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  • #6410

    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

    Real-life Xavier was marveling at the new AL (Artificial Life) developments on this project he’d been working on. It’s been great at tidying the plot, confusing as the plot started to become with Real-life characters named the same as their Quirky counterparts ones.

    Real-life Zara had not managed to remain off the computer for very long, despite her grand claims to the contrary. She’d made quick work of introducing a new player in the game, a reporter in an obscure newspaper, who’d seemed quirky enough to be their guide in the new game indeed. It was difficult to see if hers was a nickname or nom de plume, but strangely enough, she also named her own character the same as her name in the papers. Interestingly, Zara and Glimmer had some friends in common in Australia, where RL Zara was living at the moment.

    Anyways… “Clever ALXavier smiled when he saw the output on the screen. “Yasmin will love a little tidiness; even if she is the brains of the group, she has always loved the help.”

    Meanwhile, in the real world, Youssef was on his own adventure in Mongolia, trying to uncover the mystery of the Thi Gang. He had been hearing whispers and rumors about the ancient and powerful group, and he was determined to find out the truth. He had been traveling through the desert for weeks, following leads and piecing together clues, and he was getting closer to the truth.

    Zara, Xavier, and Yasmin, on the other hand, were scattered around the world. Zara was in Australia, working on a conservation project and trying to save a group of endangered animals. Xavier was in Europe, working on a new project for a technology company. And Yasmin was in Asia, volunteering at a children’s hospital.

    Despite being physically separated, the four friends kept in touch through video calls and messages. They were all excited about the upcoming adventure in the Land of the Quirks and the possibility of discovering their inner quirks. They were also looking forward to their trip to the Flying Fish Inn, where they hoped to find some clues about the game and their characters.

    In the game, Glimmer Gambol’s interactions with the other characters will be taking place in the confines of the Land of the Quirks. As she is the one who has been playing the longest and has the most experience, she will probably be the one to lead the group and guide them through the game. She also has some information that the others don’t know about yet, and she will probably reveal it at the right time.

    As the game and the real-world adventures are intertwined, the characters will have to navigate both worlds and find a way to balance them. They will have to use their unique skills and personalities to overcome challenges and solve puzzles, both in the game and in the real world. It will be an exciting and unpredictable journey, full of surprises and twists.

    #6367
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      Something in the style of TPooh:

      The family tree was a tangled web of branches and roots, stretching back centuries and even millennia. The branches were thick with the leaves of secrets, scandals, and mysteries that the family had accumulated over the years. They were a close-knit group, friends for all time, and they loved nothing more than exploring the twists and turns of their family history.

      They met regularly in their dreams, in a place they called The City, where they could exchange stories and clues they had uncovered during their waking hours. They often found themselves in the midst of strange and puzzling occurrences, and they would spend hours discussing the possible meanings and connections of these events. They saw the world as a tapestry, with each thread and pattern contributing to the greater picture. They were the weavers of their own story, the authors of their own fate.

      But as the years went on, their dreams began to take on a darker and more ominous tone. They started having nightmares of monstrous beasts, and some of them even saw these beasts in the daylight, as if they were falling through the cracks in reality. They compared notes and found that they were often seeing the same beasts, and this led to heated debates about what these beasts represented and whether they were real or just figments of their imagination.

      But no matter what they encountered, the family remained united in their quest to unravel the secrets of their past and to weave a tapestry that would be the envy of all. They were thick as thieves and they would never give up their pursuit of the truth, no matter how many rules they had to break along the way.

      #6333
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The Grattidge Family

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

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

         

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

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

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

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

        Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

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

        20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

        Bessy Buxton

         

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

        An excerpt from the will:

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

        A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

        1843 Thomas Grattidge

         

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

         

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

        Albert Grattidge:

        Albert Grattidge

         

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

        George Grattidge:

        George Grattidge

         

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

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

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

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

        The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        In this article it says:

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

        Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

        Louisa Cheesborough

        #6299

        In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

        Looking at the blemish feverish man on the camp bed, General Lyaksandro Rudechenko clenched his fists. The wooden leg, that had been the symbol of the Oocranian Resistance for the last year was now lying on the floor. President Voldomeer had contracted a virus that confounded their best doctors and the remaining chiefs of the Oocranian Resistance feared he would soon join the men fallen for their country.

        — Nobody must know that the sexiest man of Oocrane is incapacitated. We need a replacement, said the General.

        — President Voldomeer told me of a man, the very man who made that wooden leg, said Major Myroslava Kovalev, the candle light reflecting in her glass eye. He lives in the Dumbass region. He’s a secret twin or something, President Voldomeer was not so clear about that part, but at least they look alike. To make it more real, we can have his leg removed, she added pointing at the wooden leg.

        She was proud of being one of the only women ranking that high in the military. His fellow people might not be Lazies, but they had some old idea about women, that were not the best choice for fighting. Myroslava had always wanted to prove them wrong, and this conflict had been her chance to rise almost to the top. She looked at the dying man who was once her ladder. He had been sexy, and certainly could do many things with his wooden leg. Now he was but the shadow of a man, pale and blurry as cataract. If she had loved him, she might have shed a tear.

        Myroslava looked at General Rudechenko’s pockmarked face and shivered. She wouldn’t even share a cab with him. But he was the next in command, and before Voldomeer fell ill, she was on her way to take his place, even closer to the top.

        — Let me bring him to you, she added.

        — That’s a suicide mission, said the general. Permission granted.

        — Thank you General ! said Myroslava doing the military salute before leaving the tent.

        Despite his being from Dumbass and having made some mistakes in his life, Lyaksandro was not stupid. He knew quite well what that woman wanted. He called, Glib, his aide-de-camp.

        — Make sure she gets lost behind the enemy lines.

        #6286
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Matthew Orgill and His Family

           

          Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 was the Orgill brother who went to Australia, but returned to Measham.  Matthew married Mary Orgill in Measham in October 1856, having returned from Victoria, Australia in May of that year.

          Although Matthew was the first Orgill brother to go to Australia, he was the last one I found, and that was somewhat by accident, while perusing “Orgill” and “Measham” in a newspaper archives search.  I chanced on Matthew’s obituary in the Nuneaton Observer, Friday 14 June 1907:

          LATE MATTHEW ORGILL PEACEFUL END TO A BLAMELESS LIFE.

          ‘Sunset and Evening Star And one clear call for me.”

          It is with very deep regret that we have to announce the death of Mr. Matthew Orgill, late of Measham, who passed peacefully away at his residence in Manor Court Road, Nuneaton, in the early hours of yesterday morning. Mr. Orgill, who was in his eightieth year, was a man with a striking history, and was a very fine specimen of our best English manhood. In early life be emigrated to South Africa—sailing in the “Hebrides” on 4th February. 1850—and was one of the first settlers at the Cape; afterwards he went on to Australia at the time of the Gold Rush, and ultimately came home to his native England and settled down in Measham, in Leicestershire, where he carried on a successful business for the long period of half-a-century.

          He was full of reminiscences of life in the Colonies in the early days, and an hour or two in his company was an education itself. On the occasion of the recall of Sir Harry Smith from the Governorship of Natal (for refusing to be a party to the slaying of the wives and children in connection with the Kaffir War), Mr. Orgill was appointed to superintend the arrangements for the farewell demonstration. It was one of his boasts that he made the first missionary cart used in South Africa, which is in use to this day—a monument to the character of his work; while it is an interesting fact to note that among Mr. Orgill’s papers there is the original ground-plan of the city of Durban before a single house was built.

