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  • #7278
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Tomlinson of Wergs and Hancox of Penn

       

      John Tomlinson of Wergs (Tettenhall, Wolverhamton) 1766-1844, my 4X great grandfather, married Sarah Hancox 1772-1851. They were married on the 27th May 1793 by licence at St Peter in Wolverhampton.
      Between 1794 and 1819 they had twelve children, although four of them died in childhood or infancy. Catherine was born in 1794, Thomas in 1795 who died 6 years later, William (my 3x great grandfather) in 1797, Jemima in 1800, John, Richard and Matilda between 1802 and 1806 who all died in childhood, Emma in 1809, Mary Ann in 1811, Sidney in 1814, and Elijah in 1817 who died two years later.

      On the 1841 census John and Sarah were living in Hockley in Birmingham, with three of their children, and surgeon Charles Reynolds. John’s occupation was “Ind” meaning living by independent means. He was living in Hockley when he died in 1844, and in his will he was John Tomlinson, gentleman”.

      Sarah Hancox was born in 1772 in Penn, Wolverhampton. Her father William Hancox was also born in Penn in 1737. Sarah’s mother Elizabeth Parkes married William’s brother Francis in 1767. Francis died in 1768, and in 1770 Elizabeth married William.

      William’s father was William Hancox, yeoman, born in 1703 in Penn. He died intestate in 1772, his wife Sarah claiming her right to his estate. William Hancox and Sarah Evans, both of Penn, were married on the 9th December 1732 in Dudley, Worcestershire, by “certificate”. Marriages were usually either by banns or by licence. Apparently a marriage by certificate indicates that they were non conformists, or dissenters, and had the non conformist marriage “certified” in a Church of England church.

      1732 marriage of William Hancox and Sarah Evans:

      William Hancos Sarahh Evans marriage

       

      William and Sarah lost two daughters, Elizabeth, five years old, and Ann, three years old, within eight days of each other in February 1738.

       

      William the elder’s father was John Hancox born in Penn in 1668. He married Elizabeth Wilkes from Sedgley in 1691 at Himley. John Hancox, “of Straw Hall” according to the Wolverhampton burial register, died in 1730. Straw Hall is in Penn. John’s parents were Walter Hancox and Mary Noake. Walter was born in Tettenhall in 1625, his father Richard Hancox. Mary Noake was born in Penn in 1634. Walter died in Penn in 1689.

      Straw Hall thanks to Bradney Mitchell:
      “Here is a picture I have of Straw Hall, Penn Road.
      The painting is by John Reid circa 1878.
      Sketch commissioned by George Bradney Mitchell to record the town as it was before its redevelopment, in a book called Wolverhampton and its Environs. ©”

      Straw Hall, Wolverhampton

       

      And a photo of the demolition of Straw Hall with an interesting story:

      Straw Hall demolition

       

      In 1757 a child was abandoned on the porch of Straw Hall.  Aris’s Birmingham Gazette 1st August 1757:

      Straw Hall baby

       

      The Hancox family were living in Penn for at least 400 years. My great grandfather Charles Tomlinson built a house on Penn Common in the early 1900s, and other Tomlinson relatives have lived there. But none of the family knew of the Hancox connection to Penn. I don’t think that anyone imagined a Tomlinson ancestor would have been a gentleman, either.

       

      Sarah Hancox’s brother William Hancox 1776-1848 had a busy year in 1804.
      On 29 Aug 1804 he applied for a licence to marry Ann Grovenor of Claverley.
      In August 1804 he had property up for auction in Penn. “part of Lightwoods, 3 plots, and the Coppice”
      On 14 Sept 1804 their first son John was baptised in Penn. According to a later census John was born in Claverley.  (before the parents got married)

      (Incidentally, John Hancox’s descendant married a Warren, who is a descendant of my 4x great grandfather Samuel Warren, on my mothers side,  from Newhall, Derbyshire!)

      On 30 Sept he married Ann in Penn.
      In December he was a bankrupt pig and sheep dealer.
      In July 1805 he’s in the papers under “certificates”: William Hancox the younger, sheep and pig dealer and chapman of Penn. (A certificate was issued after a bankruptcy if they fulfilled their obligations)
      He was a pig dealer in Penn in 1841, a widower, living with unmarried daughter Elizabeth.

       

      Sarah’s father William Hancox died in 1816. In his will, he left his “daughter Sarah, wife of John Tomlinson of the Wergs the sum of £100 secured to me upon the tolls arising from the turnpike road leading from Wombourne to Sedgeley to and for her sole and separate use”.
      The trustees of toll road would decide not to collect tolls themselves but get someone else to do it by selling the collecting of tolls for a fixed price. This was called “farming the tolls”. The Act of Parliament which set up the trust would authorise the trustees to farm out the tolls. This example is different. The Trustees of turnpikes needed to raise money to carry out work on the highway. The usual way they did this was to mortgage the tolls – they borrowed money from someone and paid the borrower interest; as security they gave the borrower the right, if they were not paid, to take over the collection of tolls and keep the proceeds until they had been paid off. In this case William Hancox has lent £100 to the turnpike and is leaving it (the right to interest and/or have the whole sum repaid) to his daughter Sarah Tomlinson. (this information on tolls from the Wolverhampton family history group.)

      William Hancox, Penn Wood, maltster, left a considerable amount of property to his children in 1816. All household effects he left to his wife Elizabeth, and after her decease to his son Richard Hancox: four dwelling houses in John St, Wolverhampton, in the occupation of various Pratts, Wright and William Clarke. He left £200 to his daughter Frances Gordon wife of James Gordon, and £100 to his daughter Ann Pratt widow of John Pratt. To his son William Hancox, all his various properties in Penn wood. To Elizabeth Tay wife of Thomas Tay he left £200, and to Richard Hancox various other properties in Penn Wood, and to his daughter Lucy Tay wife of Josiah Tay more property in Lower Penn. All his shops in St John Wolverhamton to his son Edward Hancox, and more properties in Lower Penn to both Francis Hancox and Edward Hancox. To his daughter Ellen York £200, and property in Montgomery and Bilston to his son John Hancox. Sons Francis and Edward were underage at the time of the will.  And to his daughter Sarah, his interest in the toll mentioned above.

