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  • #7389

    “Well, it’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?”

    “Tell me everything, right from the beginning. You’re the one who keeps saying we have plenty of time, Truella. I shall quite enjoy just sitting here with a bottle of wine listening to the story,” Frigella said, feeling all the recent stress pleasantly slipping away.

    “Alright then, you asked for it!” Truella said, topping up their glasses.  The evening was warm enough to sit outside on the porch, which faced the rising moon. A tawny owl in a nearby tree called to another a short distance away.  “It’s kind of hard to say when it all started, though. I suppose it all started when I joined that Arkan coven years ago and the focus wasn’t on spells so much as on time travel.”

    “We used to travel to times and places in the past,” Truella continued, “Looking back now, I wonder how much of it we made up, you know?” Frigella nodded. “Preconceptions, assumptions based on what we thought we knew.  It was fun though, and I’m pretty sure some of it was valid. Anyway, valid or not, one thing leads to another and it was fun.

    “One of the trips was to this area but many centuries ago in the distant past.  The place seemed to be a sort of ancient motorway rest stop affair, somewhere for travellers to stay overnight on a route to somewhere.  There was nothing to be found out about it in any books or anything though, so no way to verify it like we could with some of our other trips.  I didn’t think much more about it really, we did so many other trips.  For some reason we all got a bit obsessed with pyramids, as you do!”

    They both laughed. “Yeah, always pyramids or special magical stones,” agreed Frigella.

    “Yeah that and the light warriors!” Truella snorted.

    “So then I found a couple of pyramids not far away, well of course they weren’t actually pyramids but they did look like they were.  We did lots of trips there and made up all sorts of baloney between us about them, and I kept going back to look around there.  We used to say that archaeologists were hiding the truth about all the pyramids and past civilizations, quite honestly it’s a bit embarrassing now to remember that but anyway, I met an actual archaeologist by chance and asked her about that place.  And the actual history of it was way more interesting than all that stuff we’d made up or imagined.

    The ruins I’d found there were Roman, but it went further back than that. It was a bronze age hill fort, and later Phoenician and Punic, before it was Roman.  I asked the archaeologist about Roman sites and how would I be able to tell and she showed me a broken Roman roof tile, and said one would always find these on a Roman site.

    I found loads over the years while out walking, but then I found one in the old stone kitchen wall.  Here, let me fetch another bottle.” Truella got up and went inside, returning with the wine and a dish of peanuts.

    “So that’s when I decided to dig a hole in the garden and just keep digging until I found something.  I don’t know why I never thought to do that years ago. I tell you what, I think everyone should just dig a hole in their garden, and just keep digging until they find something, I can honestly say that I’ve never had so much fun!”

    “But couldn’t you have just done a spell, instead of all that digging?” Frigella asked.

    “Oh my god, NO!  Hell no!  That wouldn’t be the same thing at all,” Truella was adamant. “In fact, this dig has made me wonder about all our spells to be honest,  are we going too fast and missing the finds along the way?  I’ve learned so much about so many things by taking it slowly.”

    “Yeah I kinda know what you mean, but carry on with the story. We should discuss that later, though.”

    “Well, I just keep finding broken pottery, loads of it. We thought it was all Roman but some of it is older, much older.  I’m happy about that because I read up on Romans and frankly wasn’t impressed.  Warmongering and greedy, treated the locals terribly. Ok they made everything look nice  with the murals and mosaics and what not, and their buildings lasted pretty well, but who actually built the stuff, not Romans was it, it was the slaves.  Still, I wasn’t complaining, finding Roman stuff in the garden was pretty cool.  But I kept wishing I knew more about the people who lived here before they came on the rampage taking everything back to Rome.  Hey, let me go and grab another bottle of wine.”

    Frigella was feeling pleasantly squiffy by now. The full moon was bright overhead, and she reckoned it was light enough to wander around the garden while Truella was in the kitchen.  As she walked down the garden, the tawny owl called and she looked up hoping to see him in the fig tree. She missed her step and fell over a bucket, and she was falling, falling, falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole.

    The fall was slow like a feather wafting gently down and she saw hundreds of intriguing fragments of objects and etchings and artefacts on the sides of the hole and she drifted slowly down.  At last she came to rest at the bottom, and found herself in an arched gallery of mirrors and tiles and doors. On every surface were incomplete drawings and shreds of writings, wondrous and fascinating.  She didn’t immediately notice the hippocampus smiling benignly down at her.   He startled her a little, but had such a pleasant face that she smiled back up at him.  “Where am I?” she asked.

    “You’d be surprised how many people ask me that.” he replied, with a soft whicker of mirth. “Not many realise that they’ve called on me to help them navigate.  Now tell me, where is it you want to go?”

    “Well,” Frigella replied slowly, “Now that you ask, I’m not entirely sure.  But I’m pretty sure Truella would like to see this place.”

     

    hippocampus

    #7387

    The full moon was rising behind the mountains as Frigella turned off the road for the last lap of the journey down a dirt track.  Daunted at first by the thought of the long drive, the prospect of a weeks holiday had lifted her spirits. There was altogether too much going on of late for a simple country hedge witch, and that carnaval mayhem had made her grumpy and withdrawn, but the drive had restored her equilibrium.

    Truella rolled down the passenger window and laughed as the cool night air rushed in.  “Nearly there now, I can hardly believe I made it back in one piece.”

    “You and me both,” laughed Frigella.  “There’s nothing I fancy more now than a couple of glasses of your lovely red wine but we’d better make a start on the spell to bring Roger back right away. This moon is perfect tonight.”

    “I can’t see any reason why we can’t do both,” Truella grinned.  Frigella started to object, and then stopped herself. They had arrived and she was on holiday and she deserved to sit and enjoy a drink with her friend and her responsibilities and obligations would just have to wait, at least for an hour or two.

    “Why not indeed,” she said, “Why the hell not.  You can tell me about finding the hippocampus statue in the dig. Great timing I must say, and the smoked hippo bones as well, just when we need to use that spell.”

    “And a full moon as well. And it’s full all night long, we have plenty of time.”

    #7380

    The second coming had been anticipated for many years, although few but the most fanatic of the American sects expected it to actually happen, and they, of course, expected it to happen in their own country.  Certainly, nobody expected him to be 30 meters high weighing over 600 tons.  Naturally people were sceptical but when he turned the Rodrigo de Freitas lake into wine,  even the most scientific minds were unable to find an explanation.

    “We had better get the hell out of town,” Frigella said, “Before anyone realizes it was our spell to reverse the effects of the termitation honey on Truella.”

    “Have I got time to go for a swim in the wine lake first,” asked Jezeel, “I mean, it would be such a shame to miss that once in a lifetime experience, and I’m sure it will do wonders for my complexion.”

    “You’re right, it would be a shame to miss it,” agreed Truella, “But are you sure the spell is stable, I don’t want to turn to stone again while I’m swimming.”

    “Well, I think we should leave town as soon as possible” Frigella said, her pale forehead wrinking into a little frown.

    “Look, Malove isn’t even up yet after stuffing herself with that smoked hippo last night,  if she wakes up before we get back she’ll just think we’ve gone out for coffee.  We’re supposed to be having a little holiday.  Anyway I put some sleeping pills in her portion, she won’t wake up until well after lunch.  We have plenty of time and it’s only two blocks from here. Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

    “Well come on then” Eris said, “But let’s get going. Don’t start doing your makeup Jez, it will all come off in the wine anyway.”

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Spring was upon them.

      “Bloody too early, if you ask me” said Malové, the Head of the Coven of Mystiques, but just CEO of Quadrivium Emporium to the outside world.

      “Meow.” Only the Coven’s familiar, a clichéd black cat dared to voice what seemed to have been the common thought. How tedious, so much spring cleaning of the collective energies to do, and almost 2 months ahead of schedule. Blame the telluric energies catch-up with the cosmic downpour of the world’s mind agitation. Or global warming, as it’s labelled nowadays.

      “You know how it goes.” Malové continued. “We set the tone of the stories ahead. And it can only be done by actually writing it. Yeah, how exciting. Like conducting an orchestra in a zoo, there’s plenty of potential, but I guess we’ll have to work on our priorities.”

      “Do you mean keeping the zoo’s hyenas from eating everybody else?” Frigella was not one to beat around the bush.

      “Yeah, something like that. And you know how you control hyenas?”

      The witches assembled looked at each other sideways.

      “The Whale would tell you it’s a lovely story of shared resonance, forging bonds based on trust… But that’s a load of bollocks. Some emotions are only managed through stronger ones – so let’s do what we do best, get our Incense ready, and put some order in this bloody chaotic mess. Who wants to start?”

       

      #6613

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Despite the old man’s endless flow of words, Youssef couldn’t get him to explain what he meant about the abandoned mine and why the town’s people didn’t like people sneaking around and asking questions.

      Not wanting to waste more time, Youssef walked to the brick building where the twins had disappeared. It was crammed between the telegraph station and a grocery store. The door had been walled with red bricks. They were covered in faded graffitis and layers of torn-up posters. It seemed obvious the wall had been there for quite some time already.

      The old man was sticking to Youssef like glue, talking about that time when his now dead brother took in an old cat he called Phineas. Youssef tried to growl him away, but the man always came back, persistent as a cloud of mosquitoes over the promise of a blood feast.

      Youssef tried not to pay attention to him. What did AL said about that quest ? Go ask questions around to town’s people about odd things happening ? Well there were plenty of those things happening. Maybe the clerk at the telegraph station would know something, especially how to get rid of that old man.

      Youssef pushed the door and entered the telegraph station, leaving the old man outside. The interior was lit with a collection of old style tungsten lamps hanging in a random pattern from the ceiling. 

      The clerk was busy sorting out a pile of telegrams. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. He lifted his head up. The noise stopped and Youssef realised the young man had mechanical hands.

      “Welcome, welcome, welcome! What can I do for you today, my friend?” asked the clerk.

      “I just wanted to…” started Youssef.

      “Wait! Don’t tell me. I’m a bit of a psychic myself and I already know what you’re here for.”

      “Really?”

      The man foraged through his pile of telegram with his mechanical hands and picked one. He looked at it for a few seconds.

      “My friend, you’re in luck today!” he said, looking intently at Youssef. “I just received this telegram that I think might interest you. Here, take a look!”

      Youssef took the paper and started to read aloud : “Words spoken by the talkative will unlock the path. Seek those who chatter and unravel the clue. What the…?” 

      “Interesting, isn’t it? That’s a real head-scratcher, if you ask me!”

      The door bell rang and the old man entered, holding his sore ribs. 

      “Get out, Phineas. You’re not welcome here.” said the clerk with a frown.

      The old man looked at the clerk with an air of confusion before turning to Youssef. “What did he say? Who’s Phineas?” he asked.

      Ignoring the question, Youssef tried to steer the conversation back to the telegram. “What does this mean?” he asked the clerk.

      The clerk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Hmm, well, it seems to me that you have a certain magnetism for talkative people. Perhaps that’s the key to unlocking this riddle.”

      Youssef’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean, magnetism?”

      The old man interjected, “For sure! You’re like a magnet, my boy. I can’t seem to stop talking when I’m around you.”

      Youssef rolled his eyes. “So, what do I do? Just wander around town and wait for someone to start talking?”

      The clerk nodded. “That could be a good start. But if you’re looking for something specific, you might want to try Betsy when you wake up. She’s got a boutique of Gems and Rocks. You seem to like them rocks,” he said pointing at the black obsidian. “Found it in a mine?”

      The old man’s eyes lit up. “Ah, the old mine! I’ve been there before, you know. My brother used to work there before he died. Strange things happening there.”

      Youssef’s interest was piqued. “What kind of strange things?”

      The old man leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a magnetar hidden in that mine, my boy.”

      “Shut up! Phineas,” interrupted the clerk. “If you want my advice, stranger, don’t go near the old mine. ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ if you know what I mean.”

      The telegraph receiver started to make clicketing sounds. The clerk read it and looked at Youssef.

      “You’ve got a message man. Time to wake up.”

      “Wake up?”

      :fleuron2:

      Youssef opened his eyes and looked at a black mass in front of his eyes. He had been sleeping with the stone just beside his head on the pillow. No wonder he had had weird dreams. He heard his phone buzz. He sat up reluctantly and looked at his phone. 8am. A notification that his game progression had been saved and several messages from Miss Tartiflate, the last one saying :

      Don’t think you can dodge work. I’m still expecting the last blog post you’ve been paid to write!!!”