          In Africa Mr. Orgill came in contact with the great missionary, David Livingstone, and between the two men there was a striking resemblance in character and a deep and lasting friendship. Mr. Orgill could give a most graphic description of the wreck of the “Birkenhead,” having been in the vicinity at the time when the ill-fated vessel went down. He played a most prominent part on the occasion of the famous wreck of the emigrant ship, “Minerva.” when, in conjunction with some half-a-dozen others, and at the eminent risk of their own lives, they rescued more than 100 of the unfortunate passengers. He was afterwards presented with an interesting relic as a memento of that thrilling experience, being a copper bolt from the vessel on which was inscribed the following words: “Relic of the ship Minerva, wrecked off Bluff Point, Port Natal. 8.A.. about 2 a.m.. Friday, July 5, 1850.”

          Mr. Orgill was followed to the Colonies by no fewer than six of his brothers, all of whom did well, and one of whom married a niece (brother’s daughter) of the late Mr. William Ewart Gladstone.

          On settling down in Measham his kindly and considerate disposition soon won for him a unique place in the hearts of all the people, by whom he was greatly beloved. He was a man of sterling worth and integrity. Upright and honourable in all his dealings, he led a Christian life that was a pattern to all with whom he came in contact, and of him it could truly he said that he wore the white flower of a blameless life.

          He was a member of the Baptist Church, and although beyond much active service since settling down in Nuneaton less than two years ago he leaves behind him a record in Christian service attained by few. In politics he was a Radical of the old school. A great reader, he studied all the questions of the day, and could back up every belief he held by sound and fearless argument. The South African – war was a great grief to him. He knew the Boers from personal experience, and although he suffered at the time of the war for his outspoken condemnation, he had the satisfaction of living to see the people of England fully recognising their awful blunder. To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before; suffice it to say that it was strenuous, interesting, and eventful, and yet all through his hands remained unspotted and his heart was pure.

          He is survived by three daughters, and was father-in-law to Mr. J. S. Massey. St Kilda. Manor Court Road, to whom deep and loving sympathy is extended in their sore bereavement by a wide circle of friends. The funeral is arranged to leave for Measham on Monday at twelve noon.

           

          “To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before…”

          I had another look in the newspaper archives and found a number of articles mentioning him, including an intriguing excerpt in an article about local history published in the Burton Observer and Chronicle 8 August 1963:

          on an upstairs window pane he scratched with his diamond ring “Matthew Orgill, 1st July, 1858”

          Matthew Orgill window

          Matthew orgill window 2

           

          I asked on a Measham facebook group if anyone knew the location of the house mentioned in the article and someone kindly responded. This is the same building, seen from either side:

          Measham Wharf

           

          Coincidentally, I had already found this wonderful photograph of the same building, taken in 1910 ~ three years after Matthew’s death.

          Old Measham wharf

           

          But what to make of the inscription in the window?

          Matthew and Mary married in October 1856, and their first child (according to the records I’d found thus far) was a daughter Mary born in 1860.  I had a look for a Matthew Orgill birth registered in 1858, the date Matthew had etched on the window, and found a death for a Matthew Orgill in 1859.  Assuming I would find the birth of Matthew Orgill registered on the first of July 1958, to match the etching in the window, the corresponding birth was in July 1857!

          Matthew and Mary had four children. Matthew, Mary, Clara and Hannah.  Hannah Proudman Orgill married Joseph Stanton Massey.  The Orgill name continues with their son Stanley Orgill Massey 1900-1979, who was a doctor and surgeon.  Two of Stanley’s four sons were doctors, Paul Mackintosh Orgill Massey 1929-2009, and Michael Joseph Orgill Massey 1932-1989.

           

          Mary Orgill 1827-1894, Matthews wife, was an Orgill too.

          And this is where the Orgill branch of the tree gets complicated.

          Mary’s father was Henry Orgill born in 1805 and her mother was Hannah Proudman born in 1805.
          Henry Orgill’s father was Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and his mother was Frances Finch born in 1771.

          Mary’s husband Matthews parents are Matthew Orgill born in 1798 and Elizabeth Orgill born in 1803.

          Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

          Matthews parents,  Matthew and Elizabeth, have the same grandparents as each other, Matthew Orgill born in 1736 and Ann Proudman born in 1735.

          But Matthews grandparents are none other than Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and Frances Finch born in 1771 ~ the same grandparents as his wife Mary!

          #6283
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Purdy Cousins

             

            My great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy was one of five children.  Her sister Ellen Purdy was a well traveled nurse, and her sister Kate Rushby was a publican whose son who went to Africa. But what of her eldest sister Elizabeth and her brother Richard?

             

            Elizabeth Purdy 1869-1905 married Benjamin George Little in 1892 in Basford, Nottinghamshire.  Their first child, Frieda Olive Little, was born in Eastwood in December 1896, and their second daughter Catherine Jane Little was born in Warrington, Cheshire, in 1898. A third daughter, Edna Francis Little was born in 1900, but died three months later.

            When I noticed that this unidentified photograph in our family collection was taken by a photographer in Warrington,  and as no other family has been found in Warrington, I concluded that these two little girls are Frieda and Catherine:

            Catherine and Frieda Little

             

            Benjamin Little, born in 1869, was the manager of a boot shop, according to the 1901 census, and a boot maker on the 1911 census. I found a photograph of Benjamin and Elizabeth Little on an ancestry website:

            Benjamin and Elizabeth Little

             

            Frieda Olive Little 1896-1977 married Robert Warburton in 1924.

            Frieda and Robert had two sons and a daughter, although one son died in infancy.  They lived in Leominster, in Herefordshire, but Frieda died in 1977 at Enfield Farm in Warrington, four years after the death of her husband Robert.

            Catherine Jane Little 1899-1975 married Llewelyn Robert Prince 1884-1950.  They do not appear to have had any children.  Llewelyn was manager of the National Provinical Bank at Eltham in London, but died at Brook Cottage in Kingsland, Herefordshire.  His wifes aunt Ellen Purdy the nurse had also lived at Brook Cottage.  Ellen died in 1947, but her husband Frank Garbett was at the funeral:

            Llewelyn Prince

             

            Richard Purdy 1877-1940

            Richard was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. When his mother Catherine died in 1884 Richard was six years old.  My great grandmother Mary Ann and her sister Ellen went to live with the Gilman’s in Buxton, but Richard and the two older sisters, Elizabeth and Kate, stayed with their father George Purdy, who remarried soon afterwards.

            Richard married Ada Elizabeth Clarke in 1899.  In 1901 Richard was an earthenware packer at a pottery, and on the 1939 census he was a colliery dataller.  A dataller was a day wage man, paid on a daily basis for work done as required.

            Richard and Ada had four children: Richard Baden Purdy 1900-1945, Winifred Maude 1903-1974, John Frederick 1907-1945, and Violet Gertrude 1910-1974.

            Richard Baden Purdy married Ethel May Potter in Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, in 1926.  He was listed on the 1939 census as a colliery deputy.  In 1945 Richard Baden Purdy died as a result of injuries in a mine explosion.

            Richard Baden Purdy

             

            John Frederick Purdy married Iris Merryweather in 1938. On the 1939 census John and Iris live in Arnold, Nottinghamshire, and John’s occupation is a colliery hewer.  Their daughter Barbara Elizabeth was born later that year.  John died in 1945, the same year as his brother Richard Baden Purdy. It is not known without purchasing the death certificate what the cause of death was.

            A memorial was posted in the Nottingham Evening Post on 29 June 1948:

            PURDY, loving memories, Richard Baden, accidentally killed June 29th 1945; John Frederick, died 1 April 1945; Richard Purdy, father, died December 1940. Too dearly loved to be forgotten. Mother, families.

            Violet Gertrude Purdy married Sidney Garland in 1932 in Southwell, Nottinghamshire.  She died in Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, in 1974.

