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    TracyTracy
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      From Tanganyika with Love

      continued part 7

      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

      Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbulu. 30th September 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbulu. 25th October 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Iringa. 30th November 1938

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 14th February 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 28th February 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 25th March 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 28th April 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Nzassa 5th August 1939

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 14th September 1939

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 4th November 1939

      Dearest Family,

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Iringa 8th December 1939

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 10th March 1940

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 14th July 1940

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Morogoro 16th November 1940

      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

       

      #6260
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Much love my dear,
        your jubilant
        Eleanor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Bless you all,
        Eleanor.

        S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor Leslie.

        Eleanor and George Rushby:

        Eleanor and George Rushby

        Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Your cave woman
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
        waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
        walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
        saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
        and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
        cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
        innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
        moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
        my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
        me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
        Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
        old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
        after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
        Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
        baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
        grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
        started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
        sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
        rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
        Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
        picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
        sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
        pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

        The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
        of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
        foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
        as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

        Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
        This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
        average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
        he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
        neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
        this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
        We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
        is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
        bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
        long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
        “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
        stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
        were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
        good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

        Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
        soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
        land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
        hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
        of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
        safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
        has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
        coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
        are too small to be of use.

        George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
        There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
        and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
        shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
        heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
        black tail feathers.

        There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
        and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
        another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
        once, the bath will be cold.

        I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
        worry about me.

        Much love to you all,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

        Dearest Family,

        I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
        building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of
        course.

        On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
        clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
        a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
        There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
        my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
        and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

        I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
        thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
        facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
        glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
        feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
        the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
        saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
        George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

        It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
        of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
        wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
        dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the
        sun.

        Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
        dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
        walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
        building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
        house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
        heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
        at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
        bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
        to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
        Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
        by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
        or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
        good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
        only sixpence each.

        I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
        for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
        comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
        Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
        Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
        goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
        office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
        District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
        only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
        plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
        because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
        unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
        saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
        only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
        miles away.

        Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
        clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
        gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
        of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
        though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
        on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
        they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
        hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
        weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
        However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
        they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
        trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
        hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
        We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
        present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

        Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
        his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
        Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
        George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
        reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
        peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
        shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
        glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
        George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
        He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
        when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
        my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
        bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
        trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
        I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
        phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

        We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
        to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
        tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
        was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
        This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
        by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
        we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

        Your loving
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

        Dearest Family,

        A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
        convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
        experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my
        bounce.

        I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
        splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
        who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
        blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
        George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
        kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
        miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George
        now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you?
        You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but
        throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house
        women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we
        could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the
        tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They
        have not yet returned from the coast.

        George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a
        messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas
        hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly
        arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so
        the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by
        Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into
        bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not
        improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu
        about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two
        injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to
        spend a further four days in bed.

        We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which
        time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not
        return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very
        comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very
        quickly.

        The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on
        his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around
        and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front
        of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill.
        Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower
        garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her
        second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm
        entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria
        within a few weeks of her marriage.

        The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but
        seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some
        kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki
        shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the
        base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy.
        I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not
        seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to
        the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity.
        The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are
        back with our very welcome mail.

        Very much love,
        Eleanor.

        Mbeya 23rd December 1930

        Dearest Family,

        George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC.
        who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to
        protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from
        poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his
        first elephant safari to show him the ropes.

        George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to
        leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that
        I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands
        and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.

        So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub
        house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with
        a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine
        she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through
        the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven
        children.

        I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the
        store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now
        owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be
        built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England
        and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about
        Mbeya will become quite suburban.

        26th December 1930

        George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and
        it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the
        Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a
        festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at
        Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.

        I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to
        save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the
        river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now
        thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living
        room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large
        square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the
        front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone
        Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the
        kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.

        You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some
        furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and
        chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other
        things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George
        has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon.
        We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet
        who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the
        house.

        Lots and lots of love,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

        Dearest Family,

        Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night
        and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed
        about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter.
        The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to
        move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that
        we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking
        pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be
        able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way
        but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a
        success.

        However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George
        hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from
        Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.

        Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there
        are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles
        from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a
        very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South
        African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the
        Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are
        some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road.
        The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is
        Major Jones.

        All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now
        returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are
        not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to
        connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right
        down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very
        often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all
        save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.

        The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The
        rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the
        range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun
        shines again.

        I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.

        Your loving,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

        Dearest Family,

        Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to
        produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon
        petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen,
        lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put
        in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat
        piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I
        have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.

        Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard
        work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s
        chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day
        but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is
        to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns
        on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a
        chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish
        wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and
        around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen
        boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the
        corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.

        I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept
        in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct
        way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that
        may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous
        Memsahibs has complained.

        My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a
        good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably
        pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron
        only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there
        has not been a mishap.

        It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we
        have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my
        favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings
        and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes
        play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to
        me.

        Very much love,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

        Dearest Family,

        It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different
        from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown
        grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.

        Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in
        the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts
        and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on
        the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour
        card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work
        and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off
        to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because
        these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or
        when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings
        to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they
        need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a
        salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the
        same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern
        Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.

