Search Results for 'mind'

Forums Search Search Results for 'mind'

Viewing 20 results - 201 through 220 (of 966 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #6384
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “Wait, never mind, don’t call Finnley yet, show me how it works, Godfrey.”  Liz had an idea.  If this thing was as good as it was supposed to be, she could get it to do everything. Maybe it wouldn’t even argue. No more rude remarks from the staff!  It could be a godsend!

      #6382

      In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Write more about the group of people who lived inside of giant mushrooms, making it sound exciting and fun, and maybe a bit dangerous due to the nature of the mushrooms

        As the group journeyed deeper into the Land of the Quirks, they stumbled upon a group of people living inside of giant mushrooms. The mushrooms were enormous, some as tall as skyscrapers, and they seemed to glow with an ethereal light. The group was amazed as they walked through the forest of mushrooms, each one unique in shape and size.

        The people who lived inside of the mushrooms were a friendly and welcoming bunch, they welcomed the group with open arms and invited them to explore their homes. The inside of the mushrooms was a magical and mysterious place, the walls and ceilings were covered in a soft, velvety texture and the floors were made of a spongy, springy material. The light inside the mushrooms was soft and diffused, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

        As the group explored the mushroom homes, they discovered that the people who lived there had a deep connection to the mushrooms. They used the mushrooms as a source of food, shelter, and medicine. They had learned to harness the unique properties of the mushrooms to create everything they needed to survive.

        The group also discovered that the mushrooms had a dangerous side. The mushrooms were not only a source of life, but also a source of death. The group was warned that the mushrooms were unpredictable and that they should be careful when exploring. Some mushrooms were poisonous, others were carnivorous, and still, others had mind-altering properties.

        Despite the danger, the group was excited to explore the mushrooms and learn more about the people who lived there. They knew that the journey would be filled with challenges, but they were determined to overcome them and discover the secrets of the mushrooms. The group had a lot of fun and adventure living with the people inside of giant mushrooms, and they learned a lot about the nature of the mushrooms and their own nature.

        #6366
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Asking the AI to expand on the glossary of the original Circle of Eights Story:

          Locations

          Malvina’s Cave: A dark and damp cave located in the heart of the Gripshawk mountains, known for its population of Glukenitch creatures.

          Lan’ork: A vast and diverse continent known for its Eastern Lagunas, home to the Indogo flamingos. Dragon Head Peninsula: A rugged and mountainous region, home to the Langoat creatures and also known for its rich deposits of dragon ore.

          Asgurdy: A sprawling desert region, known for its nomadic tribes who use Saurhse as mounts for transportation.

          Golfindely: An idyllic coastal region known for its beautiful beaches and crystal clear waters, home to the Golfindel and Grake creatures.

          Magical Schools

          Dragonian Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Dragonriders and Dragon tamers, which involves the manipulation of dragon energy and bonding with dragon companions.

          Gripshawk Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Gripshawks, which involves the manipulation of the natural elements and telepathic communication with other creatures.

          Ugling Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Uglings, which involves the use of charms, spells, and potions to manipulate the physical world.

          Guilds

          Dragon Riders Guild: A prestigious guild of dragon riders, responsible for maintaining peace and order in the world by using their dragon companions for protection and transportation.

          Gripshawk Hunters Guild: A guild of skilled hunters who specialize in hunting and capturing exotic creatures for various purposes.

          Ugling Alchemists Guild: A guild of alchemists and potion makers, who create various potions and elixirs for medicinal and magical purposes.

          Organizations

          The Order of the Buntifluën: A secret organization dedicated to the study and use of Buntifluën artefacts for the betterment of communication and understanding between sentient beings.

          The Glubolín Network: A network of individuals who possess Glubolín devices, used for communication and sharing information across long distances.

          The Sabulmantium Society: A society of scholars and adventurers who study the properties and uses of Sabulmantium devices for divination and navigation.

          Here are a few new invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that would fit in this fantasy world:

          Dragons:

          Krynn [ ˈkrĭn ] : A subspecies of dragon known for its ability to control and manipulate time.

          Creatures:

          Kelpies [ ˈkĕl-pēz ] : Aquatic creatures resembling horses, known for their ability to shape-shift and lure unsuspecting victims into the water.

          Magical Artefacts:

          Dragonwhisper [ ˈdrā-gən-ˌhwis-pər ] : An ancient and powerful magical artifact, which allows the user to communicate and control dragons telepathically.

          Necrotalisman [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈtā-lĭz-mən ] : A magical artifact in the shape of a talisman that grants its wielder the ability to control and summon the dead.

          Plants:

          Blightthorn [ ˈblīt-ˌthôrn ] : A poisonous plant known for its dark purple flowers and thorny stem, its extract is used in dark magic

          Faeleaf [ ˈfā-ˌlēf ] : A rare plant found in the deep forest known for its bright green leaves, its extract is used in healing potions

          Locations:

          The Shadowland [ ˈshā-dō-ˌland ] : A mysterious and dangerous land overrun by dark magic and controlled by Necromancers.

          The Hidden Vale [ ˈhī-dən-ˈvāl ] : A secluded valley located deep in the mountains, home to the reclusive Faeleaf plants.

          Organization:

          The Necromancers’ Circle [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈmän-sər-z-ˈsər-kəl ] : A secret organization of powerful necromancers who seek to expand their control over death and the dead.

          Here are a few more invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that fit in this fantasy world, having less to do with necromancy, and more with various forms of consciousness or energy manipulation, magical or mythical creatures or species:

          Creatures:

          Eterneon [ ˈē-tər-ˈnē-ən ] : A species of winged creatures known for their ability to manipulate and harness the energy of the stars, they are highly sought after by astromancers and star-gazers.

          Psicon [ ˈsī-ˌkän ] : A species of psychic creatures, known for their ability to read minds and influence emotions.

          Magical Artefacts:

          Energyshield [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshēld ] : A magical artifact that creates a protective barrier around the user, deflecting or absorbing any kind of energy-based attacks.

          Empathstone [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈstōn ] : A small, glowing stone which allows the user to sense and control the emotions of others.

          Magical Schools:

          Energyshaping [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshāp-ing ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation and control of various forms of energy.

          Empathymagic [ ˈĕm-pā-thē-ˈmaj-ik ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation of emotions and the ability to sense the emotions of others.

          Locations:

          Eternity’s Edge [ ˈē-tər-nə-tēz-ˈēj] : A remote and mysterious cliff located high in the mountains, known for its strong emanations of star energy and rumored to be home to a hidden community of Eterneons.

          Psicon’s Den [ ˈsī-kän-z-ˈdĕn] : A secret cave system located deep within the forest, it is said to be home to a colony of Psicon creatures.

          Organizations:

          The Energists Guild [ ˈen-ər-jist-z-ˈgild] : A powerful guild of magic users specializing in Energyshaping magic.

          The Empath Council [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈkoun-səl]: A secretive group of Empathymagic users, dedicated to the study and control of emotions.

           

          #6365
          matermater
          Participant

            Prune has got me into this AI stuff… It sounds like gibberish to me, but Idle sounded amazed at the stuff it spewed out.

            With some info on our family story, Prune got it to try and predict the future…

            Sounds like a big plate of bog, but we’ll see how it goes.

