Search Results for 'labourers'

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  • #7268
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      William Tomlinson

      1797-1867

       

      The Tomlinsons of Wolverhampton were butchers and publicans for several generations. Therefore it was a surprise to find that William’s father was a gentleman of independant means.

      William Tomlinson 1797-1867 was born in Wergs, Tettenhall. His birthplace, and that of his first four children, is stated as Wergs on the 1851 census. They were baptised at St Michael and All Angels church in Tettenhall Regis, as were many of the Tomlinson family including William.

      Tettenhall, St Michael and All Angels church:

      tettenhall

       

      Wergs is a very small area and there was no other William Tomlinson baptised there at the time of William’s birth. It is of course possible that another William Tomlinson was born in Wergs and the record of the baptism hasn’t been found, but there are a number of other documents that prove that John Tomlinson, gentleman of Wergs, was Williams father.

      In 1834 on the Shropshire Quarter session rolls there are two documents regarding William. In October 1834 William Tomlinson of Tettenhall, son of John, took an examination. Also in October of 1834 there is a reconizance document for William Tomlinson for “pig dealer”. On the marriage certificate of his son Charles Tomlinson to Emma Grattidge (mistranscribed as Pratadge) in 1872, father William’s occupation is “dealer”.

      William Tomlinson was a witness at his sister Catherine and Benjamin Smiths wedding in 1822 in Tettenhall. In John Tomlinson’s 1844 will, he mentions his “daughter Catherine Smith, wife of Benjamin Smith”. William’s signature as a witness at Catherine’s marriage matches his signature on the licence for his own marriage to Elizabeth Adams in 1827 in Shareshill, Staffordshire.

      William’s signature on his wedding licence:

      William Tomlinson signature 1

      Williams signature as a witness to Catherine’s marriage:

      William Tomlinson signature 2

       

      William was the eldest surviving son when his father died in 1844, so it is surprising that William only inherited £25. John Tomlinson left his various properties to his daughters, with the exception of Catherine, who also received £25.  There was one other surviving son, Sidney, born in 1814. Three of John and Sarah Tomlinson’s sons and one daughter died in infancy. Sidney was still unmarried and living at home when his father died, and in 1851 and 1861 was living with his sister Emma Wilson. He was unmarried when he died in 1867. John left Sidney an income for life in his will, but not property.

      In John Tomlinson’s will he also mentions his daughter Jemima, wife of William Smith, farmer, of Great Barr. On the 1841 census William, butcher, is a visitor. His two children Sarah and Thomas are with him. His wife Elizabeth and the rest of the children are at Graisley Street. William is also on the Graisley Street census, occupation castrator. This was no doubt done in error, not realizing that he was also registered on the census where he was visiting at the time.

      William’s wife, Elizabeth Adams, was born in Tong, Shropshire in 1807. The Adams in Tong appear to be agricultural labourers, at least on later censuses. Perhaps we can speculate that John didn’t approve of his son marrying an agricutural labourers daughter. Elizabeth would have been twenty years old at the time of the marriage; William thirty.

      #7267
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Thomas Josiah Tay

        22 Feb 1816 – 16 November 1878

         

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

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1878

         

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

         

        1844 will John Tomlinson

         

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

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

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

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

        1822 William Tomlinson witness

         

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

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

         

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

         

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

        1837 will Josiah Tay

         

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

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

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

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

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 2

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 3

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 4

         

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

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 5

        Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 6

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        Fighting Cocks Inn

         

         

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

         

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

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

         

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

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

        Staffordshire Advertiser 17 August 1861:

        Dudley women 1861

        #6345
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Crime and Punishment in Tetbury

           

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

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

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

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

           

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

          Richard had been fined a number of times in Tetbury:

          Richard Browning

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

           

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

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

           

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

          Thomas did however neglect to pay his taxes in 1832:

          Thomas Buckingham

           

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

           

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

          John Buckingham

           

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

           

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

           

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

          #6344
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Tetbury Riots

             

            While researching the Tetbury riots  (I had found some Browning names in the newspaper archives in association with the uprisings) I came across an article called Elizabeth Parker, the Swing Riots, and the Tetbury parish clerk” by Jill Evans.

            I noted the name of the parish clerk, Daniel Cole, because I know someone else of that name. The incident in the article was 1830.

