George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because
                          never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as
                          she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle
                          of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with
                          matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally
                          pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples.

                          As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only
                          Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted
                          to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning
                          the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our
                          house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great
                          muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards
                          behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown
                          flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard.
                          By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and
                          George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had
                          had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and
                          turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded
                          and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my
                          first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has
                          had there is little hope of a decent crop next year.

                          Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children
                          have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable
                          garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas.

                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                          Dearest Family,

                          I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is
                          back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick
                          during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The
                          children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper
                          decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and
                          it looks beautifully fresh.

                          My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would
                          like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give
                          ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of
                          enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this
                          week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around
                          staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile.
                          Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got
                          wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was
                          cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked
                          “Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from
                          then?”

                          I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could
                          not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be
                          delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel
                          shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall
                          regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I
                          am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the
                          gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but
                          much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression.
                          You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or
                          an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas
                          cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner.
                          Think of us as I shall certainly think of you.

                          Your very loving,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                          Dearest Family,

                          Christmas was fun! The tree looked very gay with its load of tinsel, candles and
                          red crackers and the coloured balloons you sent. All the children got plenty of toys
                          thanks to Grandparents and Aunts. George made Ann a large doll’s bed and I made
                          some elegant bedding, Barbara, the big doll is now permanently bed ridden. Her poor
                          shattered head has come all unstuck and though I have pieced it together again it is a sad
                          sight. If you have not yet chosen a present for her birthday next month would you
                          please get a new head from the Handy House. I enclose measurements. Ann does so
                          love the doll. She always calls her, “My little girl”, and she keeps the doll’s bed beside
                          her own and never fails to kiss her goodnight.

                          We had no guests for Christmas this year but we were quite festive. Ann
                          decorated the dinner table with small pink roses and forget-me-knots and tinsel and the
                          crackers from the tree. It was a wet day but we played the new records and both
                          George and I worked hard to make it a really happy day for the children. The children
                          were hugely delighted when George made himself a revolting set of false teeth out of
                          plasticine and a moustache and beard of paper straw from a chocolate box. “Oh Daddy
                          you look exactly like Father Christmas!” cried an enthralled Ann. Before bedtime we lit
                          all the candles on the tree and sang ‘Away in a Manger’, and then we opened the box of
                          starlights you sent and Ann and Georgie had their first experience of fireworks.
                          After the children went to bed things deteriorated. First George went for his bath
                          and found and killed a large black snake in the bathroom. It must have been in the
                          bathroom when I bathed the children earlier in the evening. Then I developed bad
                          toothache which kept me awake all night and was agonising next day. Unfortunately the
                          bridge between the farm and Mbeya had been washed away and the water was too
                          deep for the car to ford until the 30th when at last I was able to take my poor swollen
                          face to Mbeya. There is now a young German woman dentist working at the hospital.
                          She pulled out the offending molar which had a large abscess attached to it.
                          Whilst the dentist attended to me, Ann and Georgie played happily with the
                          doctor’s children. I wish they could play more often with other children. Dr Eckhardt was
                          very pleased with Margery Kate who at seven months weighs 17 lbs and has lovely
                          rosy cheeks. He admired Ann and told her that she looked just like a German girl. “No I
                          don’t”, cried Ann indignantly, “I’m English!”

                          We were caught in a rain storm going home and as the old car still has no
                          windscreen or side curtains we all got soaked except for the baby who was snugly
                          wrapped in my raincoat. The kids thought it great fun. Ann is growing up fast now. She
                          likes to ‘help mummy’. She is a perfectionist at four years old which is rather trying. She
                          gets so discouraged when things do not turn out as well as she means them to. Sewing
                          is constantly being unpicked and paintings torn up. She is a very sensitive child.
                          Georgie is quite different. He is a man of action, but not silent. He talks incessantly
                          but lisps and stumbles over some words. At one time Ann and Georgie often
                          conversed in Ki-Swahili but they now scorn to do so. If either forgets and uses a Swahili
                          word, the other points a scornful finger and shouts “You black toto”.

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          #6261
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            From Tanganyika with Love

                            continued

                            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                            Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Lots of love,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Very much love,
                            Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Eleanor Rushby

                             

                            Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Your very loving,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Lots and lots of love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Much love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Much love to all,
                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            We all send our love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Very much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Much love from a proud mother of two.
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                            Your affectionate,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            your affectionate,
                            Eleanor

                            Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Very much love
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                            Dear Family,

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

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

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

                            Lots and lots of love,
                            Eleanor.

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

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Very much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                            Much love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Lots of love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Lots of love to all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                            Much love to you all,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                            Much love,
                            Eleanor.

