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  • #7384

    The lyrical tones of a familiar Irish accent halted Cedric’s reluctant attempts to make the long distance phone call.  He glanced up at the burly man unsuccessfully attempting to order a Guinness and said to him kindly that they probably didn’t have any anyway, even if they could understand him.

    “That’s a Limerick accent if ever I heard one, and it’s good, so it is, to hear it. Are you on holiday? Cedric’s the name.”

    Rogers face brightened and his broad shoulders relaxed. “I’d give anything to be back in Limerick. Can you take me home with you?”

    “Are you lost, son?” Cedric asked gently. “Not to worry my boy, I’m in a bit of a pickle meself to be honest, but we’ll sort something out, eh?”

    “The monkeys ran away from me, so they did,” Roger said. “Frigella’s gonna have my guts for garters so she is, when she finds out I’ve mucked it all up again.”

    Cedric’s eyes widened and his heart started racing. “And who might that be?” he said, doing his best to remain outwardly calm.

    “But she sent me away and then there were all those monkeys and then I don’t know what happened.”

    Clearly Roger was a bit ninepence in the shilling.

    #7329

    The soft candle light on the altar created moving patterns on the walls draped with velvets and satins. The boudoir was the sanctuary where Jeezel weaved her magic. The patterns on the tapestries changed with her mood, and that night they were a blend of light and dark, electricity made them crackle like lightning in a mid afternoon summer storm.

    The altar was a beautifully crafted mahogany table with each legs like a spindle from Sleeping Beauty’s own spinning wheel, but there was no sleeping done here. On her left, her vanity with her collection of wigs, each one a masterpiece styled to perfection, in every shade you could imagine. Tonight, she had chosen the red one. It was a fiery cascade of passion and power, the kind of red that stops traffic. Jeezel needed the confidence and boldness imbued in it to cast the potent Concordia spell.

    The air was thick with the perfume of white sage. Lumina, Jeezel’s nine tailed fox familiar, was curled-up on a couch adorned with mystical silver runes pulsating with magic, her muzzle buried in the fur of her nine tails. Her eyes half closed, she was observing Jeezel’s preparation on the altar. The witch had lit a magical fire to heat a cauldron that’s seen more spells than a dictionary.

    Jeezel had carefully selected a playlist as harmonious and uplifting as the spell itself, to make a symphony of sounds that would weave together like the most exquisite lace front on a show-stopping wig. She wanted it to be an auditory journey to the highest peaks of harmony that would support her during the casting.

    As the precious moon water began to simmer, Jeezel creased the rose petals and the lavender in her hands before she delicately dropped them in the cauldron. The scent rose to her nose and she stirred clockwise with a wand made of the finest willow, while invoking thoughts of unity and shared purpose. The jittery patterns on the walls started to form temporary clusters. A change of colour in the liquid informed the witch it was time to add a drizzle of honey. Jeezel watched as it swirled into the potion, casting a golden glow that promised to mend fences and build bridges. The walls were full of harmonious ripples undulating gently in a soothing manner.

    Once the honey was completely melted, Jeezel dropped in an amethyst crystal, whose radiating power would purify the concoction. The potion started to bubble and the glow on the tapestries turned an ugly dark red. Jeezel frowned, wondering if she had done something wrong.

    “Stay focused,” said the fox in a brisk voice. “Good. The team energy is fighting back. Plant your stiletto heels firmly into the catwalk, and remember the pageant.”

    The familiar’s tawny eyes glowed and the music changed to the emergency song. Jeezel felt an infusion of warm and steady energy from Lumina and started humming in sync with The Ride of the Valkyries. She stirred and chanted, every gesture filled with fiery confidence. The walls glowed darker and the potion hissed. But in the end, it was tamed. The original playlist had resumed to the grand finale. A gentle yet powerful orchestral swell that encapsulated the essence of unity and understanding, wrapping the boudoir and the potion in a sonic embrace that would banish drama and pettiness to the back of the chorus.

    Jeezel released the dove feather into the brew, then finished with a sprinkle of glitter with a flourish. And it was done.

    “Was the glitter necessary?” asked Lumina.

    “Why not? It can’t do any harm.”

    The fox jumped from the couch and looked at the potion.

    “It’s sparkling like the twinkle in your eye when you hit the stage. It’s ready. Well done.”

    Jeezel strained it with grace and poured it into the most fabulous vial she could find, and she sealed it with a kiss.

    :fleuron:

    Jeezel opened Flick Flock and started typing a message to Roland.

    The potion is ready. I’m sending it to you through the usual way.

    […]

    As you use the potion, you’ll have to perform a kind of team building ritual that will help channel the potion’s power and bring your team together like sequins on a gown, darling.

    Fist, dim the lights and set the stage with a circle of candles. Then gather around in the circle with your team, each of you holding a small vial of the potion. Next, take turns sharing something positive, a compliment or an expression of gratitude about the person to your left. It’s about building up that positive energy, getting the good vibes flowing like champagne at a gala.

    Once the air is thick with love and camaraderie, each team member will add a drop of the Concordia potion to a communal bowl placed in the center of the circle as a symbol of unity, like a magical melting pot of harmony and shared intentions.

    With the power of the potion pooling together, join hands (even if they’re not the touchy-feely types) and my familiar will guide you in an enchanting and rhythmic chant.

    Finally with a climactic “clink” of glass of crystal, you’ll all seal the deal, the potion will be activated, and the spell cast.

    I can affirm you, your team will be tighter than my corset after Thanksgiving dinner, ready to slay the day with peace and productivity.

    Let’s get this done. And don’t forget to add a testimony and click the thumb up.

    xoxox Jeezel.

    #7261
    TracyTracy
    Participant

       

      Long Lost Enoch Edwards

       

      Enoch Edwards

       

      My father used to mention long lost Enoch Edwards. Nobody in the family knew where he went to and it was assumed that he went to USA, perhaps to Utah to join his sister Sophie who was a Mormon handcart pioneer, but no record of him was found in USA.

      Andrew Enoch Edwards (my great great grandfather) was born in 1840, but was (almost) always known as Enoch. Although civil registration of births had started from 1 July 1837, neither Enoch nor his brother Stephen were registered. Enoch was baptised (as Andrew) on the same day as his brothers Reuben and Stephen in May 1843 at St Chad’s Catholic cathedral in Birmingham. It’s a mystery why these three brothers were baptised Catholic, as there are no other Catholic records for this family before or since. One possible theory is that there was a school attached to the church on Shadwell Street, and a Catholic baptism was required for the boys to go to the school. Enoch’s father John died of TB in 1844, and perhaps in 1843 he knew he was dying and wanted to ensure an education for his sons. The building of St Chads was completed in 1841, and it was close to where they lived.

      Enoch appears (as Enoch rather than Andrew) on the 1841 census, six months old. The family were living at Unett Street in Birmingham: John and Sarah and children Mariah, Sophia, Matilda, a mysterious entry transcribed as Lene, a daughter, that I have been unable to find anywhere else, and Reuben and Stephen.

      Enoch was just four years old when his father John, an engineer and millwright, died of consumption in 1844.

      In 1851 Enoch’s widowed mother Sarah was a mangler living on Summer Street, Birmingham, Matilda a dressmaker, Reuben and Stephen were gun percussionists, and eleven year old Enoch was an errand boy.

      On the 1861 census, Sarah was a confectionrer on Canal Street in Birmingham, Stephen was a blacksmith, and Enoch a button tool maker.

      On the 10th November 1867 Enoch married Emelia Parker, daughter of jeweller and rope maker Edward Parker, at St Philip in Birmingham. Both Emelia and Enoch were able to sign their own names, and Matilda and Edwin Eddington were witnesses (Enoch’s sister and her husband). Enoch’s address was Church Street, and his occupation button tool maker.

      1867 Enoch Edwards

       

      Four years later in 1871, Enoch was a publican living on Clifton Road. Son Enoch Henry was two years old, and Ralph Ernest was three months. Eliza Barton lived with them as a general servant.

      By 1881 Enoch was back working as a button tool maker in Bournebrook, Birmingham. Enoch and Emilia by then had three more children, Amelia, Albert Parker (my great grandfather) and Ada.

      Garnet Frederick Edwards was born in 1882. This is the first instance of the name Garnet in the family, and subsequently Garnet has been the middle name for the eldest son (my brother, father and grandfather all have Garnet as a middle name).

      Enoch was the licensed victualler at the Pack Horse Hotel in 1991 at Kings Norton. By this time, only daughters Amelia and Ada and son Garnet are living at home.

      Pack Horse Hotel

       

       

      Additional information from my fathers cousin, Paul Weaver:

      “Enoch refused to allow his son Albert Parker to go to King Edwards School in Birmingham, where he had been awarded a place. Instead, in October 1890 he made Albert Parker Edwards take an apprenticeship with a pawnboker in Tipton.
      Towards the end of the 19th century Enoch kept The Pack Horse in Alcester Road, Hollywood, where a twist was 1d an ounce, and beer was 2d a pint. The children had to get up early to get breakfast at 6 o’clock for the hay and straw men on their way to the Birmingham hay and straw market. Enoch is listed as a member of “The Kingswood & Pack Horse Association for the Prosecution of Offenders”, a kind of early Neighbourhood Watch, dated 25 October 1890.
      The Edwards family later moved to Redditch where they kept The Rifleman Inn at 35 Park Road. They must have left the Pack Horse by 1895 as another publican was in place by then.”

      Emelia his wife died in 1895 of consumption at the Rifleman Inn in Redditch, Worcestershire, and in 1897 Enoch married Florence Ethel Hedges in Aston. Enoch was 56 and Florence was just 21 years old.

      1897 Enoch Edwards

       

      The following year in 1898 their daughter Muriel Constance Freda Edwards was born in Deritend, Warwickshire.
      In 1901 Enoch, (Andrew on the census), publican, Florence and Muriel were living in Dudley. It was hard to find where he went after this.

      From Paul Weaver:

      “Family accounts have it that Enoch EDWARDS fell out with all his family, and at about the age of 60, he left all behind and emigrated to the U.S.A. Enoch was described as being an active man, and it is believed that he had another family when he settled in the U.S.A. Esmor STOKES has it that a postcard was received by the family from Enoch at Niagara Falls.