      He groaned as reality was starting to catch up.

      #6551

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Xavier had woken up in the middle of the night that felt surprisingly alive bursting with a quiet symphony of sounds from nocturnal creatures and nearby nature, painted on a canvas of eerie spacious silence.

      It often took him a while to get accustomed to any new place, and it was not uncommon for him to have his mind racing in the middle of the night. Generally Brytta had a soothing presence and that often managed to nudge him back to sleep, otherwise, he would simply wake up until the train of thoughts had left the station.

      It was beginning of the afternoon in Berlin; Brytta would be in a middle of a shift, so he recorded a little message for her to find when she would get back to her phone. It was funny to think they’d met thanks to Yasmin and Zara, at the time the three girls were members of the same photography club, which was called ‘Focusgroupfocus’ or something similar…
      With that done, he’d turned around for something to do but there wasn’t much in the room to explore or to distract him sufficiently. Not even a book in the nightstand drawer. The decoration itself had a mesmerising nature, but after a while it didn’t help with the racing thoughts.

      He was tempted to check in the game — there was something satisfactory in finishing a quest that left his monkey brain satiated for a while, so he gave in and logged back in.

        :fleuron2:

      Completing the quest didn’t take him too long this time. The main difficulty initially was to find the portal from where his avatar had landed. It was a strange carousel of blue storks that span into different dimensions one could open with the proper incantation.

      As usual, stating the quirk was the key to the location, and the carousel portal propelled him right away to Midnight town, which was clearly a ghost town in more ways than one. Interestingly, he was chatting on the side with Glimmer, who’d run into new adventures of her own while continuing to ask him what was up, and as soon as he’d reached Midnight town, all communication channels suddenly went dark. He’d laughed to himself thinking how frustrated Glimmer would have been about that. But maybe the game took care of sending her AI-generated messages simulating his presence. Despite the disturbing thought of having an AI generated clone of himself, he almost hoped for it (he’d probably signed the consent for this without realising), so that he wouldn’t have to do a tedious recap about all what she’d missed.

      Once he arrived in the town, the adventure followed a predictable pattern. The clues were also rather simple to follow.

      The townspeople are all frozen in time, stuck in their daily routines and unable to move on. Your mission is to find the missing piece of continuity, a small hourglass that will set time back in motion and allow the townspeople to move forward.

      The clue to finding the hourglass lies within a discarded pocket watch that can be found in the mayor’s office. You must unscrew the back and retrieve a hidden key. The key will unlock a secret compartment in the town clock tower, where the hourglass is kept.

      Be careful as you search for the hourglass, as the town is not as abandoned as it seems. Spectral figures roam the streets, and strange whispers can be heard in the wind. You may also encounter a mysterious old man who seems to know more about the town’s secrets than he lets on.

      Evading the ghosts and spectres wasn’t too difficult once you got the hang of it. The old man however had been quite an elusive figure to find, but he was clearly the highlight of the whole adventure; he had been hiding in plain sight since the beginning of the adventure. One of the blue storks in the town that he’d thought had come with him through the portal was in actuality not a bird at all.

      While he was focused on finishing the quest, the interaction with the hermit didn’t seem very helpful. Was he really from the game construct? When it was time to complete the quest and turn the hourglass to set the town back in motion, and resume continuity, some of his words came back to Xavier.

      “The town isn’t what it seems. Recognise this precious moment where everything is still and you can realise it for the illusion that it is, a projection of your busy mind. When motion resumes, you will need to keep your mind quiet. The prize in the quest is not the completion of it, but the realisation you can stop the agitation at any moment, and return to what truly matters.”

      The hermit had turned to him with clear dark eyes and asked “do you know what you are seeking in these adventures? do you know what truly matters to you?”

        :fleuron2:

      When he came out of the game, his quest completed, Xavier felt the words resonate ominously.

      A buzz of the phone snapped him out of it.

      It was a message from Zara. Apparently she’d found her way back to modernity.

      [4:57] “Going to pick up Yasmin at the airport. You better sleep away the jetlag you lazy slugs, we have poultry damn plenty planned ahead – cackling bugger cooking lessons not looking forward to, but can be fun. Talk to you later. Z”

      He had the impulse to go with her, but the lack of sleep was hitting back at him now, and he thought he’d better catch some so he could manage to realign with the timezone.

      “The old man was right… that sounds like a lot of agitation coming our way…”

      #6547

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      On her way back to her room Zara picked up a leaflet off the hall table about the upcoming lager and cart race. Before starting the game she had a look through it.

      The leaflet also mentioned the competition  held annually each January in Port Lincoln. The Tunarama Festival was a competition to determine just how far a person could chuck a frozen tuna. A full-fledged celebration was centered around the event, complete with a wide array of arts and cultural displays, other participation events, local market stalls, and some of the freshest seafood in the world.

      There was unlikely to be any fresh seafood at the local lager and cart races, but judging from the photos of previous events, it looked colourful and well worth sticking around for, just for the photo opportunities.

      cart race 1

       

      Apparently the lager and cart races had started during the early days of the settler mining, and most of the carts used were relics from that era.  Competitors dressed up in costumes and colourful wigs, many of which were found in the abandoned houses of the local area.

      “The miners were a strange breed of men, but not all cut from the same cloth ~ they were daring outsiders, game for anything, adventurous rule breakers and outlaws with a penchant for extreme experience. Thus, outlandish and adventurous women ~ and men who were not interested in mining for gold in the usual sense ~ were magnetically drawn to the isolated outpost.  After a long dark day of restriction and confinement in the mines, the evenings were a time of colour and wild abandon; bright, garish, bizarre Burlesque events were popular. Strange though it may seem, the town had one of the most extensive wig and corset emporiums in the country, although it was discretely tucked away in the barn behind a mundane haberdashery shop.”

      The idea was to fill as many different receptacles with lager as possible, piling them onto the gaily decorated carts pulled by the costume clad participants.  As the carts were raced along the track, onlookers ran alongside to catch any jars or bottles that fell off the carts before they hit the ground. Many crashed to the ground and were broken, but if anyone caught one, they were obliged to drink the contents there and then before running after the carts to catch another one.

      Members of the public were encouraged to attend in fancy dress costumes and wigs.  There were plenty of stationary food vendors carts at the lager and cart races as well, and stalls and tents set up to sell trinkets.

      #6517

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      After Youssef retrieved his luggage in Alice Springs, he was swarmed with freelance tour guides trying to sell him trips. You would buy a ticket out of any one of them just to get rid of the others, he thought. With a few hungry growls, he managed to frighten most of them, with a touch of indifference he lost the rest. Except one. A short Indian looking man wearing a red cap and a moustache. He seemed to have an infinite talkative energy at his disposal, able to erode the strongest wills. The temperature was hotter than Youssef had expected, here it was the end of summer, and he was hungry. The man started to get on his nerves.

      The list of tours was endless. Uluru, scenic bushwalking trails, beautiful gardens, a historical tour, a costumed historical tour, a few national parks, and even his cousins’ restaurant. He reminded Youssef of his own father, always offering guests (and especially his visiting kids) another fruit, a pastry, some coffee, chocolate ? You sure you don’t want any chocolate? If the man was tenacious, Youssef had had training with his father. But this man seemed to mistake silence and indifference for agreement. Did he really think Youssef was going to buy one of his tours ?

      “The ghost town! You have to see Arltunga, said the man. An old mining ghost town, certainly an American like you like ghost towns. And buried treasure. Arltunga has buried treasure somewhere. You can find it. I know where to find a map.”

      Youssef wondered if it was another one of the game’s fluke that his quest was apparently bleeding into his real life again. And if there was a map, why hasn’t the treasure been found already? He checked at the back of his mind for the presence of that crazy old lady. Nope, not there. He decided to refuse the call this time. He just wanted to get to that F…ing Fish Inn in Crowshollow and meet with his friends.

      “NO, he growled, frightening a group of tourists passing by, but not the tour operator. No ghost town! We have plenty in America.” Thinking of the game and his last challenge for the previous quest, he said in desperation : “I just want to find a red scarf!” and he knew inside himself and many years attempting to resist his old man, that the short Indian man had won.

      “If you want to find a red scarf, you go to Silk Road, said the man bobbing his head. My cousin’s shop, you find everything there only.”

      Youssef sighed. He thought there were only two ways to take it. The first one was that he had fallen into a trap and try to find a way to get out of it. But it might be sticky and uncomfortable for everyone. So he decided it was the other way around and that it was part of the game. Why wouldn’t he use this as an opportunity for adventure. Wasn’t that what Xavier always said about roads less traveled ?

      “Where is your cousin’s shop? he asked. And where’s that restaurant of your cousin’s? I’m starving.”

      The little man smiled broadly.

      “Same place. Two brothers. Shop next to restaurant in Todd Mall. You’re lucky! Follow me.”

      #6478

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      “One of them’s arriving early!” Aunt Idle told Mater who had just come swanning into the kitchen with her long grey hair neatly plaited and tied with a red velvet bow.   Ridiculous being so particular about her hair at her age, Idle thought, whose own hair was an untidy and non too clean looking tangle of long dreadlocks with faded multicolour dyes growing out from her grey scalp.  “Bert’s going to pick her up at seven.”

      “You better get a move on then, the verandah needs sweeping and the dining room needs dusting. Are the bedrooms ready yet?” Mater replied, patting her hair and pulling her cardigan down neatly.

      “Plenty of time, no need to worry!” Idle said, looking worried.  “What on earth was that?”  Something bright caught her eye through the kitchen window.

      “Never mind that, make a start on the cleaning!” Mater said with a loud tut and an eye roll. Always getting distracted, that one, never finishes a job before she’s off sidetracking.  Mater gave her hair another satisfied pat, and put two slices of bread in the toaster.

      But Aunt Idle had gone outside to investigate.  A minute or two later she returned, saying “You’ll never guess what, there’s a tame red parrot sitting on the porch table. And it talks!”

      “So you’re planning to spend the day talking to a parrot, and leave me to do all the dusting, is that it?” Mater said, spreading honey on her toast.

      Pretty Girl at Flying Fish Inn

      #6388

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Youssef came out of the Internet Cafe Yurt quite satisfied of himself but confused. It was already night time here and he felt hungry like a bear looking for honey. He smelled the scents of yak’s meat and followed the trail to the resto’yurt of the camp the production had settled in for the night. They were on a trip to make a documentary about the last surviving authentic shaman of Mongolia. They’d heard he was still alive and 125 years old. Of course, he was difficult to find and they’ve been looking for him for weeks.

      Fortunately, they had good reception for him to stay in contact with his friends and play the new game with that AI generated storyline stuff. Youssef liked his character with the bear shirt, but he wouldn’t tell his friends that he hadn’t  quite understood the concept of the game or of the quest. He was the kind of guy who liked having some explanations first and follow clear rules, have a little guidance. He smiled and performed two steps of breakdance, recalling one of Xavier’s joke about a little “guy dance”. His stomach growled as he approached the resto’yurt and the scent of food became stronger. The sounds of cheerful conversations in different languages welcomed him as he entered.

      He’ll have plenty of time to think of the game in front a spicy smorlax fried and a bowl of sweet tsampa for dessert. He noticed an empty seat just near Rebbecca, a young intern that took care of Mme Landowski’s schedule. She was smiling and Youssef thought they could continue the conversation they started this morning about the type of guys she liked.

       

      #6314

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

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

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

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

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

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

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

      #6311

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

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

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

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

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

      #6268
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        continued part 9

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

        Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Lyamungu 14 May 1945

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Lyamungu 19th September 1945

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

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

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

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

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

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

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

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

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mbeya 1st November 1946

        Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        #6267
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued part 8

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Morogoro 20th January 1941

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Morogoro 30th July 1941

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Morogoro 26th August 1941

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Morogoro 25th December 1941

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Morogoro 26th January 1944

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 20th March 1944

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 15th May 1944

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 18th July 1944

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 16th August 1944

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Mummy,

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

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

          Very much love,
          Eleanor.

          Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love,
          Eleanor.

           

          #6265
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued  ~ part 6

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Mchewe 6th June 1937

            Dearest Family,

            Home again! We had an uneventful journey. Kate was as good as gold all the
            way. We stopped for an hour at Bulawayo where we had to change trains but
            everything was simplified for me by a very pleasant man whose wife shared my
            compartment. Not only did he see me through customs but he installed us in our new
            train and his wife turned up to see us off with magazines for me and fruit and sweets for
            Kate. Very, very kind, don’t you think?