        We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the
        countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He
        has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a
        perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets
        which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.

        We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our
        garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the
        natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his
        shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids
        grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look.
        A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie
        Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I
        wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain
        road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any
        kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I
        did not see him again until the following night.

        George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature
        and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his
        attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some
        places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and
        George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten
        the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially
        as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely
        and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as
        Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.

        Eleanor.

        Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

        Dear Family,

        I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George
        spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the
        house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee
        during the dry season.

        It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift
        surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera
        tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line.
        The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers
        but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them
        work unless he is there to supervise.

        I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the
        material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing
        machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an
        ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy
        affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive.
        Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a
        native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and
        it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced
        monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to
        watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning
        before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they
        lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.

        I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang
        around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is
        a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.

        George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had
        a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas
        arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a
        haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so
        I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however,
        complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas
        and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack
        and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.

        I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again
        appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the
        previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the
        rest. Ah me!

        The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went
        across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All
        the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about
        twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus
        men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural
        Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took
        a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the
        Tukuyu district.

        On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe.
        They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around
        their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt
        from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful
        garb I assure you.

        We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last
        war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour.
        There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined
        walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting
        the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major
        Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney.
        I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked
        and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the
        bedroom whilst George handled the situation.

        Eleanor.

        #6032

        In reply to: Story Bored

        AvatarJib
        Participant

          Board 9, Story 3

          Idle had licked the skin of the lizard Tiku had brought her. She wasn’t expecting a rainbow and a leprechaun but is glad to have found the treasure at the end of it. She already has ideas to revamp the Inn.

          Aqua Luna has been invited by Madame Li on the Surge Team boat for New Year’s Eve party. She realised too late she’d have to clean after the guests are gone.

          Eleri has been driving around in her black raven dress, avoiding Leroway’s traps. Thanks to Glynis’s potion, she can spot their glitters before they glitch her.

          #4781

          In reply to: The Stories So Near

          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Newest developments

            POP-IN THREAD (Maeve, Lucinda, Shawn-Paul, Jerk, [Granola])

            Maeve and Shawn-Paul are travelling separately to the Australian bush, and end up together at the Flying Fish Inn where they discover they’ve been given the same coupons. Maeve is suspicious of a mysterious man following her.
            Maeve has an exchange with Arona, and sketches her and the cat for her collection of ideas for new dolls. They discover that Arona has the key from her doll.
            Little is said of what happened after Maeve’s Uncle Fergus appears in dramatic fashion.
            After the collective black-out, all bets are off as to the next steps.

            In Canada, Jerk is killing time at the mall, and Lucinda is possibly taking care of Fabio who might be distressed as he’s peeing the doormat regularly.

            Granola after hopping between threads and realities, detected a psychic blast from the Doctor and while trying to investigate, ended up trapped in a tiny red crystal at the Doctor’s lair.

            FLYING FISH INN THREAD (Mater/Finly, Idle/Coriander/Clove, Devan, Prune, [Tiku])

            After the dramatic arrival of Fergus and the guests, some flirting of Sanso and Idle, Mater’s fashion show, Prune has decided to get back to school after an indigestion of medicinal lizard.

            Some of the guests, namely Connie and Hilda have gone to explore the mines. Possibly with Devan and Bert in tow.

            Fergus has mysteriously disappeared after the black-out.

            DOLINE THREAD (Arona, Sanso/Lottie, Ugo, Albie)

            Arona, Ugo, Albie and Mandrake have left the Australian Inn, after a dramatic chase by unknown assailants, possibly the magpies sent by the Doctor. They reappear in the Doline, in Leörmn’s pool, having managed to get the magpies off their trail.

            NEWSREEL THREAD (Ms Bossy, Hilda/Connie, Sophie, Ricardo)

            The Doctor has managed a psychic event of dramatic proportions. He’s noticed a glowing red crystal that seems to have interfered with his machine. He’s starting to study it, and unravel its secrets.

            Sharon, Gloria and Mavis, the dynamic trio is planning their escape from the nursing home. The psychic blast seems to have alerted Gloria somehow as to the fate of Granola (B), as she somehow guess it’s linked to the Doctor’s experiments (beauty treatments). They plan to go there to investigate (after a fashion).

            LIZ THREAD (Finnley, Liz, Roberto, Godfrey)

            Finnley has disappeared, Liz and Godfrey are to fend for themselves.

            DRAGON 💚 WOOD THREAD (Glynnis, Eleri, Fox/Gorrash, Rukshan)

            Muriel has left the cottage, and our friends are preparing their travel to the Land of Giant, while some tales are told.
            Glynnis is teaching bits to a birds’ choir.

            #4777
            prUneprUne
            Participant

              That was a first. I had no idea what just happened. And believe me, this girl has seen some serious hanky-panky going ‘round here. Starting with Aunt Idle and her hustling and lascivious seducing of the Middle Eastern pirate cosplayer we had as guest.
              But of course, that was nothing compared to how glamorous Mater looked in her red gabardine.
              Anyway, something odd happened, like everyone was zapped in a torpor after the Fergus guy arrived. We were all expecting a sort of big reveal, and he did drop some incoherent clues, nothing truly worth the wait sorry to say, so we all went upstairs to sleep.

