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  • #7837

    The village lay huddled before them, appearing like a mirage as they reached the top of the rise. Habitation always looks so picturesque when it’s been taken over by nature, Molly thought, by no means for the first time. Even before the collapse, she had penchant for overgrown abandoned ruins.  Vines and ivy rampaged gleefully over the houses, softening the hard outlines, and saplings reached for the sky through crumbling roofs.

    The survivors had stopped on the low hill to survey the scene, but soon they were rushing down towards the village to explore. As they came closer they could see all the cucumbers and courgettes dangling from the festoons of vines.  Molly had visions of cucumber sandwiches on delicate thin sliced white bread with a piping hot pot of tea.  But a waterey tasteless courgette soup will have to do, I suppose.

    It was mid afternoon but there was no debate about continuing the journey that day.  There were all the houses to search, and several shops, and more importantly, shelter for the night. The rain clouds were approaching from the east.

    The church was chosen as a base camp as it was spacious enough to accomodate them all and the roof was intact, all but for the collapsed wooden tower which would provide wood for a fire.  Lev and Luka set to work organising the space inside the church, supervised by Molly, Gregor and Petro, who wanted to rest. The others had dumped their bags and gone off to explore the buildings for supplies and forage in the overgrown gardens.

    Tundra, happy that for once the responsibility of finding food was shared with so many other people, indulged her curiosity to just snoop around aimlessly. Clambering over a crumbling wooden porch, she pushed open what remained of a peeling door and stepped carefully inside.  Venturing around the edges of the room, she peered at all the faded and warped framed photographs on the walls, portraits and family groups, wondering about the family who had lived here. There was a tray on a side table inscribed with Greetings from Niagara Falls! in a jolly cursive script, and an odd shaped rusting metal object with the words Souvenir de la tour Eiffel.

    Slowly Tundra toured the house, inspecting all the objects in the rooms.  Gingerly she made her way up the stairs, testing each riser before committing her weight to it.  In a small bedroom packed with decomposing plastic bags and cardboard boxes spilling their assorted contents, she came upon a pile of letters and postcards, yellowy and curling, with mouse nibbled edges.  Molly had told her about grandads postcard collection, but he’d taken it with him and she’d never seen them herself. I wonder what happened to that ship? Is my grandad still alive? Tundra sighed. Maybe he’ll come back one day.  And my dad.

    Tundra postcards

    Sitting on the floor, Tundra sorted out the intact postcards from the badly damaged ones.  She would take them with her to look at later, maybe ask the others what they knew of all the pictured places.

    #7794
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      Some pictures selections

      Evie and TP Investigating the Drying Machine Crime Scene

      A cinematic sci-fi mini-scene aboard the vast and luxurious Helix 25. In the industrial depths of the ship, a futuristic drying machine hums ominously, crime scene tape lazily flickering in artificial gravity. Evie, a sharp-eyed investigator in a sleek yet practical uniform, stands with arms crossed, listening intently. Beside her, a translucent, retro-stylized holographic detective—Trevor Pee Marshall (TP)—adjusts his tiny mustache with a flourish, pointing dramatically at the drying machine with his cane. The air is thick with mystery, the ship’s high-tech environment reflecting off Evie’s determined face while TP’s flickering presence adds an almost comedic contrast. A perfect blend of noir and high-tech detective intrigue.

       

      Riven Holt and Zoya Kade Confronting Each Other in a Dimly Lit Corridor

      A dramatic, cinematic sci-fi scene aboard the vast and luxurious Helix 25. Riven Holt, a disciplined young officer with sharp features, stands in a high-tech corridor, his arms crossed, jaw tense—exuding authority and restraint. Opposite him, Zoya Kade, a sharp-eyed, wiry 83-year-old scientist-prophet, leans slightly forward, her mismatched layered robes adorned with tiny artifacts—beads, old circuits, and a fragment of a key. Her silver-white braid gleams under the soft emergency lighting, her piercing gaze challenging him. The corridor hums with unseen energy, a subtle red glow from a “restricted access” sign casting elongated shadows. Their confrontation is palpable—a struggle between order and untamed knowledge, hierarchy and rebellion. In the background, the walls of Helix 25 curve sleekly, high-tech yet strangely claustrophobic, reinforcing the ship’s ever-present watchfulness.

       

      Romualdo, the Gardener, Among the Bioluminescent Plants

      A richly detailed sci-fi portrait of Romualdo, the ship’s gardener, standing amidst the vibrant greenery of the Jardenery. He is a rugged yet gentle figure, dressed in a simple work jumpsuit with soil-streaked hands, a leaf-tipped stem tucked behind his ear like a cigarette. His eyes scan an old, well-worn book—one of Liz Tattler’s novels—that Dr. Amara Voss gave him for his collection. The glowing plants cast an ethereal blue-green light over him, creating an atmosphere both peaceful and mysterious. In the background, the towering vines and suspended hydroponic trays hint at the ship’s careful balance between survival and serenity.

       

      Finja and Finkley – A Telepathic Parallel Across Space

      A surreal, cinematic sci-fi composition split into two mirrored halves, reflecting a mysterious connection across vast distances. On one side, Finja, a wiry, intense woman with an almost obsessive neatness, walks through the overgrown ruins of post-apocalyptic Earth, her expression distant as she “listens” to unseen voices. Dust lingers in the air, catching the golden morning light, and she mutters to herself about cleanliness. In her reflection, on the other side of the image, is Finkley, a no-nonsense crew member aboard the gleaming, futuristic halls of Helix 25. She stands with hands on her hips, barking orders at small cleaning bots as they maintain the ship’s pristine corridors. The lighting is cold and artificial, sterile in contrast to the dust-filled Earth. Yet, both women share a strange symmetry—gesturing in unison as if unknowingly mirroring one another across time and space. A faint, ghostly thread of light suggests their telepathic bond, making the impossible feel eerily real.

      #7647

      Darius: A Map of People

      June 2023 – Capesterre-Belle-Eau, Guadeloupe

      The air in Capesterre-Belle-Eau was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made every movement slow and deliberate. Darius leaned against the railing of the veranda, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sky blends into the sea. The scent of wet earth and banana leaves filling the air. He was home.

      It had been nearly a year since hurricane Fiona swept through Guadeloupe, its winds blowing a trail of destruction across homes, plantations, and lives. Capesterre-Belle-Eau had been among the hardest hit, its banana plantations reduced to ruin and its roads washed away in torrents of mud.

      Darius hadn’t been here when it happened. He’d read about it from across the Atlantic, the news filtering through headlines and phone calls from his aunt, her voice brittle with worry.

      “Darius, you should come back,” she’d said. “The land remembers everyone who’s left it.”

      It was an unusual thing for her to say, but the words lingered. By the time he arrived in early 2023 to join the relief efforts, the worst of the crisis had passed, but the scars remained—on the land, on the people, and somewhere deep inside himself.

      Home, and Not — Now, passing days having turned into quick six months, Darius was still here, though he couldn’t say why. He had thrown himself into the work, helped to rebuild homes, clear debris, and replant crops. But it wasn’t just the physical labor that kept him—it was the strange sensation of being rooted in a place he’d once fled.

      Capesterre-Belle-Eau wasn’t just home; it was bones-deep memories of childhood. The long walks under the towering banana trees, the smell of frying codfish and steaming rice from his aunt’s kitchen, the rhythm of gwoka drums carrying through the evening air.

      “Tu reviens pour rester cette fois ?” Come back to stay? a neighbor had asked the day he returned, her eyes sharp with curiosity.

