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  • EricEric

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


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

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

      At the Keav Headquarters

      (🗺️ Capital of Oocrane)

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

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

      The Shrine of the Flovlinden Tree

      (🗺️ Shpovlar, geographical center of Oocrane)

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

      Rosa and the Cauldron Maker

      (young Oocranian wiccan travelling to Innsbruck, Austria)

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

      The Nursing Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        The Measham Thatchers

        Orgills, Finches and Wards

        Measham is a large village in north west Leicestershire, England, near the Derbyshire, Staffordshire and Warwickshire boundaries. Our family has a penchant for border straddling, and the Orgill’s of Measham take this a step further living on the boundaries of four counties.  Historically it was in an exclave of Derbyshire absorbed into Leicestershire in 1897, so once again we have two sets of county records to search.


        Richard Gretton, the baker of Swadlincote and my great grandmother Florence Nightingale Grettons’ father, married Sarah Orgill (1840-1910) in 1861.

        (Incidentally, Florence Nightingale Warren nee Gretton’s first child Hildred born in 1900 had the middle name Orgill. Florence’s brother John Orgill Gretton emigrated to USA.)

        When they first married, they lived with Sarah’s widowed mother Elizabeth in Measham.  Elizabeth Orgill is listed on the 1861 census as a farmer of two acres.

        Sarah Orgill’s father Matthew Orgill (1798-1859) was a thatcher, as was his father Matthew Orgill (1771-1852).

        Matthew Orgill the elder left his property to his son Henry:

        Matthew Orgills will


        Sarah’s mother Elizabeth (1803-1876) was also an Orgill before her marriage to Matthew.

        According to Pigot & Co’s Commercial Directory for Derbyshire, in Measham in 1835 Elizabeth Orgill was a straw bonnet maker, an ideal occupation for a thatchers wife.

        Matthew Orgill, thatcher, is listed in White’s directory in 1857, and other Orgill’s are mentioned in Measham:

        Mary Orgill, straw hat maker; Henry Orgill, grocer; Daniel Orgill, painter; another Matthew Orgill is a coal merchant and wheelwright. Likewise a number of Orgill’s are listed in the directories for Measham in the subsequent years, as farmers, plumbers, painters, grocers, thatchers, wheelwrights, coal merchants and straw bonnet makers.


        Matthew and Elizabeth Orgill, Measham Baptist church:

        Orgill grave


        According to a history of thatching, for every six or seven thatchers appearing in the 1851 census there are now less than one.  Another interesting fact in the history of thatched roofs (via thatchinginfo dot com):

        The Watling Street Divide…
        The biggest dividing line of all, that between the angular thatching of the Northern and Eastern traditions and the rounded Southern style, still roughly follows a very ancient line; the northern section of the old Roman road of Watling Street, the modern A5. Seemingly of little significance today; this was once the border between two peoples. Agreed in the peace treaty, between the Saxon King Alfred and Guthrum, the Danish Viking leader; over eleven centuries ago.
        After making their peace, various Viking armies settled down, to the north and east of the old road; firstly, in what was known as The Danelaw and later in Norse kingdoms, based in York. They quickly formed a class of farmers and peasants. Although the Saxon kings soon regained this area; these people stayed put. Their influence is still seen, for example, in the widespread use of boarded gable ends, so common in Danish thatching.
        Over time, the Southern and Northern traditions have slipped across the old road, by a few miles either way. But even today, travelling across the old highway will often bring the differing thatching traditions quickly into view.

        Pear Tree Cottage, Bosworth Road, Measham. 1900.  Matthew Orgill was a thatcher living on Bosworth road.

        Bosworth road



        Matthew the elder married Frances Finch 1771-1848, also of Measham.  On the 1851 census Matthew is an 80 year old thatcher living with his daughter Mary and her husband Samuel Piner, a coal miner.

        Henry Finch 1743- and Mary Dennis 1749- , both of Measham, were Frances parents.  Henry’s father was also Henry Finch, born in 1707 in Measham, and he married Frances Ward, also born in 1707, and also from Measham.



        The ancient boundary between the kingdom of Mercia and the Danelaw

        I didn’t find much information on the history of Measham, but I did find a great deal of ancient history on the nearby village of Appleby Magna, two miles away.  The parish records indicate that the Ward and Finch branches of our family date back to the 1500’s in the village, and we can assume that the ancient history of the neighbouring village would be relevant to our history.