            Sure, here are a few possible events that could occur between Mater’s 100th birthday and her death in the Flying Fish Inn story:

            1. Mater decides to throw herself a grand birthday party, inviting all of her friends and family from the small outback town. However, things take a turn for the strange when a group of extraterrestrial beings crash the party and reveal themselves to be long-time fans of Mater’s famous bush tucker cuisine.
            2. Mater begins to experience vivid dreams and hallucinations, in which she is visited by the ghost of her late husband. As the dreams become more frequent, the family begins to suspect that there may be something more to them than just Mater’s mind playing tricks on her.
            3. Mater’s granddaughter Prune becomes increasingly obsessed with her dream of traveling to Mars, and begins to notice strange occurrences happening around the inn that seem to be connected to her aspiration.
            4. A group of eccentric scientists arrive at the inn, conducting research on the local flora and fauna. They eventually discover a species of sentient plants living in the area, and Mater becomes convinced that the plants are communicating with her in her dreams.
            5. With her health declining, Mater begins to spend more and more time tending to her garden, where she is visited by an old kookaburra who seems to possess an otherworldly intelligence. The bird becomes Mater’s companion and confidant in the final days of her life.
            6. As the Great Fires ravage the Australian bush, Mater makes the difficult decision to shut down the inn and evacuate the guests. But as they flee, they realize that the fire is not just a natural disaster, but something far more sinister and mystical.
            7. In her final days, Mater begins to remember strange and vivid details of her life that she never could have known, as if she lived a previous life in another time and place. As she dies, she whispers something to Prune, which opens her eyes to a new reality that may have been hidden from her all along
            8. It turns out the family had a lot of secrets, and the only way to escape it, was to leave the inn, but it was not an escape for all. Through the series of events, secrets are revealed, and some truths cannot be undone.Note that these events are fictional and whimsical in nature, but as they keeps it grounded to a sense of doldrums in the Australian bush and occasionally guests help to unravel some of the overarching mysteries it could make a fitting storyline for the story.
            #6364
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              Please suggest a creative, a little ghostic but mostly uplifting plot outline for the continuation of the story of Twilight in her travels to join the freak circus and become famous for her craft on the west coast

              — The Far-West saga — In 1850s, in a probable reality of South America, we get acquainted with Twilight (Twi) and her brothers Jo and Elroy. They have a precious blue bull in their possession, coveted by Ogrean, the kingpin of the town. Hopefully for them, Ogrean is arrested (temporarily) by Ted Marshall, the sheriff for his possible trafficking. Notably, Ogrean is possibly involved in some of the crystal skulls discoveries, during his travel to New Honduras. Twi who was dancing in the saloon of Madame Butterbutt, the town’s hallucinogenic toads-to-lick dispenser (insert some other romantic subplots involving the other dancer etc.) decides to go traveling in a freakus (freak show/circus). She is now close to the West Coast, where she hopes to succeed in her writing and other artistic skills.

              As Twilight (Twi) travels with the freak circus, she faces many challenges and obstacles on her journey to the West Coast. Despite the difficulties, she remains determined to make a name for herself as a writer and artist.

              As she travels through small towns and larger cities, she begins to realize that the world is much bigger than she ever imagined. She meets a diverse group of people, some of whom are kind and supportive, while others are cruel and dismissive of her dreams.

              Despite the negative reactions she receives from some people, Twi persists and begins to gain a reputation as a talented writer and performer. As she gains more experience and confidence, she starts to incorporate her own unique style into her performances, which sets her apart from the other performers in the circus.

              As she approaches the West Coast, she begins to feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. She has heard that the West Coast is a place of endless possibilities, where creative minds can thrive. She is determined to make her mark and become famous for her craft.

              As she settles in the west, she finds herself surrounded by artists and writers like herself, who inspire her to push herself even further. She begins to gain a following and her writing is widely read. She discovers that her talent is not only limited to writing, but she also has a natural talent for other art forms as well.

              Eventually, Twi’s reputation as a talented artist and writer precedes her and she becomes a sought-after performer in the West Coast, and her creative work is being showcased in galleries and theaters. As she continues to achieve success in her career, she begins to realize that the West Coast is not just a place of endless possibilities but also the place where she belongs, and the place where her dreams come true.

              Throughout her journey, she also keeps in touch with her brothers, Jo and Elroy, who now run the farm and take care of the blue bull. They tell her that the bull, now named Blue-Dream, became a legend in the village and they get a good price for its breeding.

              As the story continues, she finds herself also involved in some adventures and exciting subplots, like discovering a secret underground cave filled with precious crystals and some interesting characters, like the enigmatic sheriff Ted Marshall who always cross her path, and the mysterious Ogrean who seems to have a connection to her past and the bull.

              The End.

              #6348
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Wong Sang

                 

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

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

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

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

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Via Old London Photographs:

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

                Limehouse Causeway in 1925:

                Limehouse Causeway

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Chinese migration to Limehouse 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                The real Chinatown 

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

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

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

                Why did Chinatown disappear? 

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

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

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

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

                 

                Wong Sang 1884-1930

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

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

                Chrisp Street

                 

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

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

                1918 Wong Sang

                 

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

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

                1918 Wong Sang 2

                 

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

                London and China Express – Thursday 09 February 1922:

                1922 Wong Sang

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

                Chee Kong Tong

                 

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

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

                1928 Wong Sang

                1928 Wong Sang 2

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

                 

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

                1917 Alice Wong Sang

                 

                 

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

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

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

                 

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

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

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

                 

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

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

                 

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

                Wong Sang

                 

                Alice Stokes

                #6336
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Hamstall Ridware Connection

                  Stubbs and Woods

                  Hamstall RidwareHamstall Ridware

                   

                   

                  Charles Tomlinson‘s (1847-1907) wife Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs (1819-1880), born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs.

                  Solomon Stubbs (1781-1857) was born in Hamstall Ridware in 1781, the son of Samuel and Rebecca.  Samuel Stubbs (1743-) and Rebecca Wood (1754-) married in 1769 in Darlaston.  Samuel and Rebecca had six other children, all born in Darlaston. Sadly four of them died in infancy. Son John was born in 1779 in Darlaston and died two years later in Hamstall Ridware in 1781, the same year that Solomon was born there.

                  But why did they move to Hamstall Ridware?

                  Samuel Stubbs was born in 1743 in Curdworth, Warwickshire (near to Birmingham).  I had made a mistake on the tree (along with all of the public trees on the Ancestry website) and had Rebecca Wood born in Cheddleton, Staffordshire.  Rebecca Wood from Cheddleton was also born in 1843, the right age for the marriage.  The Rebecca Wood born in Darlaston in 1754 seemed too young, at just fifteen years old at the time of the marriage.  I couldn’t find any explanation for why a woman from Cheddleton would marry in Darlaston and then move to Hamstall Ridware.  People didn’t usually move around much other than intermarriage with neighbouring villages, especially women.  I had a closer look at the Darlaston Rebecca, and did a search on her father William Wood.  I found his 1784 will online in which he mentions his daughter Rebecca, wife of Samuel Stubbs.  Clearly the right Rebecca Wood was the one born in Darlaston, which made much more sense.

                  An excerpt from William Wood’s 1784 will mentioning daughter Rebecca married to Samuel Stubbs:

                  Wm Wood will

                   

                  But why did they move to Hamstall Ridware circa 1780?

                  I had not intially noticed that Solomon Stubbs married again the year after his wife Phillis Lomas (1787-1844) died.  Solomon married Charlotte Bell in 1845 in Burton on Trent and on the marriage register, Solomon’s father Samuel Stubbs occupation was mentioned: Samuel was a buckle maker.

                  Marriage of Solomon Stubbs and Charlotte Bell, father Samuel Stubbs buckle maker:

                  Samuel Stubbs buckle maker

                   

                  A rudimentary search on buckle making in the late 1700s provided a possible answer as to why Samuel and Rebecca left Darlaston in 1781.  Shoe buckles had gone out of fashion, and by 1781 there were half as many buckle makers in Wolverhampton as there had been previously.

                  “Where there were 127 buckle makers at work in Wolverhampton, 68 in Bilston and 58 in Birmingham in 1770, their numbers had halved in 1781.”

                  via “historywebsite”(museum/metalware/steel)

                  Steel buckles had been the height of fashion, and the trade became enormous in Wolverhampton.  Wolverhampton was a steel working town, renowned for its steel jewellery which was probably of many types.  The trade directories show great numbers of “buckle makers”.  Steel buckles were predominantly made in Wolverhampton: “from the late 1760s cut steel comes to the fore, from the thriving industry of the Wolverhampton area”. Bilston was also a great centre of buckle making, and other areas included Walsall. (It should be noted that Darlaston, Walsall, Bilston and Wolverhampton are all part of the same area)

                  In 1860, writing in defence of the Wolverhampton Art School, George Wallis talks about the cut steel industry in Wolverhampton.  Referring to “the fine steel workers of the 17th and 18th centuries” he says: “Let them remember that 100 years ago [sc. c. 1760] a large trade existed with France and Spain in the fine steel goods of Birmingham and Wolverhampton, of which the latter were always allowed to be the best both in taste and workmanship.  … A century ago French and Spanish merchants had their houses and agencies at Birmingham for the purchase of the steel goods of Wolverhampton…..The Great Revolution in France put an end to the demand for fine steel goods for a time and hostile tariffs finished what revolution began”.