      On 11 June 1902 Harry Wright (the local postmaster responsible in those days for licensing) brought an Enoch EDWARDS to the Bedfordshire Petty Sessions in Biggleswade regarding “Hole in the Wall”, believed to refer to the now defunct “Hole in the Wall” public house at 76 Shortmead Street, Biggleswade with Enoch being granted “temporary authority”. On 9 July 1902 the transfer was granted. A year later in the 1903 edition of Kelly’s Directory of Bedfordshire, Hunts and Northamptonshire there is an Enoch EDWARDS running the Wheatsheaf Public House, Church Street, St. Neots, Huntingdonshire which is 14 miles south of Biggleswade.”

      It seems that Enoch and his new family moved away from the midlands in the early 1900s, but again the trail went cold.

      When I started doing the genealogy research, I joined a local facebook group for Redditch in Worcestershire. Enoch’s son Albert Parker Edwards (my great grandfather) spent most of his life there. I asked in the group about Enoch, and someone posted an illustrated advertisement for Enoch’s dog powders.  Enoch was a well known breeder/keeper of St Bernards and is cited in a book naming individuals key to the recovery/establishment of ‘mastiff’ size dog breeds.

       

      We had not known that Enoch was a breeder of champion St Bernard dogs!

      Once I knew about the St Bernard dogs and the names Mount Leo and Plinlimmon via the newspaper adverts, I did an internet search on Enoch Edwards in conjunction with these dogs.

      Enoch’s St Bernard dog “Mount Leo” was bred from the famous Plinlimmon, “the Emperor of Saint Bernards”. He was reported to have sent two puppies to Omaha and one of his stud dogs to America for a season, and in 1897 Enoch made the news for selling a St Bernard to someone in New York for £200. Plinlimmon, bred by Thomas Hall, was born in Liverpool, England on June 29, 1883. He won numerous dog shows throughout Europe in 1884, and in 1885, he was named Best Saint Bernard.

      In the Birmingham Mail on 14th June 1890:

      “Mr E Edwards, of Bournebrook, has been well to the fore with his dogs of late. He has gained nine honours during the past fortnight, including a first at the Pontypridd show with a St Bernard dog, The Speaker, a son of Plinlimmon.”

      In the Alcester Chronicle on Saturday 05 June 1897:

      Enoch St Bernards

      Enoch press releases

       

      It was discovered that Enoch, Florence and Muriel moved to Canada, not USA as the family had assumed. The 1911 census for Montreal St Jaqcues, Quebec, stated that Enoch, (Florence) Ethel, and (Muriel) Frida had emigrated in 1906. Enoch’s occupation was machinist in 1911. The census transcription is not very good. Edwards was transcribed as Edmand, but the dates of birth for all three are correct. Birthplace is correct ~ A for Anglitan (the census is in French) but race or tribe is also an A but the transcribers have put African black! Enoch by this time was 71 years old, his wife 33 and daughter 11.

      Additional information from Paul Weaver:

      “In 1906 he and his new family travelled to Canada with Enoch travelling first and Ethel and Frida joined him in Quebec on 25 June 1906 on board the ‘Canada’ from Liverpool.
      Their immigration record suggests that they were planning to travel to Winnipeg, but five years later in 1911, Enoch, Florence Ethel and Frida were still living in St James, Montreal. Enoch was employed as a machinist by Canadian Government Railways working 50 hours. It is the 1911 census record that confirms his birth as November 1840. It also states that Enoch could neither read nor write but managed to earn $500 in 1910 for activity other than his main profession, although this may be referring to his innkeeping business interests.
      By 1921 Florence and Muriel Frida are living in Langford, Neepawa, Manitoba with Peter FUCHS, an Ontarian farmer of German descent who Florence had married on 24 Jul 1913 implying that Enoch died sometime in 1911/12, although no record has been found.”

      The extra $500 in earnings was perhaps related to the St Bernard dogs.  Enoch signed his name on the register on his marriage to Emelia, and I think it’s very unlikely that he could neither read nor write, as stated above.

      However, it may not be Enoch’s wife Florence Ethel who married Peter Fuchs.  A Florence Emma Edwards married Peter Fuchs,  and on the 1921 census in Neepawa her daugther Muriel Elizabeth Edwards, born in 1902, lives with them.  Quite a coincidence, two Florence and Muriel Edwards in Neepawa at the time.  Muriel Elizabeth Edwards married and had two children but died at the age of 23 in 1925.  Her mother Florence was living with the widowed husband and the two children on the 1931 census in Neepawa.  As there was no other daughter on the 1911 census with Enoch, Florence and Muriel in Montreal, it must be a different Florence and daughter.  We don’t know, though, why Muriel Constance Freda married in Neepawa.

      Indeed, Florence was not a widow in 1913.  Enoch died in 1924 in Montreal, aged 84.  Neither Enoch, Florence or their daughter has been found yet on the 1921 census. The search is not easy, as Enoch sometimes used the name Andrew, Florence used her middle name Ethel, and daughter Muriel used Freda, Valerie (the name she added when she married in Neepawa), and died as Marcheta.   The only name she NEVER used was Constance!

      A Canadian genealogist living in Montreal phoned the cemetery where Enoch was buried. She said “Enoch Edwards who died on Feb 27 1924  is not buried in the Mount Royal cemetery, he was only cremated there on March 4, 1924. There are no burial records but he died of an abcess and his body was sent to the cemetery for cremation from the Royal Victoria Hospital.”

       

      1924 Obituary for Enoch Edwards:

      Cimetière Mont-Royal Outremont, Montreal Region, Quebec, Canada

      The Montreal Star 29 Feb 1924, Fri · Page 31

      1924 death Enoch Edwards

       

      Muriel Constance Freda Valerie Edwards married Arthur Frederick Morris on 24 Oct 1925 in Neepawa, Manitoba. (She appears to have added the name Valerie when she married.)

      Unexpectedly a death certificate appeared for Muriel via the hints on the ancestry website. Her name was “Marcheta Morris” on this document, however it also states that she was the widow of Arthur Frederick Morris and daughter of Andrew E Edwards and Florence Ethel Hedges. She died suddenly in June 1948 in Flos, Simcoe, Ontario of a coronary thrombosis, where she was living as a housekeeper.

      Marcheta Morris

      #7255
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The First Wife of John Edwards

        1794-1844

        John was a widower when he married Sarah Reynolds from Kinlet. Both my fathers cousin and I had come to a dead end in the Edwards genealogy research as there were a number of possible births of a John Edwards in Birmingham at the time, and a number of possible first wives for a John Edwards at the time.

        John Edwards was a millwright on the 1841 census, the only census he appeared on as he died in 1844, and 1841 was the first census. His birth is recorded as 1800, however on the 1841 census the ages were rounded up or down five years. He was an engineer on some of the marriage records of his children with Sarah, and on his death certificate, engineer and millwright, aged 49. The age of 49 at his death from tuberculosis in 1844 is likely to be more accurate than the census (Sarah his wife was present at his death), making a birth date of 1794 or 1795.

        John married Sarah Reynolds in January 1827 in Birmingham, and I am descended from this marriage. Any children of John’s first marriage would no doubt have been living with John and Sarah, but had probably left home by the time of the 1841 census.

        I found an Elizabeth Edwards, wife of John Edwards of Constitution Hill, died in August 1826 at the age of 23, as stated on the parish death register. It would be logical for a young widower with small children to marry again quickly. If this was John’s first wife, the marriage to Sarah six months later in January 1827 makes sense. Therefore, John’s first wife, I assumed, was Elizabeth, born in 1803.

        Death of Elizabeth Edwards, 23 years old.  St Mary, Birmingham, 15 Aug 1826:

        Death Eliz Edwards

         

        There were two baptisms recorded for parents John and Elizabeth Edwards, Constitution Hill, and John’s occupation was an engineer on both baptisms.
        They were both daughters: Sarah Ann in 1822 and Elizabeth in 1824.

        Sarah Ann Edwards: St Philip, Birmingham. Born 15 March 1822, baptised 7 September 1822:

        1822 Sarah Ann Edwards

        Elizabeth Edwards: St Philip, Birmingham. Born 6 February 1824, baptised 25 February 1824:

        1824 Elizabeth Edwards

         

        With John’s occupation as engineer stated, it looked increasingly likely that I’d found John’s first wife and children of that marriage.

        Then I found a marriage of Elizabeth Beach to John Edwards in 1819, and subsequently found an Elizabeth Beach baptised in 1803. This appeared to be the right first wife for John, until an Elizabeth Slater turned up, with a marriage to a John Edwards in 1820. An Elizabeth Slater was baptised in 1803. Either Elizabeth Beach or Elizabeth Slater could have been the first wife of John Edwards. As John’s first wife Elizabeth is not related to us, it’s not necessary to go further back, and in a sense, doesn’t really matter which one it was.

        But the Slater name caught my eye.

        But first, the name Sarah Ann.

        Of the possible baptisms for John Edwards, the most likely seemed to be in 1794, parents John and Sarah. John and Sarah had two infant daughters die just prior to John’s birth. The first was Sarah, the second Sarah Ann. Perhaps this was why John named his daughter Sarah Ann? In the absence of any other significant clues, I decided to assume these were the correct parents. I found and read half a dozen wills of any John Edwards I could find within the likely time period of John’s fathers death.

        One of them was dated 1803. In this will, John mentions that his children are not yet of age. (John would have been nine years old.)
        He leaves his plating business and some properties to his eldest son Thomas Davis Edwards, (just shy of 21 years old at the time of his fathers death in 1803) with the business to be run jointly with his widow, Sarah. He mentions his son John, and leaves several properties to him, when he comes of age. He also leaves various properties to his daughters Elizabeth and Mary, ditto. The baptisms for all of these children, including the infant deaths of Sarah and Sarah Ann have been found. All but Mary’s were in the same parish. (I found one for Mary in Sutton Coldfield, which was apparently correct, as a later census also recorded her birth as Sutton Coldfield. She was living with family on that census, so it would appear to be correct that for whatever reason, their daughter Mary was born in Sutton Coldfield)

        Mary married John Slater in 1813. The witnesses were Elizabeth Whitehouse and John Edwards, her sister and brother. Elizabeth married William Nicklin Whitehouse in 1805 and one of the witnesses was Mary Edwards.
        Mary’s husband John Slater died in 1821. They had no children. Mary never remarried, and lived with her bachelor brother Thomas Davis Edwards in West Bromwich. Thomas never married, and on the census he was either a proprietor of houses, or “sinecura” (earning a living without working).

        With Mary marrying a Slater, does this indicate that her brother John’s first wife was Elizabeth Slater rather than Elizabeth Beach? It is a compelling possibility, but does not constitute proof.