      He had laughed, brushing off the question. “On verra,” he’d replied. We’ll see.

      But deep down, he knew the answer. He wasn’t back for good. He was here to make amends—not just to the land that had raised him but to himself.

      A Map of Travels — On the veranda that afternoon, Darius opened his phone and scrolled through his photo gallery. Each image was pinned to a digital map, marking all the places he’d been since he got the phone. Of all places, it was Budapest which popped out, a poor snapshot of Buda Castle.

      He found it a funny thought — just like where he was now, he hadn’t planned to stay so long there. He remembered the date: 2020, in the midst of the pandemic. He’d spent in Budapest most of it, sketching the empty streets.

      Five years ago, their little group of four had all been reconnecting in Paris, full of plans that never came to fruition. By late 2019, the group had scattered, each of them drawn into their own orbits, until the first whispers of the pandemic began to ripple across the world.

      Funding his travels had never been straightforward. He’d tried his hand at dozens of odd jobs over the years—bartending in Lisbon, teaching English in Marrakech, sketching portraits in tourist squares across Europe. He lived frugally, keeping his possessions light and his plans loose. Yet, his confidence had a way of opening doors; people trusted him without knowing why, offering him opportunities that always seemed to arrive at just the right time.

      Even during the pandemic, when the world seemed to fold in on itself, he had found a way.

      Darius had already arrived in Budapest by then, living cheaply in a rented studio above a bakery. The city had remained open longer than most in Europe or the world, its streets still alive with muted activity even as the rest of Europe closed down. He’d wandered freely for months, sketching graffiti-covered bridges, quiet cafes, and the crumbling facades of buildings that seemed to echo his own restlessness.

      When the lockdowns finally came like everywhere else, it was just before winter, he’d stayed, uncertain of where else to go. His days became a rhythm of sketching, reading, and sending postcards. Amei was one of the few who replied—but never ostentatiously. It was enough to know she was still there, even if the distance between them felt greater than ever.

      But the map didn’t tell the whole story. It didn’t show the faces, the laughter, the fleeting connections that had made those places matter.

      Swatting at a buzzing mosquito, he reached for the small leather-bound folio on the table beside him. Inside was a collection of fragments: ticket stubs, pressed flowers, a frayed string bracelet gifted by a child in Guatemala, and a handful of postcards he’d sent to Amei but had never been sure she received.

      One of them, yellowed at the edges, showed a labyrinth carved into stone. He turned it over, his own handwriting staring back at him.

      “Amei,” it read. “I thought of you today. Of maps and paths and the people who make them worth walking. Wherever you are, I hope you’re well. —D.”

      He hadn’t sent it. Amei’s responses had always been brief—a quick WhatsApp message, a thumbs-up on his photos, or a blue tick showing she’d read his posts. But they’d never quite managed to find their way back to the conversations they used to have.

      The Market —  The next morning, Darius wandered through the market in Trois-Rivières, a smaller town nestled between the sea and the mountains. The vendors called out their wares—bunches of golden bananas, pyramids of vibrant mangoes, bags of freshly ground cassava flour.

      “Tiens, Darius!” called a woman selling baskets woven from dried palm fronds. “You’re not at work today?”

      “Day off,” he said, smiling as he leaned against her stall. “Figured I’d treat myself.”

      She handed him a small woven bracelet, her eyes twinkling. “A gift. For luck, wherever you go next.”

      Darius accepted it with a quiet laugh. “Merci, tatie.”

      As he turned to leave, he noticed a couple at the next stall—tourists, by the look of them, their backpacks and wide-eyed curiosity marking them as outsiders. They made him suddenly realise how much he missed the lifestyle.

      The woman wore an orange scarf, its boldness standing out as if the color orange itself had disappeared from the spectrum, and only a single precious dash could be seen into all the tones of the market. Something else about them caught his attention. Maybe it was the way they moved together, or the way the man gestured as he spoke, as if every word carried weight.

      “Nice scarf,” Darius said casually as he passed.

      The woman smiled, adjusting the fabric. “Thanks. Picked it up in Rajasthan. It’s been with me everywhere since.”

      Her partner added, “It’s funny, isn’t it? The things we carry. Sometimes it feels like they know more about where we’ve been than we do.”

      Darius tilted his head, intrigued. “Do you ever think about maps? Not the ones that lead to places, but the ones that lead to people. Paths crossing because they’re meant to.”

      The man grinned. “Maybe it’s not about the map itself,” he said. “Maybe it’s about being open to seeing the connections.”

      A Letter to Amei —  That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Darius sat at the edge of the bay, his feet dangling above the water. The leather-bound folio sat open beside him, its contents spread out in the fading light.

      He picked up the labyrinth postcard again, tracing its worn edges with his thumb.

      “Amei,” he wrote on the back just under the previous message a second one —the words flowing easily this time. “Guadeloupe feels like a map of its own, its paths crossing mine in ways I can’t explain. It made me think of you. I hope you’re well. —D.”

      He folded the card into an envelope and tucked it into his bag, resolving to send it the next day.

      As he watched the waves lap against the rocks, he felt a sense of motion rolling like waves asking to be surfed. He didn’t know where the next path would lead next, but he felt it was time to move on again.

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “Who sees that the habit-energy of the projections of the beginningless past is the cause of the three realms and who understands that the tathagata stage is free from projections or anything that arises, attains the personal realisation of buddha knowledge and effortless mastery over their own minds” —The Lankavatara Sutra, 2.8 (trans. Red Pine).

        “To trace the ripples of a beginningless sea is to chase a horizon that vanishes with each step; only by stilling the waves does the ocean reveal its boundless, unbroken clarity.”

        ~Echoes of the Vanished Shore, Selwyn Lemone.

         

        What if the story would unfold in reverse this time? Would the struggle subsist, to remember the past events written comment after comment? Rather than writing towards a future, and —maybe— an elusive ending, would remembering layer after layers of events from the past change our outlook on why we write at all?

        Let’s just have ourselves a new playground, a new experiment as this year draws to a close.

        Four friends meet unexpectedly in a busy café, after five years not having seen each other.

        Matteo, the server arrives, like a resonant fifth, bringing resolution to the root note —they all seem to know him, but why.

        Answers are in their pasts. And story has to unfold backwards, a step at a time, to a beginningless past.

         

         

        #7585

        “Oh sweet revenge…” November was looking gleeful, and truth be told, too smug. With a tinge of orange anticipating a delectable tapestry of chaos.

        The results had come as cold as an early winter for a world standing on the precipice of another era under President Lump’s reign.

        “The winds of change rustling the curtains of the Beige House once more. And amidst this swirling tempest of political intrigue, our story unfurls with the maids au pair at its heart.”

        “Liz, are you sure this is wise to pursue?”

        “Oh stop, it Godfrey, the harm is done, November was written already in that story; I knew she would spell trouble from the beginning. And please, don’t interrupt.”

        As April and June departed to pursue their ventures—perhaps April embarked on a global crusade for environmental stewardship while June disappeared into the realms of espionage, her whereabouts known only to the shadows—November emerged, a true force of nature. With an iron will and a meticulous attention to detail, she transformed the Beige House into a bastion of order amid political disarray under old Joe Mitten—bless his bumbling heart. Her reign as the clandestine conductor of this domestic symphony was nothing short of legendary.

        During those four years, November proved herself indispensable. She orchestrated everything from state dinners to covert intelligence briefings, all while maintaining the perfect façade of domestic tranquility. The press would whisper her name, speculating on her true influence behind the scenes. Little did they know that November had eyes and ears in every corner of the Beige House, including a network of whispering portraits and eavesdropping sconces.