        There is evidence of human settlement in Appleby from the early Neolithic period, 6,000 years ago, and there are also Iron Age and Bronze Age sites in the vicinity.  There is evidence of further activity within the village during the Roman period, including evidence of a villa or farm and a temple.  Appleby is near three known Roman roads: Watling Street, 10 miles south of the village; Bath Lane, 5 miles north of the village; and Salt Street, which forms the parish’s south boundary.

        But it is the Scandinavian invasions that are particularly intriguing, with regard to my 58% Scandinavian DNA (and virtually 100% Midlands England ancestry). Repton is 13 miles from Measham. In the early 10th century Chilcote, Measham and Willesley were part of the royal Derbyshire estate of Repton.

        The arrival of Scandinavian invaders in the second half of the ninth century caused widespread havoc throughout northern England. By the AD 870s the Danish army was occupying Mercia and it spent the winter of 873-74 at Repton, the headquarters of the Mercian kings. The events are recorded in detail in the Peterborough manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles…

        Although the Danes held power for only 40 years, a strong, even subversive, Danish element remained in the population for many years to come. 

        A Scandinavian influence may also be detected among the field names of the parish. Although many fields have relatively modern names, some clearly have elements which reach back to the time of Danish incursion and control.

        The Borders:

        The name ‘aeppel byg’ is given in the will of Wulfic Spot of AD 1004……………..The decision at Domesday to include this land in Derbyshire, as one of Burton Abbey’s Derbyshire manors, resulted in the division of the village of Appleby Magna between the counties of Leicester and Derby for the next 800 years

        Richard Dunmore’s Appleby Magma website.

        This division of Appleby between Leicestershire and Derbyshire persisted from Domesday until 1897, when the recently created county councils (1889) simplified the administration of many villages in this area by a radical realignment of the boundary:



        I would appear that our family not only straddle county borders, but straddle ancient kingdom borders as well.  This particular branch of the family (we assume, given the absence of written records that far back) were living on the edge of the Danelaw and a strong element of the Danes survives to this day in my DNA.



          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued part 7

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


          Mbulu. 30th September 1938

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


          Mbulu. 25th October 1938

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


          Iringa. 30th November 1938

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


          Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


          Nzassa 14th February 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


          Nzassa 28th February 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


          Nzassa 25th March 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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

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


          Nzassa 28th April 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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


          Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


          Nzassa 5th August 1939

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


          Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


          Morogoro 14th September 1939

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


          Morogoro 4th November 1939

          Dearest Family,

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

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


          Iringa 8th December 1939

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


          Morogoro 10th March 1940

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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


          Morogoro 14th July 1940

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


          Morogoro 16th November 1940

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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




            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued  ~ part 4

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            With much love,

            Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Heaps of love to all,

            Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots of love,

            Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            With heaps of love,

            Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,

            Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

            Lots and lots of love,

            Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Your very affectionate,

            Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            With love to you all,

            Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love to you all,

            Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            Your worried but affectionate,

            Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            Much love,

            Mchewe. 12th November 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots and lots of love to all,

            Chunya 27th November 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love to all,



              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued  ~ part 3

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

              Very much love,

              Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

              Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

              your loving but anxious,

              Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Very much love to all,

              Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Lots and lots of love,

              Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

              Who would be a mother!

              Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

              Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


              Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Lots and lots of love,

              Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

              With love to all,

              Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

              With love to all,

              Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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


              Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

              Your very loving,

              Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

              With love to all,


                From Tanganyika with Love


                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

                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

                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,

                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,

                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

                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,

                “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

                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

                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

                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

                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,

                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

                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,

                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

                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,

                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

                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

                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,

                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,

                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,

                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

                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.

                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,

                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,

                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

                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,

                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,

                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

                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,

                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,

                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,

                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

                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,

                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,

                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


                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  • “The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa
                    concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and
                    joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.

                  These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
                  the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
                  kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
                  important part of her life.

                  Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
                  in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
                  made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
                  Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
                  in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
                  while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to

                  Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
                  to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
                  sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
                  Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
                  she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
                  teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
                  well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
                  and told her what ship you are arriving on.”

                  Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
                  Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
                  despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
                  High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
                  George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
                  their home.

                  These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
                  George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.


                  Dearest Marj,
                  Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I
                  met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in

                  The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our
                  El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum
                  scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that
                  she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such
                  good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she
                  ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession.
                  Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a
                  millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant
                  hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.