            Winifred Maude Purdy married Bernard Fowler in Southwell in 1928.  She also died in 1974, in Mansfield.

            The two brothers died the same year, in 1945, and the two sisters died the same year, in 1974.

            #6268
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued part 9

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              Mbeya 1st November 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Eleanor.

              #6267
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 8

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Morogoro 20th January 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 30th July 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th August 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 25th December 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 26th January 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

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

                Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                Very much love,
                Eleanor.

                Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Much love,
                Eleanor.

                 

                #6266
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued part 7

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa. 30th November 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 5th August 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 4th November 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa 8th December 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 10th March 1940

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th July 1940

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves
                  to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go
                  too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea
                  and always calls Janet “John’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.

                   

                  #6264
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued  ~ part 5

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Chunya 16th December 1936

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Much love to all,
                    Eleanor.

                    Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    With love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Chunya 29th January 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                    We should be with you in three weeks time!

                    Very much love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    With love to you all,
                    Eleanor.

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

                    George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    #6263
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued  ~ part 4

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      With much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Heaps of love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots of love,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      With heaps of love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                      Lots and lots of love,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Your very affectionate,
                      Eleanor

                      Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      With love to you all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to you all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      Your worried but affectionate,
                      Eleanor.

                      Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      Much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Lots and lots of love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Chunya 27th November 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                       

                      #6262
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued  ~ part 3

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Very much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                        your loving but anxious,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Very much love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Lots and lots of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Who would be a mother!
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Lots and lots of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        With love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

                        With love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        Your very loving,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                        With love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        #6259
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          George “Mike” Rushby

                          A short autobiography of George Gilman Rushby’s son, published in the Blackwall Bugle, Australia.

                          Early in 2009, Ballina Shire Council Strategic and
                          Community Services Group Manager, Steve Barnier,
                          suggested that it would be a good idea for the Wardell
                          and District community to put out a bi-monthly
                          newsletter. I put my hand up to edit the publication and
                          since then, over 50 issues of “The Blackwall Bugle”
                          have been produced, encouraged by Ballina Shire
                          Council who host the newsletter on their website.
                          Because I usually write the stories that other people
                          generously share with me, I have been asked by several
                          community members to let them know who I am. Here is
                          my attempt to let you know!

                          My father, George Gilman Rushby was born in England
                          in 1900. An Electrician, he migrated to Africa as a young
                          man to hunt and to prospect for gold. He met Eleanor
                          Dunbar Leslie who was a high school teacher in Cape
                          Town. They later married in Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika.
                          I was the second child and first son and was born in a
                          mud hut in Tanganyika in 1933. I spent my first years on
                          a coffee plantation. When four years old, and with
                          parents and elder sister on a remote goldfield, I caught
                          typhoid fever. I was seriously ill and had no access to
                          proper medical facilities. My paternal grandmother
                          sailed out to Africa from England on a steam ship and
                          took me back to England for medical treatment. My
                          sister Ann came too. Then Adolf Hitler started WWII and
                          Ann and I were separated from our parents for 9 years.

                          Sister Ann and I were not to see him or our mother for
                          nine years because of the war. Dad served as a Captain in
                          the King’s African Rifles operating in the North African
                          desert, while our Mum managed the coffee plantation at
                          home in Tanganyika.

                          Ann and I lived with our Grandmother and went to
                          school in Nottingham England. In 1946 the family was
                          reunited. We lived in Mbeya in Southern Tanganyika
                          where my father was then the District Manager of the
                          National Parks and Wildlife Authority. There was no
                          high school in Tanganyika so I had to go to school in
                          Nairobi, Kenya. It took five days travelling each way by
                          train and bus including two days on a steamer crossing
                          Lake Victoria.

                          However, the school year was only two terms with long
                          holidays in between.

                          When I was seventeen, I left high school. There was
                          then no university in East Africa. There was no work
                          around as Tanganyika was about to become
                          independent of the British Empire and become
                          Tanzania. Consequently jobs were reserved for
                          Africans.

                          A war had broken out in Korea. I took a day off from
                          high school and visited the British Army headquarters
                          in Nairobi. I signed up for military service intending to
                          go to Korea. The army flew me to England. During
                          Army basic training I was nicknamed ‘Mike’ and have
                          been called Mike ever since. I never got to Korea!
                          After my basic training I volunteered for the Parachute
                          Regiment and the army sent me to Egypt where the
                          Suez Canal was under threat. I carried out parachute
                          operations in the Sinai Desert and in Cyprus and
                          Jordan. I was then selected for officer training and was
                          sent to England to the Eaton Hall Officer Cadet School
                          in Cheshire. Whilst in Cheshire, I met my future wife
                          Jeanette. I graduated as a Second Lieutenant in the
                          Royal Lincolnshire Regiment and was posted to West
                          Berlin, which was then one hundred miles behind the
                          Iron Curtain. My duties included patrolling the
                          demarcation line that separated the allies from the
                          Russian forces. The Berlin Wall was yet to be built. I
                          also did occasional duty as guard commander of the
                          guard at Spandau Prison where Adolf Hitler’s deputy
                          Rudolf Hess was the only prisoner.

                          From Berlin, my Regiment was sent to Malaya to
                          undertake deep jungle operations against communist
                          terrorists that were attempting to overthrow the
                          Malayan Government. I was then a Lieutenant in
                          command of a platoon of about 40 men which would go
                          into the jungle for three weeks to a month with only air
                          re-supply to keep us going. On completion of my jungle
                          service, I returned to England and married Jeanette. I
                          had to stand up throughout the church wedding
                          ceremony because I had damaged my right knee in a
                          competitive cross-country motorcycle race and wore a
                          splint and restrictive bandage for the occasion!
                          At this point I took a career change and transferred
                          from the infantry to the Royal Military Police. I was in
                          charge of the security of British, French and American
                          troops using the autobahn link from West Germany to
                          the isolated Berlin. Whilst in Germany and Austria I
                          took up snow skiing as a sport.

                          Jeanette and I seemed to attract unusual little
                          adventures along the way — each adventure trivial in
                          itself but adding up to give us a ‘different’ path through
                          life. Having climbed Mount Snowdon up the ‘easy way’
                          we were witness to a serious climbing accident where a
                          member of the staff of a Cunard Shipping Line
                          expedition fell and suffered serious injury. It was
                          Sunday a long time ago. The funicular railway was
                          closed. There was no telephone. So I ran all the way
                          down Mount Snowdon to raise the alarm.

                          On a road trip from Verden in Germany to Berlin with
                          our old Opel Kapitan motor car stacked to the roof with
                          all our worldly possessions, we broke down on the ice and snow covered autobahn. We still had a hundred kilometres to go.

                          A motorcycle patrolman flagged down a B-Double
                          tanker. He hooked us to the tanker with a very short tow
                          cable and off we went. The truck driver couldn’t see us
                          because we were too close and his truck threw up a
                          constant deluge of ice and snow so we couldn’t see
                          anyway. We survived the hundred kilometre ‘sleigh
                          ride!’

                          I then went back to the other side of the world where I
                          carried out military police duties in Singapore and
                          Malaya for three years. I took up scuba diving and
                          loved the ocean. Jeanette and I, with our two little
                          daughters, took a holiday to South Africa to see my
                          parents. We sailed on a ship of the Holland-Afrika Line.
                          It broke down for four days and drifted uncontrollably
                          in dangerous waters off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia
                          until the crew could get the ship’s motor running again.
                          Then, in Cape Town, we were walking the beach near
                          Hermanus with my youngest brother and my parents,
                          when we found the dead body of a man who had thrown
                          himself off a cliff. The police came and secured the site.
                          Back with the army, I was promoted to Major and
                          appointed Provost Marshal of the ACE Mobile Force
                          (Allied Command Europe) with dual headquarters in
                          Salisbury, England and Heidelberg, Germany. The cold
                          war was at its height and I was on operations in Greece,
                          Denmark and Norway including the Arctic. I had
                          Norwegian, Danish, Italian and American troops in my
                          unit and I was then also the Winter Warfare Instructor
                          for the British contingent to the Allied Command
                          Europe Mobile Force that operated north of the Arctic
                          Circle.