            I found the 1826 marriage in the Tetbury parish registers (where Daniel was the parish clerk) of my 4x great grandmothers sister Hesther Lock. One of the witnesses was her brother Charles, and the other was Daniel Cole, the parish clerk.

            Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:

            Daniel Cole witness

             

            from the article:

            “The Swing Riots were disturbances which took place in 1830 and 1831, mostly in the southern counties of England. Agricultural labourers, who were already suffering due to low wages and a lack of work after several years of bad harvests, rose up when their employers introduced threshing machines into their workplaces. The riots got their name from the threatening letters which were sent to farmers and other employers, which were signed “Captain Swing.”

            The riots spread into Gloucestershire in November 1830, with the Tetbury area seeing the worst of the disturbances. Amongst the many people arrested afterwards was one woman, Elizabeth Parker. She has sometimes been cited as one of only two females who were transported for taking part in the Swing Riots. In fact, she was sentenced to be transported for this crime, but never sailed, as she was pardoned a few months after being convicted. However, less than a year after being released from Gloucester Gaol, she was back, awaiting trial for another offence. The circumstances in both of the cases she was tried for reveal an intriguing relationship with one Daniel Cole, parish clerk and assistant poor law officer in Tetbury….

            ….Elizabeth Parker was committed to Gloucester Gaol on 4 December 1830. In the Gaol Registers, she was described as being 23 and a “labourer”. She was in fact a prostitute, and she was unusual for the time in that she could read and write. She was charged on the oaths of Daniel Cole and others with having been among a mob which destroyed a threshing machine belonging to Jacob Hayward, at his farm in Beverstone, on 26 November.

            …..Elizabeth Parker was granted royal clemency in July 1831 and was released from prison. She returned to Tetbury and presumably continued in her usual occupation, but on 27 March 1832, she was committed to Gloucester Gaol again. This time, she was charged with stealing 2 five pound notes, 5 sovereigns and 5 half sovereigns, from the person of Daniel Cole.

            Elizabeth was tried at the Lent Assizes which began on 28 March, 1832. The details of her trial were reported in the Morning Post. Daniel Cole was in the “Boat Inn” (meaning the Boot Inn, I think) in Tetbury, when Elizabeth Parker came in. Cole “accompanied her down the yard”, where he stayed with her for about half an hour. The next morning, he realised that all his money was gone. One of his five pound notes was identified by him in a shop, where Parker had bought some items.

            Under cross-examination, Cole said he was the assistant overseer of the poor and collector of public taxes of the parish of Tetbury. He was married with one child. He went in to the inn at about 9 pm, and stayed about 2 hours, drinking in the parlour, with the landlord, Elizabeth Parker, and two others. He was not drunk, but he was “rather fresh.” He gave the prisoner no money. He saw Elizabeth Parker next morning at the Prince and Princess public house. He didn’t drink with her or give her any money. He did give her a shilling after she was committed. He never said that he would not have prosecuted her “if it was not for her own tongue”. (Presumably meaning he couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut.)”

            Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:

            Swing Riots

             

            Captain Swing was the imaginary leader agricultural labourers who set fire to barns and haystacks in the southern and eastern counties of England from 1830. Although the riots were ruthlessly put down (19 hanged, 644 imprisoned and 481 transported), the rural agitation led the new Whig government to establish a Royal Commission on the Poor Laws and its report provided the basis for the 1834 New Poor Law enacted after the Great Reform Bills of 1833.

            An original portrait of Captain Swing hand coloured lithograph circa 1830:

            Captain Swing

            #6342
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Brownings of Tetbury

              Tetbury 1839

               

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

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

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

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

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

              Ellen Harding Browning

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

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

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

               

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               

              And again in 1836:

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

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

              Susan was 56 when she died in Tetbury in 1879.

               

              Three of the Browning daughters went to London.

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

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

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

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

               

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

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

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

              #6333
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Grattidge Family

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                 

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

                 

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

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

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

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

                Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

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

                20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

                Bessy Buxton

                 

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

                An excerpt from the will:

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

                A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

                1843 Thomas Grattidge

                 

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

                 

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

                Albert Grattidge:

                Albert Grattidge

                 

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

                George Grattidge:

                George Grattidge

                 

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

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

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

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

                The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                 

                In this article it says:

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

                Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

                Louisa Cheesborough

                #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.

                   

                  #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.

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