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  • #7353

    Cedric peered through the peephole in his newspaper. He’d have recognised that bogwitch anywhere. Drat that blonde one grabbing her arm, he’d have been able to catch her red handed and arrest her.

    Cedric was ambitious.  He’d been working for MAMA for thirty years as an agent and wanted a promotion, a nice cushy office job where he could sit in comfort dishing out orders.  He’d had enough of traipsing round the countryside and sitting in draughty pubs in the back of beyond and felt it was high time that the Ministry for the Abolition of the Magical Arts recognised his potential as a leader.

    Who was that blonde one anyway? Another bogwitch no doubt, covens springing up everywhere these days, defying proper law and order, it was an outrage.  She hadn’t seemed too happy to see that old tart Aggie, though. Maybe there was a rift between covens that he could exploit for his own ends.  Cedric decided to keep an eye on her, perhaps mislead her into thinking he was on her side.  It gave him a frisson of pleasure to think how clever he would look when he made his report.

    Frigella her name was, Cedric heard Aggie ask her why she was rushing off.

    “Gottta run, I’m babysitting. And just you behave yourself Aggie, I told you, we don’t do things like that around here. It’s witches like you that give us all a bad name.”

    Cedric rolled his newspaper up and pulled his deerstalker hat low over his eyes and followed Frigella out onto the street.

    #7332

    After the evening ritual at the elder tree, Eris came home thirsting for the bitter taste of dark Assam tea. Thorsten had already gone to sleep, and his cybernetic arm was put negligently near the sink, ready for the morning, as it was otherwise inconvenient to wear to bed.

    Tired by the long day, and even more by the day planned in the morrow, she’d planned to go to bed as well, but a late notification caught her attention. “You have a close cousin! Find more”; she had registered some time ago to get an analysis of her witch heritage, in a somewhat vain attempt to pinpoint more clearly where, if it could be told, her gift had originated. She’d soon find that the threads ran deep and intermingled so much, that it was rather hard to find a single source of origin. Only patterns emerged, to give her a hint of this.

    Familial Arborestry was the old records-based discipline which the tenants of the Faith did explicitly mention, whereas Genomics, a field more novel, wasn’t explicitly banned, not explicitly allowed. Like most science-fueled matters, the field was also rather impermeable to magic spells being used, so there was little point of trying to find more by magic means. In truth, that imperviousness to the shortcut of a well-placed spell was in turn generating more fun of discovery that she’d had in years. But after a while, she seemed to have reached a plateau in her finds.

    Like many, she was truly a complex genetic tapestry woven from diverse threads, as she discovered beyond the obviousness of her being 70% Finnic, the rest of her make-up to be composed as well of 20% hailing from the mystic Celtic traditions. The remaining 10% of her power was Levantic, along with trace elements of Romani heritage.

    Finding a new close cousin was always interesting to help her triangulate some of the latent abilities, as well as often helping relatives to which the gift might have been passed to, and forgotten through the ages. A gift denied was often no better than a curse, so there was more than an academic interest for her.

    As well, Eris’ learning along those lines had deepened her understanding of unknown family ties, shared heritages and the magical forces that coursed through her veins, informing her spellcraft and enchantments in unexpected ways.

    She opened the link. Her cousin was apparently using the alias ‘Finnley’ — all there was on the profile was a bad avatar, or rather the finest crisp picture of a dust mote she’d seen. She hated those profiles where the littlest of information was provided. What the hell were those people even signing for? In truth,… she paradoxically actually loved those profiles. It whetted her appetite for discovery and sleuthing around the inevitable clues, using all the tools available to tiptoe around the hidden truth. If she had not been a witch, she may simply have been a hacker. So what this Finnley cousin was hiding from? What she looking for parents she never knew? Or maybe a lost child?

    As exciting as it was, it would have to wait. She yawned vigorously at the prospect of the early rising tomorrow. Eris contemplated dodging the Second Rite, Spirit of Enquiry —a decision that might ruffle the feathers of Head Witch Malové.

    Malové, the steely Head Witch CEO of the Quadrivium Coven, was a paragon of both tradition and innovation. Her name, derived from the Old French word for “badly loved,” belied her charismatic and influential nature. Under her leadership, the coven had seen advancements in both policy and practice, albeit with a strict adherence to the old ways when it came to certain rites and rituals. To challenge her authority by embracing a new course of action or research, such as taking the slip for the Second Rite, could be seen as insubordination or, at the very least, a deviation from the coven’s established norms.

    In the world of witchcraft and magic, names hold power, and Malové’s name was no exception. It encapsulated the duality of her character: respected yet feared, innovative yet conventional.

    Eris, contemplating the potential paths before her, figured that like in the old French saying, “night brings wisdom” or “a good night’s sleep is the best advice”. Taking that to heart, she turned the light off by a flick of her fingers, ready to slip under the warm sheets for a well deserved rest.

    #7222

    In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Very well, let us focus a bit on an overarching mystery.

      So, Xavier is working on this program he calls AL (for Alternate Life), for a company we know little about.

      Meanwhile, the game they’re playing on, Orbs of Madjourneys seems to direct them to certain quests which subtly influence their activities. For instance, after playing the game, a succession of events got the four of them booking a trip to the Flying fish Inn in the middle of Australian outback (Zara is living in Australia unlike the others).

      Let’s assume the Game had somehow detected some unlawful or immoral activities being conducted, and has started to drop clues to influence these 4 gamers, selected because of their unique connexions and some of their special skills to get to reveal and bring the mystery to light.

      Zara has an explorer mind, free-spirited, jumping right in. It’s suggested she was assigned group leadership for this round of game, while taking care of a group doesn’t come naturally for her. Yasmin is talented and it is said she is the brains of the team and also a competent actress, which may come in play at some point. Youssef is a journalist, and works for Miss Tartiflate, owner of THE Blog, a blog with a soul – unlike rival blog from Botty Banworth, the lady millionaire, who is sponsoring the Carts & Lager festival at the town of the Flying Fish Inn, next to the mines. Xavier has a bit of a monkey mind, but is also good at drawing connections; he’s a programmer for AL.

      Which brings us to the group quest. The current hunch is that there is some shenanigan at play in the old collapsed mines of the town, where some key characters were lost in the past. One of them being Fred, a sci-fi writer who disappeared to Fiji to protect his family (the owners of the Flying Fish Inn) a decade or so ago. It’s suggested by the last poem found in the game that it may have something to do with illegal underground water drilling —possibly for frivolous usages of a select few elite, like maintaining a golf green nearby or other things.

      If that is on the right track, we need to accelerate the path of discovery of these mysteries for our 4 characters. The game will suggest additional clues to their quests, so that they can use their skills during the Carts & Lager Festival to discover the truth, while remaining out of harm’s way.