              Blame it on the spiced lizard meat maybe, but I can’t figure what happened after that until I woke up. Everyone this morning was playing it by ear, as if everything was normal. But people are missing. Fergus and his motorbike, and the scarf girl with the young boy and their cat. Maybe others, I’ve lost count, and I’m done putting sticky notes for Idle (funny she insists being called that by the way… Maybe a side-effect of her medications).

              There was an Italian corvette parked outside, all black & white. It arrived during the night, it woke me up when it arrived, but I went back to sleep I think. I wonder if those are new tourist guests. The Canadian guests were a bit in alarm, especially after the Fergus reveals.

              Mater would tell me, “there is no cause for worry dear, mark my words, in an hour or less, it will all settle back down to the usual deadly boring as usual business.”

              I think that planned family time was a bit too much anyway. Or too little. Devan hardly spent an hour with us, he’s too obsessed with his lost treasure conspiracies. He’ll be doing great with Dodo and her friends from the journal. I think they all enlisted Bert for a trip to the mines by the way. For all the good it’ll do everyone to try to unearth old secrets. Might give Mater a serious heart attack, for real this time.

              As for me, I’ve had enough. I’m packing my bags and leaving with the first bus back to the Academy. There’s a mission to Mars to conquer.

              #4757

              The loud throbbing of a Harley Davidson interrupted the unexpected revelation moment.
              A few seconds later, the door banged open and a man with a long moustache, thick eyebrows and a rather bushy hair entered the Inn.

              Fergus?” said Mater, frowning.
              Uncle Fergus?” said Maeve.
              “You old bastard!” said Bert.

              Devan didn’t know the name of the man, but he did manage to infuse his wide open mouth with an interrogation.

              “Who’s Fergus?” asked Dodo, who didn’t want to be left behind.

              The fact that Mater was the first person to pronounce the name of the man didn’t escape Prune’s shrewd mind.
              “How do you know him?” she asked Mater who blushed and used another puff of dust to cough and avoid the question.

              But one surprised all the others, even Fergus.
              “My long lost brother!” said Sanso. He moved forward and hugged the newly arrived man. Truth be told, there was some ressemblance between the two of them.

              Mandrake was looking at Ugo who seemed rather focused on the scene. Something was off, he could feel it. He should warn Arona, but the darn lizard never left her side, or her hair. It was pretty annoying since she would not brush his fur very often now, and he certainly needed some refreshing with all the knots caused by the dryness of the climate.

              #4755

              “Welcome, Everyone!” said Mater. She had entered unnoticed and was standing in the doorway regarding the assembled group and looking rather more lewd than welcoming. She had worn a pantsuit for the occasion, a relic from the 70’s made of red garbardine. Fortunately, the forgiving nature of garbardine added a little stretch, but even so the cloth clung rather too tightly to Mater’s curves.
              “Oh, lord love ya! “ said Finly. “Look at you! You’ve not dusted that pantsuit off since you got it out of the chest, have you!” She hit Mater with her duster and a cloud of dust enveloped her.
              “Way to go, Mater!” said Devan.
              “What are you doing, crazy old woman?” shrieked Dodo. Unfortunately her mouth was full of bread roll and it sounded more like, “Woowawuooingwazyolewoom?”
              “She’s aboriginal?” asked Sanso looking at Dodo with interest.
              Prune snorted. “We aren’t quite sure where she is from but she is an interesting specimen.”
              “I expect she is rip snorting drunk again,” said Mater after the dust had subsided. “Anyway, I just want to say it is a pleasure to have you all here. I hope you are finding enough to eat. If you need anything, Bert here is your man.”
              “Thanks ever so much,” said Arona, smiling charmingly and gently wiping the lizard with her paper table napkin before popping it back under her turban.
              Bert grunted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We aren’t used to this many folk staying at one time,” he said. “But yeah, welcome all. So, what are you all here for?”
              “It’s to do with a doll, actually,” said Maeve. Shawn Paul looked at her, impressed with her boldness.
              “A key,” said Arona, waving the key in the air.
              Mater stumbled and reached out to the door frame for support.
              “Bloody hell,” said Bert.

              #4744

              In reply to: The Stories So Near

              EricEric
              Keymaster

                Newer developments

                POP-IN THREAD (Maeve, Lucinda, Shawn-Paul, Jerk, [Granola])

                Granola is popping in and out of the stories, exploring interacting more physically with her friends through Tiku, a bush lady focus of hers.
                Luckily (not so coincidentally) Maeve and Shawn-Paul were given coupons to travel from their rural Canada town to the middle of Australia. Maeve is suspicious of being followed by a strange man, and tags along with Shawn-Paul to keep a cover of a young couple. Maeve is trying to find the key to the doll that she made in her secret mission for Uncle Fergus, which has suddenly reappeared at her friend Lucinda’s place. She’ll probably is going to have to check on the other dolls that she made as well.
                Jerk continues to administrate some forum where among other things, special dolls are found and exchanged, and he moderates some strange messages.
                Lucinda is enjoying Fabio’s company, Maeve’s dog, that she has in her care while Maeve is travelling.