      Sarah Tomlinson, wife of John Tomlinson of the Wergs, in William Hancox will:

      William Hancox will, Sarah Tomlinson

      #7233
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        His shoes were much too big but it was better than nothing now that the weather had turned and there was frost on the cobbled streets. He’d stolen them, of course he had, he had no money for shoes.  The shoes had been caked in mud and left on a doorstep. His feet were blue with cold, what was he to do? He grabbed them and ran as fast as he could until he felt he could safely stop and put them on his feet.  He was only twelve years old or thereabouts (who knew for sure?) and stunted from lack of food, and the shoes were an adult size.  But he was happy as a lark to have something to sheild his feet from the frozen street.  Scuffing along until he reached the open market, he sat down on the church steps and begged a ha’penny off a kind looking old woman.  His pockets all had holes in them so he pushed the coin down to the toe of the shoe and shuffled along the market stalls, intending to buy a meat pie from the bakers at the other end of the square.  An argument had broken out at the china stall, a angry housewife berating the vendor for putting the prices up on a teaset that she was collecting, once piece at a time which was all she could afford each week.  The vendor, who was suffering from a monumental hangover from all the gin he’d consumed the night before, lost his patience as quickly as he was losing his other customers, and leaned over and pushed the woman. She lashed back at him, knocking a rickety old mans pipe out of his hand. Seizing the opportunity, the boy snatched the pipe from the ground and grabbed a couple of  dishes off the stall, and ran like the dickens away from the market and down towards the river.   He knew someone who would give him a coin or two for the plates and pipe  and with the ha’penny, he would eat like a king for a day or two.

        “Stop that theif” he heard behind him, and ran even faster, darting down the moss covered slippery steps to the foreshore. But alas, the shoes that were too big for him made him fall. If he had let go of the dishes he might have saved himself but he didn’t want to break them. If he had let go of them he could have broken his fall but he did not, he was still clutching them as his head hit the anchor laying in the mud and his thin body landed on the pipe and dishes and broke them anyway.

        It was clear that he was dead, but nobody was interested. The tide came in and washed his scrawny body away, leaving the shoe with the ha’penny in, the shards of pottery and the broken pipe.

        #7167
        DevanDevan
        Participant

          I can’t believe the cart race is tomorrow. Joe, Callum and I have worked so hard this year to incorporate solar panels and wind propellers to our little bijou. The cart race rules are clear, apart from thermal engines and fossil fuels, your imagination is your limit. Our only worry was that dust storm. We feared the Mayor would cancelled the race, but I think she won’t. She desperately needs the money.

          Some folks thought to revive the festival as a prank fifteen years ago, but people had so much fun the council agreed to renew it the next year, and the year after that it was made official. It’s been a small town festival for ten years, and would have stayed like that if it hadn’t been for a bus full of Italian tourist on their way to Uluru. It broke down as they drove through main street – I remember it because I just started my job at the garage and couldn’t attend the race. Those Italians, a bunch of crazy people, posted videos of the race on the Internet and it went viral, propelling our ghost town to worldwide fame. We thought it would subside but some folks created a FishBone group and we’re almost as famous as Punxsutawney once a year. We even have a team of old ladies from Tikfijikoo Island.

          All that attention attracted sponsors, mostly booze brands. But this year we’ve got a special one from Sidney. Aunt Idle who’s got a special friend at the city council told us the council members couldn’t believe it when the tart called and offered money. Botty Banworth, head of a big news company made famous by her blog: Prudish Beauty.

          Aunt Idle, who heard it from one of her special friends at the town’s council, started a protest because she thought the Banworth tart would force the council to ban all recreational substances. But I have it from Callum, who’s the Mayor’s son, that the tart is not interested in making us an example of sobriety. She’s asked to lease the land where the old mines are and the Mayor haven’t told anybody about it.

          After Callum told me about the lease, it reminded me about the riddle.

          A mine, a tile, dust piled high,
          Together they rest, yet always outside.
          One misstep, and you’ll surely fall,
          Into the depths, where danger lies all.

          Then something else happened. Another woman stopped at the gas station earlier today. I recognised one of the Inn’s guests, the one with the Mercedes. With her mirror sunglasses and her headscarf wrapped around her hair, she already looked suspicious. But as it happened, she asked me about the mines and how to go there. For abandoned mines, they sure attract a lot of attention.

          It reminded me of something. So after work, I went to the Inn and asked the twins permission to go up to their lair. When dad disappeared, Mater went mad, she threw everything to the garbage. The twins waited til she got back inside and moved everything back in the attic and called it their lair. It looks just like dad’s old office with the boxes full of papers, the mahogany desk and even his typewriter. For whatever reason, Mater just ignores it and if she needs something from the attic, she asks someone else to get it, pretexting she can’t climb all those stairs.

          I was right. Dad left the old manuscript he was working on at the time. A sci-fi novel about strange occurrences in an abandoned mine that looked just like the one outside of town. Prune said it’s badly written, and it doesn’t even have a title. But I remember having nightmares after reading some of the passages.

          #6790

          In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

          Star and Tara were seating at their usual table in the Star Frites Alliance Café, sipping their coffee and reflecting on the strange case of the wardrobe. They had managed to find Uncle Basil, and Vince had been able to change his will just in time. They had also discovered that the wardrobe was being used to smuggle illegal drugs, which they promptly reported to the authorities.

          As they sat there, they saw Finton, the waitress from the café where they last met Vince French, walking towards them with a big smile on her face. “Hello there, ladies! I just wanted to thank you for helping Vince find his uncle. He’s been so much happier since then.”

          “It was all in a day’s work,” said Star with a grin. “And we also managed to solve the mystery of the wardrobe.”  she couldn’t help boasting.

          “Did we now?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

          Finton’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my! That’s quite the accomplishment. What did you find?”

          “It was being used to smuggle drugs,” explained Star. “We reported it to the authorities.”

          “Well, I never! You two are quite the detectives,” said Finton, impressed.

          “Sure, we could be proud, but there are more mysteries calling for our help. Now if you don’t mind, Finton, we have important business to talk about.” Star said.

          “And it’s rather hush-hush.” Tara added, to clue in the poor waitress.

          Star’s knack for finding clues in all the wrong places, and Tara’s slight nudges towards the path of logical deduction and reason had made them quite famous now around the corner. Well, slightly more famous than before, meaning they were featured in a tiny article in the local neswpaper, page 8, near the weekly crosswords. But somehow, that they’d accomplished their missions did advocate in their favour. And new clients had been pouring in.

          “Do we have a new case you haven’t told me about?” wondered Tara.

          “Nah.” retorted Star. “Just wanted to get rid of the nosy brat and enjoy my coffee while it’s hot. I hate tepid coffee. Tastes like cat piss.”

          “How would you know… Never mind…” Tara replied distractedly as handsome and well-dressed man approached their table. “Excuse me, are you Star and Tara, the private investigators?”