                   

                  The next search on buckle makers, Wolverhampton and Hamstall Ridware revealed an unexpected connecting link.

                  In Riotous Assemblies: Popular Protest in Hanoverian England by Adrian Randall:

                  Riotous Assembles

                  Hamstall Ridware

                  In Walsall in 1750 on “Restoration Day” a crowd numbering 300 assembled, mostly buckle makers,  singing  Jacobite songs and other rebellious and riotous acts.  The government was particularly worried about a curious meeting known as the “Jubilee” in Hamstall Ridware, which may have been part of a conspiracy for a Jacobite uprising.

                   

                  But this was thirty years before Samuel and Rebecca moved to Hamstall Ridware and does not help to explain why they moved there around 1780, although it does suggest connecting links.

                  Rebecca’s father, William Wood, was a brickmaker.  This was stated at the beginning of his will.  On closer inspection of the will, he was a brickmaker who owned four acres of brick kilns, as well as dwelling houses, shops, barns, stables, a brewhouse, a malthouse, cattle and land.

                  A page from the 1784 will of William Wood:

                  will Wm Wood

                   

                  The 1784 will of William Wood of Darlaston:

                  I William Wood the elder of Darlaston in the county of Stafford, brickmaker, being of sound and disposing mind memory and understanding (praised be to god for the same) do make publish and declare my last will and testament in manner and form following (that is to say) {after debts and funeral expense paid etc} I give to my loving wife Mary the use usage wear interest and enjoyment of all my goods chattels cattle stock in trade ~ money securities for money personal estate and effects whatsoever and wheresoever to hold unto her my said wife for and during the term of her natural life providing she so long continues my widow and unmarried and from or after her decease or intermarriage with any future husband which shall first happen.

                  Then I give all the said goods chattels cattle stock in trade money securites for money personal estate and effects unto my son Abraham Wood absolutely and forever. Also I give devise and bequeath unto my said wife Mary all that my messuages tenement or dwelling house together with the malthouse brewhouse barn stableyard garden and premises to the same belonging situate and being at Darlaston aforesaid and now in my own possession. Also all that messuage tenement or dwelling house together with the shop garden and premises with the appurtenances to the same ~ belonging situate in Darlaston aforesaid and now in the several holdings or occupation of George Knowles and Edward Knowles to hold the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances to my said wife Mary for and during the term of her natural life provided she so long continues my widow and unmarried. And from or after her decease or intermarriage with a future husband which shall first happen. Then I give and devise the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances unto my said son Abraham Wood his heirs and assigns forever.

                  Also I give unto my said wife all that piece or parcel of land or ground inclosed and taken out of Heath Field in the parish of Darlaston aforesaid containing four acres or thereabouts (be the same more or less) upon which my brick kilns erected and now in my own possession. To hold unto my said wife Mary until my said son Abraham attains his age of twenty one years if she so long continues my widow and unmarried as aforesaid and from and immediately after my said son Abraham attaining his age of twenty one years or my said wife marrying again as aforesaid which shall first happen then I give the said piece or parcel of land or ground and premises unto my said son Abraham his heirs and assigns forever.

                  And I do hereby charge all the aforesaid premises with the payment of the sum of twenty pounds a piece to each of my daughters namely Elizabeth the wife of Ambrose Dudall and Rebecca the wife of Samuel Stubbs which said sum of twenty pounds each I devise may be paid to them by my said son Abraham when and so soon as he attains his age of twenty one years provided always and my mind and will is that if my said son Abraham should happen to depart this life without leaving issue of his body lawfully begotten before he attains his age of twenty one years then I give and devise all the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances so given to my said son Abraham as aforesaid unto my said son William Wood and my said daughter Elizabeth Dudall and Rebecca Stubbs their heirs and assigns forever equally divided among them share and share alike as tenants in common and not as joint tenants. And lastly I do hereby nominate constitute and appoint my said wife Mary and my said son Abraham executrix and executor of this my will.

                   

                   

                  The marriage of William Wood (1725-1784) and Mary Clews (1715-1798) in 1749 was in Hamstall Ridware.

                  Wm Wood Mary Clews

                   

                  Mary was eleven years Williams senior, and it appears that they both came from Hamstall Ridware and moved to Darlaston after they married. Clearly Rebecca had extended family there (notwithstanding any possible connecting links between the Stubbs buckle makers of Darlaston and the Hamstall Ridware Jacobites thirty years prior).  When the buckle trade collapsed in Darlaston, they likely moved to find employment elsewhere, perhaps with the help of Rebecca’s family.

                  I have not yet been able to find deaths recorded anywhere for either Samuel or Rebecca (there are a couple of deaths recorded for a Samuel Stubbs, one in 1809 in Wolverhampton, and one in 1810 in Birmingham but impossible to say which, if either, is the right one with the limited information, and difficult to know if they stayed in the Hamstall Ridware area or perhaps moved elsewhere)~ or find a reason for their son Solomon to be in Burton upon Trent, an evidently prosperous man with several properties including an earthenware business, as well as a land carrier business.

                  #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

                    #6326

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    Stung by Egberts question, Olga reeled and almost lost her footing on the stairs. What had happened to her?  That damned selfish individualism that was running rampant must have seeped into her room through the gaps in the windows or under the door.  “No!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

                    “Say it isn’t true, Olga,” Egbert said, his voice breaking.  “Not you as well.”

                    It took Olga a minute or two to still her racing heart.  The near fall down the stairs had shaken her but with trembling hands she levered herself round to sit beside Egbert on the step.

                    Gripping his bony knee with her knobbly arthritic fingers, she took a deep breath.

                    “You are right to have said that, Egbert.  If there is one thing we must hold onto, it’s our hearts. Nothing else matters, or at least nothing else matters as much as that.  We are old and tired and we don’t like change. But if we escalate the importance of this frankly dreary and depressing home to the point where we lose our hearts…” she faltered and continued.  “We will be homeless soon, very soon, and we know not what will happen to us.  We must trust in the kindness of strangers, we must hope they have a heart.”

                    Egbert winced as Olga squeezed his knee. “And that is why”, Olga continued, slapping Egberts thigh with gusto, “We must have a heart…”

                    “If you’d just stop squeezing and hitting me, Olga…”

                    Olga loosened her grip on the old mans thigh bone and peered into his eyes. Quietly she thanked him. “You’ve cleared my mind and given me something to live for, and I thank you for that. But you do need to launder your clothes more often,” she added, pulling a face. She didn’t want the old coot to start blubbing, and he looked alarmingly close to tears.

                    “Come on, let’s go and see Obadiah. We’re all in this together. Homelessness and adventure can wait until tomorrow.”  Olga heaved herself upright with a surprising burst of vitality.   Noticing a weak smile trembling on Egberts lips, she said “That’s the spirit!”

                    #6323

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    “Watch where you are going, Child!”  Egbert’s tone was sharp.

                    “Excuse me,” said Maryechka, hunching her shoulders and making herself small as a mouse so she could squeeze past Egbert’s oversized suitcase.

                    “To be fair, Old Man,” said Olga, glad of the excuse to pause, “you are taking up all the available space on the stairs with those bags.” She peered at Maryechka. “You are Obadiah’s girl aren’t you?”

                    Maryechka nodded shyly. “He’s my grandpa.” She frowned at the suitcases.  “Are you going on holiday?”

                    “Never you mind that,” said Egbert. “You run along and see your Grandpa.”

