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  • #6545

    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

    The road was stretching endlessly and monotonously, a straight line disappearing into a nothingness of dry landscapes that reminded Youssef of the Gobi desert where he had been driving not too long ago. At regular speed, the car barely seemed to progress.

    > O Time suspend thy flight!

    Eternity. Something only nature could procure him. He loved the feeling, and compared to the more usual sand of Gobi, the red sands of Australia gave him the impression he had shifted into another reality. That and the fifteen hours flight listening to Gladys made it difficult to respond to Xavier’s loquacious self and funny jokes. After some time, his friend stopped talking and tried catching some signal to play the Game, brandishing his phone in different directions as if he was hunting ghosts with a strange device.

    It reminded him he had to accept his next quest in a ghost town. That’s all he remembered. He could do that at the Inn, when they could rest in their rooms.

    Youssef wondered if the welcome sign at the entrance of the town had seen better days. The wood the fish was made of seemed eaten by termites, but someone had painted it with silver and blue to give it a fresher look. Youssef snorted at the shocked expression on his friend’s face.

    “It looked like it died of boredom. Let’s just hope the Innside doesn’t look like a gutted fish,” Xavier said.

    An old lady showed them their rooms. She didn’t seem the talkative type, which made Youssef love her immediately with her sharp tongue and red cardigan. He rather admired her braided silver hair as it reminded him of his mother who would let him brush her hair when they lived in Norway. It was in another reality. He smiled. She saw him looking at her and her eyes narrowed like a pair of arrowslits. She seemed ready to fire. Instead she kept on ranting about an idle person not doing her only job properly. They each went to their rooms, Xavier took number 7 and Youssef picked number 5, his lucky number.

    He was glad to be able to enjoy his own room after the trip of the last few weeks. It had been for work, so it was different. But usually he liked travelling the world on his own and meet people on his way and learn from their stories. Traveling with people always meant some compromise that would always frustrate him because he wanted to go faster, or explore more tricky paths.

    The room was nicely decorated, and the scent of fresh paint made it clear it was recent. A strange black stone, which Youssef recognized as a black obsidian, has been put on a pile of paper full of doodles, beside two notebooks and pencils. The notebooks’ pages were blank, he thought of giving them to Xavier. He took the stone. It was cold to the touch and his reflection on the surface looked back at him, all wavy. The doodles on the paper looked like a map and hard to read annotations. One stood out, though which looked like a wifi password. That made him think of the Game. He entered it on his phone and that was it. Maybe it was time to go back in. But he wanted to take a shower first.

    He put his backpack and his bag on the bed and unpacked it. Amongst a pile of dirty clothes, he managed to find a t-shirt that didn’t smell too bad and a pair of shorts. He would have to use the laundry service of the hotel.

    He had missed hot showers. Once refreshed, he moved his bags on the floor and jumped on his bed and launched the Game.

    Youssef finds himself in a small ghost town in what looks like the middle of the Australian outback. The town was once thriving but now only a few stragglers remain, living in old, decrepit buildings. He’s standing in the town square, surrounded by an old post office, a saloon, and a few other ramshackle buildings.

    A message appeared on the screen.

    Quest: Your task is to find the source of the magnetic pull that attracts talkative people to you. You must find the reason behind it and break the spell, so you can continue your journey in peace.

    Youssef started to move his avatar towards the saloon when someone knocked on the door.

    #6363
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      try another short story, with a bit of drama with the following words:

      road form charlton smooth everyone cottage hanging rush offer agree subject district included appear sha returning grattidge nottingham 848 tetbury chicken

      It was a cold and gloomy day in the small village of Tetbury, nestled in the picturesque Cotswolds district. A young woman named Sha was returning home to her cottage after a long and tiring journey. She had been away visiting her family in Nottingham and was looking forward to relaxing in her cozy home.

      As she walked down the dirt road that led to her cottage, she couldn’t help but notice that something was off. Her neighbor, Mr. Charlton, was outside hanging laundry and he didn’t acknowledge her as she walked by. Sha thought it was strange, as he was usually a friendly and sociable person.

      When Sha arrived at her cottage, she was shocked to find that it had been broken into. The front door was ajar and the inside of her home had been ransacked. Sha immediately panicked and called the police, who arrived on the scene shortly thereafter.