          “Well, as a matter of fact, we are,” said Star, propping her goods forward, and batting a few eyelids. “Who’s asking?”

          “My name is Thomas, and I have a rather unusual case for you.”

          Tara pushed Star to the back of the cushioned banquet bench to make room for the easy on the eyes stranger, while Star repressed a Oof and a fookoof..

          “It involves a missing pineapple.” Thomas said after taking the offered seat.

          “A missing pineapple?” repeated Star incredulously.

          Tara had an irrepressible fit of titter “So long as it’s not for a pizza…”

          “Yes, you see, I am a collector of exotic fruits, and I had a rare pineapple in my collection that has gone missing. It’s worth quite a lot of money, and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

          Star and Tara exchanged a look. They were both thinking the same thing. Was “exotic fruit” code for something else? Otherwise, this was not even remotely bizarre by their standard, and they’d seen some strange cases already.

          “We’ll have to think over it.” for once Star didn’t want to sound too eager. “Do you have any leads?” asked Tara.

          “Well, I did hear a rumor that it was spotted in the hands of a local street performer, but I can’t be sure.”

          “Alright, we’ll consider it,” said Star decisively. She fumbled into her hairy bag —some smart upcycling made by Rosamund with the old patchy mink coats. She handed a torn namecard to the young Thomas. “We’ll call you.”

          Thomas looked at her surprised. “Do you mean, should I write my number?”

          Tara rolled her eyes and sighed. “Obvie.” Somehow the good-looking ones didn’t seem to be the brightest tools in the picnic box.

          “But first, we need to finish our coffee.” She took a long sip and grinned at Tara. “Looks like we may have another mysterman on our hands.”

          #6621

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

          As the four of them walked into the tavern, having walked the mile or so from the Flying Fish Inn to the main street of the tiny town, Zara noticed the black BMW that she and Yasmin had seen parked outside the Piggly supermarket on the way back from the airport in Alice.  She elbowed Yasmin in the ribs to point it out, but there was no need as Yasmin was already snorting nervously at the sight of it.

          black bmw

           

          Sister Finli caught sight of them as she was just about to leave Betsy’s gem shop and paused until they’d disappeared into the bar before leaving the shop.   It was the first time that Finli had seen Betsy in the flesh, and what a lot of flesh there was to see.   Finli was horrifed, comparing her own elegant thin fingers with the fat sausage like digits of Betsy.  She would never have expected Betsy to look this way. Still, it had thrown her, and she lost her usual efficient composure and quickly purchased a pink speckled gummy bear necklace.  Annoyingly, this transaction reminded her that she seemed to have lost her crucifix.

          Finli was an orphan.  The nuns had named her Finean Lisa. Finean meant beautiful daughter, and Lisa meant devoted to god.  Later they shortened it to Finli.  She’d spent all her life at the orphanage in Suva, having been deposited there at birth, and although she had no particular calling to be a nun, she had not known what else to do with her life.  It was the only family she’d ever known, and so she stayed on.  It was only in the past year or two that she’d had any curiosity about who her real parents were, when she read about DNA tests and ancestry research. She’d been told in the past that no records existed as she had been found on the doorstep of the orphanage one morning 43 years ago.  The knowledge had filled her with comtempt for her parents, whoever they were,  and for the most part she pushed them from her mind, not caring to know.  But when she read about all the successes of adopted people finding their real parents, she was consumed with curiosity. At first she just wanted to know who they were. But once she had found their names, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know why.  One thing led to another.

          Her real father had disappeared, lost down some mines although the story there was far from clear.  Indeed, that particular story was a darn sight more than unclear, it was downright fishy.  Her real mother was was alive and kicking, and living near to the mines where Howard had disappeared. Finli deduced that she must have been born, or at least conceived, in this godforsaken place in the outback.  What an ignominous start to her uneventful life.

          She knew that Fred was her uncle, but she had not told him she knew that. Did Fred know who she was? He’d always been kind to her, but then, he was affable to everyone.   When it came to her knowledge that Fred had given that tiresome snorting volunteer girl a parcel to take with her, to, of all places! that very town in the outback, Finli simply had to know what was in it.  But she didn’t want to spill the beans too soon, in case it hindered her attempts to find the truth about Howard, her father.   She decided to travel to the town incognito.  But how was she going to find the money for it?  Well, she knew she was burning her bridges, but she had to do it. She stole the golden chalice from the church and sold it on Ubay.  She was suprised at how much money it fetched. Not only could she afford the trip, she could do it in style.

          It was an exciting adventure, but Finli was not accustomed to travel and adventure. In fact, she was dreading meeting her mother.   At times she wished she’d just stayed at the orphanage.  But it was too late now. She was here.

          Finli

          #6617

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

          Youssef had brought his black obsidian with him in the kitchen at breakfast. IdleYoussef had realised that on top of being her way of life, it was also her name—was preparing a herbal brownie under the supervision of a colourful parrot perched on her shoulder.

          “If you’re interested in rocks, you should go to Betsy’s. She’s got that ‘Gems & Minerals’ shop on Main street. She opened it with her hubby a few years back. Before he died.”

          “Nutty Betsy, Pretty Girl likes her better,” said the parrot.

          Idle looked at his backpack and his clothes.

          “You seem the wandering type, lad. I was like you when I was younger, always gallivanting here, there, and everywhere with my brother. Now, I prefer wandering in my mind, if you know what I mean,” she said licking her finger full of chocolate. “Anyway, an advice. Don’t go down the mines alone. Betsy’s hubby’s still down there after one of the tunnels collapsed a few years back. She’s not been quite herself ever since.”

          Main street was —well— the only street in town. They’ve been preparing for some kind of festival, putting banners on top of the shops and in between two trees near the gas station. Youssef stopped there to buy snacks that he stacked on top of the obsidian stone in his backpack. The young boy who worked there, Devan, seemed quite excited at the perspective of the Lager and Cart Race. It happened only every ten years and last time he was too young to participate.

          The shop had not been difficult to find, at the other end of the street. A tiny sign covered in purple star sequins indicated “Betsy’s Gems & Minerals — We deliver worldwide”. He felt with his hand the black rock he had put in his backpack. If Idle had not mentioned the mines and the dead husband, Youssef might have reconsidered going in. But the coincidence with his dream and the game was too intriguing. He entered.

          The shop was a mess. Crates full of stones, cardboard boxes and bubble wrappings. In the back, a plump woman, working on a giant starfish she held  on her lap, was humming as she listened to loud rock music. Youssef recognised a song from the Last Shadow Puppets’ second album : The Element of Surprise. Apparently, the woman hadn’t heard him enter. She wore a dress and a hat sprinkled with golden stars, and her wrists were hidden under a ton of stone bracelets. The music track changed. The woman started shaking her head following the rhythm of the tune. She was gluing small red stones, she picked in a little box, on one of the starfish arms.