                FLYING FISH INN THREAD (Mater/Finly, Idle/Coriander/Clove, Devan, Prune, [Tiku])

                The mysteries of the Flying Fish Inn seem to unravel slowly, like Idle’s wits.
                Long time family member are being drawn inexplicably, such as Prune and brother Devan. The local bush lady Tiku is helping Finly with the catering, although Finly would rather do everything by herself. The totemic Fish was revealed to be a talisman placed here against bad luck – “for all the good it did” (Mater).
                Bert, thought to be an old flame of Mater, who’s acted for the longest time as gardener, handyman and the likes, is revealed to be the father of Prune, Devan, Coriander and Clove’s mother. Mater knew of course and kept him around. He was trained in codes during his time with the military, and has a stash of potentially dangerous books. He may be the key to the mystery of the underground tunnels leading to the mines, and hidden chests of gold. Devan is onto a mystery that a guy on a motorbike (thought to be Uncle Fergus of Maeve’s story) told him about.

                DOLINE THREAD (Arona, Sanso/Lottie, Ugo, Albie)

                Mandrake & Albie after a trip in the bayou, and looking for the dragon Leormn’s pearls and the sabulmantium, have finally found Arona after they have emerged from the interdimentional water network from the Doline, to the coast of Australia in our reality, where cats don’t usually talk.
                Albie is expecting a quest, while the others are just following Arona’s lead, as she is in possession of a mysterious key with 3 words engraved.
                After some traveling in hot air balloon, and with a local jeep, they have arrived at a local Inn in the bush, with a rather peculiar family of owners, and quite colorful roster of guests. That’s not even counting the all-you-can-eat lizard meat buffet. What joy.

                NEWSREEL THREAD (Ms Bossy, Hilda/Connie, Sophie, Ricardo)

                Ms Bossy is looking to uncover the Doctor’s surely nefarious plans while her newspaper business isn’t doing so well. She’s got some help from Ricardo the intern. They have found out that the elderly temp worker who’s fascinated by the future, Sophie (aka Sweet Sophie) had been the first subject of the Doctor’s experiments. Sophie has been trying to uncover clues in the dreams, but it’s just likely she is still a sleeper agent of the Doctor.
                Despite all common sense and SMS threats, Hilda & Connie have gone in Australia to chase a trail (from a flimsy tip-off from Superjerk that may have gone to Lucinda to her friend journalist). They are in touch with Lucinda, and post their updates on social media, flirting with the risk of being uncovered and having trouble come at their door.
                Sha, Glo and Mavis are considering reaching out for a vacation of the nursing home to get new free beauty treatments.
                In his secret lair, the Doctor is reviving his team of brazen teafing operatives: the magpies.

                LIZ THREAD (Finnley, Liz, Roberto, Godfrey)

                Not much happened as usual, mostly an entertaining night with Inspector Melon who is quizzing Liz’ about her last novel about mysterious messages hidden in dolls with secret keys, which may be her best novel yet…

                DRAGON 💚 WOOD THREAD (Glynnis, Eleri, Fox/Gorrash, Rukshan)

                Before Rukshan goes to the underworld land of Giants, he’s going to the cottage to gather some of his team of friends, Fox, Ollie etc. Glynis is taking care of Tak during Margoritt’s winter time in the city. Margoritt’s sister, Muriel is an uninvited and unpleasant guest at the cottage.
                Tak is making friends with a young girl who may have special powers (Nesy).
                The biggest mystery now is… is the loo going to get fixed in time?

                #4733
                DevanDevan
                Participant

                  I have never seen so many guests at once at the Inn. Even old Bert is ferreting around, I’ve seen him many times near the shed or near the garage door. Mater knows about it of course. I’ve seen her looking at him from the corner of her eyes. I wonder if she knows about the hidden gold. I’m sure Bert knows, and that’s why he’s always been lurking around when we were kids.

                  Mater, she hadn’t said anything when I came back and took my old room as if I never left. She just grunted and gave me some work to do.

                  “It’s not good to stay idle all the time,” she had said, making me chuckle as I saw aunt Idle sneaking out to take care of her weed plot in the back yard. As if Mater didn’t know about it. I know she tried to chew some when Idle was in India and she didn’t like the taste of the raw plant, so I had showed her how to smoke it. After the coughing spell had passed, she had seemed to enjoy the experience then, but I don’t know if she had ever used some again afterward. She’s as stern as she used to be. But I like her that way. She’s the spine of the Flying Fish Inn. I’m not sure Idle could manage it all, especially I doubt Finly would stay more than a few days if Idle was the manager here.

                  Although, I’m suspecting Finly to sell weeds to the guests. She’s been acting weird and I’ve come upon her and Idle arguing in the kitchen upon a loafed bush lizard. Dido was accusing Finly of stealing her last crop and Finley… Well, I don’t really care about what they do.

                  I’ll just have to find some quiet time to go inspect the cellar. If what the man on the Harley had told me is true, I want to find the tunnels below the Inn.

                  #4731

                  “Could you pass me the butter?” asked a strange fellow seated on Shawn Paul’s left. The man was odd, a bit looking like Captain Sparrow with his black jabot lavaliere shirt and golden earrings.