      The police officers, including Inspector Grattidge, took Sha’s statement and began to investigate the crime. They discovered that a group of burglars had been operating in the area, targeting homes and businesses in the district. The burglars had been known for their smooth operations and their ability to strike quickly, which led to their nickname “The Smooth Operators”.

      As Sha waited for the police to finish their investigation, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. She had always thought of Tetbury as a safe and friendly place, and she couldn’t believe that something like this could happen in her community.

      As the investigation went on, the police found out that the Smooth operators have been targeting houses with no security cameras, but Sha’s cottage was an exception, the police were able to find out that the group offered to pay a considerable sum of money to the people who reported the locations of the houses that had no cameras, and it was Mr. Charlton who was the informant and he even rushed to Sha’s cottage as soon as he knew the police was investigating the case, He was arrested for the crime and Sha was heartbroken to find out that her once friendly neighbor had betrayed her.

      Feeling violated and betrayed, Sha decided that she could no longer stay in the village and she put her cottage up for sale. She packed up her belongings and moved away, leaving behind the memories of her peaceful home and the community she had once thought of as her own. The end.

      #6348
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Wong Sang

         

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

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

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

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

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Via Old London Photographs:

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

        Limehouse Causeway in 1925:

        Limehouse Causeway

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Chinese migration to Limehouse 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        The real Chinatown 

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

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

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

        Why did Chinatown disappear? 

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

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

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

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

         

        Wong Sang 1884-1930

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

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

        Chrisp Street

         

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

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

        1918 Wong Sang

         

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

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

        1918 Wong Sang 2

         

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

        London and China Express – Thursday 09 February 1922:

        1922 Wong Sang

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

        Chee Kong Tong

         

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

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

        1928 Wong Sang

        1928 Wong Sang 2

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

         

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

        1917 Alice Wong Sang

         

         

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

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

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

         

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

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

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

         

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

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

         

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

        Wong Sang

         

        Alice Stokes

        #6268
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued part 9

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 14 May 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 19th September 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Mbeya 1st November 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          #6267
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued part 8

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Morogoro 20th January 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 30th July 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 26th August 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 25th December 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 26th January 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 20th March 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 15th May 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 18th July 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 16th August 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

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

            Dearest Mummy,

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

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

            Very much love,
            Eleanor.

            Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love,
            Eleanor.

             

            #6265
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued  ~ part 6

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Mchewe 6th June 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              With much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 25th June 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Lots of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 9th July 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor

              Mchewe 8th October 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 17th October 1937

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mchewe 18th November 1937

              My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

              Mchewe 18th November 1937

              Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

              Mchewe 12th February, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 18th March, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 24th March, 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbulu 20th June 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Karatu 3rd July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Karatu 12th July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 19th July 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 10th August 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani. 20th August 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #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.

                 

                #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

                  #6253
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    My Grandparents Kitchen

                    My grandmother used to have golden syrup in her larder, hanging on the white plastic coated storage rack that was screwed to the inside of the larder door. Mostly the larder door was left propped open with an old flat iron, so you could see the Heinz ketchup and home made picallilli (she made a particularly good picallili), the Worcester sauce and the jar of pickled onions, as you sat at the kitchen table.

                    If you were sitting to the right of the kitchen table you could see an assortment of mismatched crockery, cups and bowls, shoe cleaning brushes, and at the back, tiny tins of baked beans and big ones of plum tomatoes,  and normal sized tins of vegetable and mushroom soup.  Underneath the little shelves that housed the tins was a blue plastic washing up bowl with a few onions, some in, some out of the yellow string bag they came home from the expensive little village supermarket in.

                    There was much more to the left in the awkward triangular shape under the stairs, but you couldn’t see under there from your seat at the kitchen table.  You could see the shelf above the larder door which held an ugly china teapot of graceless modern lines, gazed with metallic silver which was wearing off in places. Beside the teapot sat a serving bowl, squat and shapely with little handles, like a flattened Greek urn, in white and reddish brown with flecks of faded gilt. A plain white teapot completed the trio, a large cylindrical one with neat vertical ridges and grooves.

                    There were two fridges under the high shallow wooden wall cupboard.  A waist high bulbous old green one with a big handle that pulled out with a clunk, and a chest high sleek white one with a small freezer at the top with a door of its own.  On the top of the fridges were biscuit and cracker tins, big black keys, pencils and brittle yellow notepads, rubber bands and aspirin value packs and a bottle of Brufen.  There was a battered old maroon spectacle case and a whicker letter rack, letters crammed in and fanning over the top.  There was always a pile of glossy advertising pamphlets and flyers on top of the fridges, of the sort that were best put straight into the tiny pedal bin.