          “Bad Habits! Uhu. Bad Habits! Uhu.”

          Youssef moved closer. His shadow covered the starfish. The woman raised her head and screamed, scattering the red stones in her workshop. The starfish fell from her lap onto the ground with a thud.

          “Oh! My! Little devil. Look at what you made me do. I lost my marbles,” she said with a high pitched laugh. “Your mother never taught you? That’s bad habit to creep up on people like that. You scared the sheep out of me!”

          “I’m so sorry,” said Youssef, getting on his knees to help her gather the stones.

          When they were all back in their box, Youssef got back on his feet. The woman looked a him with a softened face.

          “You such a cutie with your bear shirt. You make me think of my Howard. He was as tall as you are. I’m Betsy, obviously” she said with a giggle, extending her hand to him.

          They shook hands, making the pearls of her bracelets clink together.

          “I’m Youssef.”

          :fleuron:

          Youssef didn’t need to insist too much. Betsy was a real juke box of gossips. He just had to ask one question from time to time, and she would get going again. He was starting to feel his quirk could be more than a curse after all.

          “When the tunnel collapsed,” Betsy said, “I was ready to give up the stone shop. The pain was too much to bear, everything in the shop reminded me of Howard. And in a miners’ town, who would want to buy stones anyway. We’ve been in bad terms with Idle and her family for some time, but that tragic incident coincided with her brother Fred’s disappearance. They thought at first Fred had died in the mines with Howard, because they spent so much time discussing together in Room 8 at the Inn. I overheard them once, talking about something they found in the mines. But Howard never told me, he was so secretive about that. We even had a fight, you know. But Fred, the children found some message later that suggested he had just left the family. Imagine, the children! Idle was pissed with him of course. Abandoning her with that mother of theirs and that money pit of an Inn and the rest of the family. And I needed company. So we started to get together on a regular basis. She would bring her special cakes, and we would complain about our lives. At some point she got involved with that shamanic stuff she found online, and she helped me find my totem Bear. It was quite a revelation. Bear suggested I diversify and open an online shop and start making orgonites. I love those little gummy bears so much. So, I followed Bear’s advice and it has been working like a charm ever since. That’s why I trusted you straight away, lad. Not ’cause of your cute face. You got the Bear in your heart,” she said putting her finger at the center of his chest.

          My inner Bear, of course, thought Youssef. That’s the magnet. His phone buzzed. He took it out and saw he had an alert from the game and a message from his friends.

          You found the source of your quirk, the magnetic pull that attracts talkative people to you.
          Now obtain the silver key in the shape of a tongue to fulfil your quest.

           

          Zara : Where are you!? :yahoo_bee: We’re at the bar, getting parched! They got Pale Ale!

          “I have to go,” said Youssef.

          “Wait,” said Betsy.

          She foraged through her orgonite collection and handed Youssef one little gummy bear and an ornate metal badge.

          “Bear wants me to give this to you. Howard made it. He said it was his forked tongue key.”

          She looked at him, emotion in her eyes.

          “I know you won’t listen if I tell you not to. So, be careful when you go into the mines.”

          #6541

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

          When Sergio dropped her back at the Flying Fish Inn it was later than Zara realized.  The verandah and reception lights were on but everyone had gone to bed, everyone except Idle who was poring over a pile of old notebooks at a dining room table. “Good day out?” she looked up over the top of her reading glasses and smiled at Zara.

          Zara returned the smile. “It was great, thanks!  I’d love one”,  she added when Idle asked her if she fancied a glass of wine.

          “Grab a glass off the sideboard there and come and sit down,” Idle said. “Are you hungry or did you grab a bite in Alice?”

          “Yeah, I did, thanks,” replied Zara, trying hard not to pull a face at the first sip of the Australian wine.  “Nice label,” she said, “Yellow Trail. I should be used to seeing kangaroos on wine bottles by now” she laughed.

          “A place called Monte’s Lounge,” she replied when Idle asked where she’d eaten, “A cabaret meets circus theme, not what I was expecting out here.  I met a guy on the trail…”

          “The plot thickens,” Idle grinned, “Comedy and romance.”

          Zara laughed, warming to her genial host.   Accepting a second glass of wine, she told Idle all about Sergio.  He was a Spanish archaeologist who had come over to see his daughter in Townsville on the east coast, and had booked a few side trips to see some of the indigenous rock art.  When Zara walked off the trail after she found the compass (and the damn parrot vanished, leaving her alone) she had found herself in a small clearing with high rocky sides. Sergio had his back to her and was photographing the rock wall.

          “Well, long story short, we got on like a house on fire,” Idle smiled encouragingly as Zara continued. “It’s been absolutely ages you know, ever since I left Rupert, nobody’s really taken my fancy.  Anyway he invited me for dinner and said he didn’t mind bringing me back here later in the hire car.”

          Zara had another sip of wine, thinking about Rupert.  What a prize twat he’d turned out to be.  Still, the divorce settlement had been good.  He’d seemed so adventurous and just the ticket at first, lots of holidays in unusual places. Bit of a Hooray Henry and a Champagne Charlie, but it had been fun at first. And a tad too much charlie, too. She had been blissfully unaware of politics and conspiracy theories at the time, but it wasn’t long before his views came between them and she could no longer stomach his idiotic and, to her mind, dangerously cretinous beliefs.

          “My parents are both archaeologists,” Zara told Idle, “I learned a lot from them and always been interested in it, but didn’t fancy all the years of studying, and I really wanted to work with animals.  There aren’t many good paying jobs working with animals though, not the kind of animals that need helping.  Anyway, it worked out ok in the end, thanks to Rupert’s money.”

          “You must have had a lot in common to talk about with Sergio, then, him being an archaeologist,” Idle remarked and Zara felt herself blush, much to her astonishment.  She couldn’t recall blushing in years.

          “Yes we did do some talking,” they both laughed and Zara said “I better get off to bed. Thanks for the wine.”

          Zara had completely forgotten about her friends arriving, or the game she’d intended to play until they arrived. She collapsed on the bed without brushing her teeth and was asleep within minutes.

          #6425

          It is a challenge of utmost magnitude to keep track of time here in this land where the Dream Time is so nigh as to make its presence oft palpable in the very air. The subtle shifts in timelines and probabilities do naught to aid in this endeavor. No coincidence “Dream Time” is the label on Aunt Idle’s not-so-secret stash — she could not keep its location secret lest she forget it during the waking hours.