                            Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                            Lots of love, Eleanor

                            #6260
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                               

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Much love my dear,
                              your jubilant
                              Eleanor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Bless you all,
                              Eleanor.

                              S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor Leslie.

                              Eleanor and George Rushby:

                              Eleanor and George Rushby

                              Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Your cave woman
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Much love to you all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Your loving
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              26th December 1930

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

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

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

                              Lots and lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Your loving,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                              Dear Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              #6222
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                George Gilman Rushby: The Cousin Who Went To Africa

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

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

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

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

                                George Gilman Rushby:

                                George Gilman Rushby

                                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                George Gilman Rushby:

                                #6221
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Mary Ann Gilman Purdy

                                  1880-1950

                                  Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall

                                  Mary Ann was my grandfather George Marshall’s mother. She died in 1950, seven years before I was born. She has been referred to more often than not, since her death, as Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, rather than Mary Marshall. She was from Buxton, so we believed, as was her husband William Marshall. There are family photos of the Gilmans, grocers in Buxton, and we knew that Mary Ann was brought up by them. My grandfather, her son, said that she thought very highly of the Gilman’s, and added the Gilman name to her birth name of Purdy.

                                   

                                  The 1891 census in Buxton:

                                  1891 census Buxton

                                   

                                  (Mary Ann’s aunt, Mrs Gilman, was also called Mary Anne, but spelled with an E.)

                                  Samuel Gilman 1846-1909, and Mary Anne (Housley) Gilman  1846-1935,  in Buxton:

                                  Gilmans Grocers

                                  Samuel Gilman

                                   

                                  What we didn’t know was why Mary Ann (and her sister Ellen/Nellie, we later found) grew up with the Gilman’s. But Mary Ann wasn’t born in Buxton, Derbyshire, she was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. When the search moved to Nottingham, we found the Purdy’s.

                                  George Purdy 1848-1935, Mary Ann’s father:

                                  George Purdy

                                   

                                  Mary Ann’s parents were George Purdy of Eastwood, and Catherine Housley of Smalley.

                                  Catherine Housley 1849-1884, Mary Ann’s mother:

                                  Catherine Housley

                                   

                                  Mary Ann was four years old when her mother died. She had three sisters and one brother. George Purdy remarried and kept the two older daughters, and the young son with him. The two younger daughters, Mary Ann and Nellie, went to live with Catherine’s sister, also called Mary Anne, and her husband Samuel Gilman. They had no children of their own. One of the older daughters who stayed with their father was Kate , whose son George Gilman Rushby, went to Africa. But that is another chapter.

                                  George was the son of Francis Purdy and his second wife Jane Eaton. Francis had some twenty children, and is believed in Eastwood to be the reason why there are so many Purdy’s.

                                  The woman who was a mother to Mary Ann and who she thought very highly of, her mothers sister, spent her childhood in the Belper Workhouse. She and her older sister Elizabeth were admitted in June, 1850, the reason: father in prison. Their mother had died the previous year. Mary Anne Housley, Catherine’s sister, married Samuel Gilman, and looked after her dead sisters children.

                                  Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshalls recipes written on the back of the Gilmans Grocers paper:

                                  recipes

                                  #6220
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    Helper Belper: “Let’s start at the beginning.”

                                    When I found a huge free genealogy tree website with lots of our family already on it, I couldn’t believe my luck. Quite soon after a perusal, I found I had a number of questions. Was it really possible that our Warren family tree had been traced back to 500AD? I asked on a genealogy forum: only if you can latch onto an aristocratic line somewhere, in which case that lineage will be already documented, as normally parish records only go back to the 1600s, if you are lucky. It is very hard to prove and the validity of it met with some not inconsiderable skepticism among the long term hard core genealogists. This is not to say that it isn’t possible, but is more likely a response to the obvious desire of many to be able to trace their lineage back to some kind of royalty, regardless of the documentation and proof.

                                    Another question I had on this particular website was about the entries attached to Catherine Housley that made no sense. The immense public family tree there that anyone can add to had Catherine Housley’s mother as Catherine Marriot. But Catherine Marriot had another daughter called Catherine, two years before our Catherine was born, who didn’t die beforehand. It wasn’t unusual to name another child the same name if an earlier one had died in infancy, but this wasn’t the case.

                                    I asked this question on a British Genealogy forum, and learned that other people’s family trees are never to be trusted. One should always start with oneself, and trace back with documentation every step of the way. Fortified with all kinds of helpful information, I still couldn’t find out who Catherine Housley’s mother was, so I posted her portrait on the forum and asked for help to find her. Among the many helpful replies, one of the members asked if she could send me a private message. She had never had the urge to help someone find a person before, but felt a compulsion to find Catherine Housley’s mother. Eight months later and counting at time of writing, and she is still my most amazing Helper. The first thing she said in the message was “Right. Let’s start at the beginning. What do you know for sure.” I said Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, my great grandmother, and we started from there.