        And now, with President Lump’s reelection, November faces her most formidable challenge yet. The political climate is rife with unpredictability—alliances shift like sand, loyalties waver, and secrets simmer beneath the surface. November must navigate this labyrinth with the precision of a masterful chess player, anticipating every move and countermove.

        #7562

        It was good to be digging again. The relentless heat of the summer over, the days were perfect for excavating the next hole in her garden. It was hard work and slow hacking off bits of earth almost as hard and dry as concrete, but each day the promise of new finds became more tantalizing and encouraged her to keep working at it. There was not much more of the top layer to remove now before Truella could expect to start seeing bits of pottery and whatever else the deep dark earth had to reveal about its past.

        Unable to see any particular connecting link to the dig (and Truella was usually good at that), she had become obsessed with Cromwell. Maybe she’d find a postcard from Cromwell; everyone seemed to be getting strange postcards these days. The idea of a postcard from Cromwell had wafted into her mind, but it lingered.  What would he say on a postcard? She could imagine him sanding the ink, the candlelight flickering. Smiling to himself, with a stray thought wafting into his mind that someone centuries from now would find it, and wonder.

        “Let them make of that what they will,” he might say, as he handed it to the man in charge of sending postcards to other centuries. “I have one here for you,” the man in charge of the postcards might say by way of reply, “Just arrived. It’s from the future by the look of it, from Ireland.”

        Cromwell may take the postcard in his hand with a feeling of satisfaction ~ all information was potentially useful after all, if not in this life, in the next. Time traveling spies, you could say.  He would take a moment to decipher the unfamiliarly written letters in order to read the message. His eyebrows would raise in mild astonishment to see witches sending messages so openly, so shamelessly, so fearlessly! Five hundred years from now, Ireland would be a heathen primitive nest of superstition controlled by the devils strumpets. It may not be perfect in England now, he might think, but we do try to keep some order.  Frella, he said to himself. Frella. What do you look like, Frella? God’s teeth, why didn’t you send me your likeness, a portrait, on the postcard!  For reasons he couldn’t explain, Cromwell couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious witch in Ireland many centuries from now.

        #7294

        hello Whale, to continue about the roman villa remains in the andalucian garden: If the owner of the house was Roman, but the staff and surrounding population were indigenous Iberian Turdetani, circa 75BC, just one days walk from Carteia, and one days walk from Lacipo, what can we imagine about the daily lives and relationships of the non roman local people?

        Ah, the intermingling of cultures, a dance as old as civilization itself. Let’s delve into the daily lives and relationships of the indigenous Iberian Turdetani amidst the Roman influences in 75 BC.

        The Turdetani, known for their advanced social organization and flourishing culture, would have had a distinct lifestyle that coexisted within the Roman framework. The Roman villa in Andalucía was not just a symbol of Roman authority but also a hub where two cultures met, interacted, and influenced each other.

        Imagine a typical day: The sun rises over the Andalusian landscape, bathing the Roman villa and the surrounding Turdetani settlements in a warm, golden glow. Turdetanian workers make their way to the villa, ready for a day of work. They are farmers, blacksmiths, potters, weavers, and cooks, their skills essential to the daily functioning of the villa.

        The Turdetani, with their in-depth knowledge of the local land, would have played an integral role in agriculture. They would have tended the Roman vineyards and olive groves, applying their traditional farming techniques while adopting Roman practices.

        Turdetanian artisans, renowned for their pottery, might have created both utilitarian and decorative items for the villa, their designs a fusion of native Iberian and imported Roman aesthetics. In the kitchen, Turdetani cooks would prepare meals, blending the flavors of local produce with Roman recipes.

        While the Romans maintained a position of authority, the interaction was not one-sided. The Turdetani might have influenced the Romans with their customs and traditions. Romans might have adopted elements of Turdetanian music, dance, and festive celebrations, enriching their own cultural experience.

        Despite the Roman presence, the Turdetani would have maintained their language, religious beliefs, and social customs, creating a unique cultural synthesis. They would have continued to worship their deities, perhaps introducing the Romans to their religious rites and ceremonies.

        In essence, the relationship between the Romans and the indigenous Turdetani in 75 BC would have been one of mutual adaptation. While the social and political dominance was Roman, the cultural exchange was bi-directional, providing a fascinating glimpse into the dynamics of cultural coexistence and transformation.

        Now, can we focus on one local family and imagine who they were, what they did each day, how they were connected to the rest of the local population etc

        Ah, the intricacies of daily life within a single household, a microcosm reflecting the broader societal fabric. Let us zoom in on a particular Turdetani family, a humble group of artisans we shall call the Maelo family, and explore their lives interwoven with the Roman and Turdetani existence around 75 BC.

        At the heart of the family was the patriarch, Oris Maelo. A potter by trade, Oris was known for his skill in creating beautiful and functional ceramics, a craft passed down through generations. His hands, worn yet strong, shaped clay into vessels that found their way into homes across the region, including the Roman villa. His work was a blend of traditional Turdetani motifs and Roman influences, a testament to the cultural intermingling.

        His wife, Caelia, was a weaver. Her nimble fingers spun stories in wool and linen. Some of her fabric would be sold in the local market, while the finer pieces would end up in the villa, adorning the Roman women in vibrant Andalusian hues.

        Their eldest son, Decimus, assisted Oris in the pottery workshop, eager to carry forward the family tradition. Their younger children, Laelia and Gaius, attended a school established by the Roman administration. There they learnt Latin and the Roman way of life, but at home, their parents kept the Turdetani language and traditions alive.

        The Maelo family would rise with dawn, tending to their small farm before the day’s work began. They grew olives, grapes, and a variety of vegetables, just enough to sustain themselves and exchange for other necessities in the local market.

        Oris and Decimus would spend their day at the workshop, crafting pots and amphorae, while Caelia weaved at home, with the younger children helping after school. Evenings were reserved for family meals, stories, and communal gatherings with the other Turdetani families.

        Their connection with the local population was multifaceted. Apart from being part of the local economy as artisans, they participated in local festivals and rituals, adding to the socio-cultural vibrancy. Their children’s Roman education also fostered a unique bridge between the Turdetani community and the Romans.

        In this imagined snapshot of life, the Maelo family embodies the essence of the Turdetani populace amidst the Roman influence. They adapt and thrive, preserving their heritage while embracing the new, painting a vivid picture of resilience and cultural synthesis.

        Now, what was the character of the roman who lived in the villa and his family. Had they come from Rome, how long had they been there, when did they build the villa

        Ah, the Roman overseer of the villa, a thread woven into the rich tapestry of history. Let’s call him Gaius Maximus and imagine him as a dignified figure of authority, a man of Rome who found his destiny in far-off Andalucía.

        Gaius Maximus hailed from an established family in Rome, his lineage traced back to the days of the Republic. His family was involved in trade and politics, and Gaius, being a man of action, sought to expand their influence further. Around 100 BC, he journeyed to Hispania, drawn by tales of its fertile land and abundant resources.

        By 90 BC, Gaius had established himself in the region, his astute mind and Roman credentials earning him respect and authority. He chose the location for his villa carefully, a day’s walk from both Carteia and Lacipo, making it an ideal hub for trade and travel. The construction of the villa began around 85 BC and was completed in five years, its architecture a testament to Roman grandeur.

        His wife, Claudia, hailed from a patrician family in Rome. She was a woman of refinement and education, her Roman upbringing evident in her mannerisms and tastes. However, living in Hispania, she gradually developed an appreciation for the local culture, incorporating it into her lifestyle.