                  Shawn Paul felt awkward, the kind of awkwardness cultivated for many years with shyness and fear of social interactions. No wonder I wanted to be a writer, he thought. Nonetheless he handed the butter to the stranger. Could he be daring for a change and talk like his grandma always pushed him to do? The best remedy to shyness is to talk. Start by saying your name Shasha!

                  “My name is Shawn Paul,” he said, feeling the heat rise to his face. He gulped, unsure of what to do next. Should he talk about the morning weather?
                  “My name is Sanso,” said the man. “At your service,” he added waving his puffy sleeves. “Have you read the last article on _whateveralready_?
                  The cat behind them snorted. Shawn Paul looked at it. It looked grumpy and ready to talk.

                  “Don’t send Mandrake any food,” said one of the other guests, a woman wearing an indian looking outfit with a scarf hiding her hair. Something moved under the head scarf and a strand of red hair ventured timidly outside, soon followed by a lizard’s head. The woman pushed it back under her hood and emitted a disgusted grunt when she saw the meat dish brought by the maid.

                  “I’m not a maid,” muttered Finly to whomever could hear/read her, or to the writer. “It’s good liz… chicken,” she said. No need for the long faces.”
                  “But it’s dead, dear,” said the woman with the veil.

                  “The Godfrey silently prayed under the third moon,” was saying Sanso who didn’t seem to mind that Shawn Paul was not listening to him. “And he entered late inside the lake wearing a funny blue toge. Sanso realised Finly was looking at him her mouth reduced to a tight line. “And I followed with opened hope,” he finished before gulping a spoonful of butter.

                  “Do you happen to have a lock in your bedroom?” asked Sanso. The woman in the scarf looked at him with dark eyes. The lizard, seizing the opportunity to be free, jumped from under her scarf and landed into the gaspacho, splashing all the guests with a bit of red.

                  #4722

                  It all started to feel insanely crowded and agitated in the Inn, it took me a while to check whether I was tripping on some illegal substance.

                  Truth was, the funny chicken was doing alright until Finly and Idle came back in a hurry, tried to make me puke and feed me charcoals, as if I’d been poisoned or something.
                  I overheard Aunt Dodo when she shouted at poor Finly “why would you put my stash with the lizard leftovers! It’s me-di-cine you old cow, not some bloody herb seasoning!”
                  Finly looked indignant, but she knew better than to argue. Besides, I’m sure her face was speaking volumes, something in the tune of “with the bloody mess of your stuff all over the place, why do you think?” Sure, there was some other profanities hidden in the wrinkles of her sweet face, but she would leave that to Mater to spell them out.

                  Anyways, I just maybe feeling juuust a little funny, but with years of bush food regimen behind me, my liver is surely strong as an ox and pumping all the stuff out of my system like a workhorse.

                  So, yeah, I was maybe tripping a little. So many new people came in at the same time, it felt like a flashmob. They were probably real and not just hallucinations, since Dido dashed out to greet some of them.

                  I went upstairs and spied on them from there. I’m making also a list, mostly for Aunt Dodo, because if her heart is in the right place, her brain probably isn’t (or it’s a tight one).

                  So there, I wrote on a yellow sticky note:

                  Dido, if you're paying attention, here are the guests at this moment:
                  - Not counting PRUNE, and DEVAN who just texted me he's coming!!
                  - A jeep-full of loonies: A GIRL with red and white track pants and a
                  hijjab, a black CAT and a GECKO (wait, you can forget about the gecko),
                  a weirdo GUY in a fancy ruffle shirt and a little redhair BOY.
                  TIKU is here too, helping FINLY in the kitchen.
                  - Your old friend HILDA, and her colleague CONNIE
                  - Two townfolks Canadian tourists who argue like an old couple, but I don't
                  think they are, MAYV(?) and SANPELL(?) (sorry, couldn't catch their names
                  with their funny accent)

                  I guess breakfast is going to be lively tomorrow…

                  #4692

                  BERT:

                  The old secrets are going to get me in the end. But you know what, it’s still better than choking on the goddamn lizard’s stew.

                  I tried to protect the family from all the bloody secrets, but they’re working against me, Dodo for one, who doesn’t like secrets, the sweet twat. Time is against me too.

                  Of course I didn’t want to sell the Inn, even if it wasn’t for what’s hidden there, and all the secret entrances to the old mines, it was still Abby’s legacy. Her mother had to endure that sorry abusive husband of hers for years, it’s only fair she got something in return. The bastard didn’t know it, but the best thing in his life, his daughter Abscynthia wasn’t even his, she was mine. In the end, I’m glad she buggered off this town, her so-called “disparition” that made everyone run in circles for months. For her own sake, wherever she is now, she was better off.
                  Only probably Mater knows now about our crazy ties, and she’ll take this secret to her grave I’m sure. But I still want to take care of my grand children, the little buggers. Even had founded that smartass Prune for her dreams of university. Good for her.

                  All those sudden booking at the Inn? Don’t trust ‘em. Be here for the spiritual voodoo is one thing, but me, can’t fool me with that. The package, it never arrived. I’m sure it’s no coincidence, they’re onto us.