        Not only that, there is no absolute proof that the John Edwards who died in 1803 was our ancestor John Edwards father.

         

        If we can’t be sure which Elizabeth married John Edwards, we can be reasonably sure who their daughters married. On both of the marriage records the father is recorded as John Edwards, engineer.

        Sarah Ann married Mark Augustin Rawlins in 1850. Mark was a sword hilt maker at the time of the marriage, his father Mark a needle manufacturer. One of the witnesses was Elizabeth Edwards, who signed with her mark. Sarah Ann and Mark however were both able to sign their own names on the register.

        Sarah Ann Edwards and Mark Augustin Rawlins marriage 14 October 1850 St Peter and St Paul, Aston, Birmingham:

        1850 Sarah Ann Edwards

        Elizabeth married Nathaniel Twigg in 1851. (She was living with her sister Sarah Ann and Mark Rawlins on the 1851 census, I assume the census was taken before her marriage to Nathaniel on the 27th April 1851.) Nathaniel was a stationer (later on the census a bookseller), his father Samuel a brass founder. Elizabeth signed with her mark, apparently unable to write, and a witness was Ann Edwards. Although Sarah Ann, Elizabeth’s sister, would have been Sarah Ann Rawlins at the time, having married the previous year, she was known as Ann on later censuses. The signature of Ann Edwards looks remarkably similar to Sarah Ann Edwards signature on her own wedding. Perhaps she couldn’t write but had learned how to write her signature for her wedding?

        Elizabeth Edwards and Nathaniel Twigg marriage 27 April 1851, St Peter and St Paul, Aston, Birmingham:

        1851 Elizabeth Edwards

        Sarah Ann and Mark Rawlins had one daughter and four sons between 1852 and 1859. One of the sons, Edward Rawlins 1857-1931, was a school master and later master of an orphanage.

        On the 1881 census Edward was a bookseller, in 1891 a stationer, 1901 schoolmaster and his wife Edith was matron, and in 1911 he and Edith were master and matron of St Philip’s Catholic Orphanage on Oliver Road in Birmingham. Edward and Edith did not have any children.

        Edward Rawlins, 1911:

        Edward Rawlins 1911

         

        Elizabeth and Nathaniel Twigg appear to have had only one son, Arthur Twigg 1862-1943. Arthur was a photographer at 291 Bloomsbury Street, Birmingham. Arthur married Harriet Moseley from Burton on Trent, and they had two daughters, Elizabeth Ann 1897-1954, and Edith 1898-1983. I found a photograph of Edith on her wedding day, with her father Arthur in the picture. Arthur and Harriet also had a son Samuel Arthur, who lived for less than a month, born in 1904. Arthur had mistakenly put this son on the 1911 census stating “less than one month”, but the birth and death of Samuel Arthur Twigg were registered in the same quarter of 1904, and none were found registered for 1911.

        Edith Twigg and Leslie A Hancock on their Wedding Day 1925. Arthur Twigg behind the bride. Maybe Elizabeth Ann Twigg seated on the right: (photo found on the ancestry website)

        Edith Twigg wedding 1925

         

        Photographs by Arthur Twigg, 291 Bloomsbury Street, Birmingham:

        Arthur Twigg 1

        Arhtur Twigg photo

        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Some background information on The Sexy Wooden Leg and potential plot developments.

          Setting

          (nearby Duckailingtown in Dumbass, Oocrane)
          The Rootians (a fictitious nationality) invaded Oocrane (a fictitious country) under the guise of freeing the Dumbass region from Lazies. They burned crops and buildings, including the home of a man named Dumbass Voldomeer who was known for his wooden leg and carpenter skills. After the war, Voldomeer was hungry and saw a nest of swan eggs. He went back to his home, carved nine wooden eggs, and replaced the real eggs with the wooden ones so he could eat the eggs for food. The swans still appeared to be brooding on their eggs by the end of summer.

          Note: There seem to be a bird thematic at play.
          The swans’ eggs introduce the plot. The mysterious virus is likely a swan flu. Town in Oocrane often have reminiscing tones of birds’ species.
          Bird To(w)nes: (Oocrane/crane, Keav/kea, Spovlar/shoveler, Dilove/dove…)
          Also the town’s nursing home/hotel’s name is Vyriy from a mythical place in Slavic mythology (also Iriy, Vyrai, or Irij) where “birds fly for winter and souls go after death” which is sometimes identified with paradise. It is believed that spring has come to Earth from Vyrai.

          At the Keav Headquarters

          (🗺️ Capital of Oocrane)

          General Rudechenko and Major Myroslava Kovalev are discussing the incapacitation of President Voldomeer who is suffering from a mysterious virus. The President had told Major Kovalev about a man in the Dumbass region who looked similar to him and could be used as a replacement. The Major volunteers to bring the man to the General, but the General fears it is a suicide mission. He grants her permission but orders his aide to ensure she gets lost behind enemy lines.

          Myroslava, the ambitious Major goes undercover as a former war reporter, is now traveling on her own after leaving a group of journalists. She is being followed but tries to lose her pursuers by hunting and making fire in bombed areas. She is frustrated and curses her lack of alcohol.

          The Shrine of the Flovlinden Tree

          (🗺️ Shpovlar, geographical center of Oocrane)

          Olek is the caretaker of the shrine of Saint Edigna and lives near the sacred linden tree. People have been flocking to the shrine due to the miraculous flow of oil from the tree. Olek had retired to this place after a long career, but now a pilgrim family has brought a message of a plan acceleration, which upsets Olek. He reflects on his life and the chaos of people always rushing around and preparing for the wrong things. He thinks about his father’s approach to life, which was carefree and resulted in the same ups and downs as others, but with less suffering. Olek may consider adopting this approach until he can find a way to hide from the enemy.

          Rosa and the Cauldron Maker

          (young Oocranian wiccan travelling to Innsbruck, Austria)

          Eusebius Kazandis is selling black cauldrons at the summer fair of Innsbruck, Austria. He is watching Rosa, a woman selling massage oils, fragrant oils, and polishing oils. Rosa notices Eusebius is sad and thinks he is not where he needs to be. She waves at him, but he looks away as if caught doing something wrong. Rosa is on a journey across Europe, following the wind, and is hoping for a gust to tell her where to go next. However, the branches of the tree she is under remain still.

          The Nursing Home

          (Nearby the town of Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border somewhere in Transcarpetya)

          Egna, who has lived for almost a millennium, initially thinks the recent miracle at the Flovlinden Tree is just another con. She has performed many miracles in her life, but mostly goes unnoticed. She has a book full of records of the lives of many people she has tracked, and reminisces that she has a connection to the President Voldomeer. She decides to go and see the Flovlinden Tree for herself.

          🗺️ (the Vyriy hotel at Dilove, Oocrane, on Roomhen border)

          Ursula, the owner of a hotel on the outskirts of town, is experiencing a surge in business from the increased number of pilgrims visiting the linden tree. She plans to refurbish the hotel to charge more per night and plans to get a business loan from her nephew Boris, the bank manager. However, she must first evict the old residents of the hotel, which she is dreading. To avoid confrontation, she decides to send letters signed by a fake business manager.

          Egbert Gofindlevsky, Olga Herringbonevsky and Obadiah Sproutwinklov are elderly residents of an old hotel turned nursing home who receive a letter informing them that they must leave. Egbert goes to see Obadiah about the letter, but finds a bad odor in his room and decides to see Olga instead.
          Maryechka, Obadiah’s granddaughter, goes back home after getting medicine for her sick mother and finds her home empty. She decides to visit her grandfather and his friends at the old people’s home, since the schools are closed and she’s not interested in online activities.
          Olga and Egbert have a conversation about their current situation and decide to leave the nursing home and visit Rosa, Olga’s distant relative. Maryechka encounters Egbert and Olga on the stairs and overhears them talking about leaving their friends behind. Olga realizes that it is important to hold onto their hearts and have faith in the kindness of strangers. They then go to see Obadiah, with Olga showing a burst of energy and Egbert with a weak smile.

          Thus starts their escape and unfolding adventure on the roads of war-torn Oocrane.

          Character Keyword Characteristics Sentiment
          Egbert old man, sharp tone sad, fragile
          Maryechka Obadiah’s granddaughter, shy innocent
          Olga old woman, knobbly fingers conflicted, determined
          Obadiah stubborn as a mule, old friend of Egbert unyielding, possibly deaf
          #6359
          AvatarJib
          Participant

            Sam walking in Time Square by night with his pet nine tailed fox (where are the other tails?)

            #6350
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Transportation

              Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

               

              Isaac was born in Churchill, Oxfordshire in 1804, and was the youngest brother of my 4X great grandfather Thomas Stokes. The Stokes family were stone masons for generations in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire, and Isaac’s occupation was a mason’s labourer in 1834 when he was sentenced at the Lent Assizes in Oxford to fourteen years transportation for stealing tools.

              Churchill where the Stokes stonemasons came from: on 31 July 1684 a fire destroyed 20 houses and many other buildings, and killed four people. The village was rebuilt higher up the hill, with stone houses instead of the old timber-framed and thatched cottages. The fire was apparently caused by a baker who, to avoid chimney tax, had knocked through the wall from her oven to her neighbour’s chimney.

              Isaac stole a pick axe, the value of 2 shillings and the property of Thomas Joyner of Churchill; a kibbeaux and a trowel value 3 shillings the property of Thomas Symms; a hammer and axe value 5 shillings, property of John Keen of Sarsden.

              (The word kibbeaux seems to only exists in relation to Isaac Stokes sentence and whoever was the first to write it was perhaps being creative with the spelling of a kibbo, a miners or a metal bucket. This spelling is repeated in the criminal reports and the newspaper articles about Isaac, but nowhere else).

              In March 1834 the Removal of Convicts was announced in the Oxford University and City Herald: Isaac Stokes and several other prisoners were removed from the Oxford county gaol to the Justitia hulk at Woolwich “persuant to their sentences of transportation at our Lent Assizes”.

              via digitalpanopticon:

              Hulks were decommissioned (and often unseaworthy) ships that were moored in rivers and estuaries and refitted to become floating prisons. The outbreak of war in America in 1775 meant that it was no longer possible to transport British convicts there. Transportation as a form of punishment had started in the late seventeenth century, and following the Transportation Act of 1718, some 44,000 British convicts were sent to the American colonies. The end of this punishment presented a major problem for the authorities in London, since in the decade before 1775, two-thirds of convicts at the Old Bailey received a sentence of transportation – on average 283 convicts a year. As a result, London’s prisons quickly filled to overflowing with convicted prisoners who were sentenced to transportation but had no place to go.