                    Maryechka ducked past the bag and ran up the steps.

                    “Oy,” said Olga. “What I wouldn’t give for the agility of youth again.” Gripping the wooden hand rail, she stretched out her ankle and grimaced.

                    Obadiah is stubborn as a mule,” said Egbert. “I tried warning him! He said he’d die in his room if it came to it.”

                    “Pfft,” said Olga. “That one will land on his big stinking feet. And he can hear better than he lets on. Is it him spreading the tales about me?”

                    Egbert dropped his bags and sat heavily on the step. He put his head in his hands and groaned. “Is it right though, Olga? Is it right that we leave our friends to their fate?”

                    It occurred to Olga that Egbert may be hiding his head so as not to answer her question. However, realising his mental state was fragile, she thought it prudent to keep to the matter at hand. It will keep, she thought.

                    Obadiah and myself, we grew up together,” continued Egbert with what sounded like a sob.  “We worked together on the farm as young men.” He raised his head and glared at Olga. “How can you expect me to leave him without a word of farewell? Have you no heart?”

                    #6319

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    “Calm yourself, Egbert, and sit down. And be quiet! I can barely hear myself think with your frantic gibbering and flailing around,” Olga said, closing her eyes.  “I need to think.”

                    Egbert clutched the eiderdown on either side of his bony trembling knees and clamped his remaining teeth together, drawing ragged whistling breaths in an attempt to calm himself.  Olga was right, he needed to calm down. Besides the unfortunate effects of the letter on his habitual tremor, he felt sure his blood pressure had risen alarmingly.  He dared not become so ill that he needed medical assistance, not with the state of the hospitals these days. He’d be lucky to survive the plague ridden wards.

                    What had become of him! He imagined his younger self looking on with horror, appalled at his feeble body and shattered mind.  Imagine becoming so desperate that he wanted to fight to stay in this godforsaken dump, what had become of him! If only he knew of somewhere else to go, somewhere safe and pleasant, somewhere that smelled sweetly of meadows and honesuckle and freshly baked cherry pies, with the snorting of pigs in the yard…

                    But wait, that was Olga snoring. Useless old bag had fallen asleep! For the first time since Viktor had died he felt close to tears. What a sad sorry pathetic old man he’d become, desperately counting on a old woman to save him.

                    “Stop sniveling, Egbert, and go and pack a bag.” Olga had woken up from her momentary but illuminating lapse.    “Don’t bring too much, we may have much walking to do. I hear the buses and trains are in a shambles and full of refugees. We don’t want to get herded up with them.”

                    Astonished, Egbert asked where they were going.

                    “To see Rosa. My cousins father in laws neice. Don’t look at me like that, immediate family are seldom the ones who help.  The distant ones are another matter.  And be honest Egbert,” Olga said with a piercing look, “Do we really want to stay here? You may think you do, but it’s the fear of change, that’s all. Change feels like too much bother, doesn’t it?”

                    Egbert nodded sadly, his eyes fixed on the stain on the grey carpet.

                    Olga leaned forward and took his hand gently. “Egbert, look at me.” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. He’d never seen a sparkle in her faded blue eyes before.  “I still have another adventure in me. How about you?”

                    #6318

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    “You’d better sit down,” said Olga gesturing to the end of her bed. As a rule, she did not have visitors so she saw no need to clutter up the available space in her tiny room with an extra chair. A large proportion of her life was spent in her armchair and she was content that way. While Egbert perched on the end of the bed, she lowered herself into the soft and familiar confines of her armchair and felt instantly soothed. It was true, sometimes she felt a tinge of regret when she considered how disappointed her younger self would be to see her now. But she hadn’t lived through what I’ve lived through so she can mind her own damn business,” she thought.

                    “It is just a story, twisted in the telling I expect.” Olga knew her voice held no conviction.

                    Egbert opened his mouth as though to speak. Closed it again.

                    “You look like a fish,” said Olga folding her arms.

                    “They say you and the Mayor go back a long way. Are you telling me that is not true?

                    “And what if we do?”

                    “You know he is Ursula’s uncle and a very powerful man. They say even the great president Voldomeer Zumbaskee holds him in great regard. They say …”

                    “Pfft! They say!” snapped Olga. “Who are these chattering fools you listen to, Egbert Gofindlevsky?  I’d rather end up on the streets than ask a favour from that mountebank.”

                    Egbert jumped up from the bed and shook a fist at her. “And end up on the streets you will, Olga Herringbonevsky, along with the rest of us. You really want that on  your conscience?”

                    #6315

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    It was not yet 9am and Eusebius Kazandis was already sweating. The morning sun was hitting hard on the tarp of his booth. He put the last cauldron among lines of cauldrons on a sagging table at the summer fair of Innsbruck, Austria. It was a tiny three-legged black cauldron with a simple Celtic knot on one side and a tree on the other side, like all the others. His father’s father’s father used to make cauldrons for a living, the kind you used to distil ouzo or cook meals for an Inn. But as time went by and industrialisation made it easier for cooks, the trade slowly evolved toward smaller cauldrons for modern Wiccans. A modern witch wanted it portable and light, ready to use in everyday life situations, and Eusebius was there to provide it for them.

                    Eusebius sat on his chair and sighed. He couldn’t help but notice the woman in colourful dress who had spread a shawl on the grass under the tall sequoia tree. Nobody liked this spot under the branches oozing sticky resin. She didn’t seem to mind. She was arranging small colourful bottles of oil on her shawl. A sign near her said : Massage oils, Fragrant oils, Polishing oils, all with different names evocative of different properties. He hadn’t noticed her yesterday when everybody was installing their stalls. He wondered if she had paid her fee.

                    Rosa was smiling as she spread in front of her the meadow flowers she’d picked on her way to the market. It was another beautiful day, under the shade and protection of the big sequoia tree watching over her. She assembled small bouquets and put them in between the vials containing her precious handmade oils. She had noticed people, and especially women, would naturally gather around well dressed stalls and engage conversation. Since she left her hometown of Torino, seven years ago, she’d followed the wind on her journey across Europe. It had led her to Innsbruck and had suddenly stopped blowing. That usually meant she had something to do there, but it also meant that she would have to figure out what she was meant to do before she could go on with her life.

                    The stout man waiting behind his dark cauldrons, was watching her again. He looked quite sad, and she couldn’t help but thinking he was not where he needed to be. When she looked at him, she saw Hephaestus whose inner fire had been tamed. His banner was a mishmash of religious stuff, aimed at pagans and budding witches. Although his grim booth would most certainly benefit from a feminine touch, but she didn’t want to offend him by a misplaced suggestion. It was not her place to find his place.

                    Rosa, who knew to cultivate any available friendship when she arrived somewhere, waved at the man. Startled, he looked away as if caught doing something inappropriate. Rosa sighed. Maybe she should have bring him some coffee.

                    As her first clients arrived, she prayed for a gush of wind to tell her where to go next. But the branches of the old tree remained perfectly still under the scorching sun.

                    #6314

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    After her visit to the witch of the woods to get some medicine for her Mum who still had bouts of fatigue from her last encounter with the flu, the little Maryechka went back home as instructed.

                    She found her home empty. Her parents were busy in the fields, as the time of harvest was near, and much remained to be done to prepare, and workers were limited.

                    She left the pouch of dried herbs in the cabinet, and wondered if she should study. The schools were closed for early holidays, and they didn’t really bother with giving them much homework. She could see the teachers’ minds were worried with other things.

                    Unlike other children of her age, she wasn’t interested in all the activities online, phone-stuff. The other gen-alpha kids didn’t even bother mocking her “IRL”, glued to their screens while she instead enjoyed looking at the clear blue sky. For all she knew they didn’t even realize they were living in the same world. Now, they were probably over-stressed looking at all the news on replay.
                    For Maryechka, the war felt far away, even if you could see some of its impacts, with people moving about the nearby town.

                    Looking as it was still early in the day, and she had plenty more time left before having to prepare for dinner, she thought it’d be nice to go and visit her grand-parent and their friends at the old people’s home. They always had nice stale biscuits to share, and they told the strangest stories all the time.