            Kate and I shared the compartment with a very pretty and gentle girl called
            Clarice Simpson. She was very worried and upset because she was going home to
            Broken Hill in response to a telegram informing her that her young husband was
            dangerously ill from Blackwater Fever. She was very helpful with Kate whose
            cheerfulness helped Clarice, I think, though I, quite unintentionally was the biggest help
            at the end of our journey. Remember the partial dentures I had had made just before
            leaving Cape Town? I know I shall never get used to the ghastly things, I’ve had them
            two weeks now and they still wobble. Well this day I took them out and wrapped them
            in a handkerchief, but when we were packing up to leave the train I could find the
            handkerchief but no teeth! We searched high and low until the train had slowed down to
            enter Broken Hill station. Then Clarice, lying flat on the floor, spied the teeth in the dark
            corner under the bottom bunk. With much stretching she managed to retrieve the
            dentures covered in grime and fluff. My look of horror, when I saw them, made young
            Clarice laugh. She was met at the station by a very grave elderly couple. I do wonder
            how things turned out for her.

            I stayed overnight with Kate at the Great Northern Hotel, and we set off for
            Mbeya by plane early in the morning. One of our fellow passengers was a young
            mother with a three week old baby. How ideas have changed since Ann was born. This
            time we had a smooth passage and I was the only passenger to get airsick. Although
            there were other women passengers it was a man once again, who came up and
            offered to help. Kate went off with him amiably and he entertained her until we touched
            down at Mbeya.

            George was there to meet us with a wonderful surprise, a little red two seater
            Ford car. She is a bit battered and looks a bit odd because the boot has been
            converted into a large wooden box for carrying raw salt, but she goes like the wind.
            Where did George raise the cash to buy a car? Whilst we were away he found a small
            cave full of bat guano near a large cave which is worked by a man called Bob Sargent.
            As Sargent did not want any competition he bought the contents of the cave from
            George giving him the small car as part payment.

            It was lovely to return to our little home and find everything fresh and tidy and the
            garden full of colour. But it was heartbreaking to go into the bedroom and see George’s
            precious forgotten boots still standing by his empty bed.

            With much love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 25th June 1937

            Dearest Family,

            Last Friday George took Kate and me in the little red Ford to visit Mr Sargent’s
            camp on the Songwe River which cuts the Mbeya-Mbosi road. Mr Sargent bought
            Hicky-Wood’s guano deposit and also our small cave and is making a good living out of
            selling the bat guano to the coffee farmers in this province. George went to try to interest
            him in a guano deposit near Kilwa in the Southern Province. Mr Sargent agreed to pay
            25 pounds to cover the cost of the car trip and pegging costs. George will make the trip
            to peg the claim and take samples for analysis. If the quality is sufficiently high, George
            and Mr Sargent will go into partnership. George will work the claim and ship out the
            guano from Kilwa which is on the coast of the Southern Province of Tanganyika. So now
            we are busy building castles in the air once more.

            On Saturday we went to Mbeya where George had to attend a meeting of the
            Trout Association. In the afternoon he played in a cricket match so Kate and I spent the
            whole day with the wife of the new Superintendent of Police. They have a very nice
            new house with lawns and a sunken rose garden. Kate had a lovely romp with Kit, her
            three year old son.

            Mrs Wolten also has two daughters by a previous marriage. The elder girl said to
            me, “Oh Mrs Rushby your husband is exactly like the strong silent type of man I
            expected to see in Africa but he is the only one I have seen. I think he looks exactly like
            those men in the ‘Barney’s Tobacco’ advertisements.”

            I went home with a huge pile of magazines to keep me entertained whilst
            George is away on the Kilwa trip.

            Lots of love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 9th July 1937

            Dearest Family,

            George returned on Monday from his Kilwa safari. He had an entertaining
            tale to tell.

            Before he approached Mr Sargent about going shares in the Kilwa guano
            deposit he first approached a man on the Lupa who had done very well out of a small
            gold reef. This man, however said he was not interested so you can imagine how
            indignant George was when he started on his long trip, to find himself being trailed by
            this very man and a co-driver in a powerful Ford V8 truck. George stopped his car and
            had some heated things to say – awful threats I imagine as to what would happen to
            anyone who staked his claim. Then he climbed back into our ancient little two seater and
            went off like a bullet driving all day and most of the night. As the others took turns in
            driving you can imagine what a feat it was for George to arrive in Kilwa ahead of them.
            When they drove into Kilwa he met them with a bright smile and a bit of bluff –
            quite justifiable under the circumstances I think. He said, you chaps can have a rest now,
            you’re too late.” He then whipped off and pegged the claim. he brought some samples
            of guano back but until it has been analysed he will not know whether the guano will be
            an economic proposition or not. George is not very hopeful. He says there is a good
            deal of sand mixed with the guano and that much of it was damp.

            The trip was pretty eventful for Kianda, our houseboy. The little two seater car
            had been used by its previous owner for carting bags of course salt from his salt pans.
            For this purpose the dicky seat behind the cab had been removed, and a kind of box
            built into the boot of the car. George’s camp kit and provisions were packed into this
            open box and Kianda perched on top to keep an eye on the belongings. George
            travelled so fast on the rough road that at some point during the night Kianda was
            bumped off in the middle of the Game Reserve. George did not notice that he was
            missing until the next morning. He concluded, quite rightly as it happened, that Kianda
            would be picked up by the rival truck so he continued his journey and Kianda rejoined
            him at Kilwa.

            Believe it or not, the same thing happened on the way back but fortunately this
            time George noticed his absence. He stopped the car and had just started back on his
            tracks when Kianda came running down the road still clutching the unlighted storm lamp
            which he was holding in his hand when he fell. The glass was not even cracked.
            We are finding it difficult just now to buy native chickens and eggs. There has
            been an epidemic amongst the poultry and one hesitates to eat the survivors. I have a
            brine tub in which I preserve our surplus meat but I need the chickens for soup.
            I hope George will be home for some months. He has arranged to take a Mr
            Blackburn, a wealthy fruit farmer from Elgin, Cape, on a hunting safari during September
            and October and that should bring in some much needed cash. Lillian Eustace has
            invited Kate and me to spend the whole of October with her in Tukuyu.
            I am so glad that you so much enjoy having Ann and George with you. We miss
            them dreadfully. Kate is a pretty little girl and such a little madam. You should hear the
            imperious way in which she calls the kitchenboy for her meals. “Boy Brekkis, Boy Lunch,
            and Boy Eggy!” are her three calls for the day. She knows no Ki-Swahili.

            Eleanor

            Mchewe 8th October 1937

            Dearest Family,

            I am rapidly becoming as superstitious as our African boys. They say the wild
            animals always know when George is away from home and come down to have their
            revenge on me because he has killed so many.

            I am being besieged at night by a most beastly leopard with a half grown cub. I
            have grown used to hearing leopards grunt as they hunt in the hills at night but never
            before have I had one roaming around literally under the windows. It has been so hot at
            night lately that I have been sleeping with my bedroom door open onto the verandah. I
            felt quite safe because the natives hereabouts are law-abiding and in any case I always
            have a boy armed with a club sleeping in the kitchen just ten yards away. As an added
            precaution I also have a loaded .45 calibre revolver on my bedside table, and Fanny
            our bullterrier, sleeps on the mat by my bed. I am also looking after Barney, a fine
            Airedale dog belonging to the Costers. He slept on a mat by the open bedroom door
            near a dimly burning storm lamp.

            As usual I went to sleep with an easy mind on Monday night, but was awakened
            in the early hours of Tuesday by the sound of a scuffle on the front verandah. The noise
            was followed by a scream of pain from Barney. I jumped out of bed and, grabbing the
            lamp with my left hand and the revolver in my right, I rushed outside just in time to see
            two animal figures roll over the edge of the verandah into the garden below. There they
            engaged in a terrific tug of war. Fortunately I was too concerned for Barney to be
            nervous. I quickly fired two shots from the revolver, which incidentally makes a noise like
            a cannon, and I must have startled the leopard for both animals, still locked together,
            disappeared over the edge of the terrace. I fired two more shots and in a few moments
            heard the leopard making a hurried exit through the dry leaves which lie thick under the
            wild fig tree just beyond the terrace. A few seconds later Barney appeared on the low
            terrace wall. I called his name but he made no move to come but stood with hanging
            head. In desperation I rushed out, felt blood on my hands when I touched him, so I
            picked him up bodily and carried him into the house. As I regained the verandah the boy
            appeared, club in hand, having been roused by the shots. He quickly grasped what had
            happened when he saw my blood saturated nightie. He fetched a bowl of water and a
            clean towel whilst I examined Barney’s wounds. These were severe, the worst being a
            gaping wound in his throat. I washed the gashes with a strong solution of pot permang
            and I am glad to say they are healing remarkably well though they are bound to leave
            scars. Fanny, very prudently, had taken no part in the fighting except for frenzied barking
            which she kept up all night. The shots had of course wakened Kate but she seemed
            more interested than alarmed and kept saying “Fanny bark bark, Mummy bang bang.
            Poor Barney lots of blood.”

            In the morning we inspected the tracks in the garden. There was a shallow furrow
            on the terrace where Barney and the leopard had dragged each other to and fro and
            claw marks on the trunk of the wild fig tree into which the leopard climbed after I fired the
            shots. The affair was of course a drama after the Africans’ hearts and several of our
            shamba boys called to see me next day to make sympathetic noises and discuss the
            affair.

            I went to bed early that night hoping that the leopard had been scared off for
            good but I must confess I shut all windows and doors. Alas for my hopes of a restful
            night. I had hardly turned down the lamp when the leopard started its terrifying grunting
            just under the bedroom windows. If only she would sniff around quietly I should not
            mind, but the noise is ghastly, something like the first sickening notes of a braying
            donkey, amplified here by the hills and the gorge which is only a stones throw from the
            bedroom. Barney was too sick to bark but Fanny barked loud enough for two and the more
            frantic she became the hungrier the leopard sounded. Kate of course woke up and this
            time she was frightened though I assured her that the noise was just a donkey having
            fun. Neither of us slept until dawn when the leopard returned to the hills. When we
            examined the tracks next morning we found that the leopard had been accompanied by
            a fair sized cub and that together they had prowled around the house, kitchen, and out
            houses, visiting especially the places to which the dogs had been during the day.
            As I feel I cannot bear many more of these nights, I am sending a note to the
            District Commissioner, Mbeya by the messenger who takes this letter to the post,
            asking him to send a game scout or an armed policeman to deal with the leopard.
            So don’t worry, for by the time this reaches you I feel sure this particular trouble
            will be over.

            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 17th October 1937

            Dearest Family,

            More about the leopard I fear! My messenger returned from Mbeya to say that
            the District Officer was on safari so he had given the message to the Assistant District
            Officer who also apparently left on safari later without bothering to reply to my note, so
            there was nothing for me to do but to send for the village Nimrod and his muzzle loader
            and offer him a reward if he could frighten away or kill the leopard.

            The hunter, Laza, suggested that he should sleep at the house so I went to bed
            early leaving Laza and his two pals to make themselves comfortable on the living room
            floor by the fire. Laza was armed with a formidable looking muzzle loader, crammed I
            imagine with nuts and bolts and old rusty nails. One of his pals had a spear and the other
            a panga. This fellow was also in charge of the Petromax pressure lamp whose light was
            hidden under a packing case. I left the campaign entirely to Laza’s direction.
            As usual the leopard came at midnight stealing down from the direction of the
            kitchen and announcing its presence and position with its usual ghastly grunts. Suddenly
            pandemonium broke loose on the back verandah. I heard the roar of the muzzle loader
            followed by a vigourous tattoo beaten on an empty paraffin tin and I rushed out hoping
            to find the dead leopard. however nothing of the kind had happened except that the
            noise must have scared the beast because she did not return again that night. Next
            morning Laza solemnly informed me that, though he had shot many leopards in his day,
            this was no ordinary leopard but a “sheitani” (devil) and that as his gun was no good
            against witchcraft he thought he might as well retire from the hunt. Scared I bet, and I
            don’t blame him either.