      Here are some additional clues that the game will suggest to our four characters:

      Zara:

      “To find the truth, you must first seek the light.” 🌞🔍🕯️💡🔦
      “The answer lies beneath the surface.” 🕳️🔍👀🌊💧

      Yasmin:

      “All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.” 🌍🎭🤹‍♀️👥🕺
      “Sometimes, the truth is hidden in plain sight.” 👀🔍🤫🧐🕵️‍♀️

      Youssef:

      “Words have power, and the pen is mightier than the sword.” 📝🗡️💪📚👨‍💻
      “The truth may be hidden in the most unexpected of places.” 🤔🕵️‍♂️🔍🧩🕰️

      Xavier:

      “The truth is a puzzle waiting to be solved.” 🧩🔍🤔🕵️‍♂️💡
      “Sometimes, the smallest details can lead to the biggest discoveries.” 🔍👀🔬🧐🔎

      What are potential outcomes for our 4 characters in game and in real life.
      How are they going to work together to unravel the mystery and discover the truth.

      There are several potential outcomes for our 4 characters as they work together to unravel the truth about the collapsed mines and the illegal underground water drilling.

      In the game, they may encounter various obstacles and puzzles to solve, such as deciphering codes and finding hidden passages. They will need to work together and use their unique skills to uncover the truth and prevent any further harm.

      In real life, they may need to conduct research and gather information about the history of the town and its residents. They may also need to interview locals and investigate any suspicious activity related to the water drilling. They will need to be careful not to draw too much attention to themselves, as the perpetrators may try to silence them.

      If they are successful in their quest, they may uncover a conspiracy involving powerful people in the town and beyond who are profiting from the illegal water drilling. They may also discover the fate of Fred, the missing writer, and other key characters. The truth may have a significant impact on the future of the town and its residents.

      To work together effectively, each of the characters will need to utilize their unique skills and strengths. Zara’s exploratory nature may help them discover hidden clues and passages, while Yasmin’s intellect and acting abilities may allow her to gain access to key information and people. Youssef’s journalistic skills and connection to Miss Tartiflate may provide them with insider knowledge and resources, and Xavier’s ability to draw connections and work with technology may help them piece together the puzzle.

      Overall, by working together and using their skills in both the game and real life, our 4 characters may uncover a significant truth and make a positive impact on the town and its residents.

      #7214

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      “Bossy, isn’t she?” muttered Yasmin, not quite out of earshot of Finly. “I haven’t even had a shower yet,” she added, picking up her phone and sandals.

      Yasmin, Youssef and Zara left the maid to her cleaning and walked down towards Xaviers room.   “I’d go and get coffee from the kitchen, but…” Youssef said, turning pleading eyes towards Zara, “Idle might be in there.”

      Smiling, Zara told him not to risk it, she would go.

      “Come in,” Xavier called when Yasmin knocked on the door. “God, what a dream,” he said when they piled in to his room.  “It was awful. I was dreaming that Idle was threading an enormous long needle with baler twine saying she was going to sew us all together in a tailored story cut in a cloth of continuity.”  He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, trying to erase the image in his mind.  “What are you two up so early for?”

      Zara’s gone to get the coffee,” Youssef told him, likewise trying to shake off the image of Idle that Xavier had conjured up. “We’re going to have a couple of hours on the game before the cart race ~ or the dust storm, whichever happens first I guess. There are some wierd looking vans and campers and oddballs milling around outside already.”

      Zara pushed the door open with her shoulder, four mugs in her hands.  “You should see the wierdos outside, going to be a great photo opportunity out there later.”

      “Come on then,” said Xavier, “The game will get that awful dream out of my head.  Let’s go!”

      “You’re supposed to be the leader, you start the game,” Yasmin said to Zara. Zara rolled her eyes good naturedly and opened the game. “Let’s ask for some clues first then. I still don’t know why I’m the so called leader when you,” she looked pointedly as Xavier and Youssef, “Know much more about games than I do. Ok here goes:”

      “The riddle “In the quietest place, the loudest secrets are kept” is a clue to help the group find the first missing page of the book “The Lost Pages of Creativity,” which is an integral part of the group quest. The riddle suggests that the missing page is hidden in a quiet place where secrets are kept, meaning that it’s likely to be somewhere in the hidden library underground the Flying Fish Inn where the group is currently situated.”

      “Is there a cellar here do you think?” Zara mused. “Imagine finding a real underground library!” The idea of a grand all encompassing library had first been suggested to Zara many years ago in a series of old books by a channeler, and many a time she had imagined visiting it. The idea of leaving paper records and books for future generations had always appealed to her. She often thought of the old sepia portrait photographs of her ancestors, still intact after a hundred years ~ and yet her own photos taken ten years ago had been lost in a computer hard drive incident. What would the current generation leave for future anthropologists? Piles of plastic unreadable gadgets, she suspected.

      Youssef can ask Idle later,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. “Maybe she’ll take him down there.” Youssef snorted, and Yasmin said “Hey! Don’t you start snorting too! Right then, Zara, so we find the cellar in the game then and go down and find the library? Then what?”

      “The phrase “quietest place” can refer to a secluded spot or a place with minimal noise, which could be a hint at a specific location within the library. The phrase “loudest secrets” implies that there is something important to be discovered, but it’s hidden in plain sight.”

      Hidden in plain sight reminded Yasmin of the parcel under her mattress, but she thrust it from her mind and focused on the game. She made up her mind to discuss it with everyone later, including the whacky suppositions that Zara had come up with. They couldn’t possibly confront Idle with it, they had absolutely no proof. I mean, you can’t go round saying to people, hey, that’s your abandoned child over there maybe. But they could include Xavier and Youssef in the mystery.

      “The riddle is relevant to the game of quirks because it challenges the group to think creatively and work together to solve the puzzle. This requires them to communicate effectively and use their problem-solving skills to interpret the clues and find the missing page. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate their individual strengths and also learn from each other in the process.”

      “Work together, communicate effectively” Yasmin repeated, as if to underline her resolution to discuss the parcel and Sister Finli a.k.a. Liana with the boys and Zara later. “A problem shared is a problem hopelessly convoluted, probably.”

      The others looked up and said “What?” in unison, and Yasmin snorted nervously and said “Never mind, tell you later.”

      #6774

      As they trekked through the endless dunes, Lord Gustard could barely contain his excitement. The thought of discovering the bones of the legendary giant filled him with a childlike wonder, and he eagerly scanned the horizon for any sign of their destination. As the fearless leader of the group, he had a deep-seated passion for adventure and exploration, a love for pith helmets. However, his tendency to get lost in his own thoughts at the most inconvenient times could sometimes get him in tricky situations. Despite this, he has an unshakable determination to succeed and a deep respect for the cultures and traditions of the places he visits.