        Their two children, Marcus and Julia, were born in Hispania. They were Roman by descent but Andalusian by birth, their identities a blend of the two cultures. Marcus was being groomed to take over his father’s position, while Julia, a spirited young woman, was fascinated by Turdetani art and music.

        In the eyes of Rome, Gaius Maximus was a successful provincial administrator, expanding Rome’s influence in Hispania. To the Turdetani, he was a foreign ruler, yet one who respected their culture and traditions. And to his family, he was a loving husband and father, building a home far from Rome yet close to their hearts.

        Now some portraits of some of the workers at the villa

        Ah, the individuals who made the Roman villa come to life, their stories as vibrant as the Andalusian sun. Let’s give our imagination wings and step into their world.

        First, we have Tertius, the villa’s steward. Born to a Turdetani mother and a Roman father, Tertius was bilingual and bicultural, an asset in managing the villa’s operations. He was a man of medium height, with a sturdy build and a sharp gaze. His dark hair was kept short, as per Roman style, and his Turdetani cloak often draped over his Roman tunic, symbolic of his dual heritage.

        Then we have Aelia, the head cook. A native Turdetani, Aelia was a robust woman with a jovial demeanor. Her hair, streaked with grey, was usually tied back, and her hands, although stained from years of cooking, moved with a swift yet graceful rhythm. Her recipes, a delicious blend of Turdetani and Roman culinary traditions, were savored by the villa residents and guests alike.

        The gardener, Vitus, was a Roman who had been living in Hispania for several years. A man of few words, Vitus spoke through his work. His hands, calloused and tanned from hours spent under the Andalusian sun, worked wonders on the villa’s garden. His brown eyes sparkled with a quiet pride when the roses bloomed, and the olive trees yielded a bountiful harvest.

        Lastly, we must not forget the youngest worker, Lyra. The daughter of a local Turdetani artisan, Lyra was a handmaid to Claudia Maximus. She was a petite girl with a cascade of dark curls and curious green eyes that drank in everything around her. Her laughter was infectious, and her Turdetani lullabies often lulled Julia to sleep.

        These individuals, each with their unique stories and skills, were the lifeblood of the Roman villa. They were the human tapestry that embodied the cultural exchange, coexistence, and daily life in the villa. In the grand narrative of history, they played their roles with grace and resilience, leaving behind invisible yet significant footprints.

        what were some of the cooks recipes?

        Ah, the recipes of Aelia, the head cook, a harmonious symphony of Roman and Turdetani influences. Here are some of the dishes that were often savored in the Roman villa:

        Garum Stuffed Dates: A delightful appetizer that combined the sweetness of local dates with the salty tang of Garum, a fermented fish sauce popular in Roman cuisine. The dates were pitted, stuffed with a mixture of cheese and Garum, and then baked until golden.
        Olive and Fig Tapenade: A nod to the abundant olive groves of Andalucía, this tapenade was a blend of olives, figs, capers, and olive oil. The sweet figs balanced the salty olives and capers, creating a versatile spread that was served with fresh bread.
        Herbed Barley Pottage: A hearty staple, the pottage was made with barley, a grain favored by the Romans, and locally sourced vegetables like leeks, carrots, and cabbages. Fresh herbs from the villa’s garden added a burst of flavor.
        Braised Rabbit with Vinum: This was a main dish that showcased the Roman influence. Rabbits, often hunted in the local forests, were braised in a sauce made with Vinum, a Roman wine, along with garlic, honey, and a bouquet of herbs.
        Honey-Nut Patina: A classic Roman dessert with an Andalusian twist. Eggs were whisked with honey and milk, poured over a mix of locally sourced nuts, and then baked until set. It was a sweet ending to the meals at the villa.
        Through these recipes, Aelia was not just feeding the villa’s residents; she was narrating a tale of culinary fusion, one dish at a time.

        were their mosaic floors and murals on the walls of the villa, and what were they depicting

        Ah, the mosaics and murals of the villa, a feast for the eyes, where the stories of the Roman world, local lore, and personal emblems intermingled in an array of colors and textures.

        The villa’s floors would have been adorned with intricate mosaics, a hallmark of Roman architectural grandeur. Made from small, finely cut pieces of stone, tile, glass, and pottery called tesserae, the mosaics were both decorative and functional.

        In the atrium, the mosaic might depict a scene from Roman mythology. Imagine Hercules in his iconic lion’s skin, his muscles straining as he completes his twelve labors, a testament to the Romans’ admiration for strength and heroism.

        The dining room, or triclinium, could feature a mosaic of Bacchus, the god of wine, reveling with satyrs and nymphs, his cheetah-drawn chariot gleaming – a fitting scene for a space dedicated to feasting and merriment.

        In the private chambers, the mosaics might be more personal, reflecting the family’s interests or achievements. Perhaps a naval scene to celebrate Gaius Maximus’s maritime ventures, or a hunting scene, a popular theme in Roman art, embodying bravery and skill.

        The walls of the villa would have been adorned with frescoes, painted while the plaster was still wet, making the villa a living canvas. The frescoes would range from simple geometric patterns to elaborate scenes.

        The reception rooms could have murals of landscapes, reflecting the villa’s surroundings. Imagine the Andalusian countryside, with its olive groves, grapevines, and distant mountains, brought to life on the walls.

        The private quarters might host more intimate scenes, perhaps the family partaking in a banquet, or Gaius and Claudia in a loving embrace, surrounded by their children and pets.

        Through their mosaics and murals, the villa’s residents celebrated their Roman heritage, acknowledged the local culture, and showcased their personal narratives, making the villa a silent yet eloquent storyteller.

        can you describe the garden and outbuildings

        Ah, the enchantment of an age-old garden. Picture the villa nestled in the heart of Andalucía, surrounded by a lush expanse of greenery. Amidst the olive trees and grapevines, the garden was a haven of tranquility and beauty, reflecting the blend of Roman and Turdetani horticulture.

        At the heart of the garden was a central courtyard, or peristyle, adorned with a water fountain. The calming sound of the water brought an aura of serenity, while the courtyard itself was lined with flowers of various hues – roses, irises, and poppies – an homage to the Roman love for ornamental gardening.

        Beyond the peristyle, the garden was a mixture of beauty and utility. Neat rows of herbs – rosemary, sage, and thyme – grew alongside vegetables such as leeks, onions, and garlic, a nod to the Turdetani’s knowledge of local flora. Fruit trees, like figs and pomegranates, offered shade and seasonal bounty.

        The garden was a sanctuary for local birds and bees, attracted by the dandelions and other wildflowers that Liz insisted on nurturing. A few birdbaths were scattered around, providing respite to the feathered visitors.

        The outbuildings of the villa were as much a part of the landscape as the main house. Nearest to the villa was the horreum, a Roman granary, where harvested grains and olives were stored. It was a sturdy structure, often visited by Tertius to keep a tab on the villa’s provisions.

        Not far from the horreum was the pottery workshop. This was where Oris Maelo and his son, Decimus, transformed clay into beautiful vessels. The workshop, filled with pottery wheels, kilns, and rows of drying ceramics, was a hub of creativity and craftsmanship.

        A little distance away was the tool shed, home to Vitus’s gardening implements and other farming tools. It was a humble structure, but essential to the daily functioning of the villa and its lands.

        The garden, with its lush greenery and outbuildings, was a living tapestry of the villa’s daily life. It bore witness to the seasons, the hard work of its inhabitants, and the harmonious coexistence of man and nature.