                    My grandmother never lined the pedal bin with a used plastic bag, nor with a specially designed plastic bin liner. The bin was so small that the flip top lid was often gaping, resting on a mound of cauliflower greens and soup tins.  Behind the pedal bin, but on the outer aspect of the kitchen wall, was the big black dustbin with the rubbery lid. More often than not, the lid was thrust upwards. If Thursday when the dustbin men came was several days away, you’d wish you hadn’t put those newspapers in, or those old shoes!  You stood in the softly drizzling rain in your slippers, the rubbery sheild of a lid in your left hand and the overflowing pedal bin in the other.  The contents of the pedal bin are not going to fit into the dustbin.  You sigh, put the pedal bin and the dustbin lid down, and roll up your sleeves ~ carefully, because you’ve poked your fingers into a porridge covered teabag.  You grab the sides of the protruding black sack and heave. All being well,  the contents should settle and you should have several inches more of plastic bag above the rim of the dustbin.  Unless of course it’s a poor quality plastic bag in which case your fingernail will go through and a horizontal slash will appear just below rubbish level.  Eventually you upend the pedal bin and scrape the cigarette ash covered potato peelings into the dustbin with your fingers. By now the fibres of your Shetland wool jumper are heavy with damp, just like the fuzzy split ends that curl round your pale frowning brow.  You may push back your hair with your forearm causing the moisture to bead and trickle down your face, as you turn the brass doorknob with your palm and wrist, tea leaves and cigarette ash clinging unpleasantly to your fingers.

                    The pedal bin needs rinsing in the kitchen sink, but the sink is full of mismatched saucepans, some new in shades of harvest gold, some battered and mishapen in stainless steel and aluminium, bits of mashed potato stuck to them like concrete pebbledash. There is a pale pink octagonally ovoid shallow serving dish and a little grey soup bowl with a handle like a miniature pottery saucepan decorated with kitcheny motifs.

                    The water for the coffee bubbles in a suacepan on the cream enamelled gas cooker. My grandmother never used a kettle, although I do remember a heavy flame orange one. The little pan for boiling water had a lip for easy pouring and a black plastic handle.

                    The steam has caused the condensation on the window over the sink to race in rivulets down to the fablon coated windowsill.  The yellow gingham curtains hang limply, the left one tucked behind the back of the cooker.

                    You put the pedal bin back it it’s place below the tea towel holder, and rinse your mucky fingers under the tap. The gas water heater on the wall above you roars into life just as you turn the tap off, and disappointed, subsides.

                    As you lean over to turn the cooker knob, the heat from the oven warms your arm. The gas oven was almost always on, the oven door open with clean tea towels and sometimes large white pants folded over it to air.

                    The oven wasn’t the only heat in my grandparents kitchen. There was an electric bar fire near the red formica table which used to burn your legs. The kitchen table was extended by means of a flap at each side. When I was small I wasn’t allowed to snap the hinge underneath shut as my grandmother had pinched the skin of her palm once.

                    The electric fire was plugged into the same socket as the radio. The radio took a minute or two to warm up when you switched it on, a bulky thing with sharp seventies edges and a reddish wood effect veneer and big knobs.  The light for my grandfathers workshop behind the garage (where he made dentures) was plugged into the same socket, which had a big heavy white three way adaptor in. The plug for the washing machine was hooked by means of a bit of string onto a nail or hook so that it didn’t fall down behing the washing machine when it wasn’t plugged in. Everything was unplugged when it wasn’t in use.  Sometimes there was a shrivelled Christmas cactus on top of the radio, but it couldn’t hide the adaptor and all those plugs.

                    Above the washing machine was a rhomboid wooden wall cupboard with sliding frsoted glass doors.  It was painted creamy gold, the colour of a nicotine stained pub ceiling, and held packets of Paxo stuffing and little jars of Bovril and Marmite, packets of Bisto and a jar of improbably red Maraschino cherries.

                    The nicotine coloured cupboard on the opposite wall had half a dozen large hooks screwed under the bottom shelf. A variety of mugs and cups hung there when they weren’t in the bowl waiting to be washed up. Those cupboard doors seemed flimsy for their size, and the thin beading on the edge of one door had come unstuck at the bottom and snapped back if you caught it with your sleeve.  The doors fastened with a little click in the centre, and the bottom of the door reverberated slightly as you yanked it open. There were always crumbs in the cupboard from the numerous packets of bisucits and crackers and there was always an Allbran packet with the top folded over to squeeze it onto the shelf. The sugar bowl was in there, sticky grains like sandpaper among the biscuit crumbs.