                          The reason for being in the Arctic Circle? From there
                          our special forces could look down into northern
                          Russia.

                          I was not seeing much of my two young daughters. A
                          desk job was looming my way and I decided to leave
                          the army and migrate to Australia. Why Australia?
                          Well, I didn’t want to go back to Africa, which
                          seemed politically unstable and the people I most
                          liked working with in the army, were the Australian
                          troops I had met in Malaya.

                          I migrated to Brisbane, Australia in 1970 and started
                          working for Woolworths. After management training,
                          I worked at Garden City and Brookside then became
                          the manager in turn of Woolworths stores at
                          Paddington, George Street and Redcliff. I was also the
                          first Director of FAUI Queensland (The Federation of
                          Underwater Diving Instructors) and spent my spare
                          time on the Great Barrier Reef. After 8 years with
                          Woollies, I opted for a sea change.

                          I moved with my family to Evans Head where I
                          converted a convenience store into a mini
                          supermarket. When IGA moved into town, I decided
                          to take up beef cattle farming and bought a cattle
                          property at Collins Creek Kyogle in 1990. I loved
                          everything about the farm — the Charolais cattle, my
                          horses, my kelpie dogs, the open air, fresh water
                          creek, the freedom, the lifestyle. I also became a
                          volunteer fire fighter with the Green Pigeon Brigade.
                          In 2004 I sold our farm and moved to Wardell.
                          My wife Jeanette and I have been married for 60 years
                          and are now retired. We have two lovely married
                          daughters and three fine grandchildren. We live in the
                          greatest part of the world where we have been warmly
                          welcomed by the Wardell community and by the
                          Wardell Brigade of the Rural Fire Service. We are
                          very happy here.

                          Mike Rushby

                          A short article sent to Jacksdale in England from Mike Rushby in Australia:

                          Rushby Family

                          #6255
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            My Grandparents

                            George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995

                            Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988

                            I always called my grandfather Mop, apparently because I couldn’t say the name Grandpa, but whatever the reason, the name stuck. My younger brother also called him Mop, but our two cousins did not.

                            My earliest memories of my grandparents are the picnics.  Grandma and Mop loved going out in the car for a picnic. Favourite spots were the Clee Hills in Shropshire, North Wales, especially Llanbedr, Malvern, and Derbyshire, and closer to home, the caves and silver birch woods at Kinver Edge, Arley by the river Severn, or Bridgnorth, where Grandma’s sister Hildreds family lived.  Stourbridge was on the western edge of the Black Country in the Midlands, so one was quickly in the countryside heading west.  They went north to Derbyshire less, simply because the first part of the trip entailed driving through Wolverhampton and other built up and not particularly pleasant urban areas.  I’m sure they’d have gone there more often, as they were both born in Derbyshire, if not for that initial stage of the journey.

                            There was predominantly grey tartan car rug in the car for picnics, and a couple of folding chairs.  There were always a couple of cushions on the back seat, and I fell asleep in the back more times than I can remember, despite intending to look at the scenery.  On the way home Grandma would always sing,  “Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, I had a little drink about an hour ago, And it’s gone right to my head.”  I’ve looked online for that song, and have not found it anywhere!

                            Grandma didn’t just make sandwiches for picnics, there were extra containers of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and so on.  I used to love to wash up the picnic plates in the little brook on the Clee Hills, near Cleeton St Mary.  The close cropped grass was ideal for picnics, and Mop and the sheep would Baaa at each other.

                            Mop would base the days outting on the weather forcast, but Grandma often used to say he always chose the opposite of what was suggested. She said if you want to go to Derbyshire, tell him you want to go to Wales.  I recall him often saying, on a gloomy day, Look, there’s a bit of clear sky over there.  Mop always did the driving as Grandma never learned to drive. Often she’d dust the dashboard with a tissue as we drove along.

                            My brother and I often spent the weekend at our grandparents house, so that our parents could go out on a Saturday night.  They gave us 5 shillings pocket money, which I used to spend on two Ladybird books at 2 shillings and sixpence each.  We had far too many sweets while watching telly in the evening ~ in the dark, as they always turned the lights off to watch television.  The lemonade and pop was Corona, and came in returnable glass bottles.  We had Woodpecker cider too, even though it had a bit of an alcohol content.

                            Mop smoked Kensitas and Grandma smoked Sovereign cigarettes, or No6, and the packets came with coupons.  They often let me choose something for myself out of the catalogue when there were enough coupons saved up.

                            When I had my first garden, in a rented house a short walk from theirs, they took me to garden nurseries and taught me all about gardening.  In their garden they had berberis across the front of the house under the window, and cotoneaster all along the side of the garage wall. The silver birth tree on the lawn had been purloined as a sapling from Kinver edge, when they first moved into the house.  (they lived in that house on Park Road for more than 60 years).  There were perennials and flowering shrubs along the sides of the back garden, and behind the silver birch, and behind that was the vegeatable garden.  Right at the back was an Anderson shelter turned into a shed, the rhubarb, and the washing line, and the canes for the runner beans in front of those.  There was a little rose covered arch on the path on the left, and privet hedges all around the perimeter.

                            My grandfather was a dental technician. He worked for various dentists on their premises over the years, but he always had a little workshop of his own at the back of his garage. His garage was full to the brim of anything that might potentially useful, but it was not chaotic. He knew exactly where to find anything, from the tiniest screw for spectacles to a useful bit of wire. He was “mechanicaly minded” and could always fix things like sewing machines and cars and so on.

                            Mop used to let me sit with him in his workshop, and make things out of the pink wax he used for gums to embed the false teeth into prior to making the plaster casts. The porcelain teeth came on cards, and were strung in place by means of little holes on the back end of the teeth. I still have a necklace I made by threading teeth onto a string. There was a foot pedal operated drill in there as well, possibly it was a dentists drill previously, that he used with miniature grinding or polishing attachments. Sometimes I made things out of the pink acrylic used for the final denture, which had a strong smell and used to harden quickly, so you had to work fast. Initially, the workshop was to do the work for Uncle Ralph, Grandmas’s sisters husband, who was a dentist. In later years after Ralph retired, I recall a nice man called Claude used to come in the evening to collect the dentures for another dental laboratory. Mop always called his place of work the laboratory.

                            Grandma loved books and was always reading, in her armchair next to the gas fire. I don’t recall seeing Mop reading a book, but he was amazingly well informed about countless topics.
                            At family gatherings, Mops favourite topic of conversation after dinner was the atrocities committed over the centuries by organized religion.

                            My grandfather played snooker in his younger years at the Conservative club. I recall my father assuming he voted Conservative, and Mop told him in no uncertain terms that he’s always voted Labour. When asked why he played snooker at the Conservative club and not the Labour club, he said with a grin that “it was a better class of people”, but that he’d never vote Conservative because it was of no benefit to the likes of us working people.

                            Grandma and her sister in law Marie had a little grocers shop on Brettel Lane in Amblecote for a few years but I have no personal recollection of that as it was during the years we lived in USA. I don’t recall her working other than that. She had a pastry making day once a week, and made Bakewell tart, apple pie, a meat pie, and her own style of pizza. She had an old black hand operated sewing machine, and made curtains and loose covers for the chairs and sofa, but I don’t think she made her own clothes, at least not in later years. I have her sewing machine here in Spain.
                            At regular intervals she’d move all the furniture around and change the front room into the living room and the back into the dining room and vice versa. In later years Mop always had the back bedroom (although when I lived with them aged 14, I had the back bedroom, and painted the entire room including the ceiling purple). He had a very lumpy mattress but he said it fit his bad hip perfectly.