            You can imagine my relief when a car rolled up that afternoon bringing Messers
            Stewart and Griffiths, two farmers who live about 15 miles away, between here and
            Mbeya. They had a note from the Assistant District Officer asking them to help me and
            they had come to set up a trap gun in the garden. That night the leopard sniffed all
            around the gun and I had the added strain of waiting for the bang and wondering what I
            should do if the beast were only wounded. I conjured up horrible visions of the two little
            totos trotting up the garden path with the early morning milk and being horribly mauled,
            but I needn’t have worried because the leopard was far too wily to be caught that way.
            Two more ghastly nights passed and then I had another visitor, a Dr Jackson of
            the Tsetse Department on safari in the District. He listened sympathetically to my story
            and left his shotgun and some SSG cartridges with me and instructed me to wait until the
            leopard was pretty close and blow its b—– head off. It was good of him to leave his
            gun. George always says there are three things a man should never lend, ‘His wife, his
            gun and his dog.’ (I think in that order!)I felt quite cheered by Dr Jackson’s visit and sent
            once again for Laza last night and arranged a real show down. In the afternoon I draped
            heavy blankets over the living room windows to shut out the light of the pressure lamp
            and the four of us, Laza and his two stooges and I waited up for the leopard. When we
            guessed by her grunts that she was somewhere between the kitchen and the back door
            we all rushed out, first the boy with the panga and the lamp, next Laza with his muzzle
            loader, then me with the shotgun followed closely by the boy with the spear. What a
            farce! The lamp was our undoing. We were blinded by the light and did not even
            glimpse the leopard which made off with a derisive grunt. Laza said smugly that he knew
            it was hopeless to try and now I feel tired and discouraged too.

            This morning I sent a runner to Mbeya to order the hotel taxi for tomorrow and I
            shall go to friends in Mbeya for a day or two and then on to Tukuyu where I shall stay
            with the Eustaces until George returns from Safari.

            Eleanor.

            Mchewe 18th November 1937

            My darling Ann,

            Here we are back in our own home and how lovely it is to have Daddy back from
            safari. Thank you very much for your letter. I hope by now you have got mine telling you
            how very much I liked the beautiful tray cloth you made for my birthday. I bet there are
            not many little girls of five who can embroider as well as you do, darling. The boy,
            Matafari, washes and irons it so carefully and it looks lovely on the tea tray.

            Daddy and I had some fun last night. I was in bed and Daddy was undressing
            when we heard a funny scratching noise on the roof. I thought it was the leopard. Daddy
            quickly loaded his shotgun and ran outside. He had only his shirt on and he looked so
            funny. I grabbed the loaded revolver from the cupboard and ran after Dad in my nightie
            but after all the rush it was only your cat, Winnie, though I don’t know how she managed
            to make such a noise. We felt so silly, we laughed and laughed.

            Kate talks a lot now but in such a funny way you would laugh to her her. She
            hears the houseboys call me Memsahib so sometimes instead of calling me Mummy
            she calls me “Oompaab”. She calls the bedroom a ‘bippon’ and her little behind she
            calls her ‘sittendump’. She loves to watch Mandawi’s cattle go home along the path
            behind the kitchen. Joseph your donkey, always leads the cows. He has a lazy life now.
            I am glad you had such fun on Guy Fawkes Day. You will be sad to leave
            Plumstead but I am sure you will like going to England on the big ship with granny Kate.
            I expect you will start school when you get to England and I am sure you will find that
            fun.

            God bless my dear little girl. Lots of love from Daddy and Kate,
            and Mummy

            Mchewe 18th November 1937

            Hello George Darling,

            Thank you for your lovely drawing of Daddy shooting an elephant. Daddy says
            that the only thing is that you have drawn him a bit too handsome.

            I went onto the verandah a few minutes ago to pick a banana for Kate from the
            bunch hanging there and a big hornet flew out and stung my elbow! There are lots of
            them around now and those stinging flies too. Kate wears thick corduroy dungarees so
            that she will not get her fat little legs bitten. She is two years old now and is a real little
            pickle. She loves running out in the rain so I have ordered a pair of red Wellingtons and a
            tiny umbrella from a Nairobi shop for her Christmas present.

            Fanny’s puppies have their eyes open now and have very sharp little teeth.
            They love to nip each other. We are keeping the fiercest little one whom we call Paddy
            but are giving the others to friends. The coffee bushes are full of lovely white flowers
            and the bees and ants are very busy stealing their honey.

            Yesterday a troop of baboons came down the hill and Dad shot a big one to
            scare the others off. They are a nuisance because they steal the maize and potatoes
            from the native shambas and then there is not enough food for the totos.
            Dad and I are very proud of you for not making a fuss when you went to the
            dentist to have that tooth out.

            Bye bye, my fine little son.
            Three bags full of love from Kate, Dad and Mummy.

            Mchewe 12th February, 1938

            Dearest Family,

            here is some news that will please you. George has been offered and has
            accepted a job as Forester at Mbulu in the Northern Province of Tanganyika. George
            would have preferred a job as Game Ranger, but though the Game Warden, Philip
            Teare, is most anxious to have him in the Game Department, there is no vacancy at
            present. Anyway if one crops up later, George can always transfer from one
            Government Department to another. Poor George, he hates the idea of taking a job. He
            says that hitherto he has always been his own master and he detests the thought of
            being pushed around by anyone.

            Now however he has no choice. Our capitol is almost exhausted and the coffee
            market shows no signs of improving. With three children and another on the way, he
            feels he simply must have a fixed income. I shall be sad to leave this little farm. I love
            our little home and we have been so very happy here, but my heart rejoices at the
            thought of overseas leave every thirty months. Now we shall be able to fetch Ann and
            George from England and in three years time we will all be together in Tanganyika once
            more.

            There is no sale for farms so we will just shut the house and keep on a very small
            labour force just to keep the farm from going derelict. We are eating our hens but will
            take our two dogs, Fanny and Paddy with us.

            One thing I shall be glad to leave is that leopard. She still comes grunting around
            at night but not as badly as she did before. I do not mind at all when George is here but
            until George was accepted for this forestry job I was afraid he might go back to the
            Diggings and I should once more be left alone to be cursed by the leopard’s attentions.
            Knowing how much I dreaded this George was most anxious to shoot the leopard and
            for weeks he kept his shotgun and a powerful torch handy at night.

            One night last week we woke to hear it grunting near the kitchen. We got up very
            quietly and whilst George loaded the shotgun with SSG, I took the torch and got the
            heavy revolver from the cupboard. We crept out onto the dark verandah where George
            whispered to me to not switch on the torch until he had located the leopard. It was pitch
            black outside so all he could do was listen intently. And then of course I spoilt all his
            plans. I trod on the dog’s tin bowl and made a terrific clatter! George ordered me to
            switch on the light but it was too late and the leopard vanished into the long grass of the
            Kalonga, grunting derisively, or so it sounded.

            She never comes into the clearing now but grunts from the hillside just above it.

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 18th March, 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Journeys end at last. here we are at Mbulu, installed in our new quarters which are
            as different as they possibly could be from our own cosy little home at Mchewe. We
            live now, my dears, in one wing of a sort of ‘Beau Geste’ fort but I’ll tell you more about
            it in my next letter. We only arrived yesterday and have not had time to look around.
            This letter will tell you just about our trip from Mbeya.

            We left the farm in our little red Ford two seater with all our portable goods and
            chattels plus two native servants and the two dogs. Before driving off, George took one
            look at the flattened springs and declared that he would be surprised if we reached
            Mbeya without a breakdown and that we would never make Mbulu with the car so
            overloaded.

            However luck was with us. We reached Mbeya without mishap and at one of the
            local garages saw a sturdy used Ford V8 boxbody car for sale. The garage agreed to
            take our small car as part payment and George drew on our little remaining capitol for the
            rest. We spent that night in the house of the Forest Officer and next morning set out in
            comfort for the Northern Province of Tanganyika.

            I had done the journey from Dodoma to Mbeya seven years before so was
            familiar with the scenery but the road was much improved and the old pole bridges had
            been replaced by modern steel ones. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We
            avoided hotels and camped by the road and she found this great fun.
            The road beyond Dodoma was new to me and very interesting country, flat and
            dry and dusty, as little rain falls there. The trees are mostly thorn trees but here and there
            one sees a giant baobab, weird trees with fantastically thick trunks and fat squat branches
            with meagre foliage. The inhabitants of this area I found interesting though. They are
            called Wagogo and are a primitive people who ape the Masai in dress and customs
            though they are much inferior to the Masai in physique. They are also great herders of
            cattle which, rather surprisingly, appear to thrive in that dry area.

            The scenery alters greatly as one nears Babati, which one approaches by a high
            escarpment from which one has a wonderful view of the Rift Valley. Babati township
            appears to be just a small group of Indian shops and shabby native houses, but I
            believe there are some good farms in the area. Though the little township is squalid,
            there is a beautiful lake and grand mountains to please the eye. We stopped only long
            enough to fill up with petrol and buy some foodstuffs. Beyond Babati there is a tsetse
            fly belt and George warned our two native servants to see that no tsetse flies settled on
            the dogs.

            We stopped for the night in a little rest house on the road about 80 miles from
            Arusha where we were to spend a few days with the Forest Officer before going on to
            Mbulu. I enjoyed this section of the road very much because it runs across wide plains
            which are bounded on the West by the blue mountains of the Rift Valley wall. Here for
            the first time I saw the Masai on their home ground guarding their vast herds of cattle. I
            also saw their strange primitive hovels called Manyattas, with their thorn walled cattle
            bomas and lots of plains game – giraffe, wildebeest, ostriches and antelope. Kate was
            wildly excited and entranced with the game especially the giraffe which stood gazing
            curiously and unafraid of us, often within a few yards of the road.

            Finally we came across the greatest thrill of all, my first view of Mt Meru the extinct
            volcano about 16,000 feet high which towers over Arusha township. The approach to
            Arusha is through flourishing coffee plantations very different alas from our farm at Mchewe. George says that at Arusha coffee growing is still a paying proposition
            because here the yield of berry per acre is much higher than in the Southern highlands
            and here in the North the farmers have not such heavy transport costs as the railway runs
            from Arusha to the port at Tanga.

            We stayed overnight at a rather second rate hotel but the food was good and we
            had hot baths and a good nights rest. Next day Tom Lewis the Forest Officer, fetched
            us and we spent a few days camping in a tent in the Lewis’ garden having meals at their
            home. Both Tom and Lillian Lewis were most friendly. Tom lewis explained to George
            what his work in the Mbulu District was to be, and they took us camping in a Forest
            Reserve where Lillian and her small son David and Kate and I had a lovely lazy time
            amidst beautiful surroundings. Before we left for Mbulu, Lillian took me shopping to buy
            material for curtains for our new home. She described the Forest House at Mbulu to me
            and it sounded delightful but alas, when we reached Mbulu we discovered that the
            Assistant District Officer had moved into the Forest House and we were directed to the
            Fort or Boma. The night before we left Arusha for Mbulu it rained very heavily and the
            road was very treacherous and slippery due to the surface being of ‘black cotton’ soil
            which has the appearance and consistency of chocolate blancmange, after rain. To get to
            Mbulu we had to drive back in the direction of Dodoma for some 70 miles and then turn
            to the right and drive across plains to the Great Rift Valley Wall. The views from this
            escarpment road which climbs this wall are magnificent. At one point one looks down
            upon Lake Manyara with its brilliant white beaches of soda.

            The drive was a most trying one for George. We had no chains for the wheels
            and several times we stuck in the mud and our two houseboys had to put grass and
            branches under the wheels to stop them from spinning. Quite early on in the afternoon
            George gave up all hope of reaching Mbulu that day and planned to spend the night in
            a little bush rest camp at Karatu. However at one point it looked as though we would not
            even reach this resthouse for late afternoon found us properly bogged down in a mess
            of mud at the bottom of a long and very steep hill. In spite of frantic efforts on the part of
            George and the two boys, all now very wet and muddy, the heavy car remained stuck.
            Suddenly five Masai men appeared through the bushes beside the road. They
            were all tall and angular and rather terrifying looking to me. Each wore only a blanket
            knotted over one shoulder and all were armed with spears. They lined up by the side of
            the road and just looked – not hostile but simply aloof and supercilious. George greeted
            them and said in Ki-Swahili, “Help to push and I will reward you.” But they said nothing,
            just drawing back imperceptibly to register disgust at the mere idea of manual labour.
            Their expressions said quite clearly “A Masai is a warrior and does not soil his hands.”
            George then did something which startled them I think, as much as me. He
            plucked their spears from their hands one by one and flung them into the back of the
            boxbody. “Now push!” he said, “And when we are safely out of the mud you shall have
            your spears back.” To my utter astonishment the Masai seemed to applaud George’s
            action. I think they admire courage in a man more than anything else. They pushed with a
            will and soon we were roaring up the long steep slope. “I can’t stop here” quoth George
            as up and up we went. The Masai were in mad pursuit with their blankets streaming
            behind. They took a very steep path which was a shortcut to the top. They are certainly
            amazing athletes and reached the top at the same time as the car. Their route of course
            was shorter but much more steep, yet they came up without any sign of fatigue to claim
            their spears and the money which George handed out with a friendly grin. The Masai
            took the whole episode in good heart and we parted on the most friendly terms.