                    Half of one of the shelves was devoted to medicines: grave looking bottles of codeine linctus with no nonsense labels,  brown glass bottles with pills for rheumatism and angina.  Often you would find a large bottle, nearly full, of Brewers yeast or vitamin supplements with a dollar price tag, souvenirs of the familys last visit.  Above the medicines you’d find a faded packet of Napolitana pasta bows or a dusty packet of muesli. My grandparents never used them but she left them in the cupboard. Perhaps the dollar price tags and foreign foods reminded her of her children.

                    If there had been a recent visit you would see monstrous jars of Sanka and Maxwell House coffee in there too, but they always used the coffee.  They liked evaporated milk in their coffee, and used tins and tins of “evap” as they called it. They would pour it over tinned fruit, or rhubard crumble or stewed apples.

                    When there was just the two of them, or when I was there as well, they’d eat at the kitchen table. The table would be covered in a white embroidered cloth and the food served in mismatched serving dishes. The cutlery was large and bent, the knife handles in varying shades of bone. My grandfathers favourite fork had the tip of each prong bent in a different direction. He reckoned it was more efficient that way to spear his meat.  He often used to chew his meat and then spit it out onto the side of his plate. Not in company, of course.  I can understand why he did that, not having eaten meat myself for so long. You could chew a piece of meat for several hours and still have a stringy lump between your cheek and your teeth.

                    My grandfather would always have a bowl of Allbran with some Froment wheat germ for his breakfast, while reading the Daily Mail at the kitchen table.  He never worse slippers, always shoes indoors,  and always wore a tie.  He had lots of ties but always wore a plain maroon one.  His shirts were always cream and buttoned at throat and cuff, and eventually started wearing shirts without detachable collars. He wore greeny grey trousers and a cardigan of the same shade most of the time, the same colour as a damp English garden.

                    The same colour as the slimy green wooden clothes pegs that I threw away and replaced with mauve and fuschia pink plastic ones.  “They’re a bit bright for up the garden, aren’t they,” he said.  He was right. I should have ignored the green peg stains on the laundry.  An English garden should be shades of moss and grassy green, rich umber soil and brick red walls weighed down with an atmosphere of dense and heavy greyish white.

                    After Grandma died and Mop had retired (I always called him Mop, nobody knows why) at 10:00am precisely Mop would  have a cup of instant coffee with evap. At lunch, a bowl of tinned vegetable soup in his special soup bowl, and a couple of Krackawheat crackers and a lump of mature Cheddar. It was a job these days to find a tasty cheddar, he’d say.

                    When he was working, and he worked until well into his seventies, he took sandwiches. Every day he had the same sandwich filling: a combination of cheese, peanut butter and marmite.  It was an unusal choice for an otherwise conventional man.  He loved my grandmothers cooking, which wasn’t brilliant but was never awful. She was always generous with the cheese in cheese sauces and the meat in meat pies. She overcooked the cauliflower, but everyone did then. She made her gravy in the roasting pan, and made onion sauce, bread sauce, parsley sauce and chestnut stuffing.  She had her own version of cosmopolitan favourites, and called her quiche a quiche when everyone was still calling it egg and bacon pie. She used to like Auntie Daphne’s ratatouille, rather exotic back then, and pronounced it Ratta Twa.  She made pizza unlike any other, with shortcrust pastry smeared with tomato puree from a tube, sprinkled with oregano and great slabs of cheddar.

                    The roast was always overdone. “We like our meat well done” she’d say. She’d walk up the garden to get fresh mint for the mint sauce and would announce with pride “these runner beans are out of the garding”. They always grew vegetables at the top of the garden, behind the lawn and the silver birch tree.  There was always a pudding: a slice of almond tart (always with home made pastry), a crumble or stewed fruit. Topped with evap, of course.

                    #6236
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The Liverpool Fires

                      Catherine Housley had two older sisters, Elizabeth 1845-1883 and Mary Anne 1846-1935.  Both Elizabeth and Mary Anne grew up in the Belper workhouse after their mother died, and their father was jailed for failing to maintain his three children.  Mary Anne married Samuel Gilman and they had a grocers shop in Buxton.  Elizabeth married in Liverpool in 1873.