                    It was just a 15 min walk from the farm, so she’d be there and back in no time.

                    #6312

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    When she’d heard of the miracle happening at the Flovlinden Tree, Egna initially shrugged it off as another conman’s attempt at fooling the crowds.

                    “No, it’s real, my Auntie saw it.”

                    “Stop fretting” she’d told the little girl, as she was carefully removing the lice from her hair. “This is just someone’s idea of a smart joke. Don’t get fooled, you’re smarter than this.”

                    She sure wasn’t responsible for that one. If that were a true miracle, she would have known. The little calf next week being resuscitated after being dead a few minutes, well, that was her. Shame nobody was even there to notice. Most of the best miracles go about this way anyway.

                    So, after having lived close to a millennia in relatively rock solid health and with surprisingly unaging looks, Egna had thought she’d seen it all; at least last time the tree started to ooze sacred oil, it didn’t last for too long, people’s greed starting to sell it stopped it right in its tracks.

                    But maybe there was more to it this time. Egna’d often wondered why God had let her live that long. She was a useful instrument to Her for sure, but living in secrecy, claiming no ownership, most miracles were just facts of life. She somehow failed to see the point, even after 957 years of existence.

                    The little girl had left to go back to her nearby town. This side of the country was still quite safe from all the craziness. Egna knew well most of the branches of the ancestral trees leading to that particular little leaf. This one had probably no idea she shared a common ancestor with President Voldomeer, but Egna remembered the fellow. He was a clogmaker in the turn of the 18th century, as was his father before. That was until a rather unexpected turn of events precipitated him to a different path as his brother.

                    She had a book full of these records, as she’d tracked the lives of many, to keep them alive, and maybe remind people they all share so much in common. That is, if people were able to remember more than 2 generations before them.

                    “Well, that’s set.” she said to herself and to Her as She’s always listening “I’ll go and see for myself.”
                    her trusty old musty cloak at the door seemed to have been begging for the journey.

                    #6311

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    Most of the pilgims, if one could call them that, flocked to the linden tree in cars, although some came on motorbikes and bicycles. Olek was grateful that they hadn’t started arriving by the bus load, like Italian tourists.  But his cousin Ursula was happy with this strange new turn of events.

                    Her shabby hotel on the outskirts of town had never been so busy and she was already planning to refurbish the premises and evict the decrepit and motley assortment of aged permanent residents who had just about kept her head above water, financially speaking, for the last twenty years. She could charge much more per night to these new tourists, who were smartly dressed and modern and didn’t argue about the price of a room.  They did complain about the damp stained wallpaper though and the threadbare bedding.  Ursula reckoned she could charge even more for the rooms if she redecorated, and had an idea to approach her nephew Boris the bank manager for a business loan.

                    But first she had to evict the old timers. It wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself, if they had nowhere else to go. After all, plenty of charitable aid money was flying around these days, they could easily just join up with some fleeing refugees.  She’d even sent some of her old dresses to the collection agency. They may have been forty years old and smelled of moth balls, but they were well made and the refugees would surely be grateful.

                    Ursula wasn’t looking forward to telling them. No, not at all!  She rather liked some of them and was dreading their reaction.  You are a business woman, Ursula, she told herself, and you have to look after your own interests!   But still she quailed at the thought of knocking on their doors, or announcing it in the communal dining room at supper. Then she had an idea. She’d type up some letters instead, and sign them as if they came from her new business manager.  When the residents approached her about the letter she would smile sadly and shrug, saying it wasn’t her decision and that she was terribly sorry but her hands were tied.

                    #6310

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    Olek wished he wasn’t so easy to find.

                    The old caretaker of the shrine of Saint Edigna couldn’t have chosen a less conspicuous place to live in this warring time. People were flocking from afar, more and more each day drawn about by the ancient place, and the sacred oil bleeding linden tree which had suddenly and quite miraculously resumed its flow in the midst of the ambiant chaos started by the war.

                    It wasn’t always like this. A few months ago, the linden tree was just an old linden tree that may or may not have been miraculous, if the old wifes’ tales were to be trusted. Mankind’s memory is a flimsy thing as it occurs, and while for many generations before, speculations had abounded about whether or not the Saint was real, had such or such filiation, et cætera— it now seemed the old tales that were passed down from mother to children had managed to keep alive a knowledge that had but all dried up on old flaky parchments scribbled in pale inks that kept eluding old scholars’ exegesis.

                    Olek himself wasn’t a learned man. A man of faith, he was a little — more by upbringing than by choice, and by slow attunement to nature it would seem. Over the years, he’d be servicing the country in many ways, and after a rather long carrier started at young age, he had finally managed to retire in this place.
                    He thought he’d be left alone, to care for a little garden patch, checking in from times to times on the old grumpy neighbours, but alas, the Holy Nation’s destiny still had something in store for him.

                    The latest pilgrim family had brought a message. It was another push to action. “Plan acceleration needs to happen”.
                    “What clucking plan again?” was his first reaction. Bad temper had a way of flaring right up his vents as in old times. When he’d calmed down, he wondered if he had ever seen a call for slowing down in his life. People were always so busy mindlessly carting around, bumping into the darkness.

                    He smiled thinking of something his old man used to say. He’d never planned for a thing in his life, and was always very carefree it was often scary. His mantra was “People are always getting prepared for the wrong things. They never can prepare for the unexpected, and surely enough, only the unexpected happens.”
                    That sort of chaos paddling approach to life didn’t seem to bring him any sort of extraordinary success, and while he had the same mixed bag of ups and downs as the rest of his compatriots, just so much less did he suffer for the same result! Olek guessed that was the whole point, even if he really couldn’t accept it until much later in life.

                    Maybe Olek would start playing by his father’s book. Until he could find a way to get lost behind enemy lines.

                    #6280

                    I started reading a book. In fact I started reading it three weeks ago, and have read the first page of the preface every night and fallen asleep. But my neck aches from doing too much gardening so I went back to bed to read this morning. I still fell asleep six times but at least I finished the preface. It’s the story of the family , initiated by the family collection of netsuke (whatever that is. Tiny Japanese carvings) But this is what stopped me reading and made me think (and then fall asleep each time I re read it)

                    “And I’m not entitled to nostalgia about all that lost wealth and glamour from a century ago. And I am not interested in thin. I want to know what the relationship has been between this wooden object that I am rolling between my fingers – hard and tricky and Japanese – and where it has been. I want to be able to reach to the handle of the door and turn it and feel it open. I want to walk into each room where this object has lived, to feel the volume of the space, to know what pictures were on the walls, how the light fell from the windows. And I want to know whose hands it has been in, and what they felt about it and thought about it – if they thought about it. I want to know what it has witnessed.” ― Edmund de Waal, The Hare With Amber Eyes: A Family’s Century of Art and Loss

                    And I felt almost bereft that none of the records tell me which way the light fell in through the windows.

                    I know who lived in the house in which years, but I don’t know who sat in the sun streaming through the window and which painting upon the wall they looked at and what the material was that covered the chair they sat on.

                    Were his clothes confortable (or hers, likely not), did he have an old favourite pair of trousers that his mother hated?

                    There is one house in particular that I keep coming back to. Like I got on the Housley train at Smalley and I can’t get off. Kidsley Grange Farm, they turned it into a nursing home and built extensions, and now it’s for sale for five hundred thousand pounds. But is the ghost still under the back stairs? Is there still a stain somewhere when a carafe of port was dropped?

                    Did Anns writing desk survive? Does someone have that, polished, with a vase of spring tulips on it? (on a mat of course so it doesn’t make a ring, despite that there are layers of beeswaxed rings already)

                    Does the desk remember the letters, the weight of a forearm or elbow, perhaps a smeared teardrop, or a comsumptive cough stain?

                    Is there perhaps a folded bit of paper or card that propped an uneven leg that fell through the floorboards that might tear into little squares if you found it and opened it, and would it be a rough draft of a letter never sent, or just a receipt for five head of cattle the summer before?