                  And they’re here for one thing.

                  The chests of gold.

                  #4680
                  TikuTiku
                  Participant

                    I could smell trouble as soon as I entered. And it was not because of the lizards, i can tell ya. Lizards, once roasted, they smell delicious. They taste good too, a blend of chicken and fish, is what they say. But don’t get me started on food.

                    It smelled trouble for sure. There was a convergence happening, something dark and twisted over the place. At times, I feel strange, like the Dreamtime speaking through me.

                    The lady didn’t come down to greet me, of course, bad hip and all, at her age. Their maid, Finly took the offering by the tails with a painful look, I almost regretted bringing them. Maybe she’d have liked roasted gator’s paw better.

                    “I think it all comes from your bathroom.” I said almost without thinking.

                    “What about the bathroom?” snapped the Finly, with pride and outrage on her sweet wizened face.

                    “There is some bad juju there, the Fish was a talisman to protect you from the evil eye here, but it has worn off, and your family ties… won’t do no, not strong enough, no. Evil seeps in, not good, not good at all.”

                    At times, I like to make a ton and play the local madwoman, it helps seal deals, you have no ideas. But truth is, something’s amiss in that bathroom. It’s in serious need of magical help.

                    #4667
                    TikuTiku
                    Participant

                      “Oy! I did it! I’m here!” I laughed and laughed like I was mad, I couldn’t stop for words, too happy to be there I felt like cryin’ over the fire.

                      Two fat bungarras roasting here, clubbed hard to be tender, a good hunt for the day.

                      I don’t know what got into me, but I jumped on me feet, and told the other girls
                      “They roasted good and crisp. Now I want to take these bungarras to the old lady and her family in the inn. Their old chap was always good to us, and I think they don’t eat lots of meat these days.”

                      The others looked at me strange, but they let me take the lizards. And I went, not knowing how or why, but happy to be on the dusty road, on my way to the local Inn.

                      #3450
                      AvatarJib
                      Participant

                        Accounts of the Journey to the Lower Realm

                        Eric
                        I was at a steppe first, like I was meditating in the desert, then went through a forest entrance, and stayed under a tree. There were lots of sounds and animals life, flapping wings sounds, deers, ants, but the most vivid presence was that of snake, and I was a bit suspicious, but it came back very gently, inviting, and after I recognized it, it made me journey, travelling like a dragon or feathered multicolored snake to an ancient place.
                        The snake analogy with shedding old skin comes to mind, after accepting it, it makes a lot of sense.
                        I saw green and purple at times.
                        I felt a horse too but it was just a hooves’ sound.

                        Flove
                        I went through the entrance to a cave. I asked my power animal to come. An ancient tortoise came up to me. I asked if this was my power animal but i felt such love for the tortoise that i felt that was my answer. We explored energetically what the tortoise wisdom i need is. I put my hand around the tortoise neck and we swam in the water.
                        I wanted to cry, I loved the tortoise energy so much. And the protection of the tortoise shell.
                        I saw a snake.
                        The horse was the first animal I felt, right as I went in the entrance. I stroked the horse as i went by.
                        I saw a unicorn too, [and ]was surprised by the unicorn.
                        I didn’t sense many creatures. just the horse, the snake and the unicorn.

                        Jib
                        First I saw little white skulls, whistling like the shells of the guy in the video.
                        Then I become my shaman self and I have my magic cape. I find the entrance [to the lower realm,] which was kind of difficult at first as if there was some distracting energy.
                        I finally enter the lower realm and find my horse right away, he’s very excited and I ride with him for some time, just for the pleasure of being with an old friend.
                        Then I ask him to lead me to Abalone and show me whatever is interesting.
                        He leads me to see an old shaman, man or woman I don’t know.
                        The shaman makes me sit in his room and offers me tea, then tells me to relax and wait.
                        So I relax and I begin to project to Abalone as the Giant beanstalk, I begin to grow and grow and grow and have the city built on top of me. I am the whole island.
                        I have the impression that the beanstalk is in the center of Gazalbion or very close to it
                        Then I come back to the place and have the impression the Shaman wants to delay me, so I say thanks and ask my horse to show me the rest.
                        We go the the old Temple and I feel that there is something special there, once again he tells me to relax and just allow not look for things.
                        So I wait and feel that the time and space is weird that it flows around the stones in a particular way, like when you follow a certain path or corridor, you may go forward in time and another way lead you back in time. If you take a wrong turn you can end up in a loop.
                        Then the signal for the return begins, so I go back from where I come from and thank my horse.
                        It was cool and fun to be there again.
                        I projected at some point to check if everyone was ok, and felt like it was fine.
                        I saw a unicorn too.