            After a rather chilly night in the three walled shack, we started on the last lap of our
            journey yesterday morning in bright weather and made the trip to Mbulu without incident.

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 24th March, 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Mbulu is an attractive station but living in this rather romantic looking fort has many
            disadvantages. Our quarters make up one side of the fort which is built up around a
            hollow square. The buildings are single storied but very tall in the German manner and
            there is a tower on one corner from which the Union Jack flies. The tower room is our
            sitting room, and one has very fine views from the windows of the rolling country side.
            However to reach this room one has to climb a steep flight of cement steps from the
            court yard. Another disadvantage of this tower room is that there is a swarm of bees in
            the roof and the stray ones drift down through holes in the ceiling and buzz angrily
            against the window panes or fly around in a most menacing manner.

            Ours are the only private quarters in the Fort. Two other sides of the Fort are
            used as offices, storerooms and court room and the fourth side is simply a thick wall with
            battlements and loopholes and a huge iron shod double door of enormous thickness
            which is always barred at sunset when the flag is hauled down. Two Police Askari always
            remain in the Fort on guard at night. The effect from outside the whitewashed fort is very
            romantic but inside it is hardly homely and how I miss my garden at Mchewe and the
            grass and trees.

            We have no privacy downstairs because our windows overlook the bare
            courtyard which is filled with Africans patiently waiting to be admitted to the courtroom as
            witnesses or spectators. The outside windows which overlook the valley are heavily
            barred. I can only think that the Germans who built this fort must have been very scared
            of the local natives.

            Our rooms are hardly cosy and are furnished with typical heavy German pieces.
            We have a vast bleak bedroom, a dining room and an enormous gloomy kitchen in
            which meals for the German garrison were cooked. At night this kitchen is alive with
            gigantic rats but fortunately they do not seem to care for the other rooms. To crown
            everything owls hoot and screech at night on the roof.

            On our first day here I wandered outside the fort walls with Kate and came upon a
            neatly fenced plot enclosing the graves of about fifteen South African soldiers killed by
            the Germans in the 1914-18 war. I understand that at least one of theses soldiers died in
            the courtyard here. The story goes, that during the period in the Great War when this fort
            was occupied by a troop of South African Horse, a German named Siedtendorf
            appeared at the great barred door at night and asked to speak to the officer in command
            of the Troop. The officer complied with this request and the small shutter in the door was
            opened so that he could speak with the German. The German, however, had not come
            to speak. When he saw the exposed face of the officer, he fired, killing him, and
            escaped into the dark night. I had this tale on good authority but cannot vouch for it. I do
            know though, that there are two bullet holes in the door beside the shutter. An unhappy
            story to think about when George is away, as he is now, and the moonlight throws queer
            shadows in the court yard and the owls hoot.

            However though I find our quarters depressing, I like Mbulu itself very much. It is
            rolling country, treeless except for the plantations of the Forestry Dept. The land is very
            fertile in the watered valleys but the grass on hills and plains is cropped to the roots by
            the far too numerous cattle and goats. There are very few Europeans on the station, only
            Mr Duncan, the District Officer, whose wife and children recently left for England, the
            Assistant District Officer and his wife, a bachelor Veterinary Officer, a Road Foreman and
            ourselves, and down in the village a German with an American wife and an elderly
            Irishman whom I have not met. The Government officials have a communal vegetable
            garden in the valley below the fort which keeps us well supplied with green stuff. 

            Most afternoons George, Kate and I go for walks after tea. On Fridays there is a
            little ceremony here outside the fort. In the late afternoon a little procession of small
            native schoolboys, headed by a drum and penny whistle band come marching up the
            road to a tune which sounds like ‘Two lovely black eyes”. They form up below our tower
            and as the flag is lowered for the day they play ‘God save the King’, and then march off
            again. It is quite a cheerful little ceremony.

            The local Africans are a skinny lot and, I should say, a poor tribe. They protect
            themselves against the cold by wrapping themselves in cotton blankets or a strip of
            unbleached sheeting. This they drape over their heads, almost covering their faces and
            the rest is wrapped closely round their bodies in the manner of a shroud. A most
            depressing fashion. They live in very primitive comfortless houses. They simply make a
            hollow in the hillside and build a front wall of wattle and daub. Into this rude shelter at night
            go cattle and goats, men, women, and children.

            Mbulu village has the usual mud brick and wattle dukas and wattle and daub
            houses. The chief trader is a Goan who keeps a surprisingly good variety of tinned
            foodstuffs and also sells hardware and soft goods.

            The Europeans here have been friendly but as you will have noted there are
            only two other women on station and no children at all to be companions for Kate.

            Eleanor.

            Mbulu 20th June 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Here we are on Safari with George at Babati where we are occupying a rest
            house on the slopes of Ufiome Mountain. The slopes are a Forest Reserve and
            George is supervising the clearing of firebreaks in preparation for the dry weather. He
            goes off after a very early breakfast and returns home in the late afternoon so Kate and I
            have long lazy days.

            Babati is a pleasant spot and the resthouse is quite comfortable. It is about a mile
            from the village which is just the usual collection of small mud brick and corrugated iron
            Indian Dukas. There are a few settlers in the area growing coffee, or going in for mixed
            farming but I don’t think they are doing very well. The farm adjoining the rest house is
            owned by Lord Lovelace but is run by a manager.

            George says he gets enough exercise clambering about all day on the mountain,
            so Kate and I do our walking in the mornings when George is busy, and we all relax in
            the evenings when George returns from his field work. Kate’s favourite walk is to the big
            block of mtama (sorghum) shambas lower down the hill. There are huge swarms of tiny
            grain eating birds around waiting the chance to plunder the mtama, so the crops are
            watched from sunrise to sunset.

            Crude observation platforms have been erected for this purpose in the centre of
            each field and the women and the young boys of the family concerned, take it in turn to
            occupy the platform and scare the birds. Each watcher has a sling and uses clods of
            earth for ammunition. The clod is placed in the centre of the sling which is then whirled
            around at arms length. Suddenly one end of the sling is released and the clod of earth
            flies out and shatters against the mtama stalks. The sling makes a loud whip like crack and
            the noise is quite startling and very effective in keeping the birds at a safe distance.

            Eleanor.

            Karatu 3rd July 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Still on safari you see! We left Babati ten days ago and passed through Mbulu
            on our way to this spot. We slept out of doors one night beside Lake Tiawa about eight
            miles from Mbulu. It was a peaceful spot and we enjoyed watching the reflection of the
            sunset on the lake and the waterhens and duck and pelicans settling down for the night.
            However it turned piercingly cold after sunset so we had an early supper and then all
            three of us lay down to sleep in the back of the boxbody (station wagon). It was a tight
            fit and a real case of ‘When Dad turns, we all turn.’

            Here at Karatu we are living in a grass hut with only three walls. It is rather sweet
            and looks like the setting for a Nativity Play. Kate and I share the only camp bed and
            George and the dogs sleep on the floor. The air here is very fresh and exhilarating and
            we all feel very fit. George is occupied all day supervising the cutting of firebreaks
            around existing plantations and the forest reserve of indigenous trees. Our camp is on
            the hillside and below us lie the fertile wheat lands of European farmers.

            They are mostly Afrikaners, the descendants of the Boer families who were
            invited by the Germans to settle here after the Boer War. Most of them are pro-British
            now and a few have called in here to chat to George about big game hunting. George
            gets on extremely well with them and recently attended a wedding where he had a
            lively time dancing at the reception. He likes the older people best as most are great
            individualists. One fine old man, surnamed von Rooyen, visited our camp. He is a Boer
            of the General Smuts type with spare figure and bearded face. George tells me he is a
            real patriarch with an enormous family – mainly sons. This old farmer fought against the
            British throughout the Boer War under General Smuts and again against the British in the
            German East Africa campaign when he was a scout and right hand man to Von Lettow. It
            is said that Von Lettow was able to stay in the field until the end of the Great War
            because he listened to the advise given to him by von Rooyen. However his dislike for
            the British does not extend to George as they have a mutual interest in big game
            hunting.

            Kate loves being on safari. She is now so accustomed to having me as her nurse
            and constant companion that I do not know how she will react to paid help. I shall have to
            get someone to look after her during my confinement in the little German Red Cross
            hospital at Oldeani.

            George has obtained permission from the District Commissioner, for Kate and
            me to occupy the Government Rest House at Oldeani from the end of July until the end
            of August when my baby is due. He will have to carry on with his field work but will join
            us at weekends whenever possible.

            Eleanor.

            Karatu 12th July 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Not long now before we leave this camp. We have greatly enjoyed our stay
            here in spite of the very chilly earl mornings and the nights when we sit around in heavy
            overcoats until our early bed time.

            Last Sunday I persuaded George to take Kate and me to the famous Ngoro-
            Ngoro Crater. He was not very keen to do so because the road is very bumpy for
            anyone in my interesting condition but I feel so fit that I was most anxious to take this
            opportunity of seeing the enormous crater. We may never be in this vicinity again and in
            any case safari will not be so simple with a small baby.

            What a wonderful trip it was! The road winds up a steep escarpment from which
            one gets a glorious birds eye view of the plains of the Great Rift Valley far, far below.
            The crater is immense. There is a road which skirts the rim in places and one has quite
            startling views of the floor of the crater about two thousand feet below.

            A camp for tourists has just been built in a clearing in the virgin forest. It is most
            picturesque as the camp buildings are very neatly constructed log cabins with very high
            pitched thatched roofs. We spent about an hour sitting on the grass near the edge of the
            crater enjoying the sunshine and the sharp air and really awe inspiring view. Far below us
            in the middle of the crater was a small lake and we could see large herds of game
            animals grazing there but they were too far away to be impressive, even seen through
            George’s field glasses. Most appeared to be wildebeest and zebra but I also picked
            out buffalo. Much more exciting was my first close view of a wild elephant. George
            pointed him out to me as we approached the rest camp on the inward journey. He
            stood quietly under a tree near the road and did not seem to be disturbed by the car
            though he rolled a wary eye in our direction. On our return journey we saw him again at
            almost uncomfortably close quarters. We rounded a sharp corner and there stood the
            elephant, facing us and slap in the middle of the road. He was busily engaged giving
            himself a dust bath but spared time to give us an irritable look. Fortunately we were on a
            slight slope so George quickly switched off the engine and backed the car quietly round
            the corner. He got out of the car and loaded his rifle, just in case! But after he had finished
            his toilet the elephant moved off the road and we took our chance and passed without
            incident.

            One notices the steepness of the Ngoro-Ngoro road more on the downward
            journey than on the way up. The road is cut into the side of the mountain so that one has
            a steep slope on one hand and a sheer drop on the other. George told me that a lorry
            coming down the mountain was once charged from behind by a rhino. On feeling and
            hearing the bash from behind the panic stricken driver drove off down the mountain as
            fast as he dared and never paused until he reached level ground at the bottom of the
            mountain. There was no sign of the rhino so the driver got out to examine his lorry and
            found the rhino horn embedded in the wooden tail end of the lorry. The horn had been
            wrenched right off!

            Happily no excitement of that kind happened to us. I have yet to see a rhino.

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 19th July 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Greetings from a lady in waiting! Kate and I have settled down comfortably in the
            new, solidly built Government Rest House which comprises one large living room and
            one large office with a connecting door. Outside there is a kitchen and a boys quarter.
            There are no resident Government officials here at Oldeani so the office is in use only
            when the District Officer from Mbulu makes his monthly visit. However a large Union
            Jack flies from a flagpole in the front of the building as a gentle reminder to the entirely
            German population of Oldeani that Tanganyika is now under British rule.