                            Grandma used to alternate between the tiny bedroom and the big bedroom at the front. (this is in later years, obviously) The wardrobes and chests of drawers never changed, they were oak and substantial, but rather dated in appearance. They had a grandfather clock with a brass face and a grandmother clock. Over the fireplace in the living room was a Utrillo print. The bathroom and lavatory were separate rooms, and the old claw foot bath had wood panels around it to make it look more modern. There was a big hot water geyser above it. Grandma was fond of using stick on Fablon tile effects to try to improve and update the appearance of the bathroom and kitchen. Mop was a generous man, but would not replace household items that continued to function perfectly well. There were electric heaters in all the rooms, of varying designs, and gas fires in living room and dining room. The coal house on the outside wall was later turned into a downstairs shower room, when Mop moved his bedroom downstairs into the front dining room, after Grandma had died and he was getting on.

                            Utrillo

                            Mop was 91 when he told me he wouldn’t be growing any vegetables that year. He said the sad thing was that he knew he’d never grow vegetables again. He worked part time until he was in his early 80s.

                            #6253
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              My Grandparents Kitchen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              #6241
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                Kidsley Grange Farm and The Quakers Next Door

                                Kidsley Grange Farm in Smalley, Derbyshire, was the home of the Housleys in the 1800s.  William Housley 1781-1848 was born in nearby Selston.   His wife Ellen Carrington 1795-1872 was from a long line of Carringtons in Smalley.  They had ten children between 1815 and 1838.  Samuel, my 3x great grandfather, was the second son born in 1816.

                                The original farm has been made into a nursing home in recent years, which at the time of writing is up for sale at £500,000. Sadly none of the original farm appears visible with all the new additions.

                                The farm before it was turned into a nursing home:

                                Kidsley Grange Farm

                                Kidsley Grange Farm and Kidsley Park, a neighbouring farm, are mentioned in a little book about the history of Smalley.  The neighbours at Kidsley Park, the Davy’s,  were friends of the Housleys. They were Quakers.

                                Smalley Farms

                                 

                                In Kerry’s History of Smalley:

                                Kidsley Park Farm was owned by Daniel Smith,  a prominent Quaker and the last of the Quakers at Kidsley. His daughter, Elizabeth Davy, widow of William Davis, married WH Barber MB of Smalley. Elizabeth was the author of the poem “Farewell to Kidsley Park”.

                                Emma Housley sent one of Elizabeth Davy’s poems to her brother George in USA.

                                 “We have sent you a piece of poetry that Mrs. Davy composed about our ‘Old House.’ I am sure you will like it though you may not understand all the allusions she makes use of as well as we do.”

                                Farewell to Kidsley Park
                                Farewell, Farewell, Thy pathways now by strangers feet are trod,
                                And other hands and horses strange henceforth shall turn thy sod,
                                Yes, other eyes may watch the buds expanding in the spring.
                                And other children round the hearth the coming years may bring,
                                But mine will be the memory of cares and pleasures there,
                                Intenser ~ that no living thing in some of them can share,
                                Commencing with the loved, and lost, in days of long ago,
                                When one was present on whose head Atlantic’s breezes blow,
                                Long years ago he left that roof, and made a home afar ~
                                For that is really only “home” where life’s affections are!
                                How many thoughts come o’er me, for old Kidsley has “a name
                                And memory” ~ in the hearts of some not unknown to fame.
                                We dream not, in those happy times, that I should be the last,
                                Alone, to leave my native place ~ alone, to meet the blast,
                                I loved each nook and corner there, each leaf and blade of grass,
                                Each moonlight shadow on the pond I loved: but let it pass,
                                For mine is still the memory that only death can mar;
                                I fancy I shall see it reflecting every star.
                                The graves of buried quadrupeds, affectionate and true,
                                Will have the olden sunshine, and the same bright morning dew,
                                But the birds that sang at even when the autumn leaves were seer,
                                Will miss the crumbs they used to get, in winters long and drear.
                                Will the poor down-trodden miss me? God help them if they do!
                                Some manna in the wilderness, His goodness guide them to!
                                Farewell to those who love me! I shall bear them still in mind,
                                And hope to be remembered by those I left behind:
                                Do not forget the aged man ~ though another fills his place ~
                                Another, bearing not his name, nor coming of his race.
                                His creed might be peculiar; but there was much of good
                                Successors will not imitate, because not understood.
                                Two hundred years have come and past since George Fox ~ first of “Friends” ~
                                Established his religion there ~ which my departure ends.
                                Then be it so: God prosper these in basket and in store,
                                And make them happy in my place ~ my dwelling, never more!
                                For I may be a wanderer ~ no roof nor hearthstone mine:
                                May light that cometh from above my resting place define.
                                Gloom hovers o’er the prospect now, but He who was my friend,
                                In the midst of troubled waters, will see me to the end.

                                Elizabeth Davy, June 6th, 1863, Derby.

                                Another excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters from the family in Smalley to George in USA mentions the Davy’s:

                                Anne’s will was probated October 14, 1856. Mr. William Davy of Kidsley Park appeared for the family. Her estate was valued at under £20. Emma was to receive fancy needlework, a four post bedstead, feather bed and bedding, a mahogany chest of drawers, plates, linen and china. Emma was also to receive Anne’s writing desk! There was a condition that Ellen would have use of these items until her death.
                                The money that Anne was to receive from her grandfather, William Carrington, and her father, William Housley was to be distributed one third to Joseph, one third to Emma, and one third to be divided between her four neices: John’s daughter Elizabeth, 18, and Sam’s daughters Elizabeth, 10, Mary Anne, 9 and Catherine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

                                Mrs. Davy wrote to George on March 21 1856 sending some gifts from his sisters and a portrait of their mother–“Emma is away yet and A is so much worse.” Mrs. Davy concluded: “With best wishes
                                 for thy health and prosperity in this world and the next I am thy sincere friend.” Whenever the girls sent greetings from Mrs. Davy they used her Quaker speech pattern of “thee and thy.”

                                 

                                #6240
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Phyllis Ellen Marshall

                                  1909 – 1983

                                  Phyllis Marshall

                                   

                                  Phyllis, my grandfather George Marshall’s sister, never married. She lived in her parents home in Love Lane, and spent decades of her later life bedridden, living alone and crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. She had her bed in the front downstairs room, and had cords hanging by her bed to open the curtains, turn on the tv and so on, and she had carers and meals on wheels visit her daily. The room was dark and grim, but Phyllis was always smiling and cheerful.  Phyllis loved the Degas ballerinas and had a couple of prints on the walls.

                                  I remember visiting her, but it has only recently registered that this was my great grandparents house. When I was a child, we visited her and she indicated a tin on a chest of drawers and said I could take a biscuit. It was a lemon puff, and was the stalest biscuit I’d ever had. To be polite I ate it. Then she offered me another one! I declined, but she thought I was being polite and said “Go on! You can have another!” I ate another one, and have never eaten a lemon puff since that day.

                                  Phyllis’s nephew Bryan Marshall used to visit her regularly. I didn’t realize how close they were until recently, when I resumed contact with Bryan, who emigrated to USA in the 1970s following a successful application for a job selling stained glass windows and church furnishings.

                                  I asked on a Stourbridge facebook group if anyone remembered her.