      Lady Floribunda, on the other hand, was the picture of patience and duty. She knew that this journey was important to her husband and she supported him unwaveringly, even as she silently longed for the comforts of home. Her first passion was for gossips and the life of socialites —but there was hardly any gossip material in the desert, so she fell back to her second passion, botany, that would often get her lost in her own world, examining and cataloging the scant flora and fauna they encountered on their journey. It wasn’t unusual to hear her at time talking to plants as if they were her dolls or children.

      Cranky, meanwhile, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Lord Gustard’s exuberance. “I swear, if I have to listen to one more of his whimsical ramblings, I’ll go mad,” she muttered to herself. Her tendency to grumble about the hardships of their journey had taken a turn for the worse, considering the lack of comfort from the past nights. She was as sharp-tongued as she was pragmatic, with a love for tea and crumpets that bordered on obsessive. Despite her grumpiness, she has a heart of gold and a deep affection for her companions, and especially young Illi.

      Illi, on the other hand, was thrilled by every new discovery along the way. Whether it was a curious beetle scuttling across the sand or a shimmering oasis in the distance, she couldn’t help but express her excitement with a constant stream of questions and exclamations. Illi was a bright and enthusiastic young girl, with a passion for adventure and a wide-eyed wonder at the world around her. She had a tendency to burst into song at the most unexpected moments.

      Tibn Zig and Tanlil Ubt remained loyal and steadfast, shrugging off any incongruous spur of the moment extravagant outburst from Gustard. Their experience in the desert had taught them to stay calm and focused, no matter what obstacles they might encounter. But behind the stoic façade, they had a penchant for telling tall tales and playing practical jokes on their companions. Their mischievousness was however only for good fun, and they had become fiercely loyal to Lord Gustard after he’d rescued them from sand bandits who were planning to sell them as slave. Needless to say, they would have done whatever it takes to keep the Fergusson family safe.

      Illi was hoping for eccentric traders and desert nomads to fortune-seeking treasure hunters and conniving bandits, but for miles it was just plain unending desert. The worst they found on their path were unending sand dunes, a few minuscule deadly scorpions, and mostly contending with the harsh desert sun beating down upon them. Finally, after days of wandering through the desert, they reached their destination.

      As they approached Tsnit n’Agger, the landscape began to change. The sand dunes gave way to rocky cliffs and towering red sandstone formations, and the air grew cooler and more refreshing. The group pressed on, their spirits renewed by the prospect of discovering the secrets of the legendary giant’s bones.

      At last, they arrived at the entrance to the giant’s cave. Lord Gustard led the way, his torch casting flickering shadows on the walls as they descended deeper into the earth. The air grew colder and damper, and the sounds of dripping water echoed around them.

      As they turned a corner, they suddenly found themselves face to face with the giant’s bones. Towering above them, the massive skeletal structure filled the cavern from floor to ceiling. The sight of the giant’s bones towering above them was awe-inspiring, and Lord Gustard was practically bouncing with excitement. The group behind him was in awe, even Cranky, as they were taking in the enormity and majesty of the ancient creature.

      Floribunda and Cranky exchanged a weary but amused look, while Illi gazed up at the bones with wide-eyed wonder.

      “Let’s get to work,” Lord Gustard declared, his enthusiasm undimmed. And with that, they set to the task of uncovering the secrets of the legendary giant, each in their own way.

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Some background for the storyline of Franiel

        For safekeeping and future explorations…

        Franiel a talented young monk from Mount Elok’ram is going on a journey of a lifetime after the death of the old abbot Hrih Chokyam Lin’potshee despite being his chosen successor unknown to everybody. He is sent by the usurper Elder Aum Geog to a journey down to the Village of Chard Dam Jarfon to engrave a precious chalice with sacred words on a sealed scroll.

        He encounters Léonard a zany alchemist with his dog Moufle who takes his precious cargo.

        Franiel finds shelter with Phoebe Chesterhope, a master thief who trains him until she disappears after taking her motorbike on a dangerous interdimensional mission on the day of Marduë. Franiel is then put back in the path of Léonard, who had stolen the chalice for safekeeping. Léonard teaches Franiel about the powers of the chalice (the famed Cup of Margilonia), on the day of Seldië, and activates its self-protective cloaking power to temporarily relieve Franiel of his burden.

        Under Léonard’s tutelage, the true destiny of Franiel is revealed, and he can claim his rightful place as the chosen successor of the old abbot, on the day of Marduë. With the help of Leonard and the power of the chalice, Franiel embarks on a new journey, equipped with the knowledge and skills he needs to fulfill his destiny. However, with someone else following him and the possibility of danger lurking around every hexade, Franiel must stay vigilant and continue to rely on his newfound allies to help him succeed. Only time will tell if Franiel is truly ready for the challenges that lie ahead on his path to becoming a great leader and guardian of the sacred chalice.

        #6721

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Xavier was dramatically behind his work, but he could see the benefits to his mood of the break from his routine. While the others had been enlisted to a bush tucker cooking lesson by their hosts, he’d retreated to his room for some catching up with his programming.
        The lady with the dreadlocks in particular seemed to have taken a liking to Youssef so much so that she had offered to join their group for the cooking lesson session, which apparently was initially met with disbelief a first, then surprise and anxiety and finally made her family raise a few eyebrows profusely. Youssef didn’t seem bothered by it, and to be fair, did seem completely oblivious to the situation.

        Speaking of awkward situations, after the bar discussion, Glimmer had got off on her own, apparently going to chase for literal rainbows. She’d mentioned in a conspiratorial tone “You don’t see them rainbows nowadays, have you? See, that’s what I mean, them with the government electric waves, laser rays and stuff, they manipulate the weather… Keep people docile and hopeless. So I’m going on a chase.”
        Xavier had frowned at Yasmin before she could top it off with a “good luck with the unicorns.” He didn’t need telepathy to know that Yasmin could hardly pass on an ironic salvo in a potentially comical situation.
        Anyway, Glimmer leaving off to new adventures of her own without overstaying her welcome was met with a few sighs of relief. The four of them quite liked the comfort of their little group with their insider references and jokes.

        His programmic work was rather tedious and slow, but he’d made good progress connecting the new training model into the AL, and the muffled sounds of the cooking class with the occasional laughter did make him want to finish faster.

        He hoped he would get most of it done in time to enjoy the incoming festival. The town however ghostly it had seemed on arrival, had taken a unexpected liveliness with colorful bunting flags now spreading across all roads intersections.