            There is quite a large community of German settlers here, most of whom are
            engaged in coffee farming. George has visited several of the farms in connection with his
            forestry work and says the coffee plantations look very promising indeed. There are also
            a few German traders in the village and there is a large boarding school for German
            children and also a very pleasant little hospital where I have arranged to have the baby.
            Right next door to the Rest House is a General Dealers Store run by a couple named
            Schnabbe. The shop is stocked with drapery, hardware, china and foodstuffs all
            imported from Germany and of very good quality. The Schnabbes also sell local farm
            produce, beautiful fresh vegetables, eggs and pure rich milk and farm butter. Our meat
            comes from a German butchery and it is a great treat to get clean, well cut meat. The
            sausages also are marvellous and in great variety.

            The butcher is an entertaining character. When he called round looking for custom I
            expected him to break out in a yodel any minute, as it was obvious from a glance that
            the Alps are his natural background. From under a green Tyrollean hat with feather,
            blooms a round beefy face with sparkling small eyes and such widely spaced teeth that
            one inevitably thinks of a garden rake. Enormous beefy thighs bulge from greasy
            lederhosen which are supported by the traditional embroidered braces. So far the
            butcher is the only cheery German, male or female, whom I have seen, and I have met
            most of the locals at the Schnabbe’s shop. Most of the men seem to have cultivated
            the grim Hitler look. They are all fanatical Nazis and one is usually greeted by a raised
            hand and Heil Hitler! All very theatrical. I always feel like crying in ringing tones ‘God
            Save the King’ or even ‘St George for England’. However the men are all very correct
            and courteous and the women friendly. The women all admire Kate and cry, “Ag, das
            kleine Englander.” She really is a picture with her rosy cheeks and huge grey eyes and
            golden curls. Kate is having a wonderful time playing with Manfried, the Scnabbe’s small
            son. Neither understands a word said by the other but that doesn’t seem to worry them.

            Before he left on safari, George took me to hospital for an examination by the
            nurse, Sister Marianne. She has not been long in the country and knows very little
            English but is determined to learn and carried on an animated, if rather quaint,
            conversation with frequent references to a pocket dictionary. She says I am not to worry
            because there is not doctor here. She is a very experienced midwife and anyway in an
            emergency could call on the old retired Veterinary Surgeon for assistance.
            I asked sister Marianne whether she knew of any German woman or girl who
            would look after Kate whilst I am in hospital and today a very top drawer German,
            bearing a strong likeness to ‘Little Willie’, called and offered the services of his niece who
            is here on a visit from Germany. I was rather taken aback and said, “Oh no Baron, your
            niece would not be the type I had in mind. I’m afraid I cannot pay much for a companion.”
            However the Baron was not to be discouraged. He told me that his niece is seventeen
            but looks twenty, that she is well educated and will make a cheerful companion. Her
            father wishes her to learn to speak English fluently and that is why the Baron wished her
            to come to me as a house daughter. As to pay, a couple of pounds a month for pocket
            money and her keep was all he had in mind. So with some misgivings I agreed to take
            the niece on as a companion as from 1st August.

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 10th August 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Never a dull moment since my young companion arrived. She is a striking looking
            girl with a tall boyish figure and very short and very fine dark hair which she wears
            severely slicked back. She wears tweeds, no make up but has shiny rosy cheeks and
            perfect teeth – she also,inevitably, has a man friend and I have an uncomfortable
            suspicion that it is because of him that she was planted upon me. Upon second
            thoughts though, maybe it was because of her excessive vitality, or even because of
            her healthy appetite! The Baroness, I hear is in poor health and I can imagine that such
            abundant health and spirit must have been quite overpowering. The name is Ingeborg,
            but she is called Mouche, which I believe means Mouse. Someone in her family must
            have a sense of humour.

            Her English only needed practice and she now chatters fluently so that I know her
            background and views on life. Mouche’s father is a personal friend of Goering. He was
            once a big noise in the German Airforce but is now connected with the car industry and
            travels frequently and intensively in Europe and America on business. Mouche showed
            me some snap shots of her family and I must say they look prosperous and charming.
            Mouche tells me that her father wants her to learn to speak English fluently so that
            she can get a job with some British diplomat in Cairo. I had immediate thought that I
            might be nursing a future Mata Hari in my bosom, but this was immediately extinguished
            when Mouche remarked that her father would like her to marry an Englishman. However
            it seems that the mere idea revolts her. “Englishmen are degenerates who swill whisky
            all day.” I pointed out that she had met George, who was a true blue Englishman, but
            was nevertheless a fine physical specimen and certainly didn’t drink all day. Mouche
            replied that George is not an Englishman but a hunter, as though that set him apart.
            Mouche is an ardent Hitler fan and an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth
            Movement. The house resounds with Hitler youth songs and when she is not singing,
            her gramophone is playing very stirring marching songs. I cannot understand a word,
            which is perhaps as well. Every day she does the most strenuous exercises watched
            with envy by me as my proportions are now those of a circus Big Top. Mouche eats a
            fantastic amount of meat and I feel it is a blessing that she is much admired by our
            Tyrollean butcher who now delivers our meat in person and adds as a token of his
            admiration some extra sausages for Mouche.

            I must confess I find her stimulating company as George is on safari most of the
            time and my evenings otherwise would be lonely. I am a little worried though about
            leaving Kate here with Mouche when I go to hospital. The dogs and Kate have not taken
            to her. I am trying to prepare Kate for the separation but she says, “She’s not my
            mummy. You are my dear mummy, and I want you, I want you.” George has got
            permission from the Provincial Forestry Officer to spend the last week of August here at
            the Rest House with me and I only hope that the baby will be born during that time.
            Kate adores her dad and will be perfectly happy to remain here with him.

            One final paragraph about Mouche. I thought all German girls were domesticated
            but not Mouche. I have Kesho-Kutwa here with me as cook and I have engaged a local
            boy to do the laundry. I however expected Mouche would take over making the
            puddings and pastry but she informed me that she can only bake a chocolate cake and
            absolutely nothing else. She said brightly however that she would do the mending. As
            there is none for her to do, she has rescued a large worn handkerchief of George’s and
            sits with her feet up listening to stirring gramophone records whilst she mends the
            handkerchief with exquisite darning.

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani. 20th August 1938

            Dearest Family,

            Just after I had posted my last letter I received what George calls a demi official
            letter from the District Officer informing me that I would have to move out of the Rest
            House for a few days as the Governor and his hangers on would be visiting Oldeani
            and would require the Rest House. Fortunately George happened to be here for a few
            hours and he arranged for Kate and Mouche and me to spend a few days at the
            German School as borders. So here I am at the school having a pleasant and restful
            time and much entertained by all the goings on.

            The school buildings were built with funds from Germany and the school is run on
            the lines of a contemporary German school. I think the school gets a grant from the
            Tanganyika Government towards running expenses, but I am not sure. The school hall is
            dominated by a more than life sized oil painting of Adolf Hitler which, at present, is
            flanked on one side by the German Flag and on the other by the Union Jack. I cannot
            help feeling that the latter was put up today for the Governor’s visit today.
            The teachers are very amiable. We all meet at mealtimes, and though few of the
            teachers speak English, the ones who do are anxious to chatter. The headmaster is a
            scholarly man but obviously anti-British. He says he cannot understand why so many
            South Africans are loyal to Britain – or rather to England. “They conquered your country
            didn’t they?” I said that that had never occurred to me and that anyway I was mainly of
            Scots descent and that loyalty to the crown was natural to me. “But the English
            conquered the Scots and yet you are loyal to England. That I cannot understand.” “Well I
            love England,” said I firmly, ”and so do all British South Africans.” Since then we have
            stuck to English literature. Shakespeare, Lord Byron and Galsworthy seem to be the
            favourites and all, thank goodness, make safe topics for conversation.
            Mouche is in her element but Kate and I do not enjoy the food which is typically
            German and consists largely of masses of fat pork and sauerkraut and unfamiliar soups. I
            feel sure that the soup at lunch today had blobs of lemon curd in it! I also find most
            disconcerting the way that everyone looks at me and says, “Bon appetite”, with much
            smiling and nodding so I have to fight down my nausea and make a show of enjoying
            the meals.

            The teacher whose room adjoins mine is a pleasant woman and I take my
            afternoon tea with her. She, like all the teachers, has a large framed photo of Hitler on her
            wall flanked by bracket vases of fresh flowers. One simply can’t get away from the man!
            Even in the dormitories each child has a picture of Hitler above the bed. Hitler accepting
            flowers from a small girl, or patting a small boy on the head. Even the children use the
            greeting ‘Heil Hitler’. These German children seem unnaturally prim when compared with
            my cheerful ex-pupils in South Africa but some of them are certainly very lovely to look
            at.

            Tomorrow Mouche, Kate and I return to our quarters in the Rest House and in a
            few days George will join us for a week.

            Eleanor.

            Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

            Dearest Family,

            You will all be delighted to hear that we have a second son, whom we have
            named John. He is a darling, so quaint and good. He looks just like a little old man with a
            high bald forehead fringed around the edges with a light brown fluff. George and I call
            him Johnny Jo because he has a tiny round mouth and a rather big nose and reminds us
            of A.A.Milne’s ‘Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an O’ , but Kate calls him, ‘My brother John’.
            George was not here when he was born on September 5th, just two minutes
            before midnight. He left on safari on the morning of the 4th and, of course, that very night
            the labour pains started. Fortunately Kate was in bed asleep so Mouche walked with
            me up the hill to the hospital where I was cheerfully received by Sister Marianne who
            had everything ready for the confinement. I was lucky to have such an experienced
            midwife because this was a breech birth and sister had to manage single handed. As
            there was no doctor present I was not allowed even a sniff of anaesthetic. Sister slaved
            away by the light of a pressure lamp endeavouring to turn the baby having first shoved
            an inverted baby bath under my hips to raise them.

            What a performance! Sister Marianne was very much afraid that she might not be
            able to save the baby and great was our relief when at last she managed to haul him out
            by the feet. One slap and the baby began to cry without any further attention so Sister
            wrapped him up in a blanket and took Johnny to her room for the night. I got very little
            sleep but was so thankful to have the ordeal over that I did not mind even though I
            heard a hyaena cackling and calling under my window in a most evil way.
            When Sister brought Johnny to me in the early morning I stared in astonishment.
            Instead of dressing him in one of his soft Viyella nighties, she had dressed him in a short
            sleeved vest of knitted cotton with a cotton cloth swayed around his waist sarong
            fashion. When I protested, “But Sister why is the baby not dressed in his own clothes?”
            She answered firmly, “I find it is not allowed. A baby’s clotheses must be boiled and I
            cannot boil clotheses of wool therefore your baby must wear the clotheses of the Red
            Cross.”

            It was the same with the bedding. Poor Johnny lies all day in a deep wicker
            basket with a detachable calico lining. There is no pillow under his head but a vast kind of
            calico covered pillow is his only covering. There is nothing at all cosy and soft round my
            poor baby. I said crossly to the Sister, “As every thing must be so sterile, I wonder you
            don’t boil me too.” This she ignored.

            When my message reached George he dashed back to visit us. Sister took him
            first to see the baby and George was astonished to see the baby basket covered by a
            sheet. “She has the poor little kid covered up like a bloody parrot,” he told me. So I
            asked him to go at once to buy a square of mosquito netting to replace the sheet.
            Kate is quite a problem. She behaves like an Angel when she is here in my
            room but is rebellious when Sister shoos her out. She says she “Hates the Nanny”
            which is what she calls Mouche. Unfortunately it seems that she woke before midnight
            on the night Johnny Jo was born to find me gone and Mouche in my bed. According to
            Mouche, Kate wept all night and certainly when she visited me in the early morning
            Kate’s face was puffy with crying and she clung to me crying “Oh my dear mummy, why
            did you go away?” over and over again. Sister Marianne was touched and suggested
            that Mouche and Kate should come to the hospital as boarders as I am the only patient
            at present and there is plenty of room. Luckily Kate does not seem at all jealous of the
            baby and it is a great relief to have here here under my eye.

            Eleanor.

            #6263
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued  ~ part 4

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              With much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Heaps of love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Lots of love,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              With heaps of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

              Lots and lots of love,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Your very affectionate,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

              With love to you all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Much love to you all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

              Your worried but affectionate,
              Eleanor.

              Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

              Much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe. 12th November 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Lots and lots of love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Chunya 27th November 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Much love to all,
              Eleanor.

               

              #6262
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued  ~ part 3

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Very much love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                your loving but anxious,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Very much love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Lots and lots of love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Who would be a mother!
                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Lots and lots of love,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor

                Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Your very loving,
                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                With love to all,
                Eleanor.

                #6261
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                  Dearest Family,

                  You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is
                  not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her
                  very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very
                  fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the
                  natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the
                  houseboy both speak basic English.

                  I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do
                  run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly
                  from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All
                  farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.

                  George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot
                  of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for
                  hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans
                  have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was
                  disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of
                  pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he
                  recovered.

                  But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath.
                  Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are.
                  Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time
                  for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are
                  always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no
                  knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always
                  welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the
                  house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is
                  produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is.
                  The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and
                  diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields.
                  This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with
                  whom. This is a great country for gossip.

                  Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with
                  George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than
                  his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features,
                  burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into
                  song.

                  Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over
                  sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George
                  walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a
                  great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a
                  hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his
                  neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were
                  carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but
                  George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always
                  wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front.
                  George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.

                  I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu,
                  all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George
                  reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears
                  the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite
                  but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to
                  add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by.
                  Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.

                  George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind
                  the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and
                  filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for
                  washing pots and pans and for bath water.

                  Lots of love,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                  Dearest Family,

                  I think it is about time I told you that we are going to have a baby. We are both
                  thrilled about it. I have not seen a Doctor but feel very well and you are not to worry. I
                  looked it up in my handbook for wives and reckon that the baby is due about February
                  8th. next year.

                  The announcement came from George, not me! I had been feeling queasy for
                  days and was waiting for the right moment to tell George. You know. Soft lights and
                  music etc. However when I was listlessly poking my food around one lunch time
                  George enquired calmly, “When are you going to tell me about the baby?” Not at all
                  according to the book! The problem is where to have the baby. February is a very wet
                  month and the nearest Doctor is over 50 miles away at Tukuyu. I cannot go to stay at
                  Tukuyu because there is no European accommodation at the hospital, no hotel and no
                  friend with whom I could stay.

                  George thinks I should go South to you but Capetown is so very far away and I
                  love my little home here. Also George says he could not come all the way down with
                  me as he simply must stay here and get the farm on its feet. He would drive me as far
                  as the railway in Northern Rhodesia. It is a difficult decision to take. Write and tell me what
                  you think.

                  The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be
                  supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and
                  decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a
                  solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I
                  jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy
                  were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate.
                  He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on
                  the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so
                  he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used
                  part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.

                  The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had
                  fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we
                  are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the
                  Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the
                  waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.

                  Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth
                  their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large
                  bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was
                  healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am
                  becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other
                  way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before
                  going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned
                  it is like the best brisket.

                  See what a housewife I am becoming.
                  With much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                  Dearest Family,

                  I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving
                  Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the
                  bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it
                  before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and
                  so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the
                  hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really
                  healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would
                  love to stay on here.

                  George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a
                  South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is
                  very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby
                  is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as
                  possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It
                  may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking
                  forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night.
                  Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He
                  goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the
                  men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers
                  at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the
                  house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out
                  some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the
                  chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion
                  and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it
                  together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the
                  size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air.
                  Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment.
                  The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It
                  was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too
                  obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said
                  it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former
                  cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby
                  monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that
                  dish.

                  And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad
                  shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and
                  dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The
                  body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the
                  ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well
                  Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled
                  soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a
                  lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was.
                  I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that
                  the baby will be a girl.

                  Very much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Note
                  “There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
                  because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
                  Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
                  birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.

                  A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
                  started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
                  stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
                  train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
                  old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
                  was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
                  baby.

                  He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
                  though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
                  and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.

                  My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
                  down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
                  weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
                  Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
                  that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
                  punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
                  My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
                  comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
                  on the appointed day, Feb.8th.

                  I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
                  rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
                  absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
                  are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
                  surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
                  some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
                  pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
                  melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
                  She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
                  at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
                  went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
                  see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
                  nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
                  through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
                  Tanganyika!”

                  The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
                  of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
                  stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
                  who longed to cuddle the child.

                  As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
                  to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
                  Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
                  put us on the plane for Mbeya.

                  Eleanor Rushby

                   

                  Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                  Dearest Family,

                  You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very
                  happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way.
                  Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went
                  to meals in the dining car.

                  We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for
                  us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where
                  the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the
                  Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between
                  Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk
                  all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant
                  Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the
                  circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead
                  by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was
                  most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust
                  health.

                  Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate
                  fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and
                  offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are
                  several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya.
                  After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm
                  welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the
                  new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely
                  surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with
                  willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table
                  and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship
                  which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to
                  the rather old world air of our living room.

                  In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has
                  strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top
                  of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which
                  George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The
                  new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and
                  they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the
                  kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for
                  washing up. Lovely!

                  George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings
                  planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are
                  orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely
                  adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long
                  journey.

                  It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I
                  have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm,
                  Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann
                  sends a special bubble for granddad.

                  Your very loving,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                  Dearest Family,

                  Ann at five months is enchanting. She is a very good baby, smiles readily and is
                  gaining weight steadily. She doesn’t sleep much during the day but that does not
                  matter, because, apart from washing her little things, I have nothing to do but attend to
                  her. She sleeps very well at night which is a blessing as George has to get up very
                  early to start work on the shamba and needs a good nights rest.
                  My nights are not so good, because we are having a plague of rats which frisk
                  around in the bedroom at night. Great big ones that come up out of the long grass in the
                  gorge beside the house and make cosy homes on our reed ceiling and in the thatch of
                  the roof.

                  We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann
                  with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between
                  the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly
                  born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more.
                  Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.

                  I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and
                  sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down
                  the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the
                  floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few
                  mosquitoes.

                  Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little
                  finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to
                  attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet
                  arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content.
                  The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see
                  her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child
                  and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or
                  a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they
                  value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman,
                  who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.

                  Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the
                  baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in
                  South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey.
                  They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms
                  around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah
                  walked beside it.

                  It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole
                  countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.

                  Lots and lots of love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                  Dearest Family,

                  George has been very unwell for the past week. He had a nasty gash on his
                  knee which went septic. He had a swelling in the groin and a high temperature and could
                  not sleep at night for the pain in his leg. Ann was very wakeful too during the same
                  period, I think she is teething. I luckily have kept fit though rather harassed. Yesterday the
                  leg looked so inflamed that George decided to open up the wound himself. he made
                  quite a big cut in exactly the right place. You should have seen the blackish puss
                  pouring out.

                  After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has
                  the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and
                  pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it
                  to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job
                  of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some
                  husband!

                  The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George
                  and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was
                  suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen.
                  They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly
                  and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up
                  swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying
                  the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I
                  felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window
                  behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s
                  hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound,
                  taking cover.

                  George returned quite soon to say that apparently the commotion made by the
                  women and children had frightened the lions off. He found their tracks in the soft earth
                  round the huts and a bag of maize that had been playfully torn open but the lions had
                  moved on.

                  Next day we heard that they had moved to Hickson-Wood’s shamba. Hicky
                  came across to say that the lions had jumped over the wall of his cattle boma and killed
                  both his white Muskat riding donkeys.
                  He and a friend sat up all next night over the remains but the lions did not return to
                  the kill.

                  Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very
                  fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both
                  cheeks. We are very proud of her.

                  Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I
                  am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever
                  seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens
                  we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”

                  Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.

                  Much love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                  Dearest Family,

                  News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I
                  hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are
                  rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a
                  German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good
                  living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles
                  radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also
                  Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings.
                  Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no
                  teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has
                  breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her
                  amusement and my exasperation!

                  You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we
                  haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even
                  heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies
                  in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down
                  there.

                  The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and
                  wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently.
                  Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The
                  Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs.
                  Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss
                  his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle
                  over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good
                  hunter.

                  Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs
                  and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the
                  idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of
                  stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck.
                  Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for
                  cooking and very like beef fat.

                  Much love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932

                  Dearest Family,

                  George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up
                  here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of
                  staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.

                  Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting
                  together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and
                  settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town
                  in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little
                  car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard
                  the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over
                  the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long
                  journey in so tiny a car.

                  Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in
                  the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when
                  the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot,
                  sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous
                  wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in
                  happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a
                  treat for a pregnant female.

                  We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a
                  smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size,
                  peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like
                  broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning
                  after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast
                  and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a
                  little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she
                  placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t
                  know whether that was the thing to do.

                  We all send our love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                  Dearest Family,

                  Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the
                  arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again
                  to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with
                  other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair
                  roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl
                  now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.

                  George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in
                  here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in
                  hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There
                  is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the
                  Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.

                  As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to
                  Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm.
                  The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The
                  machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too
                  comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four
                  of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief
                  bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort
                  of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up
                  the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least
                  George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would
                  have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.

                  George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind
                  George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best
                  attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour
                  shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and
                  bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.

                  Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had
                  an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.

                  During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small
                  daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They
                  played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my
                  sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the
                  room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her,
                  looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off
                  half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the
                  job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.

                  I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and
                  then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a
                  bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant
                  towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously.
                  I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.

                  Very much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                  Dearest Family,

                  Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was
                  with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit
                  of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann
                  with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her
                  supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a
                  great comfort it was to know that he was there.

                  The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital
                  just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The
                  doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny
                  looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black
                  silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache.
                  George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out
                  laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t
                  understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at
                  him.

                  Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is
                  transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere
                  without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all
                  snowy white.

                  George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for
                  company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and
                  away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that
                  tea is a medicine and good for him.

                  Much love from a proud mother of two.
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                  Dearest Family,

                  We are all together at home again and how lovely it feels. Even the house
                  servants seem pleased. The boy had decorated the lounge with sprays of
                  bougainvillaea and Abel had backed one of his good sponge cakes.

                  Ann looked fat and rosy but at first was only moderately interested in me and the
                  new baby but she soon thawed. George is good with her and will continue to dress Ann
                  in the mornings and put her to bed until I am satisfied with Georgie.

                  He, poor mite, has a nasty rash on face and neck. I am sure it is just due to that
                  tea the nurse used to give him at night. He has lost his moustache and is fast loosing his
                  wild black hair and emerging as quite a handsome babe. He is a very masculine looking
                  infant with much more strongly marked eyebrows and a larger nose that Ann had. He is
                  very good and lies quietly in his basket even when awake.

                  George has been making a hatching box for brown trout ova and has set it up in
                  a small clear stream fed by a spring in readiness for the ova which is expected from
                  South Africa by next weeks plane. Some keen fishermen from Mbeya and the District
                  have clubbed together to buy the ova. The fingerlings are later to be transferred to
                  streams in Mbeya and Tukuyu Districts.

                  I shall now have my hands full with the two babies and will not have much time for the
                  garden, or I fear, for writing very long letters. Remember though, that no matter how
                  large my family becomes, I shall always love you as much as ever.

                  Your affectionate,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                  Dearest Family,

                  The four of us are all well but alas we have lost our dear Kelly. He was rather a
                  silly dog really, although he grew so big he retained all his puppy ways but we were all
                  very fond of him, especially George because Kelly attached himself to George whilst I
                  was away having Ann and from that time on he was George’s shadow. I think he had
                  some form of biliary fever. He died stretched out on the living room couch late last night,
                  with George sitting beside him so that he would not feel alone.

                  The children are growing fast. Georgie is a darling. He now has a fluff of pale
                  brown hair and his eyes are large and dark brown. Ann is very plump and fair.
                  We have had several visitors lately. Apart from neighbours, a car load of diggers
                  arrived one night and John Molteno and his bride were here. She is a very attractive girl
                  but, I should say, more suited to life in civilisation than in this back of beyond. She has
                  gone out to the diggings with her husband and will have to walk a good stretch of the fifty
                  or so miles.

                  The diggers had to sleep in the living room on the couch and on hastily erected
                  camp beds. They arrived late at night and left after breakfast next day. One had half a
                  beard, the other side of his face had been forcibly shaved in the bar the night before.

                  your affectionate,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                  Dearest Family,

                  George is away on safari with two Indian Army officers. The money he will get for
                  his services will be very welcome because this coffee growing is a slow business, and
                  our capitol is rapidly melting away. The job of acting as White Hunter was unexpected
                  or George would not have taken on the job of hatching the ova which duly arrived from
                  South Africa.