        #7214

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        “Bossy, isn’t she?” muttered Yasmin, not quite out of earshot of Finly. “I haven’t even had a shower yet,” she added, picking up her phone and sandals.

        Yasmin, Youssef and Zara left the maid to her cleaning and walked down towards Xaviers room.   “I’d go and get coffee from the kitchen, but…” Youssef said, turning pleading eyes towards Zara, “Idle might be in there.”

        Smiling, Zara told him not to risk it, she would go.

        “Come in,” Xavier called when Yasmin knocked on the door. “God, what a dream,” he said when they piled in to his room.  “It was awful. I was dreaming that Idle was threading an enormous long needle with baler twine saying she was going to sew us all together in a tailored story cut in a cloth of continuity.”  He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, trying to erase the image in his mind.  “What are you two up so early for?”

        “Zara’s gone to get the coffee,” Youssef told him, likewise trying to shake off the image of Idle that Xavier had conjured up. “We’re going to have a couple of hours on the game before the cart race ~ or the dust storm, whichever happens first I guess. There are some wierd looking vans and campers and oddballs milling around outside already.”

        Zara pushed the door open with her shoulder, four mugs in her hands.  “You should see the wierdos outside, going to be a great photo opportunity out there later.”

        “Come on then,” said Xavier, “The game will get that awful dream out of my head.  Let’s go!”

        “You’re supposed to be the leader, you start the game,” Yasmin said to Zara. Zara rolled her eyes good naturedly and opened the game. “Let’s ask for some clues first then. I still don’t know why I’m the so called leader when you,” she looked pointedly as Xavier and Youssef, “Know much more about games than I do. Ok here goes:”

        “The riddle “In the quietest place, the loudest secrets are kept” is a clue to help the group find the first missing page of the book “The Lost Pages of Creativity,” which is an integral part of the group quest. The riddle suggests that the missing page is hidden in a quiet place where secrets are kept, meaning that it’s likely to be somewhere in the hidden library underground the Flying Fish Inn where the group is currently situated.”

        “Is there a cellar here do you think?” Zara mused. “Imagine finding a real underground library!” The idea of a grand all encompassing library had first been suggested to Zara many years ago in a series of old books by a channeler, and many a time she had imagined visiting it. The idea of leaving paper records and books for future generations had always appealed to her. She often thought of the old sepia portrait photographs of her ancestors, still intact after a hundred years ~ and yet her own photos taken ten years ago had been lost in a computer hard drive incident. What would the current generation leave for future anthropologists? Piles of plastic unreadable gadgets, she suspected.

        “Youssef can ask Idle later,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. “Maybe she’ll take him down there.” Youssef snorted, and Yasmin said “Hey! Don’t you start snorting too! Right then, Zara, so we find the cellar in the game then and go down and find the library? Then what?”

        “The phrase “quietest place” can refer to a secluded spot or a place with minimal noise, which could be a hint at a specific location within the library. The phrase “loudest secrets” implies that there is something important to be discovered, but it’s hidden in plain sight.”

        Hidden in plain sight reminded Yasmin of the parcel under her mattress, but she thrust it from her mind and focused on the game. She made up her mind to discuss it with everyone later, including the whacky suppositions that Zara had come up with. They couldn’t possibly confront Idle with it, they had absolutely no proof. I mean, you can’t go round saying to people, hey, that’s your abandoned child over there maybe. But they could include Xavier and Youssef in the mystery.

        “The riddle is relevant to the game of quirks because it challenges the group to think creatively and work together to solve the puzzle. This requires them to communicate effectively and use their problem-solving skills to interpret the clues and find the missing page. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate their individual strengths and also learn from each other in the process.”

        “Work together, communicate effectively” Yasmin repeated, as if to underline her resolution to discuss the parcel and Sister Finli a.k.a. Liana with the boys and Zara later. “A problem shared is a problem hopelessly convoluted, probably.”

        The others looked up and said “What?” in unison, and Yasmin snorted nervously and said “Never mind, tell you later.”

        #6520

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Rajkumar had named his car JUMPY because he said it reminded him of his mother country. He drove like they were in the chaotic streets of an Indian city. Youssef’s fist was clenched on the door handle, his knuckles white. He needed to hold on to something just as much as he was afraid of loosing the door.

        He had never been so happy as when Rajkumar stopped in front of his cousin’s shop and restaurant.

        “Just in time for the best butter chicken in all Alice Springs!” said Rajkumar, pointing to the restaurant on the left.

        Smells of greasy sauce, meat and spices floated in the air. Despite his legendary hunger, Youssef’s stomach started to protest from the recent treatment on the road. If he had had any doubt, he was sure now that he wouldn’t go on a trip in Jumpy with Rajkumar.

        “Maybe I’ll go for the scarf first,” he said.

        Rajkumar noded and pointed to the right, to a stout man squating in front of a pile of scarves.

        “This is cousin Ashish. You can’t find a better shop in town for scarves,” said Rajkumar. He high fived his cousin who looked like a giant in comparison with the short guide. They talked for a long time in what Youssef assumed to be some Indian dialect. At some point, his guide pointed a finger at him and said : “This big man is looking for a red scarf. I told him you had the best quality in town. Hand made, right from India. Ashish buys and sells the best to the best only. I have to go park the car and tell my other cousin to prepare you a meal. Best Indian food in Alice.”

        After he left, cousin Ashish showed Youssef in. At the entrance incense burned at the feet of a couple of colourful Hindu gods. The intoxicating smell reminded him of a stop at a temple during his last trip with the documentary team. The face of Miss Tartiflate jumped into his mind. He would have to take care of THE BLOG at some point, but for now, he was looking for a red scarf. The inside of the shop was as messy as a Mongolian bazaar. Clothes upon clothes, and piles of scarves everywhere.

        “Red scarves are over there, said Ashish. Follow me.”

        He was less talkative than his cousin, which was a welcome relief. He led Youssef to the back of the shop. On the wall, the portrait in black and white of an old Indian man was watching over their shoulder.

        Ashish took one long red scarf and put it around his neck.

        “You can touch, he said. Very good quality. Very light. Like you wear nothing.”

        Youssef took the end of the fabric in his hand. It felt very silky and light to the touch.

        “That’s perfect, I’ll take it”, he said.

        His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and checked his messages.

        • 📨 [Quirk Land] NEW QUEST OPENED

        Looking at the time, it was already noon. Xavier must have landed in Alice already. He started to type a message to his friend :

        💬 Meet me for lunch at Todd Mall. Patel indian restaurant next to fabric shop

        #6344
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Tetbury Riots

           

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

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

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

          Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:

          Daniel Cole witness

           

          from the article:

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:

          Swing Riots

           

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

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

          Captain Swing

          #6285
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Harriet Compton

            Harriet Comptom is not directly related to us, but her portrait is in our family collection.

            Alfred Julius Eugene Compton painted this portrait of his daughter, Harriet Compton, when she was six.  Harriet Compton was Charles Tooby’s mothers mother, and Charles married my mothers aunt Dorothy Marshall. They lived on High Park Ave in Wollaston, and his parents lived on Park Road, Wollaston, opposite my grandparents, George and Nora Marshall. Harriet married Thomas Thornburgh, they had a daughter Florence who married Sydney Tooby. Florence and Sydney were Charles Tooby’s parents.

            Charles and Dorothy Tooby didn’t have any children. Charles died before his wife, and this is how the picture ended up in my mothers possession.