        With all this newfound activity, they’d almost forgotten about the game. However, he could feel there was something more at play, and it would be a trial of Zara’s leadership capabilities —her style had often been solo. It was great for scouting mission and opening new doors in unknown parts of the game, but apparently the group quest required something different…

        #6539

        In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Zara is the main protagonist, and also the reluctant leader of the game. In RL, she is wandering off the trail nearby Arltunga, Australia, where she is visiting, staying at the small family run inn the Flying Fish Inn. Bert, the local handyman drove her there, told her specifically not to wander off, yet in search of where a mysterious compass she collected on the trail is leading, and egged on by her talking smart parrot “Beautiful Girl”, she goes off the trail to explore. The sun is still high, and she already started to hallucinate some hooded figures with blue frog-faces with jelly-bean carts.
          Meanwhile, her friends Youssef and Xavier, just landed from abroad, are driving toward the rendez-vous spot at the Flying Fish Inn. The owners Mater and Idle don’t have any idea where Zara is.
          Yasmin, the fourth friend in the group is still on her way from Fiji, bearing a message written in red on an envelope from a mysterious Fred, who we don’t know yet, but seems to be linked to Mater & Idle’s family.
          What’s going to happen next to Zara? The game is encouraging her to explore her rudeness in a playful manner, in a medieval setting.
          Provide a series of playful and fun actions for Zara, linking these contexts. You may incorporate Tiku, a wise and no-nonsense Aboriginal woman who may guide her though the Dreamtime challenges. Provide random keywords to each action in the list.

          Here is a list of playful and fun actions for Zara in the game:

          1. “Follow the Compass”: Zara can follow the mysterious compass she collected on the trail, as it leads her to new locations and challenges. Keywords: Adventure, Exploration, Mystery.
          2. “Converse with Beautiful Girl”: Zara’s talking smart parrot “Beautiful Girl” may provide humorous commentary and encouragement throughout her journey. Keywords: Humor, Personality, Support.
          3. “Solve Riddles with Tiku”: Tiku, the wise and no-nonsense Aboriginal woman, can guide Zara through the Dreamtime challenges. To do this, Tiku may present her with riddles or puzzles that she must solve to progress. Keywords: Wisdom, Intelligence, Spirituality.
          4. “Collect Items”: Zara can collect items along the way, such as artifacts or treasures that may help her in her journey or lead her to new discoveries. Keywords: Collection, Discovery, Help.
          5. “Play Music with Beautiful Girl”: Zara can play musical instruments with Beautiful Girl, creating an entertaining and musical interlude in her journey. Keywords: Music, Joy, Creativity.
          6. “Cook with Mater and Idle”: At the Flying Fish Inn, Zara can join Mater and Idle in the kitchen and help them cook traditional dishes from the region. Keywords: Cooking, Culture, Community.
          7. “Race with Youssef and Xavier”: Zara can engage in friendly races with Youssef and Xavier, such as foot races or cart races, as a way to pass the time and have fun. Keywords: Competition, Speed, Excitement.

          These playful and fun actions can add variety and excitement to Zara’s journey and provide an opportunity for players to interact with the world and characters in new and unique ways.

           🔁 Regenerate response

          #6451

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

          The progress on the quest in the Land of the Quirks was too tantalizing; Xavier made himself a quick sandwich and jumped back on it during his lunch break.

          The jungle had an oppressing quality… Maybe it has to do with the shrieks of the apes tearing the silence apart.   

          It was time for a slight adjustment of his avatar.

          Xavimunk opened his bag of tricks, something that the wise owl had suggested he looked into. Few items from the AIorium Emporium had been supplied. They tended to shift and disappear if you didn’t focus, but his intention was set on the task at hand. At the bottom of the bag, there was a small vial with a golden liquid with a tag written in ornate handwriting “MJ remix: for when words elude and shapes confuse at your own peril”.

          He gulped the potion without thinking too much. He felt himself shrink, and his arms elongate a little. There, he thought. Imp-munk’s more suited to the mission. Hope the effects will be temporary…

          As Xavier mustered the courage to enter through the front gate, monkeys started to become silent. He couldn’t say if it was an ominous sign, or maybe an effect of his adaptation. The temple’s light inside was gorgeous, but nothing seemed to be there.

          He gestured around, to make the menu appear. He looked again at the instructions on his screen overlay:

          As for possible characters to engage, you may come across a sly fox who claims to know the location of the fruit but will only reveal it in exchange for a favor, or a brave adventurer who has been searching for the Golden Banana for years and may be willing to team up with you.

          Suddenly a loud monkey honking noise came from outside, distracting him.

          What the?… Had to be one of Zara’s remixes. He saw the three dots bleeping on the screen.

          Here’s the Banana bus, hope it helps! Envoy! bugger Enjoy!

          Yep… With the distinct typo-heavy accent, definitely Zara’s style. Strange idea that AL designated her as the leader… He’d have to roll with it.

          Suddenly, as the Banana bus parked in front of the Temple, a horde of Italien speaking tourists started to flock in and snap pictures around. The monkeys didn’t know what to do and seemed to build growing and noisy interest in their assortiment of colorful shoes, flip-flops, boots and all.

           

          Focus, thought Xavimunk… What did the wise owl say? Look for a guide…
          Only the huge colorful bus seemed to take the space now… But wait… what if?

          He walked to the parking spot under the shades of the huge banyan tree next to the temple’s entrance, under which the bus driver had parked it. The driver was still there, napping under a newspaper, his legs on the wheel.
          “Whatcha lookin’ at?” he said chewing his gum loudly. “Never seen a fox drive a banana bus before?”
          Xavier smiled. “Any chance you can guide me to the location of the Golden Banana?”
          “For a price… maybe.” The fox had jumped closely and was considering the strange avatar from head to toe.
          “Ain’t no usual stuff that got you into this? Got any left? That would be a nice price.”
          “As it happens…” Xavier smiled.

          The quest seemed back on track. Xavier looked at the time. Blimmey! already late again. And I promised Brytta to get some Chinese snacks for dinner.

          #6423

          In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Zara’s first quest:

            entry level quirk: wandering off the track

            The initial setting for this quest is a dense forest, where the paths are overgrown and rarely traveled. You find yourself alone and disoriented, with only a rough map and a compass to guide you.

            Possible directions to investigate include:

            Following a faint trail of footprints that lead deeper into the forest

            Climbing a tall tree to get a better view of the surrounding area

            Searching for a stream or river to use as a guide to find your way out of the forest

            Possible characters to engage include:

            A mysterious hermit who lives deep in the forest and is rumored to know the secrets of the land

            A lost traveler who is also trying to find their way out of the forest

            A group of bandits who have taken refuge in the forest and may try to steal from you or cause harm

            Your objective is to find the Wanderlust tile, a small, intricately carved wooden tile depicting a person walking off the beaten path. This tile holds the key to unlocking your inner quirk of wandering off the track.