                  George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane
                  by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It
                  came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David
                  Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to
                  the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took
                  several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking
                  them up in a glass tube.

                  When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to
                  take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry
                  have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry
                  down to feed the trout.

                  The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words
                  and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.

                  Very much love
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                  Dear Family,

                  All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and
                  Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.

                  There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called
                  for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the
                  sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in
                  progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop
                  fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an
                  enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and
                  the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified.
                  By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath
                  to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces
                  too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out
                  of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the
                  kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen
                  boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me.
                  I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major
                  Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of
                  us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for
                  Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to
                  entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.

                  George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement
                  on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered
                  from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor,
                  because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid
                  being left high and dry.

                  Lots and lots of love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933

                  Dearest Family,

                  Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good
                  deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such
                  sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair
                  and the other dark.

                  The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so
                  that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the
                  doctor had no vaccine.

                  George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby
                  Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to
                  have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.

                  We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of
                  us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the
                  gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where
                  the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very
                  tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled
                  three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the
                  Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.

                  The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble
                  with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and
                  there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.

                  George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope
                  the children will enjoy riding it later on.

                  Very much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                  Dearest Family,

                  You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly
                  afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys
                  you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next
                  day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed
                  her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was
                  awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that
                  Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was
                  perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed
                  Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and
                  gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same
                  thing over again.

                  At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in
                  vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on
                  the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither
                  George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in
                  the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann.
                  That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of
                  convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the
                  next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only
                  small sips of water since the onset of the attack.

                  The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething.
                  George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle
                  bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours
                  Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now
                  up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and
                  white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie
                  behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to
                  sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all
                  subdued.

                  This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on
                  our road or the doctor might not have got through.

                  Much love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                  Dearest Family,

                  We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a
                  fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and
                  Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a
                  beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the
                  edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which
                  carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not
                  move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and
                  bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble
                  began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head
                  against the cot.

                  George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not
                  take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone
                  through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two
                  men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the
                  diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor
                  allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to
                  treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!

                  There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is
                  doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by
                  that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The
                  coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of
                  coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good
                  return for all his hard work.

                  Lots of love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                  Dearest Family,

                  George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well.
                  The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me
                  and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though
                  he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of
                  high powered rifles with telescopic sights.

                  It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad
                  home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return
                  George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the
                  shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a
                  car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car
                  Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However
                  can we afford one?”

                  “Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold
                  this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it
                  cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an
                  A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.

                  So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for
                  the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we
                  heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her
                  way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator.
                  Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her
                  points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most
                  comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like
                  a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and
                  she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.

                  Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road
                  on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward
                  one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George
                  carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch
                  of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally
                  under her own steam.

                  George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t
                  be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country.
                  I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for
                  Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with
                  kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re
                  definitely carriage folk now.

                  Lots of love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                  Dearest Family,

                  Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George
                  declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new
                  clothes.

                  Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now
                  rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of
                  a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go
                  he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of
                  Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’,
                  follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that
                  I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge
                  delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing,
                  the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.

                  The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday.
                  They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very
                  afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some
                  guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk
                  back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and
                  sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better.
                  We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up.
                  Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby
                  and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up
                  in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day
                  went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her.
                  They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car
                  had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne
                  refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and
                  tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past
                  being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the
                  feathers had rotted off.

                  The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door
                  closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.

                  I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her
                  belated Christmas dinner with relish.

                  I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able
                  to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.

                  Much love to you all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                  Dearest Family,

                  You cannot imagine how lovely it is to have Marjorie here. She came just in time
                  because I have had pernicious vomiting and have lost a great deal of weight and she
                  took charge of the children and made me spend three days in hospital having treatment.
                  George took me to the hospital on the afternoon of New Years Eve and decided
                  to spend the night at the hotel and join in the New Years Eve celebrations. I had several
                  visitors at the hospital that evening and George actually managed to get some imported
                  grapes for me. He returned to the farm next morning and fetched me from the hospital
                  four days later. Of course the old A.C. just had to play up. About half way home the
                  back axle gave in and we had to send a passing native some miles back to a place
                  called Mbalizi to hire a lorry from a Greek trader to tow us home to the farm.
                  The children looked well and were full of beans. I think Marjorie was thankful to
                  hand them over to me. She is delighted with Ann’s motherly little ways but Georgie she
                  calls “a really wild child”. He isn’t, just has such an astonishing amount of energy and is
                  always up to mischief. Marjorie brought us all lovely presents. I am so thrilled with my
                  sewing machine. It may be an old model but it sews marvellously. We now have an
                  Alsatian pup as well as Joseph the donkey and the two cats.

                  Marjorie had a midnight encounter with Joseph which gave her quite a shock but
                  we had a good laugh about it next day. Some months ago George replaced our wattle
                  and daub outside pit lavatory by a substantial brick one, so large that Joseph is being
                  temporarily stabled in it at night. We neglected to warn Marj about this and one night,
                  storm lamp in hand, she opened the door and Joseph walked out braying his thanks.
                  I am afraid Marjorie is having a quiet time, a shame when the journey from Cape
                  Town is so expensive. The doctor has told me to rest as much as I can, so it is
                  impossible for us to take Marj on sight seeing trips.

                  I hate to think that she will be leaving in ten days time.

                  Much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                  Dearest Family,

                  You must be able to visualise our life here quite well now that Marj is back and
                  has no doubt filled in all the details I forget to mention in my letters. What a journey we
                  had in the A.C. when we took her to the plane. George, the children and I sat in front and
                  Marj sat behind with numerous four gallon tins of water for the insatiable radiator. It was
                  raining and the canvas hood was up but part of the side flaps are missing and as there is
                  no glass in the windscreen the rain blew in on us. George got fed up with constantly
                  removing the hot radiator cap so simply stuffed a bit of rag in instead. When enough
                  steam had built up in the radiator behind the rag it blew out and we started all over again.
                  The car still roars like an aeroplane engine and yet has little power so that George sent
                  gangs of boys to the steep hills between the farm and the Mission to give us a push if
                  necessary. Fortunately this time it was not, and the boys cheered us on our way. We
                  needed their help on the homeward journey however.

                  George has now bought an old Chev engine which he means to install before I
                  have to go to hospital to have my new baby. It will be quite an engineering feet as
                  George has few tools.

                  I am sorry to say that I am still not well, something to do with kidneys or bladder.
                  George bought me some pills from one of the several small shops which have opened
                  in Mbeya and Ann is most interested in the result. She said seriously to Kath Wood,
                  “Oh my Mummy is a very clever Mummy. She can do blue wee and green wee as well
                  as yellow wee.” I simply can no longer manage the children without help and have
                  engaged the cook’s wife, Janey, to help. The children are by no means thrilled. I plead in
                  vain that I am not well enough to go for walks. Ann says firmly, “Ann doesn’t want to go
                  for a walk. Ann will look after you.” Funny, though she speaks well for a three year old,
                  she never uses the first person. Georgie say he would much rather walk with
                  Keshokutwa, the kitchen boy. His name by the way, means day-after-tomorrow and it
                  suits him down to the ground, Kath Wood walks over sometimes with offers of help and Ann will gladly go walking with her but Georgie won’t. He on the other hand will walk with Anne Molteno
                  and Ann won’t. They are obstinate kids. Ann has developed a very fertile imagination.
                  She has probably been looking at too many of those nice women’s magazines you
                  sent. A few days ago she said, “You are sick Mummy, but Ann’s got another Mummy.
                  She’s not sick, and my other mummy (very smugly) has lovely golden hair”. This
                  morning’ not ten minutes after I had dressed her, she came in with her frock wet and
                  muddy. I said in exasperation, “Oh Ann, you are naughty.” To which she instantly
                  returned, “My other Mummy doesn’t think I am naughty. She thinks I am very nice.” It
                  strikes me I shall have to get better soon so that I can be gay once more and compete
                  with that phantom golden haired paragon.

                  We had a very heavy storm over the farm last week. There was heavy rain with
                  hail which stripped some of the coffee trees and the Mchewe River flooded and the
                  water swept through the lower part of the shamba. After the water had receded George
                  picked up a fine young trout which had been stranded. This was one of some he had
                  put into the river when Georgie was a few months old.

                  The trials of a coffee farmer are legion. We now have a plague of snails. They
                  ring bark the young trees and leave trails of slime on the glossy leaves. All the ring
                  barked trees will have to be cut right back and this is heartbreaking as they are bearing
                  berries for the first time. The snails are collected by native children, piled upon the
                  ground and bashed to a pulp which gives off a sickening stench. I am sorry for the local
                  Africans. Locusts ate up their maize and now they are losing their bean crop to the snails.

                  Lots of love, Eleanor

                  #6185

                  “I’ll be right back!” Nora told Will, who was stirring a big bubbling pot on the stove. “Need to wash my hands.”

                  She had a quick look around the bedroom she’d slept in for her missing phone. Nowhere to be found!  Maybe she could find Will’s phone when he went out to feed the donkey, and call her phone to try and locate it. Damn, that wouldn’t work either. Will had said there was no network here. That would explain why her phone stopped working when she was alone in the dark woods.

                  “Smells delicious!” she said brightly, scraping a chair back across the brick floor and seating herself at the kitchen table.

                  The home made soup was chock full of vegetables and looked and smelled wonderful, but it had a peculiar acrid aftertaste.  Nora tried to ignore it, taking gulps of wine in between each mouthful to eliminate the bitterness.  She wished it wasn’t soup in a way, so that she’d be able to surreptitiously palm some of it off onto the dogs that were waiting hopefully under the table.  If only Will would leave the room for a minute, but he seemed to be watching her every move.

                  “Very tasty, but I can’t manage another mouthful, it’s so filling,” she said, but Will looked so offended that she sighed and carried on eating. He topped up her wine glass.

                  By the time Nora had finished the soup, she felt quite nauseous and stood up quickly to head for the bathroom. The room started to spin and she held on to the edge of the table, but it was no good. The spinning didn’t stop and she crashed to the floor, unconscious.

                  Smiling with satisfaction, Will stood up and walked around the table to where she lay. Shame he’d had to put her to sleep, really she was quite a nice woman and cute, too, in a funny elfin way.  He’d started to like her.  Plenty of time to get to know her now, anyway. She wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile.

                  He picked her up and carried her to the secret room behind his workshop on the other side of the patio.  The walls and floor were thick stone, and there were no windows.  He laid her on the bench, locked the door, and went back in the house to fetch blankets and bedding and a pile of books for her to read when she came round.  Probably not for a good 24 hours he reckoned, somehow she’d managed to eat all the soup.  He would put much less in the next batch, just enough to keep her docile and sleepy.

                  It would only be for a few days, just long enough for him to find that box and move it to a safer location. He’d been entrusted to make sure the contents of the box were preserved for the people in the future, and he was a man of his word.

                  If they had listened to him in the first place this would never have happened.  Burying a box was a risk: all kinds of possibilities existed for a buried box to be accidentally unearthed.   He had suggested encasing the contents inside a concrete statue, but they’d ignored him. Well, now was his chance.  He was looking forward to making a new statue.

                  #6144

                  “You know, April … I’ve never felt myself suited to work. Never found my …” June screwed up her face in concentration. “… special calling.”

                  “Can’t we sit down over there for a minute? My feet are bloody killing me.” April nodded towards a park bench; she didn’t have much patience today for June and her philosophising, after all, wasn’t it June’s fault they were in this mess? “It’s too bad we can’t even afford the bus fare,” she grumbled as she settled herself on the wooden seat.

                  “Not too much further,” said June plonking down next to her.

                  April bent down to take off her socks and sneakers and massaged her grateful feet in the damp grass. “Think I’ve got a blister. And I’d kill for a cuppa tea. I do hope Finnley has kept on top of things.”

                  June snorted. “Not bloody likely. Anyway, while we’ve been walking I’ve been thinking … what if we sue?”

                  April yawned noisily without bothering to put a hand over her mouth—she knew June hated that. “Who is Sue? Does she have money?”

                  “No, you idiot, not, who Sue. I mean what if we sue for money? Sue the president for wrongdoings which have been done to us.”

                  “Oh!” April perked up. “There’s certainly been plenty of wrongdoings!”

                  June smiled smugly. “Exactly.”

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