                    Did he hate the curtain material, or not even think of it? Did he love the house, or want to get away to see something new ~ or both?

                    Did he have a favourite cup, a favourite food, did he hate liver or cabbage?

                    Did he like his image when the photograph came from the studio or did he think it made his nose look big or his hair too thin, or did he wish he’d worn his other waistcoat?

                    Did he love his wife so much he couldn’t bear to see her dying, was it neglect or was it the unbearableness of it all that made him go away and drink?

                    Did the sun slanting in through the dormer window of his tiny attic room where he lodged remind him of ~ well no perhaps he was never in the room in daylight hours at all. Work all day and pub all night, keeping busy working hard and drinking hard and perhaps laughing hard, and maybe he only thought of it all on Sunday mornings.

                    So many deaths, one after another, his father, his wife, his brother, his sister, and another and another, all the coughing, all the debility. Perhaps he never understood why he lived and they did not, what kind of justice was there in that?

                    Did he take a souvenir or two with him, a handkerchief or a shawl perhaps, tucked away at the bottom of a battered leather bag that had his 3 shirts and 2 waistcoats in and a spare cap,something embroidered perhaps.

                    The quote in that book started me off with the light coming in the window and the need to know the simplest things, something nobody ever wrote in a letter, maybe never even mentioned to anyone.

                    Light coming in windows. I remeber when I was a teenager I had a day off sick and spent the whole day laying on the couch in a big window with the winter sun on my face all day, and I read Bonjour Tristesse in one sitting, and I’ll never forget that afternoon.  I don’t remember much about that book, but I remember being transported. But at the same time as being present in that sunny window.

                    “Stories and objects share something, a patina…Perhaps patina is a process of rubbing back so that the essential is revealed…But it also seems additive, in the way that a piece of oak furniture gains over years and years of polishing.”

                    “How objects are handed on is all about story-telling. I am giving you this because I love you. Or because it was given to me. Because I bought it somewhere special. Because you will care for it. Because it will complicate your life. Because it will make someone else envious. There is no easy story in legacy. What is remembered and what is forgotten? There can be a chain of forgetting, the rubbing away of previous ownership as much as the slow accretion of stories. What is being passed on to me with all these small Japanese objects?”

                    “There are things in this world that the children hear, but whose sounds oscillate below an adult’s sense of pitch.”

                    What did the children hear?

                    #6269
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The Housley Letters 

                      From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

                       

                      William Housley (1781-1848) and Ellen Carrington were married on May 30, 1814 at St. Oswald’s church in Ashbourne. William died in 1848 at the age of 67 of “disease of lungs and general debility”. Ellen died in 1872.

                      Marriage of William Housley and Ellen Carrington in Ashbourne in 1814:

                      William and Ellen Marriage

                       

                      Parish records show three children for William and his first wife, Mary, Ellens’ sister, who were married December 29, 1806: Mary Ann, christened in 1808 and mentioned frequently in the letters; Elizabeth, christened in 1810, but never mentioned in any letters; and William, born in 1812, probably referred to as Will in the letters. Mary died in 1813.

                      William and Ellen had ten children: John, Samuel, Edward, Anne, Charles, George, Joseph, Robert, Emma, and Joseph. The first Joseph died at the age of four, and the last son was also named Joseph. Anne never married, Charles emigrated to Australia in 1851, and George to USA, also in 1851. The letters are to George, from his sisters and brothers in England.

                      The following are excerpts of those letters, including excerpts of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on Historic Letters”. They are grouped according to who they refer to, rather than chronological order.

                       

                      ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

                      Joseph wrote that when Emma was married, Ellen “broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby didn’t agree with her so she left again leaving her things behind and came to live with John in the new house where she died.” Ellen was listed with John’s household in the 1871 census.
                      In May 1872, the Ilkeston Pioneer carried this notice: “Mr. Hopkins will sell by auction on Saturday next the eleventh of May 1872 the whole of the useful furniture, sewing machine, etc. nearly new on the premises of the late Mrs. Housley at Smalley near Heanor in the county of Derby. Sale at one o’clock in the afternoon.”

                      Ellen’s family was evidently rather prominant in Smalley. Two Carringtons (John and William) served on the Parish Council in 1794. Parish records are full of Carrington marriages and christenings; census records confirm many of the family groupings.

                      In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “Mother looks as well as ever and was told by a lady the other day that she looked handsome.” Later she wrote: “Mother is as stout as ever although she sometimes complains of not being able to do as she used to.”

                       

                      Mary’s children:

                      MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

                      There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”

                      Mary Ann was unlucky in love! In Anne’s second letter she wrote: “William Carrington is paying Mary Ann great attention. He is living in London but they write to each other….We expect it will be a match.” Apparantly the courtship was stormy for in 1855, Emma wrote: “Mary Ann’s wedding with William Carrington has dropped through after she had prepared everything, dresses and all for the occassion.” Then in 1856, Emma wrote: “William Carrington and Mary Ann are separated. They wore him out with their nonsense.” Whether they ever married is unclear. Joseph wrote in 1872: “Mary Ann was married but her husband has left her. She is in very poor health. She has one daughter and they are living with their mother at Smalley.”

                      Regarding William Carrington, Emma supplied this bit of news: “His sister, Mrs. Lily, has eloped with a married man. Is she not a nice person!”

                       

                      WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

                      According to a letter from Anne, Will’s two sons and daughter were sent to learn dancing so they would be “fit for any society.” Will’s wife was Dorothy Palfry. They were married in Denby on October 20, 1836 when Will was 24. According to the 1851 census, Will and Dorothy had three sons: Alfred 14, Edwin 12, and William 10. All three boys were born in Denby.

                      In his letter of May 30, 1872, after just bemoaning that all of his brothers and sisters are gone except Sam and John, Joseph added: “Will is living still.” In another 1872 letter Joseph wrote, “Will is living at Heanor yet and carrying on his cattle dealing.” The 1871 census listed Will, 59, and his son William, 30, of Lascoe Road, Heanor, as cattle dealers.

                       

                      Ellen’s children:

                      JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

                      John married Sarah Baggally in Morely in 1838. They had at least six children. Elizabeth (born 2 May 1838) was “out service” in 1854. In her “third year out,” Elizabeth was described by Anne as “a very nice steady girl but quite a woman in appearance.” One of her positions was with a Mrs. Frearson in Heanor. Emma wrote in 1856: “Elizabeth is still at Mrs. Frearson. She is such a fine stout girl you would not know her.” Joseph wrote in 1872 that Elizabeth was in service with Mrs. Eliza Sitwell at Derby. (About 1850, Miss Eliza Wilmot-Sitwell provided for a small porch with a handsome Norman doorway at the west end of the St. John the Baptist parish church in Smalley.)

                      According to Elizabeth’s birth certificate and the 1841 census, John was a butcher. By 1851, the household included a nurse and a servant, and John was listed as a “victular.” Anne wrote in February 1854, “John has left the Public House a year and a half ago. He is living where Plumbs (Ann Plumb witnessed William’s death certificate with her mark) did and Thomas Allen has the land. He has been working at James Eley’s all winter.” In 1861, Ellen lived with John and Sarah and the three boys.

                      John sold his share in the inheritance from their mother and disappeared after her death. (He died in Doncaster, Yorkshire, in 1893.) At that time Charles, the youngest would have been 21. Indeed, Joseph wrote in July 1872: “John’s children are all grown up”.

                      In May 1872, Joseph wrote: “For what do you think, John has sold his share and he has acted very bad since his wife died and at the same time he sold all his furniture. You may guess I have never seen him but once since poor mother’s funeral and he is gone now no one knows where.”