                      What was she doing in Liverpool? How did she meet William George Stafford?

                      According to the census, Elizabeth Housley was in Belper workhouse in 1851. In 1861, aged 16,  she was a servant in the household of Peter Lyon, a baker in Derby St Peters.  We noticed that the Lyon’s were friends of the family and were mentioned in the letters to George in Pennsylvania.

                      No record of Elizabeth can be found on the 1871 census, but in 1872 the birth and death was registered of Elizabeth and William’s child, Elizabeth Jane Stafford. The parents are registered as William and Elizabeth Stafford, although they were not yet married. William’s occupation is a “refiner”.

                      In April, 1873, a Fatal Fire is reported in the Liverpool Mercury. Fearful Termination of a Saturday Night Debauch. Seven Persons Burnt To Death.  Interesting to note in the article that “the middle room being let off to a coloured man named William Stafford and his wife”.

                      Fatal Fire Liverpool

                       

                      We had noted on the census that William Stafford place of birth was “Africa, British subject” but it had not occurred to us that he was “coloured”.  A register of birth has not yet been found for William and it is not known where in Africa he was born.

                      Liverpool fire

                       

                      Elizabeth and William survived the fire on Gay Street, and were still living on Gay Street in October 1873 when they got married.

                      William’s occupation on the marriage register is sugar refiner, and his father is Peter Stafford, farmer. Elizabeth’s father is Samuel Housley, plumber. It does not say Samuel Housley deceased, so perhaps we can assume that Samuel is still alive in 1873.

                      Eliza Florence Stafford, their second daughter, was born in 1876.

                      William’s occupation on the 1881 census is “fireman”, in his case, a fire stoker at the sugar refinery, an unpleasant and dangerous job for which they were paid slightly more. William, Elizabeth and Eliza were living in Byrom Terrace.

                      Byrom Terrace, Liverpool, in 1933

                      Byrom Terrace

                       

                      Elizabeth died of heart problems in 1883, when Eliza was six years old, and in 1891 her father died, scalded to death in a tragic accident at the sugar refinery.

                      Scalded to Death

                       

                      Eliza, aged 15, was living as an inmate at the Walton on the Hill Institution in 1891. It’s not clear when she was admitted to the workhouse, perhaps after her mother died in 1883.

                      In 1901 Eliza Florence Stafford is a 24 year old live in laundrymaid, according to the census, living in West Derby  (a part of Liverpool, and not actually in Derby).  On the 1911 census there is a Florence Stafford listed  as an unnmarried laundress, with a daughter called Florence.  In 1901 census she was a laundrymaid in West Derby, Liverpool, and the daughter Florence Stafford was born in 1904 West Derby.  It’s likely that this is Eliza Florence, but nothing further has been found so far.

                       

                      The questions remaining are the location of William’s birth, the name of his mother and his family background, what happened to Eliza and her daughter after 1911, and how did Elizabeth meet William in the first place.

                      William Stafford was a seaman prior to working in the sugar refinery, and he appears on several ship’s crew lists.  Nothing so far has indicated where he might have been born, or where his father came from.

                      Some months after finding the newspaper article about the fire on Gay Street, I saw an unusual request for information on the Liverpool genealogy group. Someone asked if anyone knew of a fire in Liverpool in the 1870’s.  She had watched a programme about children recalling past lives, in this case a memory of a fire. The child recalled pushing her sister into a burning straw mattress by accident, as she attempted to save her from a falling beam.  I watched the episode in question hoping for more information to confirm if this was the same fire, but details were scant and it’s impossible to say for sure.

                      #6117

                      Well. I did it. I made my escape. I had to! Nobody came for three days and I’d run out of biscuits. Thank the lord my hip wasn’t playing up. I decided not to take anything with me, figuring I could just steal things off washing lines when I wanted a change of clothes.  I’ve always hated carrying heavy bags.  I reckoned it would look less conspicuous, too. Just an old dear popping out for digestive perambulation. Nobody suspects old dears of anything, not unless they’re dragging a suitcase round, and I had no intention of doing that. I did put a couple of spare masks in my pocket though, you can’t be too careful these days. And it would help with the disguise.  I didn’t want any do gooders trying to catch me and take me back to that place.