          We jumped without warning into 2023. At 15, I am a grown-up now, so says Mater, and I could not wait to hear such words from her. She is always here, such a comfort, unchanging, unyielding, the only immutable force in the universe.
          So now, life can start to unfold in front of me in the manner of my choosing, rather than being dictated by the sorry state of affairs of my family. I have set my sights upon a boarding school that may provide such an escape, but it will require the procurement of the tuition money — which will take a few more years to acquire. Patience, I have, at least for now.

          The Inn is ever in need of assistance it seems. I don’t know how it came to be, but some Italian chap, Georgio, who came last year during the pandemic and got stranded with us, made such a fuss about Mater’s famous bush tucker that the Inn became fashionable overnight. Obviously Mater, bless her soul, doesn’t cook, a mercy for which we are all thankful. Said tucker was truly the handiwork of Tiku and Finly, but Georgio thought that Mater’s tucker” has a nicer ring. Whatever suits these loonies’ fancy, it did bring us a nice stream of income in return.

          #6363
          EricEric
          Keymaster

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            #6362
            EricEric
            Keymaster

              write a short story based on the following cloud of words:

              pride bet shouted lit wibberly case highly ours unless paid spend twice gay talking heads elizabeth in entries drink kill baker

              :fleuron:

              “Gay baker triumphs over adversity”

              Once upon a time, there was a gay baker named Elizabeth who took a great deal of pride in her craft. She spent twice the amount of money on high-quality ingredients and put in extra effort to make her baked goods stand out from the rest. However, her small town was not particularly accepting of the LGBT community, and she often faced discrimination from her neighbors.

              One day, a group of men from the town entered her bakery and began shouting homophobic slurs at her. Elizabeth, feeling hurt and humiliated, decided that she would not let their hateful words get to her. She refused to back down and instead, decided to put all of her energy into creating a spectacular cake for the annual county fair.

              She worked tirelessly on the cake, putting in long hours and experimenting with new flavors and techniques. The day of the fair finally arrived and Elizabeth brought her entry to be judged. To her surprise and delight, her cake was declared the winner and she was awarded a blue ribbon.

              As she stood on stage holding her ribbon, Elizabeth couldn’t help but think about the men who had shouted at her in her bakery. She realized that their words no longer had power over her and she felt a sense of vindication. She knew that she had proven to herself and to her community that she was a skilled baker and a worthy member of society, regardless of her sexual orientation.

              Feeling elated, Elizabeth closed the bakery for the day and went to the local bar where she met her friends, and they all drinks together, she was happy and felt like nothing can bring her down, as she went back home she felt like a new person, someone who has overcome prejudice and discrimination, she felt like a winner not just in the fair but in life.

              The end.

              #6344
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Tetbury Riots

                 

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

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

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

                Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:

                Daniel Cole witness

                 

                from the article:

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:

                Swing Riots

                 

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

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

                Captain Swing

                #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

                    #6317

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                    The sharp rat-a-tat on the door startled Olga Herringbonevsky. The initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance. It was 11am and she wasn’t expecting a knock on the door at 11am. At 10am she expected a knock. It would be Larysa with the lukewarm cup of tea and a stale biscuit. Sometimes Olga complained about it and Larysa would say, Well you’re on the third floor so what do you expect? And she’d look cross and pour the tea so some of it slopped into the saucer. So the biscuits go stale on the way up do they? Olga would mutter. At 10:30am Larysa would return to collect the cup and saucer. I can’t do this much longer, she’d say. I’m not young any more and all these damn stairs. She’d been saying that for as long as Olga could remember.

                    For a moment, Olga contemplated ignoring the intrusion but the knocking started up again, this time accompanied by someone shouting her name.

                    With a very loud sigh, she put her book on the side table, face down so she would not lose her place for it was a most enjoyable whodunit, and hauled herself up from the chair. Her ankle was not good since she’d gone over on it the other day and Olga was in a very poor mood by the time she reached the door.

                    “Yes?” She glowered at Egbert.

                    “Have you seen this?” Egbert was waving a piece of paper at her.

                    “No,” Olga started to close the door.

                    Olga stop!” Egbert’s face had reddened and Olga wondered if he might cry. Again, he waved the piece of paper in her face and then let his hand fall defeated to his side. “Olga, it’s bad news. You should have got a letter .”

                    Olga glanced at the pile of unopened letters on her dresser. It was never good news. She couldn’t be bothered with letters any more.

                    “Well, Egbert, I suppose you’d better come in”.

                    “That Ursula has a heart of steel,” said Olga when she’d heard the news.

                    “Pfft,” said Egbert. “She has no heart. This place has always been about money for her.”

                    “It’s bad times, Egbert. Bad times.”

                    Egbert nodded. “It is, Olga. But there must be something we can do.” He pursed his lips and Olga noticed that he would not meet her eyes.

                    “What? Spit it out, Old Man.”

                    He looked at her briefly before his eyes slid back to the dirty grey carpet. “I have heard stories, Olga. That you are … well connected. That you know people.”

                    Olga noticed that it had become difficult to breathe. Seeing Egbert looking at her with concern, she made an effort to steady herself. She took an extra big gasp of air and pointed to the book face-down on the side table. “That is a very good book I am reading. You may borrow it when I have finished.”

                    Egbert nodded. “Thank you.” he said and they both stared at the book.

                    “It was a long time ago, Egbert. And no business of anyone else.” Olga  knew her voice was sharp but not sharp enough it seemed as Egbert was not done yet with all his prying words.

                    Olga, you said it yourself. These are bad times. And desperate measures are needed or we will all perish.” Now he looked her in the eyes. “Old woman, swallow your pride. You must save yourself and all of us here.”

                    #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.

                    #6306
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Looking for Robert Staley

                       

                      William Warren (1835-1880) of Newhall (Stapenhill) married Elizabeth Staley (1836-1907) in 1858. Elizabeth was born in Newhall, the daughter of John Staley (1795-1876) and Jane Brothers. John was born in Newhall, and Jane was born in Armagh, Ireland, and they were married in Armagh in 1820. Elizabeths older brothers were born in Ireland: William in 1826 and Thomas in Dublin in 1830. Francis was born in Liverpool in 1834, and then Elizabeth in Newhall in 1836; thereafter the children were born in Newhall.

                      Marriage of John Staley and Jane Brothers in 1820:

                      1820 marriage Armagh

                       

                       

                      My grandmother related a story about an Elizabeth Staley who ran away from boarding school and eloped to Ireland, but later returned. The only Irish connection found so far is Jane Brothers, so perhaps she meant Elizabeth Staley’s mother. A boarding school seems unlikely, and it would seem that it was John Staley who went to Ireland.