              To increase London’s prison capacity, in 1776 Parliament passed the “Hulks Act” (16 Geo III, c.43). Although overseen by local justices of the peace, the hulks were to be directly managed and maintained by private contractors. The first contract to run a hulk was awarded to Duncan Campbell, a former transportation contractor. In August 1776, the Justicia, a former transportation ship moored in the River Thames, became the first prison hulk. This ship soon became full and Campbell quickly introduced a number of other hulks in London; by 1778 the fleet of hulks on the Thames held 510 prisoners.
              Demand was so great that new hulks were introduced across the country. There were hulks located at Deptford, Chatham, Woolwich, Gosport, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Sheerness and Cork.

              The Justitia via rmg collections:

              Justitia

              Convicts perform hard labour at the Woolwich Warren. The hulk on the river is the ‘Justitia’. Prisoners were kept on board such ships for months awaiting deportation to Australia. The ‘Justitia’ was a 260 ton prison hulk that had been originally moored in the Thames when the American War of Independence put a stop to the transportation of criminals to the former colonies. The ‘Justitia’ belonged to the shipowner Duncan Campbell, who was the Government contractor who organized the prison-hulk system at that time. Campbell was subsequently involved in the shipping of convicts to the penal colony at Botany Bay (in fact Port Jackson, later Sydney, just to the north) in New South Wales, the ‘first fleet’ going out in 1788.

               

              While searching for records for Isaac Stokes I discovered that another Isaac Stokes was transported to New South Wales in 1835 as well. The other one was a butcher born in 1809, sentenced in London for seven years, and he sailed on the Mary Ann. Our Isaac Stokes sailed on the Lady Nugent, arriving in NSW in April 1835, having set sail from England in December 1834.

              Lady Nugent was built at Bombay in 1813. She made four voyages under contract to the British East India Company (EIC). She then made two voyages transporting convicts to Australia, one to New South Wales and one to Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). (via Wikipedia)

              via freesettlerorfelon website:

              On 20 November 1834, 100 male convicts were transferred to the Lady Nugent from the Justitia Hulk and 60 from the Ganymede Hulk at Woolwich, all in apparent good health. The Lady Nugent departed Sheerness on 4 December 1834.

              SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

              Oliver Sproule kept a Medical Journal from 7 November 1834 to 27 April 1835. He recorded in his journal the weather conditions they experienced in the first two weeks:

              ‘In the course of the first week or ten days at sea, there were eight or nine on the sick list with catarrhal affections and one with dropsy which I attribute to the cold and wet we experienced during that period beating down channel. Indeed the foremost berths in the prison at this time were so wet from leaking in that part of the ship, that I was obliged to issue dry beds and bedding to a great many of the prisoners to preserve their health, but after crossing the Bay of Biscay the weather became fine and we got the damp beds and blankets dried, the leaks partially stopped and the prison well aired and ventilated which, I am happy to say soon manifested a favourable change in the health and appearance of the men.

              Besides the cases given in the journal I had a great many others to treat, some of them similar to those mentioned but the greater part consisted of boils, scalds, and contusions which would not only be too tedious to enter but I fear would be irksome to the reader. There were four births on board during the passage which did well, therefore I did not consider it necessary to give a detailed account of them in my journal the more especially as they were all favourable cases.

              Regularity and cleanliness in the prison, free ventilation and as far as possible dry decks turning all the prisoners up in fine weather as we were lucky enough to have two musicians amongst the convicts, dancing was tolerated every afternoon, strict attention to personal cleanliness and also to the cooking of their victuals with regular hours for their meals, were the only prophylactic means used on this occasion, which I found to answer my expectations to the utmost extent in as much as there was not a single case of contagious or infectious nature during the whole passage with the exception of a few cases of psora which soon yielded to the usual treatment. A few cases of scurvy however appeared on board at rather an early period which I can attribute to nothing else but the wet and hardships the prisoners endured during the first three or four weeks of the passage. I was prompt in my treatment of these cases and they got well, but before we arrived at Sydney I had about thirty others to treat.’

              The Lady Nugent arrived in Port Jackson on 9 April 1835 with 284 male prisoners. Two men had died at sea. The prisoners were landed on 27th April 1835 and marched to Hyde Park Barracks prior to being assigned. Ten were under the age of 14 years.

              The Lady Nugent:

              Lady Nugent

               

              Isaac’s distinguishing marks are noted on various criminal registers and record books:

              “Height in feet & inches: 5 4; Complexion: Ruddy; Hair: Light brown; Eyes: Hazel; Marks or Scars: Yes [including] DEVIL on lower left arm, TSIS back of left hand, WS lower right arm, MHDW back of right hand.”

              Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

              “Two slight scars right side of mouth, 2 moles above right breast, figure of the devil and DEVIL and raised mole, lower left arm; anchor, seven dots half moon, TSIS and cross, back of left hand; a mallet, door post, A, mans bust, sun, WS, lower right arm; woman, MHDW and shut knife, back of right hand.”

               

              Lady Nugent record book

               

              From How tattoos became fashionable in Victorian England (2019 article in TheConversation by Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alkar):

              “Historical tattooing was not restricted to sailors, soldiers and convicts, but was a growing and accepted phenomenon in Victorian England. Tattoos provide an important window into the lives of those who typically left no written records of their own. As a form of “history from below”, they give us a fleeting but intriguing understanding of the identities and emotions of ordinary people in the past.
              As a practice for which typically the only record is the body itself, few systematic records survive before the advent of photography. One exception to this is the written descriptions of tattoos (and even the occasional sketch) that were kept of institutionalised people forced to submit to the recording of information about their bodies as a means of identifying them. This particularly applies to three groups – criminal convicts, soldiers and sailors. Of these, the convict records are the most voluminous and systematic.
              Such records were first kept in large numbers for those who were transported to Australia from 1788 (since Australia was then an open prison) as the authorities needed some means of keeping track of them.”

              On the 1837 census Isaac was working for the government at Illiwarra, New South Wales. This record states that he arrived on the Lady Nugent in 1835. There are three other indent records for an Isaac Stokes in the following years, but the transcriptions don’t provide enough information to determine which Isaac Stokes it was. In April 1837 there was an abscondment, and an arrest/apprehension in May of that year, and in 1843 there was a record of convict indulgences.

              From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

              “By the mid-1830s only six per cent of convicts were locked up. The vast majority worked for the government or free settlers and, with good behaviour, could earn a ticket of leave, conditional pardon or and even an absolute pardon. While under such orders convicts could earn their own living.”

               

              In 1856 in Camden, NSW, Isaac Stokes married Catherine Daly. With no further information on this record it would be impossible to know for sure if this was the right Isaac Stokes. This couple had six children, all in the Camden area, but none of the records provided enough information. No occupation or place or date of birth recorded for Isaac Stokes.

              I wrote to the National Library of Australia about the marriage record, and their reply was a surprise! Issac and Catherine were married on 30 September 1856, at the house of the Rev. Charles William Rigg, a Methodist minister, and it was recorded that Isaac was born in Edinburgh in 1821, to parents James Stokes and Sarah Ellis!  The age at the time of the marriage doesn’t match Isaac’s age at death in 1877, and clearly the place of birth and parents didn’t match either. Only his fathers occupation of stone mason was correct.  I wrote back to the helpful people at the library and they replied that the register was in a very poor condition and that only two and a half entries had survived at all, and that Isaac and Catherines marriage was recorded over two pages.

              I searched for an Isaac Stokes born in 1821 in Edinburgh on the Scotland government website (and on all the other genealogy records sites) and didn’t find it. In fact Stokes was a very uncommon name in Scotland at the time. I also searched Australian immigration and other records for another Isaac Stokes born in Scotland or born in 1821, and found nothing.  I was unable to find a single record to corroborate this mysterious other Isaac Stokes.

              As the age at death in 1877 was correct, I assume that either Isaac was lying, or that some mistake was made either on the register at the home of the Methodist minster, or a subsequent mistranscription or muddle on the remnants of the surviving register.  Therefore I remain convinced that the Camden stonemason Isaac Stokes was indeed our Isaac from Oxfordshire.

               

              I found a history society newsletter article that mentioned Isaac Stokes, stone mason, had built the Glenmore church, near Camden, in 1859.

              Glenmore Church

               

              From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

              Glenmore Church Stokes

               

              From the Camden History website:

              “The stone set over the porch of Glenmore Church gives the date of 1860. The church was begun in 1859 on land given by Joseph Moore. James Rogers of Picton was given the contract to build and local builder, Mr. Stokes, carried out the work. Elizabeth Moore, wife of Edward, laid the foundation stone. The first service was held on 19th March 1860. The cemetery alongside the church contains the headstones and memorials of the areas early pioneers.”

               

              Isaac died on the 3rd September 1877. The inquest report puts his place of death as Bagdelly, near to Camden, and another death register has put Cambelltown, also very close to Camden.  His age was recorded as 71 and the inquest report states his cause of death was “rupture of one of the large pulmonary vessels of the lung”.  His wife Catherine died in childbirth in 1870 at the age of 43.

               

              Isaac and Catherine’s children:

              William Stokes 1857-1928

              Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

              Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

              Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

              Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

              Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

               

              It’s possible that Catherine Daly was a transported convict from Ireland.

               

              Some time later I unexpectedly received a follow up email from The Oaks Heritage Centre in Australia.

              “The Gaudry papers which we have in our archive record him (Isaac Stokes) as having built: the church, the school and the teachers residence.  Isaac is recorded in the General return of convicts: 1837 and in Grevilles Post Office directory 1872 as a mason in Glenmore.”

              Isaac Stokes directory

              #6348
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Wong Sang

                 

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

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

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

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

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Via Old London Photographs:

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

                Limehouse Causeway in 1925:

                Limehouse Causeway

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Chinese migration to Limehouse 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                The real Chinatown 

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

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

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

                Why did Chinatown disappear? 