                      I had the presence of mind to wear good stout walking shoes and not my pink feather mules, even though it was a wrench to say goodbye to them.  I used to love to see them peeping out from under my bath robe. One day I might strike lucky and find another pair.

                      I’ve been eating like a king, better than ever!  I accidentally coughed on someones burger one day, and they dropped it and ran away, and I thought to myself, well there’s an idea. I stuck to random snacks in the street at first and then one day I fancied a Chinese so I thought, well why not give it a try.   Coughed all over his brown bag of prawn crackers as he walked out of the restaurant and he put the whole takeaway in the nearest bin. Piping hot meal for six! Even had that expensive crispy duck!

                      Tonight I fancy sushi.  Wish I’d thought of this trick years ago, I said to myself the other day, then my other self said, yeah but it wouldn’t have worked so well before the plague.

                      Not having much luck with the washing lines though, lazy sods either not doing any laundry or putting it all in the dryer. Weeks of sunny weather as well, the lazy bastards.  Lazy and wasteful!  You should see the clothes they throw in the clothes bank bins!  If the bins are full you can get your arm in and pull out the ones on the top.  I change outfits a dozen times a day some days if I’m in the mood.   I do sometimes get an urge to keep something if I like it but I’m sticking to my guns and being ruthless about not carrying anything with me.

                      #5957

                      Nobody came at all yesterday, not to get my breakfast and leave my sandwiches for lunch and a tea flask, and the evening one didn’t come either. I didn’t have a cup of tea all day long, good job I found that bottle of sherry in the cabinet or I’d have been parched.  I found a half eaten tin of assorted biscuits left over from Christmas, and had to make do with those. Not very nice because they were all the ones I don’t like, which was why I’d left them in the first place. I wasn’t too hungry to sleep though, not after all that sherry.

                      A woman came this morning, one I hadn’t seen before.  I didn’t recognize her anyway, which doesn’t tell you much I suppose.  She seemed distracted, and did a very shoddy job, I must say, lumpy porridge, burnt toast with no jam, and she forgot to put sugar in my tea as well.

                      You just can’t get the staff these days.  No character to them anymore, just a series of faceless drones, it never used to be like that. The staff didn’t used to come and go and flit about like these lot, they were always there, as long as you could remember, part of the household.   It all changed during the war though, the horrors of servantlessness. That was a rude awakening, having to do our own cooking and laundry. I’d have given anything to see even that feckless lazy Annie Finton, even if all she did was the ironing.  The old boy turned out to have a knack for cooking and quite enjoyed it, so that was a blessing. Darned if I can remember his name though.  Truth be told, he was better than cook had ever been. He wasn’t afraid to experiment a little, diverge from the traditional.  I think the trouble with cook was that she hated cooking all along.  She never came back after the war, she got a job in a factory. Liked the freedom, she said. I ask you! No accounting for taste.

                      #4864
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Aunt Idle:

                        We finally figured out what was wrong with everyone, making us all lounge around for weeks on end, or maybe it was months, god knows it went on for a lot longer than our usual bored listless spells. Barely a word passed anyone’s lips for days at a time, and not a great deal of food either. None of us had the will to cook after awhile, and when the hunger pangs roused us, we’d shuffle into the kitchen and shovel down whatever was at hand. A wedge of raw cabbage, or a few spoonfuls of flour, once all the packets of biscuits and crisps had gone, and the pies out of the freezer.

                        Finley seemed to cope better than anyone, although not up to her usual standard. But she managed to feed the animals and water the tomatoes occasionally, and was good at suggesting improvisations, when the toilet paper ran out for example. The lethargy and slow wittedness of us all was probably remarkable, but we were far too disinterested in everything to notice at the time.

                        To be honest, it would all be a blank if I hadn’t found that my portable telephone contraption had been taking videos randomly throughout the tedious weeks. It was unsettling to say the least, looking at those, I can tell you.

                        It started to ease off, slowly: I’d suddenly find myself throwing the ball for the dog, picking up the camera because something caught my eye, I even had a shower one day. I noticed the others now and then seemed to take an interest in something, briefly. We all needed to lie down for a few hours to recover, but we’re all back to normal now. Well I say normal.

                        Finly looked at some news one day, and it wasn’t just us that had the Etruscan flu, it had been a pandemic. There had hardly been any news for months because nobody could be bothered to do it, and anyway, nothing had happened anywhere. Everyone all over the world was just lounging around, not saying anything and barely eating, not showering, not doing laundry, not traveling anywhere.