            As proof of your progress in the game, you must find a way to incorporate this quirk into your real-life actions by taking a spontaneous detour on your next journey, whether it be physical or mental.

            For Zara’s quest:

            As you wander off the track, you come across a strange-looking building in the distance. Upon closer inspection, you realize it is the Flying Fish Inn. As you enter, you are greeted by the friendly owner, Idle. She tells you that she has heard of strange occurrences happening in the surrounding area and offers to help you in your quest

            Emoji clue:  🐈🌳 :cat_confused:

             

            Zara (the character in the game)

            characteristics from previous prompts:

            Zara is the leader of the group  :yahoo_thinking:  she is confident, and always ready for an adventure. She is a natural leader and has a strong sense of justice. She is also a tech-savvy person, always carrying a variety of gadgets with her, and is always the first to try out new technology.

            Zara is the leader of the group, her color is red, her animal is a lion, and her secret name in a funny language is “Zaraloon”

             

            Zara (the real life story character)

            characteristics from previous prompts:

            Zara Patara-Smythe is a 57-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in an untidy ponytail, dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline. She stands at 5’6″ and has a toned and athletic build. She usually wears practical clothing that allows her to move around easily, such as cargo pants and a tank top.

            prompt quest:

            Continue to investigate the mysterious cat she saw, possibly seeking out help from local animal experts or veterinarians.
            Join Xavier and Yasmin in investigating the Flying Fish Inn, looking for clues and exploring the area for any potential leads on the game’s quest.

            #6415

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            Yasmin and Zara were online discussing the upcoming reunion.

            “AirFiji!!!!” exclaimed Zara. “I thought you were somewhere in Asia – how come you are booked on Air Fiji?”

            “Im in Fiji for a year, volunteering at an orphanage in Suva,” Yasmin answered patiently, although she did allow herself a small eye roll. She was sure it wasn’t the first time she’d told Zara— it was a big mystery to her why AI had chosen Zara as leader for the game as she had the attention span of a goldfish. On the other hand, the unpredictability added an extra element of excitement to the game. After all, wasn’t it Zara’s idea that they all meet at the Flying Fish Inn?

            She slapped a mosquito on her arm. For some reason they seemed to love her and she already had big red welts all over her body. She used so much insect lotion that the locals had started calling her Citronella Girl; unfortunately it didn’t seem to deter the mozzies.

            “I’ve got to go,” she messaged. “I’m helping serve lunch. Can’t wait to see you all!”

            #6413

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            Zara was long overdue for some holiday time off from her job at the Bungwalley Valley animal rescue centre in New South Wales and the suggestion to meet her online friends at the intriguing sounding Flying Fish Inn to look for clues for their online game couldn’t have come at a better time.  Lucky for her it wasn’t all that far, relatively speaking, although everything is far in Australia, it was closer than coming from Europe.  Xavier would have a much longer trip.  Zara wasn’t quite sure where exactly Yasmin was, but she knew it was somewhere in Asia. It depended on which refugee camp she was assigned to, and Zara had forgotten to ask her recently. All they had talked about was the new online game, and how confusing it all was.

            The biggest mystery to Zara was why she was the leader in the game.  She was always the one who was wandering off on side trips and forgetting what everyone else was up to. If the other game followers followed her lead there was no telling where they’d all end up!

            “But it is just a game,” Pretty Girl, the rescue parrot interjected. Zara had known some talking parrots over the years, but never one quite like this one. Usually they repeated any nonsense that they’d heard but this one was different.  She would miss it while she was away on holiday, and for a moment considered taking the talking parrot with her on the trip.  If she did, she’d have to think about changing her name though, Pretty Girl wasn’t a great name but it was hard to keep thinking of names for all the rescue creatures.

            After Zara had done the routine morning chores of feeding the various animals, changing the water bowls, and cleaning up the less pleasant aspects of the job,  she sat down in the office room of the rescue centre with a cup of coffee and a sandwich.  She was in good physical shape for 57, wiry and energetic, but her back ached at times and a sit down was welcome before the vet arrived to check on all the sick and wounded animals.

            Pretty Girl flew over from the kennels, and perched outside the office room window.  When the parrot had first been dropped off at the centre, they’d put her in a big cage, but in no uncertain terms Pretty Girl had told them she’d done nothing wrong and was wrongfully imprisoned and to release her at once. It was rather a shock to be addresssed by a parrot in such a way, and it was agreed between the staff and the vet to set her free and see what happened. And Pretty Girl had not flown away.

            “Hey Pretty Girl, why don’t you give me some advice on this confusing new game I’m playing with my online friends?” Zara asked.

            “Pretty Girl wants some of your tuna sandwich first,” replied the parrot.  After Zara had obliged, the parrot continued at some surprising length.

            “My advice would be to not worry too much about getting the small details right. The most important thing is to have fun and enjoy the creative process.  Just give me a bit more tuna,”  Pretty Girl said, before continuing.

            “Remember that as a writer, you have the power to shape the story and the characters as you see fit. It’s okay to make mistakes, and it’s okay to not know everything. Allow yourself to be inspired by the world around you and let the story unfold naturally. Trust in your own creativity and don’t be afraid to take risks. And remember, it’s not the small details that make a story great, it’s the emotions and experiences that the characters go through that make it truly memorable.  And always remember to feed the parrot.”

            “Maybe I should take you on holiday with me after all,” Zara replied. “You really are an amazing bird, aren’t you?”

             

            Zara and Pretty Girl Parrot

            #6379

            In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

            EricEric
            Keymaster

              Asking to give each of the 4 characters some particular traits that makes them uniquely distinctive and recognizable

              The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, each have their own unique traits that make them stand out and recognizable.

              Zara is the leader of the group, she is confident, and always ready for an adventure. She is a natural leader and has a strong sense of justice. She is also a tech-savvy person, always carrying a variety of gadgets with her, and is always the first to try out new technology.

              Xavier is the joker of the group, always cracking jokes and making puns. He is a free-spirited person who is always up for an adventure, he has a great sense of humor and is not afraid to be himself. He is also an artist and often carries a sketchbook and pencils with him, he likes to draw whatever he sees in his journeys.

              Yasmin is the brains of the group, she is intelligent and logical. She is always able to think on her feet and come up with a plan when things get tough. She is also a bit of a perfectionist and likes to have everything organized. She is a history buff and always carries a notebook with her to document her findings.