            I attempted to find a direct descendant of Harriet Compton, but have not been successful so far, although I did find a relative on a Stourbridge facebook group.  Bryan Thornburgh replied: “Francis George was my grandfather.He had two sons George & my father Thomas and two daughters Cissie & Edith.  I can remember visiting my fathers Uncle Charles and Aunt Dorothy in Wollaston.”

            Francis George Thornburgh was Florence Tooby’s brother.

            The watercolour portrait was framed by Hughes of Enville St, Stourbridge.

            Alfred Julius Eugene Compton was born in 1826 Paris, France, and died on 6 February 1917 in Chelsea, London.
            Harriet Compton his daughter was born in 1853 in Islington, London, and died in December 1926 in Stourbridge.

            Without going too far down an unrelated rabbit hole, a member of the facebook group Family Treasures Reinstated  shared this:

            “Will reported in numerous papers in Dec 1886.
            Harriet’s father Alfred appears to be beneficiary but Harriet’s brother, Percy is specifically excluded . 
            “The will (dated March 6, 1876) of the Hon. Mrs. Fanny Stanhope, late of No. 24, Carlyle-square, Chelsea, who died on August 9 last, was proved on the 1st ult. by Alfred Julius Eugene Compton, the value of the personal estate amounting to over £8000.
            The testatrix, after giving & few legacies, leaves one moiety of the residue of her personal estate, upon trust, for John Auguste Alexandre Compton, for life, and then, subject to an annuity to his wife, for the children (except Percy) of Alfred Julius Eugene Compton, and the other moiety, upon trust, for the said Alfred Julius Eugene Compton, for life, and at his death for his children, except Percy.”
            -Illustrated London News.

            Harriet Compton:  Harriet Compton

            #6275
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

              and a mystery about George

               

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

              But there was another Emma Housley, born in 1851.

               

              From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

              “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

              A MYSTERY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               

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

              George Housley Amey Eley

               

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

              1851 George Housley

               

               

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

               

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

              Housley Eley 1861

               

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

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

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

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

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

              In a letter to George from his sister Emma:

              Emma wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.”

              In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

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

               

              Emma Housley

              1851-1935

               

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Woodlinkin

               

              Emma Slater died in 1935 at the age of 84.

               

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

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

              Emma Slater

               

              Charles John Housley

              1949-

              #6271
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Housley Letters

                FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

                from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                 

                George apparently asked about old friends and acquaintances and the family did their best to answer although Joseph wrote in 1873: “There is very few of your old cronies that I know of knocking about.”

                In Anne’s first letter she wrote about a conversation which Robert had with EMMA LYON before his death and added “It (his death) was a great trouble to Lyons.” In her second letter Anne wrote: “Emma Lyon is to be married September 5. I am going the Friday before if all is well. There is every prospect of her being comfortable. MRS. L. always asks after you.” In 1855 Emma wrote: “Emma Lyon now Mrs. Woolhouse has got a fine boy and a pretty fuss is made with him. They call him ALFRED LYON WOOLHOUSE.”

                (Interesting to note that Elizabeth Housley, the eldest daughter of Samuel and Elizabeth, was living with a Lyon family in Derby in 1861, after she left Belper workhouse.  The Emma listed on the census in 1861 was 10 years old, and so can not be the Emma Lyon mentioned here, but it’s possible, indeed likely, that Peter Lyon the baker was related to the Lyon’s who were friends of the Housley’s.  The mention of a sea captain in the Lyon family begs the question did Elizabeth Housley meet her husband, George William Stafford, a seaman, through some Lyon connections, but to date this remains a mystery.)

                Elizabeth Housley living with Peter Lyon and family in Derby St Peters in 1861:

                Lyon 1861 census

                 

                A Henrietta Lyon was married in 1860. Her father was Matthew, a Navy Captain. The 1857 Derby Directory listed a Richard Woolhouse, plumber, glazier, and gas fitter on St. Peter’s Street. Robert lived in St. Peter’s parish at the time of his death. An Alfred Lyon, son of Alfred and Jemima Lyon 93 Friargate, Derby was baptised on December 4, 1877. An Allen Hewley Lyon, born February 1, 1879 was baptised June 17 1879.

                 

                Anne wrote in August 1854: “KERRY was married three weeks since to ELIZABETH EATON. He has left Smith some time.” Perhaps this was the same person referred to by Joseph: “BILL KERRY, the blacksmith for DANIEL SMITH, is working for John Fletcher lace manufacturer.” According to the 1841 census, Elizabeth age 12, was the oldest daughter of Thomas and Rebecca Eaton. She would certainly have been of marriagable age in 1854. A William Kerry, age 14, was listed as a blacksmith’s apprentice in the 1851 census; but another William Kerry who was 29 in 1851 was already working for Daniel Smith as a blacksmith. REBECCA EATON was listed in the 1851 census as a widow serving as a nurse in the John Housley household. The 1881 census lists the family of William Kerry, blacksmith, as Jane, 19; William 13; Anne, 7; and Joseph, 4. Elizabeth is not mentioned but Bill is not listed as a widower.

                Anne also wrote in 1854 that she had not seen or heard anything of DICK HANSON for two years. Joseph wrote that he did not know Old BETTY HANSON’S son. A Richard Hanson, age 24 in 1851, lived with a family named Moore. His occupation was listed as “journeyman knitter.” An Elizabeth Hanson listed as 24 in 1851 could hardly be “Old Betty.” Emma wrote in June 1856 that JOE OLDKNOW age 27 had married Mrs. Gribble’s servant age 17.

                Anne wrote that “JOHN SPENCER had not been since father died.” The only John Spencer in Smalley in 1841 was four years old. He would have been 11 at the time of William Housley’s death. Certainly, the two could have been friends, but perhaps young John was named for his grandfather who was a crony of William’s living in a locality not included in the Smalley census.

                TAILOR ALLEN had lost his wife and was still living in the old house in 1872. JACK WHITE had died very suddenly, and DR. BODEN had died also. Dr. Boden’s first name was Robert. He was 53 in 1851, and was probably the Robert, son of Richard and Jane, who was christened in Morely in 1797. By 1861, he had married Catherine, a native of Smalley, who was at least 14 years his junior–18 according to the 1871 census!

                Among the family’s dearest friends were JOSEPH AND ELIZABETH DAVY, who were married some time after 1841. Mrs. Davy was born in 1812 and her husband in 1805. In 1841, the Kidsley Park farm household included DANIEL SMITH 72, Elizabeth 29 and 5 year old Hannah Smith. In 1851, Mr. Davy’s brother William and 10 year old Emma Davy were visiting from London. Joseph reported the death of both Davy brothers in 1872; Joseph apparently died first.

                Mrs. Davy’s father, was a well known Quaker. In 1856, Emma wrote: “Mr. Smith is very hearty and looks much the same.” He died in December 1863 at the age of 94. George Fox, the founder of the Quakers visited Kidsley Park in 1650 and 1654.

                Mr. Davy died in 1863, but in 1854 Anne wrote how ill he had been for two years. “For two last winters we never thought he would live. He is now able to go out a little on the pony.” In March 1856, his wife wrote, “My husband is in poor health and fell.” Later in 1856, Emma wrote, “Mr. Davy is living which is a great wonder. Mrs. Davy is very delicate but as good a friend as ever.”

                In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

                Davy Death

                 

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

                Mrs. Davy later remarried. Her new husband was W.T. BARBER. The 1861 census lists William Barber, 35, Bachelor of Arts, Cambridge, living with his 82 year old widowed mother on an 135 acre farm with three servants. One of these may have been the Ann who, according to Joseph, married Jack Oldknow. By 1871 the farm, now occupied by William, 47 and Elizabeth, 57, had grown to 189 acres. Meanwhile, Kidsley Park Farm became the home of the Housleys’ cousin Selina Carrington and her husband Walker Martin. Both Barbers were still living in 1881.