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

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

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

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

                 

                Wong Sang 1884-1930

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

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

                Chrisp Street

                 

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

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

                1918 Wong Sang

                 

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

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

                1918 Wong Sang 2

                 

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

                London and China Express – Thursday 09 February 1922:

                1922 Wong Sang

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

                Chee Kong Tong

                 

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

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

                1928 Wong Sang

                1928 Wong Sang 2

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

                 

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

                1917 Alice Wong Sang

                 

                 

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

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

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

                 

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

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

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

                 

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

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

                 

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

                Wong Sang

                 

                Alice Stokes

                #6342
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Brownings of Tetbury

                  Tetbury 1839

                   

                  Isaac Browning (1784-1848) married Mary Lock (1787-1870) in Tetbury in 1806. Both of them were born in Tetbury, Gloucestershire. Isaac was a stone mason. Between 1807 and 1832 they baptised fourteen children in Tetbury, and on 8 Nov 1829 Isaac and Mary baptised five daughters all on the same day.

                  I considered that they may have been quintuplets, with only the last born surviving, which would have answered my question about the name of the house La Quinta in Broadway, the home of Eliza Browning and Thomas Stokes son Fred. However, the other four daughters were found in various records and they were not all born the same year. (So I still don’t know why the house in Broadway had such an unusual name).

                  Their son George was born and baptised in 1827, but Louisa born 1821, Susan born 1822, Hesther born 1823 and Mary born 1826, were not baptised until 1829 along with Charlotte born in 1828. (These birth dates are guesswork based on the age on later censuses.) Perhaps George was baptised promptly because he was sickly and not expected to survive. Isaac and Mary had a son George born in 1814 who died in 1823. Presumably the five girls were healthy and could wait to be done as a job lot on the same day later.

                  Eliza Browning (1814-1886), my great great great grandmother, had a baby six years before she married Thomas Stokes. Her name was Ellen Harding Browning, which suggests that her fathers name was Harding. On the 1841 census seven year old Ellen was living with her grandfather Isaac Browning in Tetbury. Ellen Harding Browning married William Dee in Tetbury in 1857, and they moved to Western Australia.

                  Ellen Harding Browning Dee: (photo found on ancestry website)

                  Ellen Harding Browning

                  OBITUARY. MRS. ELLEN DEE.
                  A very old and respected resident of Dongarra, in the person of Mrs. Ellen Dee, passed peacefully away on Sept. 27, at the advanced age of 74 years.

                  The deceased had been ailing for some time, but was about and actively employed until Wednesday, Sept. 20, whenn she was heard groaning by some neighbours, who immediately entered her place and found her lying beside the fireplace. Tho deceased had been to bed over night, and had evidently been in the act of lighting thc fire, when she had a seizure. For some hours she was conscious, but had lost the power of speech, and later on became unconscious, in which state she remained until her death.

                  The deceased was born in Gloucestershire, England, in 1833, was married to William Dee in Tetbury Church 23 years later. Within a month she left England with her husband for Western Australian in the ship City oí Bristol. She resided in Fremantle for six months, then in Greenough for a short time, and afterwards (for 42 years) in Dongarra. She was, therefore, a colonist of about 51 years. She had a family of four girls and three boys, and five of her children survive her, also 35 grandchildren, and eight great grandchildren. She was very highly respected, and her sudden collapse came as a great shock to many.

                   

                  Eliza married Thomas Stokes (1816-1885) in September 1840 in Hempstead, Gloucestershire. On the 1841 census, Eliza and her mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) were staying with Thomas Lock and family in Cirencester. Strangely, Thomas Stokes has not been found thus far on the 1841 census, and Thomas and Eliza’s first child William James Stokes birth was registered in Witham, in Essex, on the 6th of September 1841.

                  I don’t know why William James was born in Witham, or where Thomas was at the time of the census in 1841. One possibility is that as Thomas Stokes did a considerable amount of work with circus waggons, circus shooting galleries and so on as a journeyman carpenter initially and then later wheelwright, perhaps he was working with a traveling circus at the time.

                  But back to the Brownings ~ more on William James Stokes to follow.

                  One of Isaac and Mary’s fourteen children died in infancy:  Ann was baptised and died in 1811. Two of their children died at nine years old: the first George, and Mary who died in 1835.  Matilda was 21 years old when she died in 1844.

                  Jane Browning (1808-)  married Thomas Buckingham in 1830 in Tetbury. In August 1838 Thomas was charged with feloniously stealing a black gelding.

                  Susan Browning (1822-1879) married William Cleaver in November 1844 in Tetbury. Oddly thereafter they use the name Bowman on the census. On the 1851 census Mary Browning (Susan’s mother), widow, has grandson George Bowman born in 1844 living with her. The confusion with the Bowman and Cleaver names was clarified upon finding the criminal registers:

                  30 January 1834. Offender: William Cleaver alias Bowman, Richard Bunting alias Barnfield and Jeremiah Cox, labourers of Tetbury. Crime: Stealing part of a dead fence from a rick barton in Tetbury, the property of Robert Tanner, farmer.

                   

                  And again in 1836:

                  29 March 1836 Bowman, William alias Cleaver, of Tetbury, labourer age 18; 5’2.5” tall, brown hair, grey eyes, round visage with fresh complexion; several moles on left cheek, mole on right breast. Charged on the oath of Ann Washbourn & others that on the morning of the 31 March at Tetbury feloniously stolen a lead spout affixed to the dwelling of the said Ann Washbourn, her property. Found guilty 31 March 1836; Sentenced to 6 months.

                  On the 1851 census Susan Bowman was a servant living in at a large drapery shop in Cheltenham. She was listed as 29 years old, married and born in Tetbury, so although it was unusual for a married woman not to be living with her husband, (or her son for that matter, who was living with his grandmother Mary Browning), perhaps her husband William Bowman alias Cleaver was in trouble again. By 1861 they are both living together in Tetbury: William was a plasterer, and they had three year old Isaac and Thomas, one year old. In 1871 William was still a plasterer in Tetbury, living with wife Susan, and sons Isaac and Thomas. Interestingly, a William Cleaver is living next door but one!

                  Susan was 56 when she died in Tetbury in 1879.

                   

                  Three of the Browning daughters went to London.

                  Louisa Browning (1821-1873) married Robert Claxton, coachman, in 1848 in Bryanston Square, Westminster, London. Ester Browning was a witness.

                  Ester Browning (1823-1893)(or Hester) married Charles Hudson Sealey, cabinet maker, in Bethnal Green, London, in 1854. Charles was born in Tetbury. Charlotte Browning was a witness.

                  Charlotte Browning (1828-1867?) was admitted to St Marylebone workhouse in London for “parturition”, or childbirth, in 1860. She was 33 years old.  A birth was registered for a Charlotte Browning, no mothers maiden name listed, in 1860 in Marylebone. A death was registered in Camden, buried in Marylebone, for a Charlotte Browning in 1867 but no age was recorded.  As the age and parents were usually recorded for a childs death, I assume this was Charlotte the mother.

                  I found Charlotte on the 1851 census by chance while researching her mother Mary Lock’s siblings.  Hesther Lock married Lewin Chandler, and they were living in Stepney, London.  Charlotte is listed as a neice. Although Browning is mistranscribed as Broomey, the original page says Browning. Another mistranscription on this record is Hesthers birthplace which is transcribed as Yorkshire. The original image shows Gloucestershire.

                   

                  Isaac and Mary’s first son was John Browning (1807-1860). John married Hannah Coates in 1834. John’s brother Charles Browning (1819-1853) married Eliza Coates in 1842. Perhaps they were sisters. On the 1861 census Hannah Browning, John’s wife, was a visitor in the Harding household in a village called Coates near Tetbury. Thomas Harding born in 1801 was the head of the household. Perhaps he was the father of Ellen Harding Browning.

                  George Browning (1828-1870) married Louisa Gainey in Tetbury, and died in Tetbury at the age of 42.  Their son Richard Lock Browning, a 32 year old mason, was sentenced to one month hard labour for game tresspass in Tetbury in 1884.

                  Isaac Browning (1832-1857) was the youngest son of Isaac and Mary. He was just 25 years old when he died in Tetbury.

                  #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

                    #6315

                    In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    #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.

                      #6298
                      AvatarJib
                      Participant

                        The Rootians invaded Oocrane when everybody was busy looking elsewhere. They entered through the Dumbass region under the pretense of freeing it from Lazies who had infiltrated administrations and media. They often cited a recent short movie from president Voldomeer Zumbaskee in which he appeared in purple leather panties adorned with diamonds, showing unashamedly his wooden leg. The same wooden leg that gave him the status of sexiest man of Oocrane and got him elected. In one of his famous discourses, he accused the Rootian president, Valdamir Potomsky of wanting to help himself to their crops of turnip and weed of which the world depended. And he told him if he expected Lazies he would be surprised by their resolution to defend their country.

                        By a simple game of chance that reality is so fond of, the man who made the president’s very wooden leg was also called Voldomeer Zumbasky. They might share a common ancestor, but many times in the past population records were destroyed and it was difficult to tell. That man lived in the small city of Duckailingtown in Dumbass, near the Rootian border. He was renowned to be a great carpenter and sculptor and before the war people would come from the neighbooring countries to buy his work.

                        During the invasion, crops and forests were burnt, buildings were destroyed and Dumbass Voldomeer lost one leg. There were no more trees or beams that hadn’t been turned to ashes, and he had only one block of wood left. Enough to make another wooden leg for himself. But he wondered: wasn’t there something more useful he could do with that block of wood ?

                        One morning of spring, one year after the war started. Food was scarce in Duckailingtown and Voldomeer’s belly growled as he walked past the nest of a couple of swans. He counted nine beautiful eggs that the parents were arranging with their beaks before lying on top to keep them warm. He found it so touching to see life in this place that he couldn’t bear the idea of simply stealing the eggs.

                        He went back home, a shelter made of bricks, his stomach aching from starvation. Looking at the block of wood on the floor, he got an idea. He spent the rest of the day and night to carve nine beautiful eggs so smooth that they appeared warm to the touch. He put so much care and love in his work that the swans would see no difference.

                        The next morning he went back to the nest with a leather bag, hopping heartily on his lone leg. The eggs were still there and by chance both the parents were missing. He didn’t care why. He took the eggs and replaced them with the wooden ones.

                        That day, he ate the best omelet with his friend Rooby, and as far as one could tell the swans were still brooding by the end of summer.

                        #6291
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Jane Eaton

                          The Nottingham Girl

                           

                          Jane Eaton 1809-1879

                          Francis Purdy, the Beggarlea Bulldog and Methodist Minister, married Jane Eaton in 1837 in Nottingham. Jane was his second wife.

                          Jane Eaton, photo says “Grandma Purdy” on the back:

                          Jane Eaton

                           

                          Jane is described as a “Nottingham girl” in a book excerpt sent to me by Jim Giles, a relation who shares the same 3x great grandparents, Francis and Jane Purdy.