                      In February 1874 Joseph wrote: “You want to know what made John go away. Well, I will give you one reason. I think I told you that when his wife died he persuaded me to leave Derby and come to live with him. Well so we did and dear Harriet to keep his house. Well he insulted my wife and offered things to her that was not proper and my dear wife had the power to resist his unmanly conduct. I did not think he could of served me such a dirty trick so that is one thing dear brother. He could not look me in the face when we met. Then after we left him he got a woman in the house and I suppose they lived as man and wife. She caught the small pox and died and there he was by himself like some wild man. Well dear brother I could not go to him again after he had served me and mine as he had and I believe he was greatly in debt too so that he sold his share out of the property and when he received the money at Belper he went away and has never been seen by any of us since but I have heard of him being at Sheffield enquiring for Sam Caldwell. You will remember him. He worked in the Nag’s Head yard but I have heard nothing no more of him.”

                      A mention of a John Housley of Heanor in the Nottinghma Journal 1875.  I don’t know for sure if the John mentioned here is the brother John who Joseph describes above as behaving improperly to his wife. John Housley had a son Joseph, born in 1840, and John’s wife Sarah died in 1870.

                      John Housley

                       

                      In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”

                       

                      SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

                      Sam married Elizabeth Brookes of Sutton Coldfield, and they had three daughters: Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine.  Elizabeth his wife died in 1849, a few months after Samuel’s father William died in 1848. The particular circumstances relating to these individuals have been discussed in previous chapters; the following are letter excerpts relating to them.

                      Death of William Housley 15 Dec 1848, and Elizabeth Housley 5 April 1849, Smalley:

                      Housley Deaths

                       

                      Joseph wrote in December 1872: “I saw one of Sam’s daughters, the youngest Kate, you would remember her a baby I dare say. She is very comfortably married.”

                      In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:  “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that….His daughter and her husband went to Brimingham and also to Sutton Coldfield that is where he married his wife from and found out his wife’s brother. It appears he has been there and at Birmingham ever since he went away but ever fond of drink.”

                      (Sam, however, was still alive in 1871, living as a lodger at the George and Dragon Inn, Henley in Arden. And no trace of Sam has been found since. It would appear that Sam did not want to be found.)

                       

                      EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

                      Edward died before George left for USA in 1851, and as such there is no mention of him in the letters.

                       

                      ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

                      Anne wrote two letters to her brother George between February 1854 and her death in 1856. Apparently she suffered from a lung disease for she wrote: “I can say you will be surprised I am still living and better but still cough and spit a deal. Can do nothing but sit and sew.” According to the 1851 census, Anne, then 29, was a seamstress. Their friend, Mrs. Davy, wrote in March 1856: “This I send in a box to my Brother….The pincushion cover and pen wiper are Anne’s work–are for thy wife. She would have made it up had she been able.” Anne was not living at home at the time of the 1841 census. She would have been 19 or 20 and perhaps was “out service.”

                      In her second letter Anne wrote: “It is a great trouble now for me to write…as the body weakens so does the mind often. I have been very weak all summer. That I continue is a wonder to all and to spit so much although much better than when you left home.” She also wrote: “You know I had a desire for America years ago. Were I in health and strength, it would be the land of my adoption.”

                      In November 1855, Emma wrote, “Anne has been very ill all summer and has not been able to write or do anything.” Their neighbor Mrs. Davy wrote on March 21, 1856: “I fear Anne will not be long without a change.” In a black-edged letter the following June, Emma wrote: “I need not tell you how happy she was and how calmly and peacefully she died. She only kept in bed two days.”

                      Certainly Anne was a woman of deep faith and strong religious convictions. When she wrote that they were hoping to hear of Charles’ success on the gold fields she added: “But I would rather hear of him having sought and found the Pearl of great price than all the gold Australia can produce, (For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?).” Then she asked George: “I should like to learn how it was you were first led to seek pardon and a savior. I do feel truly rejoiced to hear you have been led to seek and find this Pearl through the workings of the Holy Spirit and I do pray that He who has begun this good work in each of us may fulfill it and carry it on even unto the end and I can never doubt the willingness of Jesus who laid down his life for us. He who said whoever that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.”

                      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 Ann, 9 and Catharine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

                      The Carrington Farm:

                      Carringtons Farm

                       

                      CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

                      Charles went to Australia in 1851, and was last heard from in January 1853. According to the solicitor, who wrote to George on June 3, 1874, Charles had received advances on the settlement of their parent’s estate. “Your promissory note with the two signed by your brother Charles for 20 pounds he received from his father and 20 pounds he received from his mother are now in the possession of the court.”

                      Charles and George were probably quite close friends. Anne wrote in 1854: “Charles inquired very particularly in both his letters after you.”

                      According to Anne, Charles and a friend married two sisters. He and his father-in-law had a farm where they had 130 cows and 60 pigs. Whatever the trade he learned in England, he never worked at it once he reached Australia. While it does not seem that Charles went to Australia because gold had been discovered there, he was soon caught up in “gold fever”. Anne wrote: “I dare say you have heard of the immense gold fields of Australia discovered about the time he went. Thousands have since then emigrated to Australia, both high and low. Such accounts we heard in the papers of people amassing fortunes we could not believe. I asked him when I wrote if it was true. He said this was no exaggeration for people were making their fortune daily and he intended going to the diggings in six weeks for he could stay away no longer so that we are hoping to hear of his success if he is alive.”

                      In March 1856, Mrs. Davy wrote: “I am sorry to tell thee they have had a letter from Charles’s wife giving account of Charles’s death of 6 months consumption at the Victoria diggings. He has left 2 children a boy and a girl William and Ellen.” In June of the same year in a black edged letter, Emma wrote: “I think Mrs. Davy mentioned Charles’s death in her note. His wife wrote to us. They have two children Helen and William. Poor dear little things. How much I should like to see them all. She writes very affectionately.”

                      In December 1872, Joseph wrote: “I’m told that Charles two daughters has wrote to Smalley post office making inquiries about his share….” In January 1876, the solicitor wrote: “Charles Housley’s children have claimed their father’s share.”

                       

                      GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

                      George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

                      George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. In her first letter (February 1854), Anne wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

                      Upon learning of George’s marriage, Anne wrote: “I hope dear brother you may be happy with your wife….I hope you will be as a son to her parents. Mother unites with me in kind love to you both and to your father and mother with best wishes for your health and happiness.” In 1872 (December) Joseph wrote: “I am sorry to hear that sister’s father is so ill. It is what we must all come to some time and hope we shall meet where there is no more trouble.”

                      Emma wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

                      In September 1872, Joseph wrote, “I was very sorry to hear that John your oldest had met with such a sad accident but I hope he is got alright again by this time.” In the same letter, Joseph asked: “Now I want to know what sort of a town you are living in or village. How far is it from New York? Now send me all particulars if you please.”

                      In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….”.  The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.
                      On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.”

                      The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

                      Apparently, George had indicated he might return to England for a visit in 1856. Emma wrote concerning the portrait of their mother which had been sent to George: “I hope you like mother’s portrait. I did not see it but I suppose it was not quite perfect about the eyes….Joseph and I intend having ours taken for you when you come over….Do come over before very long.”

                      In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”

                      On June 10, 1875, the solicitor wrote: “I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past. Please let me hear what you are doing and where you are living and how I must send you your money.” George’s big news at that time was that on May 3, 1875, he had become a naturalized citizen “renouncing and abjuring all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state and sovereignity whatsoever, and particularly to Victoria Queen of Great Britain of whom he was before a subject.”

                       

                      ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

                      In 1854, Anne wrote: “Poor Robert. He died in August after you left he broke a blood vessel in the lung.”
                      From Joseph’s first letter we learn that Robert was 19 when he died: “Dear brother there have been a great many changes in the family since you left us. All is gone except myself and John and Sam–we have heard nothing of him since he left. Robert died first when he was 19 years of age. Then Anne and Charles too died in Australia and then a number of years elapsed before anyone else. Then John lost his wife, then Emma, and last poor dear mother died last January on the 11th.”

                      Anne described Robert’s death in this way: “He had thrown up blood many times before in the spring but the last attack weakened him that he only lived a fortnight after. He died at Derby. Mother was with him. Although he suffered much he never uttered a murmur or regret and always a smile on his face for everyone that saw him. He will be regretted by all that knew him”.