                        Tracy
                        That was interesting, about half way through a zebra started follwing me, well on my right. I saw all kinds of animals, but they were all doing their own thing or turned away, except for the zebra, until the change of tempo and then I was swept up in a flock of cranes I think (or herons or storks but I think cranes), but then the zebra was waiting at the top. I could feel his warm muzzle sort of on my right shoulder.
                        First was a field full of unicorns on the left but they were just grazing, then a bison head who turned away, then the group of deer I thought, but the zebra walked over to me grazing. Me and the zebra waited for goats to cross our path.
                        The feeling of being in amongst the cranes was amazing and the zebra fell back while that was happening, but then at the end he was waiting.
                        I was surprised by the unicorns cos I don’t even think about them usually.
                        There were lizards sucttlign around under the cranes.
                        A couple of times I strongly saw purple and green, and thought of Jib.<i> not really ask [the zebra if he was the power animal] in words, but his presence calmly walking beside me with the feeling of his muzzle on my shoulder was comforting.
                        When the cranes distracted me from him he fell back, but he was waiting at the top.
                        The cranes feeling was marvelous, really, they were all flapping gracefully all around me on the ascent. So cranes and zebra stand out the most.
                        [At some point] I started going down old stone steps, at first me and FP were kids holding hands, with jib and eric behind us, then I thought, wait, I’m supposed to be doing this alone.
                        The unicorns in the very beginning were in a castle courtyard type place but they ignored me.
                        Then a bison head who turned away these were in niches in the stone walls
                        I ended up in a stalactites type cave, but there were mostly old old stone steps with stone walls along the sides.
                        There was a crowd of people, well a small gathering, towards the bottom, but they were, er, faceless. Innocuous.
                        I am quite amazed at how great that was! and how many creatures actually popped up
                        and how the feeling was of the zebra and the cranes.
                        The zebra was stoic and steadfast and comforting, the cranes were exhilarating and uplifting.</i>

                        #1190
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Dory, there’s no asparagus, can we go and buy some?”

                          “Asparagus? Whatever for?” replied a frantic looking Dory, almost hidden behind arms full of pillows and quilts.

                          “For Will Tarkin, Mac said he likes asparagus” young Becky replied.

                          “Who the bloody hell is Will Tarkin? I’ve got enough to cope with trying to get ready for Granny Hill!” Dory sounded uncharacteristically flustered and impatient, and Becky recoiled slightly from the sparky energy.

                          Will Tarkin is the mouse, DoryBecky said in a tone that suggested it was inconceivable to have forgotten who Will Tarkin was.

                          “Will bloody Tarkin is getting a bit too big for his boots!” snapped Dory. “He’ll be wanting caviar next! I’ve got a time travelling mouse camped up behind my microwave, and Granny Hill’s frightened to death of mice; the room she was going to stay in is full of baby geckos, and you know how scared she is of lizards, not to mention the dead rat that was outside a moment ago, appearing from nowhere, and now I’m trying to get Peppy’s house across the road ready so Granny Hill can stay there instead, and none of the bedding has been washed and it’s still raining, and now you want me to take you shopping for asparagus for a MOUSE! And not only that, there are dead rhino beetles all up Peppy’s driveway, I can’t imagine why, and I’d be willing to bet that Granny Hill is afraid of rhino beetles too, so I suppose I’ll have to sweep up rhino beetles today too, as if I haven’t got enough to do cleaning up dead rats and baby geckos. Granny Hill is afraid of gas heaters too, so I’ll have to take an electric one over to Peppy’s”

                          “Granny Hill sure is afraid of a lot of things, Dory. Why is she scared of everything?”

                          “Good question, sweetheart” replied Dory, relaxing her energy as she brought her attention back to the moment. “She’s one of the old ones, from the Victim Mentality Days and the Age of Medical Suggestibility. They’re always afraid of everything, and Granny Hill’s a good example. Afraid of her money in case she can’t keep control of it, afraid of her car for the same reason, afraid of the food she eats in case it contains hidden poisons and afraid of the hospitals in case they’re dirty and dangerous. She’s afraid of strangers in case they have knives and stab her, even though in all her life she’s never seen a person threaten anyone with a knife, she’s even afraid of people in other countries, just in case they come and drop a bomb on her.”

                          “She must enjoy being scared, then, mustn’t she?” asked Becky. “Otherwise she wouldn’t do it. Doesn’t she realize she’s creating her reality herself?”

                          “Well, that was the trouble in the old days, honey, they didn’t know that back then. There’s a lot of people who still don’t know it now”

                          “Wow, really?” Becky said incredulously. “That must be weirdo!”

                          Dory had to laugh. “Believe it or not, neither did I for years. I keep forgetting it even now! Some of us used to say things like ‘think positive’ which wasn’t far off the mark, or ‘behind every cloud is a silver lining’, or ‘this too will pass’, that was always a good one for when you felt like it was all out of control. Alot of people prayed to gods too, thinking that their life was in the hands of the gods. I never knew much about praying myself though, we didn’t do that in our family, but it was very popular.”

                          “Maybe they were asking their own essence to help, that would make sense” replied Becky astutely. “Praying probably helped.”

                          “Yeah it probably did but there was alot of baggage that went along with praying, it wasn’t something you could do on your own in your own way, you had to go to a certain building to do it, and say certain words, even wear certain clothes and eat certain things. It was all very complicated, didn’t really work out in the end. The funny thing was, they were always fighting with people who prayed differently in different special buildings and who ate different special things and wore different special clothes, it was bizarre really.”

                          “Who is Granny Hill anyway, and why is she coming to stay?” Becky was bored with the way the conversation was going, and curious about Granny Hill who came to stay every so often, and always seemed to rattle Dory. “Whose granny is she?”