                                    Fran found all the documentation and proof, a perfect and necessary compliment to my own haphazard meanderings. She taught me how to find the proof, how to spot inconsistencies, and what to look for and where.  I still continue my own haphazard wanderings as well, which also bear fruit.

                                    It was decided to order the birth certificate, a paper copy that could be stuck onto the back of the portrait, so my mother in Wales ordered it as she has the portrait. When it arrived, she read the names of Catherine’s parents to me over the phone. We were expecting it to be John Housley and Sarah Baggaley. But it wasn’t! It was his brother Samuel Housley and Elizabeth Brookes! I had been looking at the photograph of the portrait thinking it was Catherine Marriot, then looking at it thinking her name was Sarah Baggaley, and now the woman in the portrait was Elizabeth Brookes. And she was from Wolverhampton. My helper, unknown to me, had ordered a digital copy, which arrived the same day.

                                    Months later, Fran, visiting friends in Derby,  made a special trip to Smalley, a tiny village not far from Derby, to look for Housley gravestones in the two churchyards.  There are numerous Housley burials registered in the Smalley parish records, but she could only find one Housley grave, that of Sarah Baggaley.  Unfortunately the documentation had already proved that Sarah was not the woman in the portrait, Catherine Housley’s mother, but Catherine’s aunt.

                                    Sarah Housley nee Baggaley’s grave stone in Smalley:

                                    Sarah Housley Grave

                                    #6214
                                    AvatarJib
                                    Participant

                                      When Finnley got out of her full body bathing suit, Liz gaped at her.

                                      “It appears your suit wasn’t that waterproof after all. You should have kept the receipt. Now you can’t ask for a refund.”

                                      Finnley rolled her eyes while sending daggers. Liz caught them in extremis with her pen and put them down in writing at the end of her pink notebook for later reference. She thought maybe they could be an appropriate prop for the family betrayal she planned to write about in her next chapter. Daggers between the shoulder blades were always a nice effect.

                                      “I don’t need a receipt, I ordered them online.”

                                      “What do you mean? What does she mean Gordon? She looks so mad, she won’t answer me… and stop eating those bloody nuts. That’s not good for your cholesterol.”

                                      “Actually that’s the reverse,” said Gordon.

                                      “Stop eating them! I find the crunching noise and the movement of your tongue on your teeth disturbing.”

                                      “She means she kept the email with the e-receipt. Knowing her she’s probably kept it in the trash for safekeeping.”

                                      Finnley threw another pair of daggers.

                                      “Ouch!” Gordon said.

                                      “You deserved that,” said Liz. “You were mean. Now I need to talk to Godfrey. He’ll know the answers, he always know. Where is he?”

                                      “Just behind you. I’m always behind you.”

                                      “Don’t say that, it can be misinterpreted. Anyway, can you answer the question?”

                                      “She kept the email with the e-receipt in her trash can. You know, it’s an internet thing. Like the writing workshop you asked me to help you organise.”

                                      “Oh! I totally forgot about that.”

                                      “You have 57 inscriptions. The chat session starts in 5, no 7 minutes. Should I be worried?”

                                      “No you shouldn’t. Just do the typing for me please. You type faster than me, I’m still doing it with one finger, well two actually, now I can use both hands.”

                                      “Okay, you’ll speak to me as if you were speaking to them and I shall write down your words faithfully.”

                                      “You can do the speaking too, dear. Godfrey, you’ve known me for so long, you know better than me what I’m going to say.”

                                      Liz looked at Finnley’s blue hands and turned back to Godfrey. “Oh, and before you do that, prepare some cucumbers slice, I need a power nap.”

                                      #6211
                                      AvatarJib
                                      Participant

                                        Today the planets are aligned, thought Liz as she looked at the blue sky out the French door. The frills of her glitter pink Charnel bathing suit wiggled with excitement.

                                        It was one of those rare days of this summer where rain wasn’t pouring somewhere in the garden. Every single day: clouds, clouds, clouds. If they weren’t above the mansion, they were above the pool. If they weren’t above the pool, they were flooding the lawn in between the mansion and the pool.

                                        But today, the sun had risen in a sky free of clouds and Liz was determined to have that dip in the newly repaired swimming pool with a watermelon mojito served by Roberto in his shiny leather speedo. The pool had been half frozen half boiling for so long that they had forgotten the swimming part. Once fixed, the summer had turned into a mid season rainy weather.

                                        ‘I don’t want to get wet before I get into the pool’, Liz had said to Finnley.