                  Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as
                  a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I
                  need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast.
                  Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but
                  he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says
                  he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t
                  care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.

                  He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear
                  on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must
                  buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes
                  hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no
                  time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.”
                  George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of
                  view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small
                  coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which
                  will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the
                  pot boiling.

                  Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose
                  you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact
                  that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The
                  boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well
                  you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of
                  those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that
                  African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the
                  most gracious chores.

                  George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good
                  looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut
                  very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and
                  very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and
                  even and he has a quiet voice.

                  I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for
                  yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as
                  soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.

                  Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time
                  to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and
                  apply a bit of glamour.

                  Much love my dear,
                  your jubilant

                  S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.

                  Dearest Family,
                  Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and
                  could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable
                  voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women,
                  but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to
                  myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I
                  am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.

                  I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The
                  butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for
                  the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.

                  The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety
                  served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course
                  get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no
                  problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his
                  fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an
                  ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff.
                  Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow
                  from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never
                  met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect
                  of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her
                  husband and only child in an accident.

                  I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay
                  young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty,
                  from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a
                  grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t
                  surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s
                  “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight
                  mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and
                  stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.

                  However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she
                  was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the
                  Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain
                  told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to
                  Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but
                  she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop
                  whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.

                  The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with
                  the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no
                  sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he
                  was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film
                  Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief
                  Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up
                  for it in mime.

                  I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at
                  Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both
                  places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee
                  percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.

                  At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a
                  perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck
                  engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is
                  no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up.
                  The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port
                  Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for
                  an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me,
                  Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited
                  whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very
                  lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was
                  temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a
                  pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is
                  now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or

                  I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by
                  the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held
                  up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days.
                  Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was
                  dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.

                  Bless you all,

                  S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and
                  Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we
                  took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have
                  something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked
                  mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells
                  me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who
                  pursues Mrs C everywhere.

                  The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he
                  has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type.
                  I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it
                  was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he
                  said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was
                  a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather
                  doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing
                  establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no
                  time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent
                  leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend.
                  Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and
                  ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only
                  too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed
                  had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.

                  The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination
                  and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I
                  could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could
                  protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and
                  filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I
                  was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice,
                  very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief
                  Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.

                  In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the
                  Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better.
                  At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of
                  Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man,
                  very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and
                  exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She
                  looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two
                  other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing
                  very much.

                  It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the
                  town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina

                  The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very
                  imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a
                  flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.

                  The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her
                  and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a
                  lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she
                  had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was
                  jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed
                  things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea
                  with them.

                  Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr
                  Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed.
                  We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by
                  the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered
                  around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny
                  crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on
                  to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew
                  straight up into the rigging.

                  The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said
                  “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he
                  was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those
                  birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.

                  Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with
                  compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends.
                  It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little
                  discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird
                  catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I
                  was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably
                  remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.

                  During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name
                  is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the
                  name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the
                  table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had
                  champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage.
                  A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an
                  appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer

                  I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed
                  there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin,
                  shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my
                  hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched
                  creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that
                  heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly.
                  “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by
                  stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one
                  came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George
                  Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar
                  es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on
                  so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs
                  Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This
                  seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old
                  lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel
                  the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked
                  that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals.
                  This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given
                  some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old
                  lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet
                  passenger to the wedding.

                  This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while
                  writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your
                  love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty
                  sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited
                  that I shall not sleep.

                  Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time.
                  with my “bes respeks”,

                  Eleanor Leslie.

                  Eleanor and George Rushby:

                  Eleanor and George Rushby

                  Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to
                  pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has
                  gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an
                  excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here.
                  I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the
                  mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is

                  We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov).
                  The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly
                  no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my
                  dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on
                  the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of
                  the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson
                  Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel
                  anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had
                  missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom
                  prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly
                  there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a
                  boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on
                  some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George.
                  We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and
                  looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then
                  George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my
                  travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the
                  couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood
                  was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of
                  beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear
                  such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky
                  says he was not amused.

                  Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath
                  Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was
                  married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of
                  blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son
                  of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper
                  though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be
                  bad tempered.

                  Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst
                  George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone
                  seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through,
                  except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble
                  on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl.
                  Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans
                  offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst
                  George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod
                  wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to
                  be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind.  We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined
                  with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw
                  stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which
                  had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.