                          Jane Eaton Nottingham

                          Jane Eaton 2

                           

                          Elizabeth, Francis Purdy’s first wife, died suddenly at chapel in 1836, leaving nine children.

                          On Christmas day the following year Francis married Jane Eaton at St Peters church in Nottingham. Jane married a Methodist Minister, and didn’t realize she married the bare knuckle fighter she’d seen when she was fourteen until he undressed and she saw his scars.

                          jane eaton 3

                           

                          William Eaton 1767-1851

                          On the marriage certificate Jane’s father was William Eaton, occupation gardener. Francis’s father was William Purdy, engineer.

                          On the 1841 census living in Sollory’s Yard, Nottingham St Mary, William Eaton was a 70 year old gardener. It doesn’t say which county he was born in but indicates that it was not Nottinghamshire. Living with him were Mary Eaton, milliner, age 35, Mary Eaton, milliner, 15, and Elizabeth Rhodes age 35, a sempstress (another word for seamstress). The three women were born in Nottinghamshire.

                          But who was Elizabeth Rhodes?

                          Elizabeth Eaton was Jane’s older sister, born in 1797 in Nottingham. She married William Rhodes, a private in the 5th Dragoon Guards, in Leeds in October 1815.

                          I looked for Elizabeth Rhodes on the 1851 census, which stated that she was a widow. I was also trying to determine which William Eaton death was the right one, and found William Eaton was still living with Elizabeth in 1851 at Pilcher Gate in Nottingham, but his name had been entered backwards: Eaton William. I would not have found him on the 1851 census had I searched for Eaton as a last name.

                          Pilcher Gate gets its strange name from pilchers or fur dealers and was once a very narrow thoroughfare. At the lower end stood a pub called The Windmill – frequented by the notorious robber and murderer Charlie Peace.

                          This was a lucky find indeed, because William’s place of birth was listed as Grantham, Lincolnshire. There were a couple of other William Eaton’s born at the same time, both near to Nottingham. It was tricky to work out which was the right one, but as it turned out, neither of them were.

                          William Eaton Grantham

                           

                          Now we had Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire border straddlers, so the search moved to the Lincolnshire records.
                          But first, what of the two Mary Eatons living with William?

                          William and his wife Mary had a daughter Mary in 1799 who died in 1801, and another daughter Mary Ann born in 1803. (It was common to name children after a previous infant who had died.)  It seems that Mary Ann didn’t marry but had a daughter Mary Eaton born in 1822.

                          William and his wife Mary also had a son Richard Eaton born in 1801 in Nottingham.

                          Who was William Eaton’s wife Mary?

                          There are two possibilities: Mary Cresswell and a marriage in Nottingham in 1797, or Mary Dewey and a marriage at Grantham in 1795. If it’s Mary Cresswell, the first child Elizabeth would have been born just four or five months after the wedding. (This was far from unusual). However, no births in Grantham, or in Nottingham, were recorded for William and Mary in between 1795 and 1797.

                          We don’t know why William moved from Grantham to Nottingham or when he moved there. According to Dearden’s 1834 Nottingham directory, William Eaton was a “Gardener and Seedsman”.

                          gardener and seedsan William Eaton

                          There was another William Eaton selling turnip seeds in the same part of Nottingham. At first I thought it must be the same William, but apparently not, as that William Eaton is recorded as a victualler, born in Ruddington. The turnip seeds were advertised in 1847 as being obtainable from William Eaton at the Reindeer Inn, Wheeler Gate. Perhaps he was related.

                          William lived in the Lace Market part of Nottingham.   I wondered where a gardener would be working in that part of the city.  According to CreativeQuarter website, “in addition to the trades and housing (sometimes under the same roof), there were a number of splendid mansions being built with extensive gardens and orchards. Sadly, these no longer exist as they were gradually demolished to make way for commerce…..The area around St Mary’s continued to develop as an elegant residential district during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, with buildings … being built for nobility and rich merchants.”

                          William Eaton died in Nottingham in September 1851, thankfully after the census was taken recording his place of birth.

                          #6290
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Leicestershire Blacksmiths

                            The Orgill’s of Measham led me further into Leicestershire as I traveled back in time.

                            I also realized I had uncovered a direct line of women and their mothers going back ten generations:

                            myself, Tracy Edwards 1957-
                            my mother Gillian Marshall 1933-
                            my grandmother Florence Warren 1906-1988
                            her mother and my great grandmother Florence Gretton 1881-1927
                            her mother Sarah Orgill 1840-1910
                            her mother Elizabeth Orgill 1803-1876
                            her mother Sarah Boss 1783-1847
                            her mother Elizabeth Page 1749-
                            her mother Mary Potter 1719-1780
                            and her mother and my 7x great grandmother Mary 1680-

                            You could say it leads us to the very heart of England, as these Leicestershire villages are as far from the coast as it’s possible to be. There are countless other maternal lines to follow, of course, but only one of mothers of mothers, and ours takes us to Leicestershire.

                            The blacksmiths

                            Sarah Boss was the daughter of Michael Boss 1755-1807, a blacksmith in Measham, and Elizabeth Page of nearby Hartshorn, just over the county border in Derbyshire.

                            An earlier Michael Boss, a blacksmith of Measham, died in 1772, and in his will he left the possession of the blacksmiths shop and all the working tools and a third of the household furniture to Michael, who he named as his nephew. He left his house in Appleby Magna to his wife Grace, and five pounds to his mother Jane Boss. As none of Michael and Grace’s children are mentioned in the will, perhaps it can be assumed that they were childless.

                            The will of Michael Boss, 1772, Measham:

                            Michael Boss 1772 will

                             

                            Michael Boss the uncle was born in Appleby Magna in 1724. His parents were Michael Boss of Nelson in the Thistles and Jane Peircivall of Appleby Magna, who were married in nearby Mancetter in 1720.

                            Information worth noting on the Appleby Magna website:

                            In 1752 the calendar in England was changed from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar, as a result 11 days were famously “lost”. But for the recording of Church Registers another very significant change also took place, the start of the year was moved from March 25th to our more familiar January 1st.
                            Before 1752 the 1st day of each new year was March 25th, Lady Day (a significant date in the Christian calendar). The year number which we all now use for calculating ages didn’t change until March 25th. So, for example, the day after March 24th 1750 was March 25th 1751, and January 1743 followed December 1743.
                            This March to March recording can be seen very clearly in the Appleby Registers before 1752. Between 1752 and 1768 there appears slightly confused recording, so dates should be carefully checked. After 1768 the recording is more fully by the modern calendar year.

                            Michael Boss the uncle married Grace Cuthbert.  I haven’t yet found the birth or parents of Grace, but a blacksmith by the name of Edward Cuthbert is mentioned on an Appleby Magna history website:

                            An Eighteenth Century Blacksmith’s Shop in Little Appleby
                            by Alan Roberts

                            Cuthberts inventory

                            The inventory of Edward Cuthbert provides interesting information about the household possessions and living arrangements of an eighteenth century blacksmith. Edward Cuthbert (als. Cutboard) settled in Appleby after the Restoration to join the handful of blacksmiths already established in the parish, including the Wathews who were prominent horse traders. The blacksmiths may have all worked together in the same shop at one time. Edward and his wife Sarah recorded the baptisms of several of their children in the parish register. Somewhat sadly three of the boys named after their father all died either in infancy or as young children. Edward’s inventory which was drawn up in 1732, by which time he was probably a widower and his children had left home, suggests that they once occupied a comfortable two-storey house in Little Appleby with an attached workshop, well equipped with all the tools for repairing farm carts, ploughs and other implements, for shoeing horses and for general ironmongery. 

                            Edward Cuthbert born circa 1660, married Joane Tuvenet in 1684 in Swepston cum Snarestone , and died in Appleby in 1732. Tuvenet is a French name and suggests a Huguenot connection, but this isn’t our family, and indeed this Edward Cuthbert is not likely to be Grace’s father anyway.

                            Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page appear to have married twice: once in 1776, and once in 1779. Both of the documents exist and appear correct. Both marriages were by licence. They both mention Michael is a blacksmith.

                            Their first daughter, Elizabeth, was baptized in February 1777, just nine months after the first wedding. It’s not known when she was born, however, and it’s possible that the marriage was a hasty one. But why marry again three years later?

                            But Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page did not marry twice.

                            Elizabeth Page from Smisby was born in 1752 and married Michael Boss on the 5th of May 1776 in Measham. On the marriage licence allegations and bonds, Michael is a bachelor.

                            Baby Elizabeth was baptised in Measham on the 9th February 1777. Mother Elizabeth died on the 18th February 1777, also in Measham.

                            In 1779 Michael Boss married another Elizabeth Page! She was born in 1749 in Hartshorn, and Michael is a widower on the marriage licence allegations and bonds.

                            Hartshorn and Smisby are neighbouring villages, hence the confusion.  But a closer look at the documents available revealed the clues.  Both Elizabeth Pages were literate, and indeed their signatures on the marriage registers are different:

                            Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Smisby in 1776:

                            Elizabeth Page 1776

                             

                            Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Harsthorn in 1779:

                            Elizabeth Page 1779

                             

                            Not only did Michael Boss marry two women both called Elizabeth Page but he had an unusual start in life as well. His uncle Michael Boss left him the blacksmith business and a third of his furniture. This was all in the will. But which of Uncle Michaels brothers was nephew Michaels father?

                            The only Michael Boss born at the right time was in 1750 in Edingale, Staffordshire, about eight miles from Appleby Magna. His parents were Thomas Boss and Ann Parker, married in Edingale in 1747.  Thomas died in August 1750, and his son Michael was baptised in the December, posthumus son of Thomas and his widow Ann. Both entries are on the same page of the register.

                            1750 posthumus

                             

                            Ann Boss, the young widow, married again. But perhaps Michael and his brother went to live with their childless uncle and aunt, Michael Boss and Grace Cuthbert.

                            The great grandfather of Michael Boss (the Measham blacksmith born in 1850) was also Michael Boss, probably born in the 1660s. He died in Newton Regis in Warwickshire in 1724, four years after his son (also Michael Boss born 1693) married Jane Peircivall.  The entry on the parish register states that Michael Boss was buried ye 13th Affadavit made.