              Youssef is the muscle of the group, He is physically strong, and always ready to help out in a fight. He is also a bit of a foodie and loves trying new dishes. He is always the first one to volunteer to carry the heavy bags and equipment. He is also a bit of a daredevil and loves trying out new sports and activities.

              Give each of them a color, and an animal, and a secret name in a funny language

              The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, each have their own unique traits that make them stand out and recognizable.

              Zara is the leader of the group, her color is red, her animal is a lion, and her secret name in a funny language is “Zaraloon”

              Xavier is the joker of the group, his color is orange, his animal is a monkey, and his secret name in a funny language is “Xavimunk”

              Yasmin is the brains of the group, her color is blue, her animal is an owl, and her secret name in a funny language is “Yasminowl”

              Youssef is the muscle of the group, his color is green, his animal is a bear, and his secret name in a funny language is “Youssefbear”

              Now, we need physical descriptions for each of them. Also, their ages, height, clothes, facial features, ethnicity (for instance Youssef may be half Yemeni and half Norwegian), etc. with a good mix of generic and eccentric. We also need surnames congruent with their described ethnicity, not too bland, but not too daft either. For instance Youssef Olafsson, Zara Patara-Smythe, etc. Also explain how they become friends.

              Zara Patara-Smythe is a 25-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in a sleek ponytail, dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline. She stands at 5’6″ and has a toned and athletic build. She usually wears practical clothing that allows her to move around easily, such as cargo pants and a tank top.

              Xavier Olafsson is a 27-year-old man of Norwegian and Danish descent. He has blonde hair that he keeps in a messy style, blue eyes, and a charming smile. He stands at 6’1″ and has a lean build. He is always seen wearing a colorful and bold clothing, such as a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.

              Yasmin Ahmed is a 23-year-old woman of Egyptian descent. She has long, black hair that she keeps in a tight braid, dark brown eyes and a round face. She stands at 5’4″ and has a petite build. She usually wears conservative clothing, such as long skirts and blouses.

              Youssef Ali is a 26-year-old man of half Yemeni, half Norwegian descent. He has short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes and a square jawline. He stands at 6’2″ and has a muscular build. He usually wears comfortable clothing such as a t-shirt and jeans, and always has a backpack on his shoulder.

              The four of them became friends in college, they were all studying different majors, but they all shared a love for adventure and exploration. They found themselves in the same class project, and from there they formed a strong bond. After college, they decided to keep exploring the world together, and went on many trips and adventures, always seeking for something new and exciting.

              1/ Change the ages of Zara, Xavier, Yasmin and Youssef to more random patterns – rewrite if needed how they met each other to reflect eventual age gaps. Give them some flaws, mental or physical challenges.
              2/ increase again the age gaps while keeping the youngest one a young adult, and remove “minor” from the flaws descriptions

              Zara is a 22-year-old woman who is the youngest of the group. She is a free-spirited, adventurous person, but also a bit reckless and impulsive. She has a scar on her cheek that she got from a Skateboarding accident when she was a teenager.

              Xavier is a 45-year-old man who is the oldest of the group. He is a responsible and level-headed person, but also a bit of a perfectionist and can be hard on himself and others. He has dyslexia which he has been able to work around and it doesn’t impede his daily life.

              Yasmin is a 38-year-old woman who is the second oldest of the group. She is a kind and compassionate person, but also a bit of a pushover and can have trouble standing up for herself. She has social anxiety that affect her in certain situations and she have been working on coping mechanisms.

              Youssef is a 33-year-old man who is the second youngest of the group. He is a charismatic and outgoing person, but also a bit of a flirt and can be a bit insensitive to others feelings. He has ADHD which he has been able to manage with medication, but it still affects him from time to time.

              The group met each other through different means, Xavier and Yasmin met at work, Zara and Youssef met at a college class, and eventually, they all became friends through common interests and activities. They decided to go on this adventure together because they were all looking for a change in their lives and wanted to explore the unknown.

              #6377

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              The four adventurers, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, stood in awe in front of the giant orb that seemed to open up to another realm. The light emanating from the orb was so bright, it was as if the sun was just inches away. The stalactites that hung from the cave’s ceiling sparkled like diamonds in the light, adding to the otherworldly beauty of the scene.

              “Look around,” Yasmin said, her voice filled with wonder. “Beauty is everywhere. You only have to look to see it.”

              The group was ready for an adventure and they knew that the orb in front of them was the key to their mad journey. Xavier stepped forward and reached out to touch the orb. As soon as his fingers made contact with the surface, the orb lit up and a pathway formed, leading into the brightly lit realm.

              The group stepped through the pathway and found themselves in a world unlike anything they had ever seen before. The sky was a vibrant shade of purple and the ground was covered in a lush, green grass. The orb they had just passed through was now behind them, but in front of them were smaller orbs, each one leading to a different path.

              Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef looked at each other with excitement in their eyes. They knew that this was just the beginning of their mad journey.

              Xavier stepped forward and reached out to touch the orb. As soon as his fingers made contact with the surface, the orb lit up and a pathway formed, leading into the brightly lit realm.

              :fleuron:

              They walked into a small village, where they were greeted by a group of people wearing clothes that looked like they were from the 1920s. The people told them that they were in the land of the “Quirks”, a place where everything and everyone was a little bit different, and that they had to find the “Key of Quirks” in order to leave the land.

              The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, soon found themselves on a mission to find the “Key of Quirks” that would allow them to leave the land of the Quirks. As they walked through a forest, they came across a fork in the road.

              Zara, the leader of the group, turned to the others and said, “Alright, we need to decide which way to go. Yasmin, what’s the plan?”

              Yasmin, the brains of the group, replied, “I suggest we take the left path. According to the map I found, it leads to the Quirky Quests area, where we might find the key.”

              Xavier, the joker of the group, chimed in, “I vote for the right path. It’s the road less traveled, and you know what they say, ‘the road less traveled is the road to adventure’ ”

              Youssef, the muscle of the group, added, “I don’t care which way we go, I just want to find some food. I’m starving!”

              Zara rolled her eyes, “Xavier, your jokes are getting old. And Youssef, we’re on a mission, we can’t just focus on food.”

              Xavier grinned, “But Zaraloon, where’s the fun in that?”

              Yasmin interjected, “Can we please focus? We need to make a decision. I propose we split up, Zara and I will take the left path, and Xavier and Youssef can take the right path.”

              Youssef nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. That way, if we don’t find the key, at least we’ll have found some food.”

              Xavier grinned, “Sounds like a plan, Xavimunk is ready for adventure!”

              Zara shook her head with a smile, “Alright, let’s do this.”

              The group split up, and as they walked away, they could be heard playfully bantering and joking with each other. Each one exemplifying their unique and distinct characters.