                        And you know what the funny thing is? It’s like a garden of Eden out there now, air quality clean as a whistle, the right weather in all the right places, it’s like a miracle.

                        And everyone’s slowed down, I mean speeded up since the flu, but slower than before, less frantic. Just sitting on the porch breathing the lovely air and thinking what a fine day it is.

                        One good thing is that we’re taking showers regularly again.

                        #4827
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          “Ah! There you are, my dear,” said Alessandro. “I have searched all over the house for you and now I find you in the laundry.” He shook his head and waggled a finger at Liz. “Where is that naughty maid of yours who should be doing this?.”

                          Liz leapt away from the laundry basket. “I was looking for something other than this … this obscenity,” she said flinging the pink satin garment to the ground. “And, who exactly are you?”

                          “I am Alessandro! Fashion Designer extraordinaire. I am rather surprised you do not know of me,” he said, pouting. “Your maid employed me to assist you with your fashion choices.”

                          “Cheek!” spluttered Liz.

                          Finnley limped into the room. “Oh you are here. Good,” she said flatly. “Sort her out, will you, Alessandro. She has done nothing but moan lately.”

                          Finnley, what is wrong with your leg?” asked Liz. “Don’t bother answering. You are merely trying to garner sympathy.”

                          “Sure,” said Finnley. She bent down to pick up the pink satin with a loud groan. “I might cut this up for doll’s clothes,” she said mysteriously.

                          #4698

                          Muriel looked at the unfinished construction work with an eye of reproach.

                          “What? Don’t you like the new loo?” Eleri was apprehensive about the old cantankerous woman, who had started to take herself to be the manager of the place while her sister Margoritt was away.

                          “No, it’s not the loo, dear. Your atrocious gargoyles, I may say, do add a bit of… Gothic flavour to it. Does for lazy bowels better than prunes if you ask me. I can’t be more in a hurry to leave the place. But no, it’s more the sink —or lack thereof— that I’m worried about. But of course I’m sure you have a plan for that…” She eyed Eleri over her round spectacles, precariously balanced at the tip of her angular nose, in a way that made Eleri uncomfortable.

                          “Well, we kind of lost hope, after all the joiners and handymen that have come to fix it, and abandoned the work.”

                          “So? Are you calling it quits? That’s not reasonable. Are you sure you’ve not badly chosen the spot, like decided to put in above a cursed indigenous cemetery, or that there isn’t some trickster pixie spell there?”

                          Glynis, who was there with a basket of laundry ventured rather boldly:
                          “I don’t think so, Morayeel.” She smiled innocently, knowing full well Muriel didn’t like the nickname and continued, even more emboldened.
                          “I have dejinxed the place myself. No, I think the problem is that it’s too clean now. I probably must lift the cleaning spell, or no worker will ever approach the place and get it finished.”

                          #4665

                          Aunt Idle:

                          I was looking forward to it, to tell you the truth. Things had been so dull around the Inn for so long, I’d started to feel that the old place had slid right off the map. Maybe things would have been different if Bert had remortgaged the place, but he’d refused, and there was no persuading him. So we’d bumbled along managing to keep the wolf from the door, somehow. It was quiet with the twins gone to college, and Devan who knows where, off traveling he’d said but had not kept in touch, and lord knew, Mater wasn’t much company these days. And there were so few guests that I was in danger of talking them to death, when they did come. Bert said that was why they always left the next morning, but I think he was pulling my leg.

                          Then out of the blue, I get a request to make a reservation, for two reporters here to cover the story, they said. I almost said “what story, there is no story going on here” and luckily managed to stop myself. If they wanted a story, I’d give them a story. Anything to liven the place up a bit.

                          On impulse, I decided to give Hilda “Red Eye” Astoria room 8 at the end of the corridor. Now there was a story, if she wanted one, the goings on in room 8! And to make it look like the inn was a busy thriving concern, I gave Connie “Continuity” Brown room 2, next to the dining room. Connie Brown was doing a report for the fashion column, and had inquired about the laundry services, and if there was a local dressmaker available. Of course I assured her there was, even though there wasn’t. But I reckoned Mater and I could manage whatever they required. Fashion shoot at the Flying Fish Inn, I ask you! What a joke.

                          I asked Bert what story he thought they were here to cover. He shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable.

                          “We don’t want then digging around here, you don’t know what they might find.”