                                  AF  Yes I remember her. My friend and I used to go up from Longlands school every Friday afternoon to do jobs for her. I remember she had a record player and we used to put her 45rpm record on Send in the Clowns for her. Such a lovely lady. She had her bed in the front room.

                                  KW I remember very clearly a lady in a small house in Love Lane with alley at the left hand.  I was intrigued by this lady who used to sit with the front door open and she was in a large chair of some sort. I used to see people going in and out and the lady was smiling. I was young then (31) and wondered how she coped but my sense was she had lots of help.  I’ve never forgotten that lady in Love Lane sitting in the open door way I suppose when it was warm enough.

                                  LR I used to deliver meals on wheels to her lovely lady.

                                  I sent Bryan the comments from the Stourbridge group and he replied:

                                  Thanks Tracy. I don’t recognize the names here but lovely to see such kind comments.
                                  In the early 70’s neighbors on Corser Street, Mr. & Mrs. Walter Braithwaite would pop around with occasional visits and meals. Walter was my piano teacher for awhile when I was in my early twenties. He was a well known music teacher at Rudolph Steiner School (former Elmfield School) on Love Lane. A very fine school. I seem to recall seeing a good article on Walter recently…perhaps on the Stourbridge News website. He was very well known.
                                  I’m ruminating about life with my Aunt Phyllis. We were very close. Our extra special time was every Saturday at 5pm (I seem to recall) we’d watch Doctor Who. Right from the first episode. We loved it. Likewise I’d do the children’s crossword out of Woman’s Realm magazine…always looking to win a camera but never did ! She opened my mind to the Bible, music and ballet. She once got tickets and had a taxi take us into Birmingham to see the Bolshoi Ballet…at a time when they rarely left their country. It was a very big deal in the early 60’s. ! I’ve many fond memories about her and grandad which I’ll share in due course. I’d change the steel needle on the old record player, following each play of the 78rpm records…oh my…another world.

                                  Bryan continues reminiscing about Phyllis in further correspondence:

                                  Yes, I can recall those two Degas prints. I don’t know much of Phyllis’ early history other than she was a hairdresser in Birmingham. I want to say at John Lewis, for some reason (so there must have been a connection and being such a large store I bet they did have a salon?)
                                  You will know that she had severe and debilitating rheumatoid arthritis that eventually gnarled her hands and moved through her body. I remember strapping on her leg/foot braces and hearing her writhe in pain as I did so but she wanted to continue walking standing/ getting up as long as she could. I’d take her out in the wheelchair and I can’t believe I say it along …but down Stanley Road!! (I had subsequent nightmares about what could have happened to her, had I tripped or let go!) She loved Mary Stevens Park, the swans, ducks and of course Canadian geese. Was grateful for everything in creation. As I used to go over Hanbury Hill on my visit to Love Lane, she would always remind me to smell the “sea-air” as I crested the hill.
                                  In the earlier days she smoked cigarettes with one of those long filters…looking like someone from the twenties.

                                  I’ll check on “Send in the clowns”. I do recall that music. I remember also she loved to hear Neil Diamond. Her favorites in classical music gave me an appreciation of Elgar and Delius especially. She also loved ballet music such as Swan Lake and Nutcracker. Scheherazade and La Boutique Fantastic also other gems.
                                  When grandad died she and aunt Dorothy shared more about grandma (who died I believe when John and I were nine-months old…therefore early 1951). Grandma (Mary Ann Gilman Purdy) played the piano and loved Strauss and Offenbach. The piano in the picture you sent had a bad (wonky) leg which would fall off and when we had the piano at 4, Mount Road it was rather dangerous. In any event my parents didn’t want me or others “banging on it” for fear of waking the younger brothers so it disappeared at sometime.
                                  By the way, the dog, Flossy was always so rambunctious (of course, she was a JRT!) she was put on the stairway which fortunately had a door on it. Having said that I’ve always loved dogs so was very excited to see her and disappointed when she was not around. 

                                  Phyllis with her parents William and Mary Marshall, and Flossie the dog in the garden at Love Lane:

                                  Phyllis William and Mary Marshall

                                   

                                  Bryan continues:

                                  I’ll always remember the early days with the outside toilet with the overhead cistern caked in active BIG spider webs. I used to have to light a candle to go outside, shielding the flame until destination. In that space I’d set the candle down and watch the eery shadows move from side to side whilst…well anyway! Then I’d run like hell back into the house. Eventually the kitchen wall was broken through so it became an indoor loo. Phew!
                                  In the early days the house was rented for ten-shillings a week…I know because I used to take over a ten-bob-note to a grumpy lady next door who used to sign the receipt in the rent book. Then, I think she died and it became available for $600.00 yes…the whole house for $600.00 but it wasn’t purchased then. Eventually aunt Phyllis purchased it some years later…perhaps when grandad died.

                                  I used to work much in the back garden which was a lovely walled garden with arch-type decorations in the brickwork and semicircular shaped capping bricks. The abundant apple tree. Raspberry and loganberry canes. A gooseberry bush and huge Victoria plum tree on the wall at the bottom of the garden which became a wonderful attraction for wasps! (grandad called the “whasps”). He would stew apples and fruit daily.
                                  Do you remember their black and white cat Twinky? Always sat on the pink-screen TV and when she died they were convinced that “that’s wot got ‘er”. Grandad of course loved all his cats and as he aged, he named them all “Billy”.

                                  Have you come across the name “Featherstone” in grandma’s name. I don’t recall any details but Dorothy used to recall this. She did much searching of the family history Such a pity she didn’t hand anything on to anyone. She also said that we had a member of the family who worked with James Watt….but likewise I don’t have details.
                                  Gifts of chocolates to Phyllis were regular and I became the recipient of the overflow!

                                  What a pity Dorothy’s family history research has disappeared!  I have found the Featherstone’s, and the Purdy who worked with James Watt, but I wonder what else Dorothy knew.

                                  I mentioned DH Lawrence to Bryan, and the connection to Eastwood, where Bryan’s grandma (and Phyllis’s mother) Mary Ann Gilman Purdy was born, and shared with him the story about Francis Purdy, the Primitive Methodist minister, and about Francis’s son William who invented the miners lamp.

                                  He replied:

                                  As a nosy young man I was looking through the family bookcase in Love Lane and came across a brown paper covered book. Intrigued, I found “Sons and Lovers” D.H. Lawrence. I knew it was a taboo book (in those days) as I was growing up but now I see the deeper connection. Of course! I know that Phyllis had I think an earlier boyfriend by the name of Maurice who lived in Perry Barr, Birmingham. I think he later married but was always kind enough to send her a book and fond message each birthday (Feb.12). I guess you know grandad’s birthday – July 28. We’d always celebrate those days. I’d usually be the one to go into Oldswinford and get him a cardigan or pullover and later on, his 2oz tins of St. Bruno tobacco for his pipe (I recall the room filled with smoke as he puffed away).
                                  Dorothy and Phyllis always spoke of their ancestor’s vocation as a Minister. So glad to have this history! Wow, what a story too. The Lord rescued him from mischief indeed. Just goes to show how God can change hearts…one at a time.
                                  So interesting to hear about the Miner’s Lamp. My vicar whilst growing up at St. John’s in Stourbridge was from Durham and each Harvest Festival, there would be a miner’s lamp placed upon the altar as a symbol of the colliery and the bountiful harvest.

                                  More recollections from Bryan about the house and garden at Love Lane:

                                  I always recall tea around the three legged oak table bedecked with a colorful seersucker cloth. Battenburg cake. Jam Roll. Rich Tea and Digestive biscuits. Mr. Kipling’s exceedingly good cakes! Home-made jam.  Loose tea from the Coronation tin cannister. The ancient mangle outside the back door and the galvanized steel wash tub with hand-operated agitator on the underside of the lid. The hand operated water pump ‘though modernisation allowed for a cold tap only inside, above the single sink and wooden draining board. A small gas stove and very little room for food preparation. Amazing how the Marshalls (×7) managed in this space!