              #6344
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Tetbury Riots

                 

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

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

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

                Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:

                Daniel Cole witness

                 

                from the article:

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:

                Swing Riots

                 

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

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

                Captain Swing

                #6281
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Measham Thatchers

                  Orgills, Finches and Wards

                  Measham is a large village in north west Leicestershire, England, near the Derbyshire, Staffordshire and Warwickshire boundaries. Our family has a penchant for border straddling, and the Orgill’s of Measham take this a step further living on the boundaries of four counties.  Historically it was in an exclave of Derbyshire absorbed into Leicestershire in 1897, so once again we have two sets of county records to search.

                  ORGILL

                  Richard Gretton, the baker of Swadlincote and my great grandmother Florence Nightingale Grettons’ father, married Sarah Orgill (1840-1910) in 1861.

                  (Incidentally, Florence Nightingale Warren nee Gretton’s first child Hildred born in 1900 had the middle name Orgill. Florence’s brother John Orgill Gretton emigrated to USA.)

                  When they first married, they lived with Sarah’s widowed mother Elizabeth in Measham.  Elizabeth Orgill is listed on the 1861 census as a farmer of two acres.

                  Sarah Orgill’s father Matthew Orgill (1798-1859) was a thatcher, as was his father Matthew Orgill (1771-1852).

                  Matthew Orgill the elder left his property to his son Henry:

                  Matthew Orgills will

                   

                  Sarah’s mother Elizabeth (1803-1876) was also an Orgill before her marriage to Matthew.

                  According to Pigot & Co’s Commercial Directory for Derbyshire, in Measham in 1835 Elizabeth Orgill was a straw bonnet maker, an ideal occupation for a thatchers wife.

                  Matthew Orgill, thatcher, is listed in White’s directory in 1857, and other Orgill’s are mentioned in Measham:

                  Mary Orgill, straw hat maker; Henry Orgill, grocer; Daniel Orgill, painter; another Matthew Orgill is a coal merchant and wheelwright. Likewise a number of Orgill’s are listed in the directories for Measham in the subsequent years, as farmers, plumbers, painters, grocers, thatchers, wheelwrights, coal merchants and straw bonnet makers.

                   

                  Matthew and Elizabeth Orgill, Measham Baptist church:

                  Orgill grave

                   

                  According to a history of thatching, for every six or seven thatchers appearing in the 1851 census there are now less than one.  Another interesting fact in the history of thatched roofs (via thatchinginfo dot com):

                  The Watling Street Divide…
                  The biggest dividing line of all, that between the angular thatching of the Northern and Eastern traditions and the rounded Southern style, still roughly follows a very ancient line; the northern section of the old Roman road of Watling Street, the modern A5. Seemingly of little significance today; this was once the border between two peoples. Agreed in the peace treaty, between the Saxon King Alfred and Guthrum, the Danish Viking leader; over eleven centuries ago.
                  After making their peace, various Viking armies settled down, to the north and east of the old road; firstly, in what was known as The Danelaw and later in Norse kingdoms, based in York. They quickly formed a class of farmers and peasants. Although the Saxon kings soon regained this area; these people stayed put. Their influence is still seen, for example, in the widespread use of boarded gable ends, so common in Danish thatching.
                  Over time, the Southern and Northern traditions have slipped across the old road, by a few miles either way. But even today, travelling across the old highway will often bring the differing thatching traditions quickly into view.

                  Pear Tree Cottage, Bosworth Road, Measham. 1900.  Matthew Orgill was a thatcher living on Bosworth road.

                  Bosworth road

                   

                  FINCH

                  Matthew the elder married Frances Finch 1771-1848, also of Measham.  On the 1851 census Matthew is an 80 year old thatcher living with his daughter Mary and her husband Samuel Piner, a coal miner.

                  Henry Finch 1743- and Mary Dennis 1749- , both of Measham, were Frances parents.  Henry’s father was also Henry Finch, born in 1707 in Measham, and he married Frances Ward, also born in 1707, and also from Measham.

                  WARD

                   

                  The ancient boundary between the kingdom of Mercia and the Danelaw

                  I didn’t find much information on the history of Measham, but I did find a great deal of ancient history on the nearby village of Appleby Magna, two miles away.  The parish records indicate that the Ward and Finch branches of our family date back to the 1500’s in the village, and we can assume that the ancient history of the neighbouring village would be relevant to our history.

                  There is evidence of human settlement in Appleby from the early Neolithic period, 6,000 years ago, and there are also Iron Age and Bronze Age sites in the vicinity.  There is evidence of further activity within the village during the Roman period, including evidence of a villa or farm and a temple.  Appleby is near three known Roman roads: Watling Street, 10 miles south of the village; Bath Lane, 5 miles north of the village; and Salt Street, which forms the parish’s south boundary.

                  But it is the Scandinavian invasions that are particularly intriguing, with regard to my 58% Scandinavian DNA (and virtually 100% Midlands England ancestry). Repton is 13 miles from Measham. In the early 10th century Chilcote, Measham and Willesley were part of the royal Derbyshire estate of Repton.

                  The arrival of Scandinavian invaders in the second half of the ninth century caused widespread havoc throughout northern England. By the AD 870s the Danish army was occupying Mercia and it spent the winter of 873-74 at Repton, the headquarters of the Mercian kings. The events are recorded in detail in the Peterborough manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles…

                  Although the Danes held power for only 40 years, a strong, even subversive, Danish element remained in the population for many years to come. 

                  A Scandinavian influence may also be detected among the field names of the parish. Although many fields have relatively modern names, some clearly have elements which reach back to the time of Danish incursion and control.

                  The Borders:

                  The name ‘aeppel byg’ is given in the will of Wulfic Spot of AD 1004……………..The decision at Domesday to include this land in Derbyshire, as one of Burton Abbey’s Derbyshire manors, resulted in the division of the village of Appleby Magna between the counties of Leicester and Derby for the next 800 years

                  Richard Dunmore’s Appleby Magma website.

                  This division of Appleby between Leicestershire and Derbyshire persisted from Domesday until 1897, when the recently created county councils (1889) simplified the administration of many villages in this area by a radical realignment of the boundary:

                  Appleby

                   

                  I would appear that our family not only straddle county borders, but straddle ancient kingdom borders as well.  This particular branch of the family (we assume, given the absence of written records that far back) were living on the edge of the Danelaw and a strong element of the Danes survives to this day in my DNA.

                   

                  #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.

                     

                    #6235
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Sydney Smith and Lawrence of Arabia

                      Hannah Warren 1865-1946 was my great grandfather Samuel’s sister. Hannah married Charles Smith, and their son was Sydney Smith 1888-1971, Lawrence of Arabia’s commanding officer. Sydney’s wife, Clare Sydney Smith, wrote a book about their friendship with Lawrence of Arabia called The Golden Reign.