                      The 1841 census states Jane’s age as 33, which would make her just 12 at the time of her marriage. The 1851 census states her age as 44, making her 13 at the time of her 1820 marriage, and the 1861 census estimates her birth year as a more likely 1804. Birth records in Ireland for her have not been found. It’s possible, perhaps, that she was in service in the Newhall area as a teenager (more likely than boarding school), and that John and Jane ran off to get married in Ireland, although I haven’t found any record of a child born to them early in their marriage. John was an agricultural labourer, and later a coal miner.

                      John Staley was the son of Joseph Staley (1756-1838) and Sarah Dumolo (1764-). Joseph and Sarah were married by licence in Newhall in 1782. Joseph was a carpenter on the marriage licence, but later a collier (although not necessarily a miner).

                      The Derbyshire Record Office holds records of  an “Estimate of Joseph Staley of Newhall for the cost of continuing to work Pisternhill Colliery” dated 1820 and addresssed to Mr Bloud at Calke Abbey (presumably the owner of the mine)

                      Josephs parents were Robert Staley and Elizabeth. I couldn’t find a baptism or birth record for Robert Staley. Other trees on an ancestry site had his birth in Elton, but with no supporting documents. Robert, as stated in his 1795 will, was a Yeoman.

                      “Yeoman: A former class of small freeholders who farm their own land; a commoner of good standing.”
                      “Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.”

                      He left a number of properties in Newhall and Hartshorne (near Newhall) including dwellings, enclosures, orchards, various yards, barns and acreages. It seemed to me more likely that he had inherited them, rather than moving into the village and buying them.

                      There is a mention of Robert Staley in a 1782 newpaper advertisement.

                      “Fire Engine To Be Sold.  An exceedingly good fire engine, with the boiler, cylinder, etc in good condition. For particulars apply to Mr Burslem at Burton-upon-Trent, or Robert Staley at Newhall near Burton, where the engine may be seen.”

                      fire engine

                       

                      Was the fire engine perhaps connected with a foundry or a coal mine?

                      I noticed that Robert Staley was the witness at a 1755 marriage in Stapenhill between Barbara Burslem and Richard Daston the younger esquire. The other witness was signed Burslem Jnr.

                       

                      Looking for Robert Staley

                       

                      I assumed that once again, in the absence of the correct records, a similarly named and aged persons baptism had been added to the tree regardless of accuracy, so I looked through the Stapenhill/Newhall parish register images page by page. There were no Staleys in Newhall at all in the early 1700s, so it seemed that Robert did come from elsewhere and I expected to find the Staleys in a neighbouring parish. But I still didn’t find any Staleys.

                      I spoke to a couple of Staley descendants that I’d met during the family research. I met Carole via a DNA match some months previously and contacted her to ask about the Staleys in Elton. She also had Robert Staley born in Elton (indeed, there were many Staleys in Elton) but she didn’t have any documentation for his birth, and we decided to collaborate and try and find out more.

                      I couldn’t find the earlier Elton parish registers anywhere online, but eventually found the untranscribed microfiche images of the Bishops Transcripts for Elton.

                      via familysearch:
                      “In its most basic sense, a bishop’s transcript is a copy of a parish register. As bishop’s transcripts generally contain more or less the same information as parish registers, they are an invaluable resource when a parish register has been damaged, destroyed, or otherwise lost. Bishop’s transcripts are often of value even when parish registers exist, as priests often recorded either additional or different information in their transcripts than they did in the original registers.”

                       

                      Unfortunately there was a gap in the Bishops Transcripts between 1704 and 1711 ~ exactly where I needed to look. I subsequently found out that the Elton registers were incomplete as they had been damaged by fire.

                      I estimated Robert Staleys date of birth between 1710 and 1715. He died in 1795, and his son Daniel died in 1805: both of these wills were found online. Daniel married Mary Moon in Stapenhill in 1762, making a likely birth date for Daniel around 1740.

                      The marriage of Robert Staley (assuming this was Robert’s father) and Alice Maceland (or Marsland or Marsden, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it presumably) was in the Bishops Transcripts for Elton in 1704. They were married in Elton on 26th February. There followed the missing parish register pages and in all likelihood the records of the baptisms of their first children. No doubt Robert was one of them, probably the first male child.

                      (Incidentally, my grandfather’s Marshalls also came from Elton, a small Derbyshire village near Matlock.  The Staley’s are on my grandmothers Warren side.)

                      The parish register pages resume in 1711. One of the first entries was the baptism of Robert Staley in 1711, parents Thomas and Ann. This was surely the one we were looking for, and Roberts parents weren’t Robert and Alice.

                      But then in 1735 a marriage was recorded between Robert son of Robert Staley (and this was unusual, the father of the groom isn’t usually recorded on the parish register) and Elizabeth Milner. They were married on the 9th March 1735. We know that the Robert we were looking for married an Elizabeth, as her name was on the Stapenhill baptisms of their later children, including Joseph Staleys.  The 1735 marriage also fit with the assumed birth date of Daniel, circa 1740. A baptism was found for a Robert Staley in 1738 in the Elton registers, parents Robert and Elizabeth, as well as the baptism in 1736 for Mary, presumably their first child. Her burial is recorded the following year.

                      The marriage of Robert Staley and Elizabeth Milner in 1735:

                      rbt staley marriage 1735

                       

                      There were several other Staley couples of a similar age in Elton, perhaps brothers and cousins. It seemed that Thomas and Ann’s son Robert was a different Robert, and that the one we were looking for was prior to that and on the missing pages.

                      Even so, this doesn’t prove that it was Elizabeth Staleys great grandfather who was born in Elton, but no other birth or baptism for Robert Staley has been found. It doesn’t explain why the Staleys moved to Stapenhill either, although the Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution could have been factors.

                      The 18th century saw the rise of the Industrial Revolution and many renowned Derbyshire Industrialists emerged. They created the turning point from what was until then a largely rural economy, to the development of townships based on factory production methods.

                      The Marsden Connection

                      There are some possible clues in the records of the Marsden family.  Robert Staley married Alice Marsden (or Maceland or Marsland) in Elton in 1704.  Robert Staley is mentioned in the 1730 will of John Marsden senior,  of Baslow, Innkeeper (Peacock Inne & Whitlands Farm). He mentions his daughter Alice, wife of Robert Staley.