                                  The small window over the sink in the kitchen brought in little light since the neighbor built on a bathroom annex at the back of their house, leaving #47 with limited light, much to to upset of grandad and Phyllis. I do recall it being a gloomy place..i.e.the kitchen and back room.

                                  The garden was lovely. Long and narrow with privet hedge dividing the properties on the right and the lovely wall on the left. Dorothy planted spectacular lilac bushes against the wall. Vivid blues, purples and whites. Double-flora. Amazing…and with stunning fragrance. Grandad loved older victorian type plants such as foxgloves and comfrey. Forget-me-nots and marigolds (calendulas) in abundance.  Rhubarb stalks. Always plantings of lettuce and other vegetables. Lots of mint too! A large varigated laurel bush outside the front door!

                                  Such a pleasant walk through the past. 

                                  An autograph book belonging to Phyllis from the 1920s has survived in which each friend painted a little picture, drew a cartoon, or wrote a verse.  This entry is perhaps my favourite:

                                  Ripping Time

                                  #6231
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    Gladstone Road

                                    My mother remembers her grandfather Samuel Warren’s house at 3 Gladstone Road, Stourbridge. She was born in 1933, so this would be late 1930s early 1940s.

                                    “Opening a big wooden gate in a high brick wall off the sidewalk I went down a passage with a very high hedge to the main house which was entered on this side through a sort of glassed-in lean-to then into the dark and damp scullery and then into a large room with a fireplace which was dining room and living room for most of the time. The house was Georgian and had wooden interior shutters at the windows. My Grandad sat by the fire probably most of the day. The fireplace may have had an oven built over or to the side of the fire which was common in those days and was used for cooking.
                                    That room led into a hall going three ways and the main front door was here. One hall went to the pantry which had stone slabs for keeping food cool, such a long way from the kitchen! Opposite the pantry was the door to the cellar. One hall led to two large rooms with big windows overlooking the garden. There was also a door at the end of this hallway which opened into the garden. The stairs went up opposite the front door with a box room at the top then along a landing to another hall going right and left with two bedrooms down each hall.
                                    The toilet got to from the scullery and lean-to was outside down another passage all overgrown near the pigsty. No outside lights!
                                    On Christmas day the families would all have the day here. I think the menfolk went over to the pub {Gate Hangs Well?} for a drink while the women cooked dinner. Chris would take all the children down the dark, damp cellar steps and tell us ghost stories scaring us all. A fire would be lit in one of the big main rooms {probably only used once a year} and we’d sit in there and dinner was served in the other big main room. When the house was originally built the servants would have used the other room and scullery.
                                    I have a recollection of going upstairs and into a bedroom off the right hand hall and someone was in bed, I thought an old lady but I was uncomfortable in there and never went in again. Seemed that person was there a long time. I did go upstairs with Betty to her room which was the opposite way down the hall and loved it. She was dating lots of soldiers during the war years. One in particular I remember was an American Army Officer that she was fond of but he was killed when he left England to fight in Germany.
                                    I wonder if the person in bed that nobody spoke about was an old housekeeper?
                                    My mother used to say there was a white lady who floated around in the garden. I think Kay died at Gladstone Road!”

                                    Samuel Warren, born in 1874 in Newhall, Derbyshire, was my grandmothers father.  This is the only photograph we’ve seen of him (seated on right with cap).  Kay, who died of TB in 1938, is holding the teddy bear. Samuel died in 1950, in Stourbridge, at the age of 76.

                                    Samuel Warren Kay Warren

                                    Left to right: back row: Leslie Warren. Hildred Williams / Griffiths (Nee Warren). Billy Warren. 2nd row: Gladys (Gary) Warren. Kay Warren (holding teddy bear). Samuel Warren (father). Hildred’s son Chris Williams (on knee). Lorna Warren. Joan Williams. Peggy Williams (Hildreds daughters). Jack Warren. Betty Warren.

                                    #6222
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      George Gilman Rushby: The Cousin Who Went To Africa

                                      The portrait of the woman has “mother of Catherine Housley, Smalley” written on the back, and one of the family photographs has “Francis Purdy” written on the back. My first internet search was “Catherine Housley Smalley Francis Purdy”. Easily found was the family tree of George (Mike) Rushby, on one of the genealogy websites. It seemed that it must be our family, but the African lion hunter seemed unlikely until my mother recalled her father had said that he had a cousin who went to Africa. I also noticed that the lion hunter’s middle name was Gilman ~ the name that Catherine Housley’s daughter ~ my great grandmother, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy ~ adopted, from her aunt and uncle who brought her up.

                                      I tried to contact George (Mike) Rushby via the ancestry website, but got no reply. I searched for his name on Facebook and found a photo of a wildfire in a place called Wardell, in Australia, and he was credited with taking the photograph. A comment on the photo, which was a few years old, got no response, so I found a Wardell Community group on Facebook, and joined it. A very small place, population some 700 or so, and I had an immediate response on the group to my question. They knew Mike, exchanged messages, and we were able to start emailing. I was in the chair at the dentist having an exceptionally long canine root canal at the time that I got the message with his email address, and at that moment the song Down in Africa started playing.

                                      Mike said it was clever of me to track him down which amused me, coming from the son of an elephant and lion hunter.  He didn’t know why his father’s middle name was Gilman, and was not aware that Catherine Housley’s sister married a Gilman.

                                      Mike Rushby kindly gave me permission to include his family history research in my book.  This is the story of my grandfather George Marshall’s cousin.  A detailed account of George Gilman Rushby’s years in Africa can be found in another chapter called From Tanganyika With Love; the letters Eleanor wrote to her family.

                                      George Gilman Rushby:

                                      George Gilman Rushby

                                       

                                      The story of George Gilman Rushby 1900-1969, as told by his son Mike:

                                      George Gilman Rushby:
                                      Elephant hunter,poacher, prospector, farmer, forestry officer, game ranger, husband to Eleanor, and father of 6 children who now live around the world.

                                      George Gilman Rushby was born in Nottingham on 28 Feb 1900 the son of Catherine Purdy and John Henry Payling Rushby. But John Henry died when his son was only one and a half years old, and George shunned his drunken bullying stepfather Frank Freer and was brought up by Gypsies who taught him how to fight and took him on regular poaching trips. His love of adventure and his ability to hunt were nurtured at an early stage of his life.
                                      The family moved to Eastwood, where his mother Catherine owned and managed The Three Tuns Inn, but when his stepfather died in mysterious circumstances, his mother married a wealthy bookmaker named Gregory Simpson. He could afford to send George to Worksop College and to Rugby School. This was excellent schooling for George, but the boarding school environment, and the lack of a stable home life, contributed to his desire to go out in the world and do his own thing. When he finished school his first job was as a trainee electrician with Oaks & Co at Pye Bridge. He also worked part time as a motor cycle mechanic and as a professional boxer to raise the money for a voyage to South Africa.

                                      In May 1920 George arrived in Durban destitute and, like many others, living on the beach and dependant upon the Salvation Army for a daily meal. However he soon got work as an electrical mechanic, and after a couple of months had earned enough money to make the next move North. He went to Lourenco Marques where he was appointed shift engineer for the town’s power station. However he was still restless and left the comfort of Lourenco Marques for Beira in August 1921.