                      This photograph of Sydney Smith and Clare is in our collection of family photos. Written on the back: Sydney Smith son of Hannah Smith sister of Samuel Warren married Clare Eustace Jameson, niece of Earl Haig.

                      Sydney Smith and Clare

                      The Burton Observer and Chronicle – Thursday 19 September 1940:

                      BURTONIANS’ FRIENDSHIP WITH EX-ARAB LEADER. By Clare Sydney Smith (Cassell, 12s. 6d.).  general interest as an intimate study of the most romantic personality on the Allied side… this volume has distinctly local appeal, for the authoress, who is a niece of the late Earl Haig, is the wife of Mr Commodore Sydney Smith, eldest son of Mr. Charles Smith (former joint managing director of Allsopp’s). Her volume, on the whole, is a fascinating record of the devoted friendship which existed between Colonel Lawrence of Arabia, her husband and herself during the latter years of the one-time Arab leader’s life. Their acquaintance with  Lawrence, alias Aircraftman T. E. Shaw, commenced with the Cairo Conference in 1920.

                      The Golden Reign

                       

                      A photograph from the book: From left to right: Lord Astor, Wing-Commander Sydney Smith, Lady Astor, George Bernard Shaw, Charlotte Shaw (hiding behind GBS’s shoulder), Sydney’s daughter Maureen Sydney Smith, an unknown man, Clare Sydney Smith, and on the ladder, T.E.’s feet.

                      Sydney Smith and Lord Astor

                       

                      Also from Clare’s book:

                      Clare Sydney Smith and TE Lawrence

                       

                      Sydney Smith with Lawrence of Arabia:

                      Sydney Smith Lawrence of Arabia

                      #6228
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Francis Purdy: The Beggarlea Bulldog and Primitive Methodist Preacher

                        Francis Purdy was my great great grandfather.  We did not know anything about the Primitive Methodists prior to this family research project, but my mother had another look through the family souvenirs and photographs and found a little book dated 1913, by William Purdy called: The History of The Primitive Methodists of Langley, Heanor, Derbyshire and District. Practical remarks on Sunday school work and a biography of the late Francis Purdy, an early local preacher. Printed by GC Brittain and sons.  William Purdy was Francis son, and George’s brother.

                        Francis Purdy 1913 book

                        Francis Purdy:

                        Francis Purdy

                         

                        The following can be found online from various sources but I am unable to find the original source to credit with this information:

                        “In spite of having pious parents, Francis was a great prize-fighter and owner of champion dogs. He was known as the Beggarlee Bulldog, and fought many pitched battles. It was in 1823 that he fought on Nottingham Forest for the championship of three counties. After the fight going eleven rounds, which continued one hour and twenty minutes, he was declared victorious.”

                        The Primitive Methodists under the Rev Richard Whitechurch began a regular mission in Beggarlee. The locals tried to dismiss the Methodist “Ranters” by the use of intimidating tactics. Francis was prepared to release his fighting dogs during their prayer meeting, but became so interested in their faith that he instead joined them. The Methodist Church wrote: ”A strong feeling came over him, while his mates incited him to slip his dogs from the leads. He refused, and decided to return home. After concealing himself in a dyke, to listen to the Missioners on the following Sunday, he stole into the house of a Mrs Church, where a service was being held. Shortly after this, a society was formed with Francis Purdy as leader, and he was also the superintendent of the first Sunday School. After a short spell as local preacher at Beauvale, Tag Hill, Awsworth, Kimberly, Brinsley, etc., Mr Francis Purdy was ordained a minister by the Rev. Thomas King, of Nottingham, on the 17th December, 1827.”

                        #6073

                        In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                        The words of the Great Leader Undisputed Gabe were still resonating in the back of Gavin’s mind. The promotion to Operating Tomathetan seemed a great honour on the surface, but it certainly brought its lot of responsibilities with it. And from what he had seen before, it would only add to his current ones.

                        Gavin descended the Pealgrim path to the Dark Room where all the sorting happened. Many trails from the many carrot fields combined into one and all led to that central building all painted in black, hence its name.

                        A zealous Seed level had recently been put in charge of the re-painting. As there was only black paint in the warehouse he had the genius idea to save the order some money by using only what they already had, and as there was enough paint he covered all the windows, certainly thinking light could damage the crops. Repainting everything was out of the question so they had kept it like that and just added some artificial light to help the workers. Great Leader Undisputed Gabe, had thought it was a nice initiative as now workers could work any hour of the day.

                        When Gavin entered the Dark Room, it reeked of carrot and sweat. Members of the cult of all ages were sorting the divine roots by shapes, sizes and thickness. Most of them didn’t know what was the final purpose, innocent minds. All they had was the Sorting Song written by Britta the one legged vestal to help her fellow cultshipers in their work.

                        If a carrot is short, not worth the effort
                        As a long stalactites, like ice on your tits
                        A bar thick as a fist, you’ve just been blissed

                        Each verse gave advices about what they were looking for, where to put them after sorting and each team had their own songs that they sang while doing their work with the enthusiasm of cultshipers. Even though the song had been crafted to answer most of the situations in terms of carrot shapes, sizes and thickness, it happened that some would not fit into any categories. And recently, those seem to happen more often than once and the pile of misshapen carrots threaten to exceed that of the others combined.

                        “Eugene, Have you found what is the problem?” asked Gavin to their agronomist. His surname was Carrot and he came from noble Irish descent, quite appropriate for his work, thought Gavin. Eugene was skinny with a long neck and he often seemed to abuse the ritual fasting ceremony ending with the consumption of sacred mushroom soup.

                        “It’s because of the microscopic snails that infest the crops,” Eugene said. Gavin couldn’t help but notice an accumulation of dried saliva at the corner of his mouth. “They’re carried by bird shit and they are too small to be eaten by our ducks and in the end they cause the carrots to grow random shapes unfit for Odin.”

                        Odin, short for Organic Dildo Industry, has been the main source of revenue for the cult. Since the start of the confinement the demand has skyrocketed. Especially appreciated by vegans and nature lovers, it also procured a nice orange tan on the skin after usage.

                        “Can’t you find smaller dwarf ducks?”

                        “Your Gourdness, microscopic means very tiny, even dwarf ducks wouldn’t be able to eat them unless they eat the carrots.”

                        “And that would be a problem,” sighed Gavin. “What is your solution then?”

                        “I don’t have one.”

                        Gavin raised his hands to the black roof in despair. Did he have to do the jobs of everyone? He needed some fresh eyes and fresh ideas.

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