                            I had not seen affadavit made on a parish register before, and this relates to the The Burying in Woollen Acts 1666–80.  According to Wikipedia:

                             “Acts of the Parliament of England which required the dead, except plague victims and the destitute, to be buried in pure English woollen shrouds to the exclusion of any foreign textiles.  It was a requirement that an affidavit be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace (usually by a relative of the deceased), confirming burial in wool, with the punishment of a £5 fee for noncompliance. Burial entries in parish registers were marked with the word “affidavit” or its equivalent to confirm that affidavit had been sworn; it would be marked “naked” for those too poor to afford the woollen shroud.  The legislation was in force until 1814, but was generally ignored after 1770.”

                            Michael Boss buried 1724 “Affadavit made”:

                            Michael Boss affadavit 1724

                             

                             

                             

                            Elizabeth Page‘s father was William Page 1717-1783, a wheelwright in Hartshorn.  (The father of the first wife Elizabeth was also William Page, but he was a husbandman in Smisby born in 1714. William Page, the father of the second wife, was born in Nailstone, Leicestershire, in 1717. His place of residence on his marriage to Mary Potter was spelled Nelson.)

                            Her mother was Mary Potter 1719- of nearby Coleorton.  Mary’s father, Richard Potter 1677-1731, was a blacksmith in Coleorton.

                            A page of the will of Richard Potter 1731:

                            Richard Potter 1731

                             

                            Richard Potter states: “I will and order that my son Thomas Potter shall after my decease have one shilling paid to him and no more.”  As he left £50 to each of his daughters, one can’t help but wonder what Thomas did to displease his father.

                            Richard stipulated that his son Thomas should have one shilling paid to him and not more, for several good considerations, and left “the house and ground lying in the parish of Whittwick in a place called the Long Lane to my wife Mary Potter to dispose of as she shall think proper.”

                            His son Richard inherited the blacksmith business:  “I will and order that my son Richard Potter shall live and be with his mother and serve her duly and truly in the business of a blacksmith, and obey and serve her in all lawful commands six years after my decease, and then I give to him and his heirs…. my house and grounds Coulson House in the Liberty of Thringstone”

                            Richard wanted his son John to be a blacksmith too: “I will and order that my wife bring up my son John Potter at home with her and teach or cause him to be taught the trade of a blacksmith and that he shall serve her duly and truly seven years after my decease after the manner of an apprentice and at the death of his mother I give him that house and shop and building and the ground belonging to it which I now dwell in to him and his heirs forever.”

                            To his daughters Margrett and Mary Potter, upon their reaching the age of one and twenty, or the day after their marriage, he leaves £50 each. All the rest of his goods are left to his loving wife Mary.

                             

                            An inventory of the belongings of Richard Potter, 1731:

                            Richard Potter inventory

                             

                            Richard Potters father was also named Richard Potter 1649-1719, and he too was a blacksmith.

                            Richard Potter of Coleorton in the county of Leicester, blacksmith, stated in his will:  “I give to my son and daughter Thomas and Sarah Potter the possession of my house and grounds.”

                            He leaves ten pounds each to his daughters Jane and Alice, to his son Francis he gives five pounds, and five shillings to his son Richard. Sons Joseph and William also receive five shillings each. To his daughter Mary, wife of Edward Burton, and her daughter Elizabeth, he gives five shillings each. The rest of his good, chattels and wordly substance he leaves equally between his son and daugter Thomas and Sarah. As there is no mention of his wife, it’s assumed that she predeceased him.

                            The will of Richard Potter, 1719:

                            Richard Potter 1719

                             

                            Richard Potter’s (1649-1719) parents were William Potter and Alse Huldin, both born in the early 1600s.  They were married in 1646 at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire.  The name Huldin appears to originate in Finland.

                            William Potter was a blacksmith. In the 1659 parish registers of Breedon on the Hill, William Potter of Breedon blacksmith buryed the 14th July.

                            #6284
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              To Australia

                              Grettons

                              Charles Herbert Gretton 1876-1954

                              Charles Gretton, my great grandmothers youngest brother, arrived in Sydney Australia on 12 February 1912, having set sail on 5 January 1912 from London. His occupation on the passenger list was stockman, and he was traveling alone.  Later that year, in October, his wife and two sons sailed out to join him.

                              Gretton 1912 passenger

                               

                              Charles was born in Swadlincote.  He married Mary Anne Illsley, a local girl from nearby Church Gresley, in 1898. Their first son, Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton, was born in 1900 in Church Gresley, and their second son, George Herbert Gretton, was born in 1910 in Swadlincote.  In 1901 Charles was a colliery worker, and on the 1911 census, his occupation was a sanitary ware packer.

                              Charles and Mary Anne had two more sons, both born in Footscray:  Frank Orgill Gretton in 1914, and Arthur Ernest Gretton in 1920.

                              On the Australian 1914 electoral rolls, Charles and Mary Ann were living at 72 Moreland Street, Footscray, and in 1919 at 134 Cowper Street, Footscray, and Charles was a labourer.  In 1924, Charles was a sub foreman, living at 3, Ryan Street E, Footscray, Australia.  On a later electoral register, Charles was a foreman.  Footscray is a suburb of Melbourne, and developed into an industrial zone in the second half of the nineteenth century.

                              Charles died in Victoria in 1954 at the age of 77. His wife Mary Ann died in 1958.

                              Gretton obit 1954

                               

                              Charles and Mary Ann Gretton:

                              Charles and Mary Ann Gretton

                               

                              Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton 1900-1955

                              Leslie was an electrician.   He married Ethel Christine Halliday, born in 1900 in Footscray, in 1927.  They had four children: Tom, Claire, Nancy and Frank. By 1943 they were living in Yallourn.  Yallourn, Victoria was a company town in Victoria, Australia built between the 1920s and 1950s to house employees of the State Electricity Commission of Victoria, who operated the nearby Yallourn Power Station complex. However, expansion of the adjacent open-cut brown coal mine led to the closure and removal of the town in the 1980s.

                              On the 1954 electoral registers, daughter Claire Elizabeth Gretton, occupation teacher, was living at the same address as Leslie and Ethel.

                              Leslie died in Yallourn in 1955, and Ethel nine years later in 1964, also in Yallourn.

                               

                              George Herbert Gretton 1910-1970

                              George married Florence May Hall in 1934 in Victoria, Australia.  In 1942 George was listed on the electoral roll as a grocer, likewise in 1949. In 1963 his occupation was a process worker, and in 1968 in Flinders, a horticultural advisor.

                              George died in Lang Lang, not far from Melbourne, in 1970.

                               

                              Frank Orgill Gretton 1914-

                              Arthur Ernest Gretton 1920-

                               

                              Orgills

                              John Orgill 1835-1911

                              John Orgill was Charles Herbert Gretton’s uncle.  He emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926 in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. They had seven children, and their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

                              John Orgill was a councillor for the Shire of Dandenong in 1873, and between 1876 and 1879.

                              John Orgill:

                              John Orgill

                               

                              John Orgill obituary in the South Bourke and Mornington Journal, 21 December 1911:

                              John Orgill obit

                               

                               

                              John’s wife Elizabeth Orgill, a teacher and a “a public spirited lady” according to newspaper articles, opened a hydropathic hospital in Dandenong called Gladstone House.

                              Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill:

                              Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill

                               

                              On the Old Dandenong website:

                              Gladstone House hydropathic hospital on the corner of Langhorne and Foster streets (153 Foster Street) Dandenong opened in 1896, working on the theory of water therapy, no medicine or operations. Her husband passed away in 1911 at 77, around similar time Dr Barclay Thompson obtained control of the practice. Mrs Orgill remaining on in some capacity.

                              Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).

                              Around 1912 Dr A. E. Taylor took over the location from Dr. Barclay Thompson. Mrs Orgill was still working here but no longer controlled the practice, having given it up to Barclay. Taylor served as medical officer for the Shire for before his death in 1939. After Taylor’s death Dr. T. C. Reeves bought his practice in 1939, later that year being appointed medical officer,

                              Gladstone Road in Dandenong is named after her family, who owned and occupied a farming paddock in the area on former Police Paddock ground, the Police reserve having earlier been reduced back to Stud Road.

                              Hydropathy (now known as Hydrotherapy) and also called water cure, is a part of medicine and alternative medicine, in particular of naturopathy, occupational therapy and physiotherapy, that involves the use of water for pain relief and treatment.

                              Gladstone House, Dandenong:

                              Gladstone House

                               

                               

                              John’s brother Robert Orgill 1830-1915 also emigrated to Australia. I met (online) his great great grand daughter Lidya Orgill via the Old Dandenong facebook group.

                              John’s other brother Thomas Orgill 1833-1908 also emigrated to the same part of Australia.

                              Thomas Orgill:

                              Thomas Orgill

                               

                              One of Thomas Orgills sons was George Albert Orgill 1880-1949:

                              George Albert Orgill

                               

                              A letter was published in The South Bourke & Mornington Journal (Richmond, Victoria, Australia) on 17 Jun 1915, to Tom Orgill, Emerald Hill (South Melbourne) from hospital by his brother George Albert Orgill (4th Pioneers) describing landing of Covering Party prior to dawn invasion of Gallipoli:

                              George Albert Orgill letter

                               

                              Another brother Henry Orgill 1837-1916 was born in Measham and died in Dandenong, Australia. Henry was a bricklayer living in Measham on the 1861 census. Also living with his widowed mother Elizabeth at that address was his sister Sarah and her husband Richard Gretton, the baker (my great great grandparents). In October of that year he sailed to Melbourne.  His occupation was bricklayer on his death records in 1916.

                              Two of Henry’s sons, Arthur Garfield Orgill born 1888 and Ernest Alfred Orgill born 1880 were killed in action in 1917 and buried in Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France. Another son, Frederick Stanley Orgill, died in 1897 at the age of seven.

                              A fifth brother, William Orgill 1842-   sailed from Liverpool to Melbourne in 1861, at 19 years of age. Four years later in 1865 he sailed from Victoria, Australia to New Zealand.

                               

                              I assumed I had found all of the Orgill brothers who went to Australia, and resumed research on the Orgills in Measham, in England. A search in the British Newspaper Archives for Orgills in Measham revealed yet another Orgill brother who had gone to Australia.

                              Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 went to South Africa and to Australia, but returned to Measham.

                              The Orgill brothers had two sisters. One was my great great great grandmother Sarah, and the other was Hannah.  Hannah married Francis Hart in Measham. One of her sons, John Orgill Hart 1862-1909, was born in Measham.  On the 1881 census he was a 19 year old carpenters apprentice.  Two years later in 1883 he was listed as a joiner on the passenger list of the ship Illawarra, bound for Australia.   His occupation at the time of his death in Dandenong in 1909 was contractor.