                                      Beira was the start point of the new railway being built from the coast to Nyasaland. George became a professional hunter providing essential meat for the gangs of construction workers building the railway. He was a self employed contractor with his own support crew of African men and began to build up a satisfactory business. However, following an incident where he had to shoot and kill a man who attacked him with a spear in middle of the night whilst he was sleeping, George left the lower Zambezi and took a paddle steamer to Nyasaland (Malawi). On his arrival in Karongo he was encouraged to shoot elephant which had reached plague proportions in the area – wrecking African homes and crops, and threatening the lives of those who opposed them.

                                      His next move was to travel by canoe the five hundred kilometre length of Lake Nyasa to Tanganyika, where he hunted for a while in the Lake Rukwa area, before walking through Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) to the Congo. Hunting his way he overachieved his quota of ivory resulting in his being charged with trespass, the confiscation of his rifles, and a fine of one thousand francs. He hunted his way through the Congo to Leopoldville then on to the Portuguese enclave, near the mouth of the mighty river, where he worked as a barman in a rough and tough bar until he received a message that his old friend Lumb had found gold at Lupa near Chunya. George set sail on the next boat for Antwerp in Belgium, then crossed to England and spent a few weeks with his family in Jacksdale before returning by sea to Dar es Salaam. Arriving at the gold fields he pegged his claim and almost immediately went down with blackwater fever – an illness that used to kill three out of four within a week.

                                      When he recovered from his fever, George exchanged his gold lease for a double barrelled .577 elephant rifle and took out a special elephant control licence with the Tanganyika Government. He then headed for the Congo again and poached elephant in Northern Rhodesia from a base in the Congo. He was known by the Africans as “iNyathi”, or the Buffalo, because he was the most dangerous in the long grass. After a profitable hunting expedition in his favourite hunting ground of the Kilombera River he returned to the Congo via Dar es Salaam and Mombassa. He was after the Kabalo district elephant, but hunting was restricted, so he set up his base in The Central African Republic at a place called Obo on the Congo tributary named the M’bomu River. From there he could make poaching raids into the Congo and the Upper Nile regions of the Sudan. He hunted there for two and a half years. He seldom came across other Europeans; hunters kept their own districts and guarded their own territories. But they respected one another and he made good and lasting friendships with members of that small select band of adventurers.

                                      Leaving for Europe via the Congo, George enjoyed a short holiday in Jacksdale with his mother. On his return trip to East Africa he met his future bride in Cape Town. She was 24 year old Eleanor Dunbar Leslie; a high school teacher and daughter of a magistrate who spent her spare time mountaineering, racing ocean yachts, and riding horses. After a whirlwind romance, they were betrothed within 36 hours.

                                      On 25 July 1930 George landed back in Dar es Salaam. He went directly to the Mbeya district to find a home. For one hundred pounds he purchased the Waizneker’s farm on the banks of the Mntshewe Stream. Eleanor, who had been delayed due to her contract as a teacher, followed in November. Her ship docked in Dar es Salaam on 7 Nov 1930, and they were married that day. At Mchewe Estate, their newly acquired farm, they lived in a tent whilst George with some help built their first home – a lovely mud-brick cottage with a thatched roof. George and Eleanor set about developing a coffee plantation out of a bush block. It was a very happy time for them. There was no electricity, no radio, and no telephone. Newspapers came from London every two months. There were a couple of neighbours within twenty miles, but visitors were seldom seen. The farm was a haven for wild life including snakes, monkeys and leopards. Eleanor had to go South all the way to Capetown for the birth of her first child Ann, but with the onset of civilisation, their first son George was born at a new German Mission hospital that had opened in Mbeya.

                                      Occasionally George had to leave the farm in Eleanor’s care whilst he went off hunting to make his living. Having run the coffee plantation for five years with considerable establishment costs and as yet no return, George reluctantly started taking paying clients on hunting safaris as a “white hunter”. This was an occupation George didn’t enjoy. but it brought him an income in the days when social security didn’t exist. Taking wealthy clients on hunting trips to kill animals for trophies and for pleasure didn’t amuse George who hunted for a business and for a way of life. When one of George’s trackers was killed by a leopard that had been wounded by a careless client, George was particularly upset.
                                      The coffee plantation was approaching the time of its first harvest when it was suddenly attacked by plagues of borer beetles and ring barking snails. At the same time severe hail storms shredded the crop. The pressure of the need for an income forced George back to the Lupa gold fields. He was unlucky in his gold discoveries, but luck came in a different form when he was offered a job with the Forestry Department. The offer had been made in recognition of his initiation and management of Tanganyika’s rainbow trout project. George spent most of his short time with the Forestry Department encouraging the indigenous people to conserve their native forests.

                                      In November 1938 he transferred to the Game Department as Ranger for the Eastern Province of Tanganyika, and over several years was based at Nzasa near Dar es Salaam, at the old German town of Morogoro, and at lovely Lyamungu on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Then the call came for him to be transferred to Mbeya in the Southern Province for there was a serious problem in the Njombe district, and George was selected by the Department as the only man who could possibly fix the problem.

                                      Over a period of several years, people were being attacked and killed by marauding man-eating lions. In the Wagingombe area alone 230 people were listed as having been killed. In the Njombe district, which covered an area about 200 km by 300 km some 1500 people had been killed. Not only was the rural population being decimated, but the morale of the survivors was so low, that many of them believed that the lions were not real. Many thought that evil witch doctors were controlling the lions, or that lion-men were changing form to kill their enemies. Indeed some wichdoctors took advantage of the disarray to settle scores and to kill for reward.

                                      By hunting down and killing the man-eaters, and by showing the flesh and blood to the doubting tribes people, George was able to instil some confidence into the villagers. However the Africans attributed the return of peace and safety, not to the efforts of George Rushby, but to the reinstallation of their deposed chief Matamula Mangera who had previously been stood down for corruption. It was Matamula , in their eyes, who had called off the lions.

                                      Soon after this adventure, George was appointed Deputy Game Warden for Tanganyika, and was based in Arusha. He retired in 1956 to the Njombe district where he developed a coffee plantation, and was one of the first in Tanganyika to plant tea as a major crop. However he sensed a swing in the political fortunes of his beloved Tanganyika, and so sold the plantation and settled in a cottage high on a hill overlooking the Navel Base at Simonstown in the Cape. It was whilst he was there that TV Bulpin wrote his biography “The Hunter is Death” and George wrote his book “No More The Tusker”. He died in the Cape, and his youngest son Henry scattered his ashes at the Southern most tip of Africa where the currents of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet .

                                      George Gilman Rushby:

                                      #6151

                                      Grandpa Bob loved the sound of the kettle whistling. Cheery, he thought as he turned the flame off. Companionable.
                                      He shuffled to the kitchen door. “Clara, cuppa?” he shouted down the hallway but there was no reply. Maybe she wasn’t up yet—it had been a long trip for her yesterday. Perhaps he could make her up a tray, although she’d probably say he was fussing.
                                      Just then he heard VanGogh barking from the garden. He drew back the curtain and peered out the kitchen window. There she was! Way down the back digging in the vegetable garden. Bless her soul. Must have got started early on that weeding. She was saying she would last night. Grandpa, you really need to get some help around the place! she’d scolded.
                                      “Clara, love!” he shouted. Damn dog was making such a racket she didn’t hear him. Nothing for it but to go out there. He chuckled, thinking how she’d probably scold him again for wandering around outside in his pyjamas. Bossy little thing she could be. But a good girl coming all this way to visit him.
                                      He slipped on his outdoor shoes and slowly made his way down the path to the vegetable garden. VanGogh bounded over to him and Grandpa Bob gave him a pat. “What are you two up to out here, eh VanGogh?” But Clara was so engrossed on her phone she didn’t even glance up. He was about to call out to her again when he saw what she’d dug up and the words stuck in his throat. He let out a small cry.

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