                      Robert died a resident of St. Peter’s Parish, Derby, but was buried in Smalley on August 16, 1851.
                      Apparently Robert was apprenticed to be a joiner for, according to Anne, Joseph took his place: “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after and is there still.”

                      In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”

                       

                      EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

                      Emma was not mentioned in Anne’s first letter. In the second, Anne wrote that Emma was living at Spondon with two ladies in her “third situation,” and added, “She is grown a bouncing woman.” Anne described her sister well. Emma wrote in her first letter (November 12, 1855): “I must tell you that I am just 21 and we had my pudding last Sunday. I wish I could send you a piece.”

                      From Emma’s letters we learn that she was living in Derby from May until November 1855 with Mr. Haywood, an iron merchant. She explained, “He has failed and I have been obliged to leave,” adding, “I expect going to a new situation very soon. It is at Belper.” In 1851 records, William Haywood, age 22, was listed as an iron foundry worker. In the 1857 Derby Directory, James and George were listed as iron and brass founders and ironmongers with an address at 9 Market Place, Derby.

                      In June 1856, Emma wrote from “The Cedars, Ashbourne Road” where she was working for Mr. Handysides.
                      While she was working for Mr. Handysides, Emma wrote: “Mother is thinking of coming to live at Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I.”

                      Friargate and Ashbourne Road were located in St. Werburgh’s Parish. (In fact, St. Werburgh’s vicarage was at 185 Surrey Street. This clue led to the discovery of the record of Emma’s marriage on May 6, 1858, to Edwin Welch Harvey, son of Samuel Harvey in St. Werburgh’s.)

                      In 1872, Joseph wrote: “Our sister Emma, she died at Derby at her own home for she was married. She has left two young children behind. The husband was the son of the man that I went apprentice to and has caused a great deal of trouble to our family and I believe hastened poor Mother’s death….”.   Joseph added that he believed Emma’s “complaint” was consumption and that she was sick a good bit. Joseph wrote: “Mother was living with John when I came home (from Ascension Island around 1867? or to Smalley from Derby around 1870?) for when Emma was married she broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby did not agree with her so she had to leave it again but left all her things there.”

                      Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

                      Emma Housley wedding

                       

                      JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

                      We first hear of Joseph in a letter from Anne to George in 1854. “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after (probably 1851) and is there still. He is grown as tall as you I think quite a man.” Emma concurred in her first letter: “He is quite a man in his appearance and quite as tall as you.”

                      From Emma we learn in 1855: “Joseph has left Mr. Harvey. He had not work to employ him. So mother thought he had better leave his indenture and be at liberty at once than wait for Harvey to be a bankrupt. He has got a very good place of work now and is very steady.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote “Joseph and I intend to have our portraits taken for you when you come over….Mother is thinking of coming to Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I. Joseph is very hearty I am happy to say.”

                      According to Joseph’s letters, he was married to Harriet Ballard. Joseph described their miraculous reunion in this way: “I must tell you that I have been abroad myself to the Island of Ascension. (Elsewhere he wrote that he was on the island when the American civil war broke out). I went as a Royal Marine and worked at my trade and saved a bit of money–enough to buy my discharge and enough to get married with but while I was out on the island who should I meet with there but my dear wife’s sister. (On two occasions Joseph and Harriet sent George the name and address of Harriet’s sister, Mrs. Brooks, in Susquehanna Depot, Pennsylvania, but it is not clear whether this was the same sister.) She was lady’s maid to the captain’s wife. Though I had never seen her before we got to know each other somehow so from that me and my wife recommenced our correspondence and you may be sure I wanted to get home to her. But as soon as I did get home that is to England I was not long before I was married and I have not regretted yet for we are very comfortable as well as circumstances will allow for I am only a journeyman joiner.”

                      Proudly, Joseph wrote: “My little family consists of three nice children–John, Joseph and Susy Annie.” On her birth certificate, Susy Ann’s birthdate is listed as 1871. Parish records list a Lucy Annie christened in 1873. The boys were born in Derby, John in 1868 and Joseph in 1869. In his second letter, Joseph repeated: “I have got three nice children, a good wife and I often think is more than I have deserved.” On August 6, 1873, Joseph and Harriet wrote: “We both thank you dear sister for the pieces of money you sent for the children. I don’t know as I have ever see any before.” Joseph ended another letter: “Now I must close with our kindest love to you all and kisses from the children.”

                      In Harriet’s letter to Sarah Ann (March 19, 1873), she promised: “I will send you myself and as soon as the weather gets warm as I can take the children to Derby, I will have them taken and send them, but it is too cold yet for we have had a very cold winter and a great deal of rain.” At this time, the children were all under 6 and the baby was not yet two.

                      In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “I have been working down at Heanor gate there is a joiner shop there where Kings used to live I have been working there this winter and part of last summer but the wages is very low but it is near home that is one comfort.” (Heanor Gate is about 1/4 mile from Kidsley Grange. There was a school and industrial park there in 1988.) At this time Joseph and his family were living in “the big house–in Old Betty Hanson’s house.” The address in the 1871 census was Smalley Lane.

                      A glimpse into Joseph’s personality is revealed by this remark to George in an 1872 letter: “Many thanks for your portrait and will send ours when we can get them taken for I never had but one taken and that was in my old clothes and dear Harriet is not willing to part with that. I tell her she ought to be satisfied with the original.”

                      On one occasion Joseph and Harriet both sent seeds. (Marks are still visible on the paper.) Joseph sent “the best cow cabbage seed in the country–Robinson Champion,” and Harriet sent red cabbage–Shaw’s Improved Red. Possibly cow cabbage was also known as ox cabbage: “I hope you will have some good cabbages for the Ox cabbage takes all the prizes here. I suppose you will be taking the prizes out there with them.” Joseph wrote that he would put the name of the seeds by each “but I should think that will not matter. You will tell the difference when they come up.”

                      George apparently would have liked Joseph to come to him as early as 1854. Anne wrote: “As to his coming to you that must be left for the present.” In 1872, Joseph wrote: “I have been thinking of making a move from here for some time before I heard from you for it is living from hand to mouth and never certain of a job long either.” Joseph then made plans to come to the United States in the spring of 1873. “For I intend all being well leaving England in the spring. Many thanks for your kind offer but I hope we shall be able to get a comfortable place before we have been out long.” Joseph promised to bring some things George wanted and asked: “What sort of things would be the best to bring out there for I don’t want to bring a lot that is useless.” Joseph’s plans are confirmed in a letter from the solicitor May 23, 1874: “I trust you are prospering and in good health. Joseph seems desirous of coming out to you when this is settled.”

                      George must have been reminiscing about gooseberries (Heanor has an annual gooseberry show–one was held July 28, 1872) and Joseph promised to bring cuttings when they came: “Dear Brother, I could not get the gooseberries for they was all gathered when I received your letter but we shall be able to get some seed out the first chance and I shall try to bring some cuttings out along.” In the same letter that he sent the cabbage seeds Joseph wrote: “I have got some gooseberries drying this year for you. They are very fine ones but I have only four as yet but I was promised some more when they were ripe.” In another letter Joseph sent gooseberry seeds and wrote their names: Victoria, Gharibaldi and Globe.

                      In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”

                      On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

                      George did not save any letters from Joseph after 1874, hopefully he did reach him at Little Eaton. Joseph and his family are not listed in either Little Eaton or Derby on the 1881 census.

                      In his last letter (February 11, 1874), Joseph sounded very discouraged and wrote that Harriet’s parents were very poorly and both had been “in bed for a long time.” In addition, Harriet and the children had been ill.
                      The move to Little Eaton may indicate that Joseph received his settlement because in August, 1873, he wrote: “I think this is bad news enough and bad luck too, but I have had little else since I came to live at Kiddsley cottages but perhaps it is all for the best if one could only think so. I have begun to think there will be no chance for us coming over to you for I am afraid there will not be so much left as will bring us out without it is settled very shortly but I don’t intend leaving this house until it is settled either one way or the other. “

                      Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

                      Joseph Housley

                      #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.

                      Viewing 20 results - 201 through 220 (of 966 total)