                  Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours
                  time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would
                  be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me.
                  I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood
                  came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of
                  asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock
                  and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then
                  she too left for the church.

                  I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to
                  be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said,
                  “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a
                  tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.”
                  Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if
                  the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.

                  I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the
                  curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African
                  Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when
                  the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in
                  the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.

                  Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and
                  her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my
                  friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to
                  me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with
                  Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality
                  passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.

                  In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete
                  strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church,
                  standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were
                  waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted
                  they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well
                  because they would not have fitted in at all well.

                  Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his
                  large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a
                  small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake
                  and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’
                  and I shall remember it for ever.

                  The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship
                  enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the-
                  Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old
                  lady was wearing a carnation.

                  When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been
                  moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and
                  clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a
                  chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet
                  discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by
                  Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt
                  that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a
                  generous tip there and then.

                  I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts
                  and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our
                  wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.

                  After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye
                  as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very
                  much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam
                  are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the
                  Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less
                  romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant
                  green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.

                  There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and
                  George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the
                  bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the
                  luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.

                  We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to
                  get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores,
                  tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There
                  were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.

                  We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy
                  letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It
                  appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed
                  the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham
                  was bad.

                  Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the
                  other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To
                  my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We
                  had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a

                  Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down
                  on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a
                  handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much
                  for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.

                  Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the
                  room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very
                  low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided
                  to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I
                  slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out
                  of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for
                  water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements
                  around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was
                  standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put
                  George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need
                  hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my
                  aid like a knight of old.  Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings
                  here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw.
                  I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small,
                  seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear
                  colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy
                  trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset.
                  This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break
                  was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The
                  Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an
                  Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.

                  I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping
                  expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me
                  on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that
                  when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the
                  harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the
                  description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said
                  “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the
                  jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel.
                  With much love to all.

                  Your cave woman

                  Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced
                  Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later.
                  We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage
                  and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our
                  wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in
                  the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the
                  roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent
                  looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one
                  simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see
                  myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.

                  We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of
                  the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with
                  weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This
                  part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo.
                  The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with
                  wood and not coal as in South Africa.

                  Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to
                  continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and
                  whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal
                  verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious –
                  that there had been a party the night before.

                  When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah,
                  because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside
                  the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the
                  room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see
                  our car before breakfast.

                  Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That
                  means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the
                  one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed
                  to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat.
                  Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and
                  helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases
                  there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and
                  water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and
                  an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.

                  When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between
                  goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a
                  mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over
                  bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal
                  Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all.
                  In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy
                  building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below
                  the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I
                  did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only
                  piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears
                  and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows
                  and rounded roofs covered with earth.

                  Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to
                  look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one
                  shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears.
                  The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most
                  tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country.
                  Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept
                  comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a
                  small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the
                  Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course.
                  our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when
                  ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot
                  water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.

                  When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed
                  by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome
                  compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic
                  glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.

                  After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
                  waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
                  walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
                  saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
                  and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
                  cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
                  innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
                  moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
                  my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
                  me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
                  Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
                  old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
                  after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
                  Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
                  baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
                  grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
                  started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
                  sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
                  rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
                  Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
                  picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
                  sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
                  pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

                  The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
                  of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
                  foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
                  as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

                  Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
                  This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
                  average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
                  he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
                  neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
                  this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
                  We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
                  is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
                  bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
                  long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
                  “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
                  stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
                  were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
                  good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

                  Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
                  soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
                  land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
                  hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
                  of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
                  safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
                  has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
                  coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
                  are too small to be of use.

                  George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
                  There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
                  and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
                  shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
                  heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
                  black tail feathers.

                  There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
                  and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
                  another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
                  once, the bath will be cold.

                  I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
                  worry about me.

                  Much love to you all,

                  Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
                  building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of

                  On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
                  clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
                  a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
                  There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
                  my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
                  and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

                  I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
                  thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
                  facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
                  glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
                  feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
                  the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
                  saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
                  George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

                  It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
                  of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
                  wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
                  dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the

                  Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
                  dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
                  walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
                  building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
                  house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
                  heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
                  at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
                  bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
                  to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
                  Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
                  by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
                  or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
                  good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
                  only sixpence each.