                      In a 1715 Marsden will there is an intriguing mention of an alias, which might explain the different spellings on various records for the name Marsden:  “MARSDEN alias MASLAND, Christopher – of Baslow, husbandman, 28 Dec 1714. son Robert MARSDEN alias MASLAND….” etc.

                      Some potential reasons for a move from one parish to another are explained in this history of the Marsden family, and indeed this could relate to Robert Staley as he married into the Marsden family and his wife was a beneficiary of a Marsden will.  The Chatsworth Estate, at various times, bought a number of farms in order to extend the park.

                      THE MARSDEN FAMILY
                      OXCLOSE AND PARKGATE
                      In the Parishes of
                      Baslow and Chatsworth

                      by
                      David Dalrymple-Smith

                      John Marsden (b1653) another son of Edmund (b1611) faired well. By the time he died in
                      1730 he was publican of the Peacock, the Inn on Church Lane now called the Cavendish
                      Hotel, and the farmer at “Whitlands”, almost certainly Bubnell Cliff Farm.”

                      “Coal mining was well known in the Chesterfield area. The coalfield extends as far as the
                      Gritstone edges, where thin seams outcrop especially in the Baslow area.”

                      “…the occupants were evicted from the farmland below Dobb Edge and
                      the ground carefully cleared of all traces of occupation and farming. Shelter belts were
                      planted especially along the Heathy Lea Brook. An imposing new drive was laid to the
                      Chatsworth House with the Lodges and “The Golden Gates” at its northern end….”

                      Although this particular event was later than any events relating to Robert Staley, it’s an indication of how farms and farmland disappeared, and a reason for families to move to another area:

                      “The Dukes of Devonshire (of Chatsworth)  were major figures in the aristocracy and the government of the
                      time. Such a position demanded a display of wealth and ostentation. The 6th Duke of
                      Devonshire, the Bachelor Duke, was not content with the Chatsworth he inherited in 1811,
                      and immediately started improvements. After major changes around Edensor, he turned his
                      attention at the north end of the Park. In 1820 plans were made extend the Park up to the
                      Baslow parish boundary. As this would involve the destruction of most of the Farm at
                      Oxclose, the farmer at the Higher House Samuel Marsden (b1755) was given the tenancy of
                      Ewe Close a large farm near Bakewell.
                      Plans were revised in 1824 when the Dukes of Devonshire and Rutland “Exchanged Lands”,
                      reputedly during a game of dice. Over 3300 acres were involved in several local parishes, of
                      which 1000 acres were in Baslow. In the deal Devonshire acquired the southeast corner of
                      Baslow Parish.
                      Part of the deal was Gibbet Moor, which was developed for “Sport”. The shelf of land
                      between Parkgate and Robin Hood and a few extra fields was left untouched. The rest,
                      between Dobb Edge and Baslow, was agricultural land with farms, fields and houses. It was
                      this last part that gave the Duke the opportunity to improve the Park beyond his earlier
                      expectations.”

                       

                      The 1795 will of Robert Staley.

                      Inriguingly, Robert included the children of his son Daniel Staley in his will, but omitted to leave anything to Daniel.  A perusal of Daniels 1808 will sheds some light on this:  Daniel left his property to his six reputed children with Elizabeth Moon, and his reputed daughter Mary Brearly. Daniels wife was Mary Moon, Elizabeths husband William Moons daughter.

                      The will of Robert Staley, 1795:

                      1795 will 2

                      1795 Rbt Staley will

                       

                      The 1805 will of Daniel Staley, Robert’s son:

                      This is the last will and testament of me Daniel Staley of the Township of Newhall in the parish of Stapenhill in the County of Derby, Farmer. I will and order all of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses to be fully paid and satisfied by my executors hereinafter named by and out of my personal estate as soon as conveniently may be after my decease.

                      I give, devise and bequeath to Humphrey Trafford Nadin of Church Gresely in the said County of Derby Esquire and John Wilkinson of Newhall aforesaid yeoman all my messuages, lands, tenements, hereditaments and real and personal estates to hold to them, their heirs, executors, administrators and assigns until Richard Moon the youngest of my reputed sons by Elizabeth Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years upon trust that they, my said trustees, (or the survivor of them, his heirs, executors, administrators or assigns), shall and do manage and carry on my farm at Newhall aforesaid and pay and apply the rents, issues and profits of all and every of my said real and personal estates in for and towards the support, maintenance and education of all my reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon until the said Richard Moon my youngest reputed son shall attain his said age of twenty one years and equally share and share and share alike.

                      And it is my will and desire that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall recruit and keep up the stock upon my farm as they in their discretion shall see occasion or think proper and that the same shall not be diminished. And in case any of my said reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon shall be married before my said reputed youngest son shall attain his age of twenty one years that then it is my will and desire that non of their husbands or wives shall come to my farm or be maintained there or have their abode there. That it is also my will and desire in case my reputed children or any of them shall not be steady to business but instead shall be wild and diminish the stock that then my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority in their discretion to sell and dispose of all or any part of my said personal estate and to put out the money arising from the sale thereof to interest and to pay and apply the interest thereof and also thereunto of the said real estate in for and towards the maintenance, education and support of all my said reputed children by the said
                      Elizabeth Moon as they my said trustees in their discretion that think proper until the said Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years.

                      Then I give to my grandson Daniel Staley the sum of ten pounds and to each and every of my sons and daughters namely Daniel Staley, Benjamin Staley, John Staley, William Staley, Elizabeth Dent and Sarah Orme and to my niece Ann Brearly the sum of five pounds apiece.

                      I give to my youngest reputed son Richard Moon one share in the Ashby Canal Navigation and I direct that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority to pay and apply all or any part of the fortune or legacy hereby intended for my youngest reputed son Richard Moon in placing him out to any trade, business or profession as they in their discretion shall think proper.
                      And I direct that to my said sons and daughters by my late wife and my said niece shall by wholly paid by my said reputed son Richard Moon out of the fortune herby given him. And it is my will and desire that my said reputed children shall deliver into the hands of my executors all the monies that shall arise from the carrying on of my business that is not wanted to carry on the same unto my acting executor and shall keep a just and true account of all disbursements and receipts of the said business and deliver up the same to my acting executor in order that there may not be any embezzlement or defraud amongst them and from and immediately after my said reputed youngest son Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years then I give, devise and bequeath all my real estate and all the residue and remainder of my personal estate of what nature and kind whatsoever and wheresoever unto and amongst all and every my said reputed sons and daughters namely William Moon, Thomas Moon, Joseph Moon, Richard Moon, Ann Moon, Margaret Moon and to my reputed daughter Mary Brearly to hold to them and their respective heirs, executors, administrator and assigns for ever according to the nature and tenure of the same estates respectively to take the same as tenants in common and not as joint tenants.