                                        Liz looked at her pink notebook lying on the coffee table. Resisting the temptation to fill in the empty pages with gripping stories, she hopped on the patio, flounces bouncing and her goocci flip-flops clacking. With a sparkling foot, Liz tested the grass. It was dry enough, which meant she would not inadvertently walk on a slug or a snail. She particularly hated the cracking noise and the wetness afterward under her feet.

                                        Roberto was bent forward. Liz frowned. He was not wearing his leather speedo. And his hands and pants were covered in green goo.

                                        ‘What happened?’ she asked in front of the disaster.

                                        Roberto shrugged, obviously overwhelmed by the goo.

                                        ‘Green algae’, said Godfrey popping up out of nowhere with a handful of cashews. ‘The ice and fire had kept it at bay for some time. But once it was back to normal the pool was a perfect environment for their development. I already called the maintenance company. They come next week.’

                                        ‘What? Next week?’

                                        ‘Yes. That’s sad. It’s the season. We are not the only ones to have that problem.’

                                        That said he threw a cashew in his mouth and popped back to nowhere he came from.

                                        #6193

                                        I hope all this social media as they call it stands the test of time because little things like this are priceless and so few and far between, and someday someone wants to know a little thing like this to paint a picture in their mind.  I don’t know if this is one of ours as they say but but he was there too and could even have been one of you or another one of me, the possibilities are endless and the charm of the random snippet is boundless.

                                        “The gallery stairs were honeycombed on
                                        each side by old Jonathan Beniston’s spiked
                                        crutches, and although Jonathan could not
                                        read, he considered himself a valuable
                                        addition to the choir, contributing a sort of
                                        drone bass accompaniment to the melodies. after the style of a bagpipe ” chanter.”

                                        Here’s another one I want to include in my book:

                                        Mr. Joseph Moss, formerly a framework knitter of Woodhouse Lane, for several years kept a Diary of the principal events and incidents in the locality: a most commendable undertaking. It is much to be regretted that so few attempt anything of the kind, so useful, and always interest- ing. Besides the registration of marriages and funerals, we have notices of storms, removals, accidents, sales, robberies, police captures, festivities, re-openings of churches, and many other matters. His record begins in 1855, ^^d ends in 1881, Mr. Moss was a violinist of some ability, and was in great demand at all rural festivities. He was a good singer, and sang (inter alia) ” The Beggar’s Ramble ” with his own local variations^ in good style, and usually with much eclat. The following are a few extracts from his Diary : —

                                        ” — July. Restoration of Horsley Church. New weathercock placed on spire by Charles, son of Mr. Anthony Kerry, the builder, on the 31st. A few days later, the south arches of the nave fell down, bringing with it the roofs of nave and south aisle. The pillar next the tower had been under- mined by the making of a grave, and as soon as the gravestone over it was moved the column began to settle : a loud shout was made, and the workmen had only just time to scamper out of the building before the roof and top windows and all came down.”

                                        #6183

                                        Nora commented favourably on the view, relieved to have been given a clue about what she was supposed to have noticed.  It was a splendid panorama, and Will seemed pleased with her response.  She asked if it was possible to see the old smugglers path from their vantage point, and he pointed to a dirt road in the valley below that disappeared from view behind a stand of eucalyptus trees.  Will indicated a tiny white speck of an old farm ruin, and said the smugglers path went over the hill behind it.

                                        Shading her eyes from the sun, Nora peered into the distance beyond the hill, wondering how far it was to Clara’s grandfathers house. Of course she knew it was 25 kilometers or so, but wasn’t sure how many hills behind that one, or if the path veered off at some point in another direction.

                                        Wondering where Clara was reminded Nora that her friend would be waiting for her, and quite possibly worrying that she hadn’t yet arrived.  She sighed, making her mind up to leave first thing the next morning.  She didn’t mention this to Will though, and wondered briefly why she hesitated.  Something about the violent sweep of his arm when she asked about her phone had made her uneasy, such a contrast to his usual easy going grins.

                                        Then she reminded herself that she had only just met him, and barely knew anything about him at all, despite all the stories they’d shared.  When she thought about it, none of the stories had given her any information ~ they had mostly been anecdotes that had a similarity to her own, and although pleasant, were inconsequential.  And she kept forgetting to ask him about all the statues at his place.

                                        Wishing she could at least send a text message to Clara, Nora remembered the remote viewing practice they’d done together over the years, and realized she could at least attempt a telepathic communication. Then later, if Clara gave her a hard time about not staying in contact, she could always act surprised and say, Why, didn’t you get the message?

                                        She found a flat stone to sit on, and focused on the smugglers path below. Then she closed her eyes and said clearly in her mind, “I’ll be there tomorrow evening, Clara. All is well. I am safe.”

                                        She opened her eyes and saw that Will had started to head back down the path.  “Come on!” he called, “Time for lunch!”

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