                          “Buggered if I know really, BeckyDory replied. “Every family has one, I don’t know where they come from, they sort of just appear every so often and want to come and stay for a while.”

                          #446
                          F LoveF Love
                          Participant

                            About time you woke up, came a familiar grumpy voice from behind a pile of logs. Mandrake emerged. And I don’t have fur balls, he added, haughtily.

                            Mandrake, thank God! Arona had been a little concerned that , given the amount of time presumably had passed, Mandrake may no longer be with them. Tactfully she kept this to herself, given Mandrake’s especially truculent mood.

                            Please tell me what happened now, she said to Vincentius. I think I am ready to hear.

                            Vincentius looked uncertain, sighed , but agreed to tell her the tale. Afterwards, Arona was silent for quite some time. She stared thoughtfully at the fire, mesmerised by the dancing flames, gently stroking Mandrakes silky black coat.

                            Oh bugger, she said eventually and stood up decisively. I really think I have to go and see that old lizardy croney woman, and without delay.

                            I wish you wouldn’t, but I do understand, said Vincentius sadly.

                            I don’t understand, said Mandrake crossly, twitching his tail impatiently and narrowing his green eyes

                            Arona went over to the sleeping Yikesy and studied him with fond interest. He is not getting any better looking with age is he? She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and whispered in his ear.

                            Thank you so much for caring for him, she said to Vincentius and gave him a huge hug.

                            On the way out of the cave she ran into Leormn.

                            Oh, she said, Vincentius said you allowed us to use the room. Thank you so much. And she kissed Leormn on what she thought would be his cheek, however, a little unsure of Dragon anatomy, it may have been technically a snout or something.

                            Arona walked rapidly for several hours, trying to concentrate on the directions given to her by Vincentius and hoping that she was headed in the right direction. Eventually she started to tire and her determination faded. She sat down on a rock and closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped in weariness and she despondently wished she was back in the cave with the others. She felt deeply sad.

                            And is this something you really must face? asked a kindly voice in her head.

                            I have no idea really, she answered despairingly. I don’t know. I mean I thought I knew. I thought if I didn’t then I would always be in fear. When I looked into the flames of the fire it all seemed clear. I needed to understand and face it, I thought anyway….

                            hmmm, said the voice. Well the best advice I can give you is to trust yourself.

                            Arona opened her eyes and saw, to her surprise, a small cottage in the distance. Why, I don’t remember that cottage being there a moment ago, she thought. It looks just as Vincentius described. How remarkable. I was closer than I thought! Her spirits rose.

                            Outside the cottage the old crone was bent over, digging in a small vegetable plot. A basket of cabbages sat by her side. She stood up at Arona’s approach, wiping the dirt from her gnarly hands on her apron.

                            Hello Arona, she cackled. I have been expecting you. I don’t believe we were properly introduced last time. My name is Lucille. And she held out a hand for Arona to shake.

                            I have come to get some answers from you, said Arona, firmly crossing her arms and ignoring the outstretched hand.

                            Lucille sighed and dropped her hand. Her pointy chin quivered, and Arona noticed a big wart, with one thick black hair growing out of it, right on the tip of lucille’s chin. She tried not to stare.

                            Alright little one, Lucille said soflty. Why don’t you go and wait in the orchard. I will go and fix us a nice, cool drink of lemonade.

                            The orchard was full of old fruit trees, their twisted trunks reminded Arona of Lucille herself. From one of the trees hung an old swing. Arona sat on it, holding the rope, and gently rocked herself back and forwards, thinking. She had to admit, she was, quite frankly puzzled. The visit so far wasn’t going as expected.

                            She kept rocking, faster now.

                            She hit her heels into the hard earth again and again.

                            I don’t know. She tried to dig these words into the earth with her heels.

                            Then she sidestepped her feet in crab-like movements in diminishing circles. The ropes of the swing twisted tighter and tighter.

                            Arona leant backwards and stuck her legs out straight in front of her. The ropes unwound and sent her spinning. weeeeeeeeeeee hoooooooooooooooo!

                            She looked up into the sky. Blue sky through the trees with racing spinning clouds. She felt dizzy.

                            She stood up and braced herself against the seat of the swing. She held onto the ropes and pushed hard against the seat beneath her. She bent her knees under the swing. She kicked her feet forwards.

                            She wanted to go higher. She bent her legs back under the swing. Then kicked them outwards. She stretched her body backwards and arched her back.

                            I don’t know, she whispered.

                            She sat upright. She bent her legs back under the swing. Then kicked them as hard as she could. She leant her body backwards. She stretched as far as she could. On the rebound her heels hit the ground hard, but still she wanted to keep going higher and higher.

                            I DON’T KNOW! she shouted, as loudly as she could.

                            :fleuron:

                            Lucille returned with the lemonade.

                            How do I know if it is safe to drink this? Arona asked. You have cast one spell on me, how am I to know this is not another?

                            Lucille cackled. Dear little Arona, she said, if I wanted to cast a spell on you I would have done it before now.

                            Okay, well that makes good sense, thought Arona, gratefully drinking the lemonade.

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