                              An additional coincidental note about Dandenong: my step daughter Emily’s Australian partner is from Dandenong.

                               

                               

                              Housleys

                              Charles Housley 1823-1856

                              Charles Housley emigrated to Australia in 1851, the same year that his brother George emigrated to USA.  Charles is mentioned in the Narrative on the Letters by Barbara Housley, and appears in the Housley Letters chapters.

                               

                              Rushbys

                              George “Mike” Rushby 1933-

                              Mike moved to Australia from South Africa. His story is a separate chapter.

                              #6275
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                                and a mystery about George

                                 

                                I had overlooked this interesting part of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on the Letters” initially, perhaps because I was more focused on finding Samuel Housley.  But when I did eventually notice, I wondered how I had missed it!  In this particularly interesting letter excerpt from Joseph, Barbara has not put the date of the letter ~ unusually, because she did with all of the others.  However I dated the letter to later than 1867, because Joseph mentions his wife, and they married in 1867. This is important, because there are two Emma Housleys. Joseph had a sister Emma, born in 1836, two years before Joseph was born.  At first glance, one would assume that a reference to Emma in the letters would mean his sister, but Emma the sister was married in Derby in 1858, and by 1869 had four children.

                                But there was another Emma Housley, born in 1851.

                                 

                                From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                                “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                                A MYSTERY

                                A very mysterious comment is contained in a letter from Joseph:

                                “And now about Emma.  I have only seen her once and she came to me to get your address but I did not feel at liberty to give it to her until I had wrote to you but however she got it from someone.  I think it was in this way.  I was so pleased to hear from you in the first place and with John’s family coming to see me I let them read one or two of your letters thinking they would like to hear of you and I expect it was Will that noticed your address and gave it to her.  She came up to our house one day when I was at work to know if I had heard from you but I had not heard from you since I saw her myself and then she called again after that and my wife showed her your boys’ portraits thinking no harm in doing so.”

                                At this point Joseph interrupted himself to thank them for sending the portraits.  The next sentence is:

                                “Your son JOHN I have never seen to know him but I hear he is rather wild,” followed by: “EMMA has been living out service but don’t know where she is now.”

                                Since Joseph had just been talking about the portraits of George’s three sons, one of whom is John Eley, this could be a reference to things George has written in despair about a teen age son–but could Emma be a first wife and John their son?  Or could Emma and John both be the children of a first wife?

                                Elsewhere, Joseph wrote, “AMY ELEY died 14 years ago. (circa 1858)  She left a son and a daughter.”

                                An Amey Eley and a George Housley were married on April 1, 1849 in Duffield which is about as far west of Smalley as Heanor is East.  She was the daughter of John, a framework knitter, and Sarah Eley.  George’s father is listed as William, a farmer.  Amey was described as “of full age” and made her mark on the marriage document.

                                Anne wrote in August 1854:  JOHN ELEY is living at Derby Station so must take the first opportunity to get the receipt.” Was John Eley Housley named for him?

                                (John Eley Housley is George Housley’s son in USA, with his second wife, Sarah.)

                                 

                                George Housley married Amey Eley in 1849 in Duffield.  George’s father on the register is William Housley, farmer.  Amey Eley’s father is John Eley, framework knitter.

                                George Housley Amey Eley

                                 

                                On the 1851 census, George Housley and his wife Amey Housley are living with her parents in Heanor, John Eley, a framework knitter, and his wife Rebecca.  Also on the census are Charles J Housley, born in 1849 in Heanor, and Emma Housley, three months old at the time of the census, born in 1851.  George’s birth place is listed as Smalley.

                                1851 George Housley

                                 

                                 

                                On the 31st of July 1851 George Housley arrives in New York. In 1854 George Housley marries Sarah Ann Hill in USA.

                                 

                                On the 1861 census in Heanor, Rebecca Eley was a widow, her husband John having died in 1852, and she had three grandchildren living with her: Charles J Housley aged 12, Emma Housley, 10, and mysteriously a William Housley aged 5!  Amey Housley, the childrens mother,  died in 1858.

                                Housley Eley 1861

                                 

                                Back to the mysterious comment in Joseph’s letter.  Joseph couldn’t have been speaking of his sister Emma.  She was married with children by the time Joseph wrote that letter, so was not just out of service, and Joseph would have known where she was.   There is no reason to suppose that the sister Emma was trying unsuccessfully to find George’s addresss: she had been sending him letters for years.   Joseph must have been referring to George’s daughter Emma.

                                Joseph comments to George “Your son John…is rather wild.” followed by the remark about Emma’s whereabouts.  Could Charles John Housley have used his middle name of John instead of Charles?

                                As for the child William born five years after George left for USA, despite his name of Housley, which was his mothers married name, we can assume that he was not a Housley ~ not George’s child, anyway. It is not clear who his father was, as Amey did not remarry.

                                A further excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                                Certainly there was some mystery in George’s life. George apparently wanted his whereabouts kept secret. Anne wrote: “People are at a loss to know where you are. The general idea is you are with Charles. We don’t satisfy them.” In that same letter Anne wrote: “I know you could not help thinking of us very often although you neglected writing…and no doubt would feel grieved for the trouble you at times caused (our mother). She freely forgives all.” Near the end of the letter, Anne added: “Mother sends her love to you and hopes you will write and if you want to tell her anything you don’t want all to see you must write it on a piece of loose paper and put it inside the letter.”

                                In a letter to George from his sister Emma:

                                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.”

                                It would seem that George Housley named his first son with his second wife after his first wife’s father ~ while he was married to both of them.

                                 

                                Emma Housley

                                1851-1935

                                 

                                In 1871 Emma was 20 years old and “in service” living as a lodger in West Hallam, not far from Heanor.  As she didn’t appear on a 1881 census, I looked for a marriage, but the only one that seemed right in every other way had Emma Housley’s father registered as Ralph Wibberly!

                                Who was Ralph Wibberly?  A family friend or neighbour, perhaps, someone who had been a father figure?  The first Ralph Wibberly I found was a blind wood cutter living in Derby. He had a son also called Ralph Wibberly. I did not think Ralph Wibberly would be a very common name, but I was wrong.

                                I then found a Ralph Wibberly living in Heanor, with a son also named Ralph Wibberly. A Ralph Wibberly married an Emma Salt from Heanor. In 1874, a 36 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1838) was on trial in Derby for inflicting grevious bodily harm on William Fretwell of Heanor. His occupation is “platelayer” (a person employed in laying and maintaining railway track.) The jury found him not guilty.

                                In 1851 a 23 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1828) was a prisoner in Derby Gaol. However, Ralph Wibberly, a 50 year old labourer born in 1801 and his son Ralph Wibberly, aged 13 and born in 1838, are living in Belper on the 1851 census. Perhaps the son was the same Ralph Wibberly who was found not guilty of GBH in 1874. This appears to be the one who married Emma Salt, as his wife on the 1871 census is called Emma, and his occupation is “Midland Company Railway labourer”.

                                Which was the Ralph Wibberly that Emma chose to name as her father on the marriage register? We may never know, but perhaps we can assume it was Ralph Wibberly born in 1801.  It is unlikely to be the blind wood cutter from Derby; more likely to be the local Ralph Wibberly.  Maybe his son Ralph, who we know was involved in a fight in 1874, was a friend of Emma’s brother Charles John, who was described by Joseph as a “wild one”, although Ralph was 11 years older than Charles John.

                                Emma Housley married James Slater on Christmas day in Heanor in 1873.  Their first child, a daughter, was called Amy. Emma’s mother was Amy Eley. James Slater was a colliery brakesman (employed to work the steam-engine, or other machinery used in raising the coal from the mine.)

                                It occurred to me to wonder if Emma Housley (George’s daughter) knew Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine (Samuel’s daughters). They were cousins, lived in the vicinity, and they had in common with each other having been deserted by their fathers who were brothers. Emma was born two years after Catherine. Catherine was living with John Benniston, a framework knitter in Heanor, from 1851 to 1861. Emma was living with her grandfather John Ely, a framework knitter in Heanor. In 1861, George Purdy was also living in Heanor. He was listed on the census as a 13 year old coal miner! George Purdy and Catherine Housley married in 1866 in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire ~ just over the county border. Emma’s first child Amy was born in Heanor, but the next two children, Eliza and Lilly, were born in Eastwood, in 1878 and 1880. Catherine and George’s fifth child, my great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, was born in Eastwood in 1880, the same year as Lilly Slater.

                                By 1881 Emma and James Slater were living in Woodlinkin, Codnor and Loscoe, close to Heanor and Eastwood, on the Derbyshire side of the border. On each census up to 1911 their address on the census is Woodlinkin. Emma and James had nine children: six girls and 3 boys, the last, Alfred Frederick, born in 1901.

                                Emma and James lived three doors up from the Thorn Tree pub in Woodlinkin, Codnor:

                                Woodlinkin

                                 

                                Emma Slater died in 1935 at the age of 84.

                                 

                                IN
                                LOVING MEMORY OF
                                EMMA SLATER
                                (OF WOODLINKIN)
                                WHO DIED
                                SEPT 12th 1935
                                AGED 84 YEARS
                                AT REST

                                Crosshill Cemetery, Codnor, Amber Valley Borough, Derbyshire, England:

                                Emma Slater

                                 

                                Charles John Housley

                                1949-

                                #6267
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  From Tanganyika with Love

                                  continued part 8

                                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                  Morogoro 20th January 1941

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Morogoro 30th July 1941

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Morogoro 26th August 1941

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Morogoro 25th December 1941

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Morogoro 26th January 1944

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

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

                                  Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                                  Very much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                                  Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                   

                                  #6266
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    From Tanganyika with Love

                                    continued part 7

                                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                    Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Iringa. 30th November 1938

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Nzassa 5th August 1939

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Morogoro 14th September 1939

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Morogoro 4th November 1939

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Iringa 8th December 1939

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Morogoro 10th March 1940

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Morogoro 14th July 1940

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Morogoro 16th November 1940

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                     

                                    #6264
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      From Tanganyika with Love

                                      continued  ~ part 5

                                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                      Chunya 16th December 1936

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love to all,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      With love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      Eleanor.

                                      Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Chunya 29th January 1937

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                      We should be with you in three weeks time!

                                      Very much love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      With love to you all,
                                      Eleanor.

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

                                      George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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