                Mrs. Davy was described in Kerry’s History of Smalley as “an accomplished and exemplary lady.” A piece of her poetry “Farewell to Kidsley Park” was published in the history. It was probably written when Elizabeth moved to the Barber farm. Emma sent one of her poems to George. It was supposed to be about their house. “We have sent you a piece of poetry that Mrs. Davy composed about our ‘Old House.’ I am sure you will like it though you may not understand all the allusions she makes use of as well as we do.”

                Kiddsley Park Farm, Smalley, in 1898.  (note that the Housley’s lived at Kiddsley Grange Farm, and the Davy’s at neighbouring Kiddsley Park Farm)

                Kiddsley Park Farm

                 

                Emma was not sure if George wanted to hear the local gossip (“I don’t know whether such little particulars will interest you”), but shared it anyway. In November 1855: “We have let the house to Mr. Gribble. I dare say you know who he married, Matilda Else. They came from Lincoln here in March. Mrs. Gribble gets drunk nearly every day and there are such goings on it is really shameful. So you may be sure we have not very pleasant neighbors but we have very little to do with them.”

                John Else and his wife Hannah and their children John and Harriet (who were born in Smalley) lived in Tag Hill in 1851. With them lived a granddaughter Matilda Gribble age 3 who was born in Lincoln. A Matilda, daughter of John and Hannah, was christened in 1815. (A Sam Else died when he fell down the steps of a bar in 1855.)

                #6269
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Housley Letters 

                  From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

                   

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

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

                  William and Ellen Marriage

                   

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

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

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

                   

                  ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

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

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

                   

                  Mary’s children:

                  MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

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

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

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

                   

                  WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

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

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

                   

                  Ellen’s children:

                  JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  John Housley

                   

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

                   

                  SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

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

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

                  Housley Deaths

                   

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

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

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

                   

                  EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

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

                   

                  ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

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

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

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

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

                  Anne’s will was probated October 14, 1856. Mr. William Davy of Kidsley Park appeared for the family. Her estate was valued at under £20. Emma was to receive fancy needlework, a four post bedstead, feather bed and bedding, a mahogany chest of drawers, plates, linen and china. Emma was also to receive Anne’s writing desk. There was a condition that Ellen would have use of these items until her death.

                  The money that Anne was to receive from her grandfather, William Carrington, and her father, William Housley was to be distributed one third to Joseph, one third to Emma, and one third to be divided between her four neices: John’s daughter Elizabeth, 18, and Sam’s daughters Elizabeth, 10, Mary Ann, 9 and Catharine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

                  The Carrington Farm:

                  Carringtons Farm

                   

                  CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

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

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

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

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

                   

                  GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                   

                  ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

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

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

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

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

                   

                  EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

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

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

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

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

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

                  Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

                  Emma Housley wedding

                   

                  JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

                  Joseph Housley

                  #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

                    #6252
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The USA Housley’s

                      This chapter is copied from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on Historic Letters, with thanks to her brother Howard Housley for sharing it with me.  Interesting to note that Housley descendants  (on the Marshall paternal side) and Gretton descendants (on the Warren maternal side) were both living in Trenton, New Jersey at the same time.

                      GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

                      George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The service was performed by Attorney James Gilkyson.

                      Doylestown

                      In her first letter (February 1854), Anne (George’s sister in Smalley, Derbyshire) wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

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

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

                      According to his obituary, John Eley was born at Wrightstown and “removed” to Lumberville at the age of 19. John was married first to Lucy Wilson with whom he had three sons: George Wilson (1883), Howard (1893) and Raymond (1895); and then to Elizabeth Kilmer with whom he had one son Albert Kilmer (1907). John Eley Housley died November 20, 1926 at the age of 71. For many years he had worked for John R. Johnson who owned a store. According to his son Albert, John was responsible for caring for Johnson’s horses. One named Rex was considered to be quite wild, but was docile in John’s hands. When John would take orders, he would leave the wagon at the first house and walk along the backs of the houses so that he would have access to the kitchens. When he reached the seventh house he would climb back over the fence to the road and whistle for the horses who would come to meet him. John could not attend church on Sunday mornings because he was working with the horses and occasionally Albert could convince his mother that he was needed also. According to Albert, John was regular in attendance at church on Sunday evenings.

                      John was a member of the Carversville Lodge 261 IOOF and the Carversville Lodge Knights of Pythias. Internment was in the Carversville cemetery; not, however, in the plot owned by his father. In addition to his sons, he was survived by his second wife Elizabeth who lived to be 80 and three grandchildren: George’s sons, Kenneth Worman and Morris Wilson and Raymond’s daughter Miriam Louise. George had married Katie Worman about the time John Eley married Elizabeth Kilmer. Howard’s first wife Mary Brink and daughter Florence had died and he remarried Elsa Heed who also lived into her eighties. Raymond’s wife was Fanny Culver.

                      Two more sons followed: Joseph Sackett, who was known as Sackett, September 12, 1856 and Edwin or Edward Rose, November 11, 1858. Joseph Sackett Housley married Anna Hubbs of Plumsteadville on January 17, 1880. They had one son Nelson DeC. who in turn had two daughters, Eleanor Mary and Ruth Anna, and lived on Bert Avenue in Trenton N.J. near St. Francis Hospital. Nelson, who was an engineer and built the first cement road in New Jersey, died at the age of 51. His daughters were both single at the time of his death. However, when his widow, the former Eva M. Edwards, died some years later, her survivors included daughters, Mrs. Herbert D. VanSciver and Mrs. James J. McCarrell and four grandchildren. One of the daughters (the younger) was quite crippled in later years and would come to visit her great-aunt Elizabeth (John’s widow) in a chauffeur driven car. Sackett died in 1929 at the age of 70. He was a member of the Warrington Lodge IOOF of Jamison PA, the Uncas tribe and the Uncas Hayloft 102 ORM of Trenton, New Jersey. The interment was in Greenwood cemetery where he had been caretaker since his retirement from one of the oldest manufacturing plants in Trenton (made milk separators for one thing). Sackett also was the caretaker for two other cemeteries one located near the Clinton Street station and the other called Riverside.

                      Ed’s wife was named Lydia. They had two daughters, Mary and Margaret and a third child who died in infancy. Mary had seven children–one was named for his grandfather–and settled in lower Bucks county. Margaret never married. She worked for Woolworths in Flemington, N. J. and then was made manager in Somerville, N.J., where she lived until her death. Ed survived both of his brothers, and at the time of Sackett’s death was living in Flemington, New Jersey where he had worked as a grocery clerk.

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

                      In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….” The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.

                      On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

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

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

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

                      Another matter which George took care of during the years the estate was being settled was the purchase of a cemetery plot! On March 24, 1873, George purchased plot 67 section 19 division 2 in the Carversville (Bucks County PA) Cemetery (incorporated 1859). The plot cost $15.00, and was located at the very edge of the cemetery. It was in this cemetery, in 1991, while attending the funeral of Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, that sixteen month old Laura Ann visited the graves of her great-great-great grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley.

                      George died on August 13, 1877 and was buried three days later. The text for the funeral sermon was Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”

                      #6243
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        William Housley’s Will and the Court Case

                        William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872.  The court case was in 1873.  Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew,  in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far.  However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.