                      And lastly I nominate and appoint the said Humphrey Trafford Nadin and John Wilkinson executors of this my last will and testament and guardians of all my reputed children who are under age during their respective minorities hereby revoking all former and other wills by me heretofore made and declaring this only to be my last will.

                      In witness whereof I the said Daniel Staley the testator have to this my last will and testament set my hand and seal the eleventh day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five.

                       

                      #6301
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The Warrens of Stapenhill

                         

                        There were so many Warren’s in Stapenhill that it was complicated to work out who was who. I had gone back as far as Samuel Warren marrying Catherine Holland, and this was as far back as my cousin Ian Warren had gone in his research some decades ago as well. The Holland family from Barton under Needwood are particularly interesting, and will be a separate chapter.

                        Stapenhill village by John Harden:

                        Stapenhill

                         

                        Resuming the research on the Warrens, Samuel Warren 1771-1837 married Catherine Holland 1775-1861 in 1795 and their son Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge, whose childless brother Benjamin Bridge left the Warren Brothers Boiler Works in Newhall to his nephews, the Warren brothers.

                        Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland marriage licence 1795:

                        Samuel Warren Catherine Holland

                         

                        Samuel (born 1771) was baptised at Stapenhill St Peter and his parents were William and Anne Warren. There were at least three William and Ann Warrens in town at the time. One of those William’s was born in 1744, which would seem to be the right age to be Samuel’s father, and one was born in 1710, which seemed a little too old. Another William, Guiliamos Warren (Latin was often used in early parish registers) was baptised in Stapenhill in 1729.

                        Stapenhill St Peter:

                        Stapenhill St Peter

                         

                        William Warren (born 1744) appeared to have been born several months before his parents wedding. William Warren and Ann Insley married 16 July 1744, but the baptism of William in 1744 was 24 February. This seemed unusual ~ children were often born less than nine months after a wedding, but not usually before the wedding! Then I remembered the change from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1752. Prior to 1752, the first day of the year was Lady Day, March 25th, not January 1st. This meant that the birth in February 1744 was actually after the wedding in July 1744. Now it made sense. The first son was named William, and he was born seven months after the wedding.

                        William born in 1744 died intestate in 1822, and his wife Ann made a legal claim to his estate. However he didn’t marry Ann Holland (Ann was Catherines Hollands sister, who married Samuel Warren the year before) until 1796, so this William and Ann were not the parents of Samuel.

                        It seemed likely that William born in 1744 was Samuels brother. William Warren and Ann Insley had at least eight children between 1744 and 1771, and it seems that Samuel was their last child, born when William the elder was 61 and his wife Ann was 47.

                        It seems it wasn’t unusual for the Warren men to marry rather late in life. William Warren’s (born 1710) parents were William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton. On the marriage licence in 1702/1703 (it appears to say 1703 but is transcribed as 1702), William was a 40 year old bachelor from Stapenhill, which puts his date of birth at 1662. Elizabeth was considerably younger, aged 19.

                        William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton marriage licence 1703:

                        William Warren 1702

                         

                        These Warren’s were farmers, and they were literate and able to sign their own names on various documents. This is worth noting, as most made the mark of an X.

                        I found three Warren and Holland marriages. One was Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland in 1795, then William Warren and Ann Holland in 1796. William Warren and Ann Hollands daughter born in 1799 married John Holland in 1824.

                        Elizabeth Hatterton (wife of William Warren who was born circa 1662) was born in Burton upon Trent in 1685. Her parents were Edward Hatterton 1655-1722, and Sara.

                        A page from the 1722 will of Edward Hatterton:

                        Edward Hatterton 1722

                         

                        The earliest Warren I found records for was William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton in 1703. The marriage licence states his age as 40 and that he was from Stapenhill, but none of the Stapenhill parish records online go back as far as 1662.  On other public trees on ancestry websites, a birth record from Suffolk has been chosen, probably because it was the only record to be found online with the right name and date. Once again, I don’t think that is correct, and perhaps one day I’ll find some earlier Stapenhill records to prove that he was born in locally.

                         

                        Subsequently, I found a list of the 1662 Hearth Tax for Stapenhill. On it were a number of Warrens, three William Warrens including one who was a constable. One of those William Warrens had a son he named William (as they did, hence the number of William Warrens in the tree) the same year as this hearth tax list.

                        But was it the William Warren with 2 chimneys, the one with one chimney who was too poor to pay it, or the one who was a constable?

                        from the list:
                        Will. Warryn 2
                        Richard Warryn 1
                        William Warren Constable
                        These names are not payable by Act:
                        Will. Warryn 1
                        Richard Warren John Watson
                        over seers of the poore and churchwardens

                        The Hearth Tax:

                        via wiki:
                        In England, hearth tax, also known as hearth money, chimney tax, or chimney money, was a tax imposed by Parliament in 1662, to support the Royal Household of King Charles II. Following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, Parliament calculated that the Royal Household needed an annual income of £1,200,000. The hearth tax was a supplemental tax to make up the shortfall. It was considered easier to establish the number of hearths than the number of heads, hearths forming a more stationary subject for taxation than people. This form of taxation was new to England, but had precedents abroad. It generated considerable debate, but was supported by the economist Sir William Petty, and carried through the Commons by the influential West Country member Sir Courtenay Pole, 2nd Baronet (whose enemies nicknamed him “Sir Chimney Poll” as a result).  The bill received Royal Assent on 19 May 1662, with the first payment due on 29 September 1662, Michaelmas.
                        One shilling was liable to be paid for every firehearth or stove, in all dwellings, houses, edifices or lodgings, and was payable at Michaelmas, 29 September and on Lady Day, 25 March. The tax thus amounted to two shillings per hearth or stove per year. The original bill contained a practical shortcoming in that it did not distinguish between owners and occupiers and was potentially a major burden on the poor as there were no exemptions. The bill was subsequently amended so that the tax was paid by the occupier. Further amendments introduced a range of exemptions that ensured that a substantial proportion of the poorer people did not have to pay the tax.

                         

                        Indeed it seems clear that William Warren the elder came from Stapenhill and not Suffolk, and one of the William Warrens paying hearth tax in 1662 was undoubtedly the father of William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton.

                        #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.

                            #6267
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              continued part 8

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                              Morogoro 20th January 1941

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Morogoro 30th July 1941

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Morogoro 26th August 1941

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Morogoro 25th December 1941

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Morogoro 26th January 1944

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Much love,
                              Eleanor.

                               

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