                          I looked at him piercingly. He asked me if a gnat had got stuck in my eye and why was I squinting. I wasn’t sure which dirty dark secret he was referring to, and frankly, would be hard put to recall all the details myself anyway, but I had a sneaking suspicion the old inn still had plenty of stories to tell ~ or to keep hidden awhile longer.

                          The main thing was to keep Hilda and Connie here as long as possible. Just for the company.

                          #4489

                          Ailill cringed as a whirlwind of rotting mulch landed in the laundry basket that was piled high with freshly washed and folded white linens. “Not like that!” he whispered to Granola, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so critical,” she snapped back. “I haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

                          Caspar the dog whined from his basket under the table. “She’ll blame me for that,” he said to himself. “Should I pretend to be asleep, or slink out now before she comes in?”

                          #4288
                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            “Jingle has always been very precocious” her proud grandmother, Mrs Bell told Liz and Godfrey over nougat and peanut cakes. “She has read all your books so many times, and really was ecstatic that you agreed to have her for a couple of weeks.”
                            Ms Bell smiled at Godfrey “Obviously, it has nothing to do with it, but here is a generous donation that should more than cover the meals and lodging.”

                            “As well as a score of bills fallen behind, I reckon” thought Godfrey while smiling at the oddly bespectacled and bejewelled woman, while grasping the edge of his seat in case Liz’ would realize it would mean to have a moody teenager over the manoir for the next days.

                            “It is our dear pleasure to have this darling child,” Liz’ spontaneous answer astonished Godfrey by her graciousness. “Our Finnley will take care of her, she knows the ropes of writing better than my ropes of drying laundry, if you know what I mean huhuhu.”

                            Mrs Bell nodded with a look of lost perplexity on her smiling face.

                            #4167
                            F LoveF Love
                            Participant

                              MATER

                              The room was dark, save for a sliver of light coming in through the curtains where I had not quite pulled them together. The rain started this evening bringing much needed coolness with it. I lay in bed and smiled thinking of the funny twists and turns life can take.

                              I had asked Corrie a few more questions but they were more a formality to reassure my brain that I was not going crazy. In my heart I knew. It is hard to find the right words to describe the state which came over me while Corrie was talking; it was as though the air around me had become lighter — so much so that I could almost see it shimmering — and a great … peace … I think the word is peace … had enveloped me.

                              I just knew it was them.

                              What a remarkable coincidence!

                              No, no, not coincidence. I know better than that. It’s magic!

                              Magic. I smiled again into the darkness. One needs to be reminded of magic at my age, where with every creaking, aching joint one can no longer be distracted so easily from the steady and inevitable propulsion towards death. A sort of reassurance in the presence of supernatural forces and perhaps a hint that there may be a purpose to my small little life. Dare I believe that I am worthy of magic?

                              Ah, perhaps I have not explained that well. Is it love? Is love the word I am looking for? When I felt the lightness, the magic, I felt expansive and loving. All the irritation of the morning was gone. And I felt loved in return by forces I could neither see nor explain. Not in my head, anyway.

                              Yes, and it was even nice to see Idle, though she was so full of rambling talk about Iceland and her trip that I had to excuse myself on the pretext that I had laundry to get in before the rain started. One can only take so much chatter.

                              #4154
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                Clove realized that she wasn’t going to get very far with her investigations if she didn’t gain the family’s trust and an amicable footing in the household.

                                On impulse while wandering around a discount shop in the high street she decided to buy a couple of packets of gaily coloured plastic clothes pegs to replace the old wooden ones that had been marking her laundry with mossy green stains. Next she put a pack of bright poppy motif table mats in her shopping basket to replace the dowdy stained hunting print mats to brighten up the kitchen table. A tall shiny emerald green pepper mill caught her eye next; that would look nicer on the table than the Titsco powdered white pepper container that the Smith’s made do with. She would pick up some black peppercorns in the health shop when she got the organic oat cakes. They’d like a change from cream crackers all the time, she was sure. The final impulse purchase was a couple of balls of sustainable organic hemp string, which Clove thought would make a nice change for Sue to crochet with.

                                The house was empty when Clove returned. She unpacked her shopping bags and distributed the new things around the place with a satisfied smile on her face. The old table mats she put in a bag next to the rubbish bin: Sue might want to keep them, although Clove doubted it. But better be on the safe side, she thought. The pegs went straight in the bin, and the hemp string into Sue’s crochet basket.

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