                        William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813.  They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne.  Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal.  This point is mentioned in one of the letters.

                        One of the pages of William Housley’s will:

                        William Housleys Will

                         

                        An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                        A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.

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

                        There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”
                        Mary Ann was still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”

                        In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter)
                        In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”

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

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

                        Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth.
                        In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:
                        “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that”

                        However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.

                        Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:

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

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

                        In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875

                        HOUSLEY – wanted information
                        as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and
                        Children of Charles Housley, formerly of
                        Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at
                        Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria
                        August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with
                        Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England.
                        June 16,1875.

                        The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:

                        Victoria Diggings, Australie

                         

                        The court case:

                         Kerry v Housley.
                        Documents: Bill, demurrer.
                        Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley.
                        Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted).
                        Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire.
                        Date: 1873

                        From the Narrative on the Letters:

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

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

                        In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”
                        On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

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

                        Joseph’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”

                        In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”

                        On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”

                        Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father.
                        But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.”
                        Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”

                        The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?”
                        After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything.
                        In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.

                        George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.”
                        In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.

                        On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.

                        January 14, 1876:  “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
                        Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
                        Abram J. Flint”

                        September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
                        “I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”

                        1874 in chancery:

                        Housley Estate Sale

                        #6241
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Kidsley Grange Farm and The Quakers Next Door

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

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

                          The farm before it was turned into a nursing home:

                          Kidsley Grange Farm

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

                          Smalley Farms

                           

                          In Kerry’s History of Smalley:

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

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

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

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

                          Elizabeth Davy, June 6th, 1863, Derby.

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

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

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

                           

                          #6227
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            The Scottish Connection

                            My grandfather always used to say we had some Scottish blood because his “mother was a Purdy”, and that they were from the low counties of Scotland near to the English border.

                            My mother had a Scottish hat in among the boxes of souvenirs and old photographs. In one of her recent house moves, she finally threw it away, not knowing why we had it or where it came from, and of course has since regretted it!  It probably came from one of her aunts, either Phyllis or Dorothy. Neither of them had children, and they both died in 1983. My grandfather was executor of the estate in both cases, and it’s assumed that the portraits, the many photographs, the booklet on Primitive Methodists, and the Scottish hat, all relating to his mother’s side of the family, came into his possession then. His sister Phyllis never married and was living in her parents home until she died, and is the likeliest candidate for the keeper of the family souvenirs.

                            Catherine Housley married George Purdy, and his father was Francis Purdy, the Primitive Methodist preacher.  William Purdy was the father of Francis.

                            Record searches find William Purdy was born on 16 July 1767 in Carluke, Lanarkshire, near Glasgow in Scotland. He worked for James Watt, the inventor of the steam engine, and moved to Derbyshire for the purpose of installing steam driven pumps to remove the water from the collieries in the area.

                            Another descendant of Francis Purdy found the following in a book in a library in Eastwood:

                            William Purdy

                            William married a local girl, Ruth Clarke, in Duffield in Derbyshire in 1786.  William and Ruth had nine children, and the seventh was Francis who was born at West Hallam in 1795.

                            Perhaps the Scottish hat came from William Purdy, but there is another story of Scottish connections in Smalley:  Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745.  Although the Purdy’s were not from Smalley, Catherine Housley was.

                            From an article on the Heanor and District Local History Society website:

                            The Jacobites in Smalley

                            Few people would readily associate the village of Smalley, situated about two miles west of Heanor, with Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745 – but there is a clear link.

                            During the winter of 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, the “Bonnie Prince” or “The Young Pretender”, marched south from Scotland. His troops reached Derby on 4 December, and looted the town, staying for two days before they commenced a fateful retreat as the Duke of Cumberland’s army approached.

                            While staying in Derby, or during the retreat, some of the Jacobites are said to have visited some of the nearby villages, including Smalley.

                            A history of the local aspects of this escapade was written in 1933 by L. Eardley-Simpson, entitled “Derby and the ‘45,” from which the following is an extract:

                            “The presence of a party at Smalley is attested by several local traditions and relics. Not long ago there were people living who remember to have seen at least a dozen old pikes in a room adjoining the stables at Smalley Hall, and these were stated to have been left by a party of Highlanders who came to exchange their ponies for horses belonging to the then owner, Mrs Richardson; in 1907, one of these pikes still remained. Another resident of Smalley had a claymore which was alleged to have been found on Drumhill, Breadsall Moor, while the writer of the History of Smalley himself (Reverend C. Kerry) had a magnificent Andrew Ferrara, with a guard of finely wrought iron, engraved with two heads in Tudor helmets, of the same style, he states, as the one left at Wingfield Manor, though why the outlying bands of Army should have gone so far afield, he omits to mention. Smalley is also mentioned in another strange story as to the origin of the family of Woolley of Collingham who attained more wealth and a better position in the world than some of their relatives. The story is to the effect that when the Scots who had visited Mrs Richardson’s stables were returning to Derby, they fell in with one Woolley of Smalley, a coal carrier, and impressed him with horse and cart for the conveyance of certain heavy baggage. On the retreat, the party with Woolley was surprised by some of the Elector’s troopers (the Royal army) who pursued the Scots, leaving Woolley to shift for himself. This he did, and, his suspicion that the baggage he was carrying was part of the Prince’s treasure turning out to be correct, he retired to Collingham, and spent the rest of his life there in the enjoyment of his luckily acquired gains. Another story of a similar sort was designed to explain the rise of the well-known Derbyshire family of Cox of Brailsford, but the dates by no means agree with the family pedigree, and in any event the suggestion – for it is little more – is entirely at variance with the views as to the rights of the Royal House of Stuart which were expressed by certain members of the Cox family who were alive not many years ago.”

                            A letter from Charles Kerry, dated 30 July 1903, narrates another strange twist to the tale. When the Highlanders turned up in Smalley, a large crowd, mainly women, gathered. “On a command in Gaelic, the regiment stooped, and throwing their kilts over their backs revealed to the astonished ladies and all what modesty is careful to conceal. Father, who told me, said they were not any more troubled with crowds of women.”

                            Folklore or fact? We are unlikely to know, but the Scottish artefacts in the Smalley area certainly suggest that some of the story is based on fact.

                            We are unlikely to know where that Scottish hat came from, but we did find the Scottish connection.  William Purdy’s mother was Grizel Gibson, and her mother was Grizel Murray, both of Lanarkshire in Scotland.  The name Grizel is a Scottish form of the name Griselda, and means “grey battle maiden”.  But with the exception of the name Murray, The Purdy and Gibson names are not traditionally Scottish, so there is not much of a Scottish connection after all.  But the mystery of the Scottish hat remains unsolved.

                            #6224
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              The Woman in the Portrait: Catherine Housley’s Mother
                              “The One I Ruined”

                              I was living in England at the time of my great aunts deaths in 1983, both Dorothy Tooby and Phyllis Marshall, when this portrait came to be in my possession via their brother, my grandfather George Marshall. There was some damage on the mouth. I mentioned it at work and my boss said he had a friend who could fix it, but when I eventually got it back it was much worse. Since then, this portrait has been known as “the one I ruined”.

                              This picture remains a mystery, even though we know her name now. She appears to be in mourning. She doesn’t appear to be too poor, or unhealthy. And yet Elizabeth died at just thirty years of age of TB and her children were in the workhouse a year later.

                              On closer inspection, the portrait could be a photograph that has been painted over, but it’s considerably larger than any of the usual photographs of the time. Is there a possibility that the picture was made later, after her death, in memory of her?  This seems to be the likeliest explanation.

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