                  I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
                  for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
                  comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
                  Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
                  Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
                  goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
                  office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
                  District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
                  only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
                  plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
                  because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
                  unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
                  saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
                  only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
                  miles away.

                  Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
                  clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
                  gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
                  of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
                  though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
                  on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
                  they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
                  hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
                  weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
                  However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
                  they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
                  trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
                  hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
                  We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
                  present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

                  Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
                  his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
                  Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
                  George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
                  reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
                  peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
                  shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
                  glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
                  George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
                  He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
                  when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
                  my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
                  bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
                  trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
                  I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
                  phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

                  We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
                  to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
                  tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
                  was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
                  This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
                  by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
                  we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

                  Your loving

                  Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
                  convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
                  experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my

                  I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
                  splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
                  who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
                  blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
                  George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
                  kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
                  miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty. George
                  now tells me I sang the most bawdy songs but I hardly think it likely. Do you?
                  You cannot imagine how tenderly George nursed me, not only that day but
                  throughout the whole eight days I was ill. As we do not employ any African house
                  women, and there are no white women in the neighbourhood at present to whom we
                  could appeal for help, George had to do everything for me. It was unbearably hot in the
                  tent so George decided to move me across to the Hickson-Woods vacant house. They
                  have not yet returned from the coast.

                  George decided I was too weak to make the trip in the car so he sent a
                  messenger over to the Woods’ house for their Machila. A Machila is a canopied canvas
                  hammock slung from a bamboo pole and carried by four bearers. The Machila duly
                  arrived and I attempted to walk to it, clinging to George’s arm, but collapsed in a faint so
                  the trip was postponed to the next morning when I felt rather better. Being carried by
                  Machila is quite pleasant but I was in no shape to enjoy anything and got thankfully into
                  bed in the Hickson-Woods large, cool and rather dark bedroom. My condition did not
                  improve and George decided to send a runner for the Government Doctor at Tukuyu
                  about 60 miles away. Two days later Dr Theis arrived by car and gave me two
                  injections of quinine which reduced the fever. However I still felt very weak and had to
                  spend a further four days in bed.

                  We have now decided to stay on here until the Hickson-Woods return by which
                  time our own house should be ready. George goes off each morning and does not
                  return until late afternoon. However don’t think “poor Eleanor” because I am very
                  comfortable here and there are lots of books to read and the days seem to pass very

                  The Hickson-Wood’s house was built by Major Jones and I believe the one on
                  his shamba is just like it. It is a square red brick building with a wide verandah all around
                  and, rather astonishingly, a conical thatched roof. There is a beautiful view from the front
                  of the house and a nice flower garden. The coffee shamba is lower down on the hill.
                  Mrs Wood’s first husband, George’s friend Vi Lumb, is buried in the flower
                  garden. He died of blackwater fever about five years ago. I’m told that before her
                  second marriage Kath lived here alone with her little daughter, Maureen, and ran the farm
                  entirely on her own. She must be quite a person. I bet she didn’t go and get malaria
                  within a few weeks of her marriage.

                  The native tribe around here are called Wasafwa. They are pretty primitive but
                  seem amiable people. Most of the men, when they start work, wear nothing but some
                  kind of sheet of unbleached calico wrapped round their waists and hanging to mid calf. As soon as they have drawn their wages they go off to a duka and buy a pair of khaki
                  shorts for five or six shillings. Their women folk wear very short beaded skirts. I think the
                  base is goat skin but have never got close enough for a good look. They are very shy.
                  I hear from George that they have started on the roof of our house but I have not
                  seen it myself since the day I was carried here by Machila. My letters by the way go to
                  the Post Office by runner. George’s farm labourers take it in turn to act in this capacity.
                  The mail bag is given to them on Friday afternoon and by Saturday evening they are
                  back with our very welcome mail.

                  Very much love,

                  Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                  Dearest Family,

                  George drove to Mbeya for stores last week and met Col. Sherwood-Kelly VC.
                  who has been sent by the Government to Mbeya as Game Ranger. His job will be to
                  protect native crops from raiding elephants and hippo etc., and to protect game from
                  poachers. He has had no training for this so he has asked George to go with him on his
                  first elephant safari to show him the ropes.

                  George likes Col. Kelly and was quite willing to go on safari but not willing to
                  leave me alone on the farm as I am still rather shaky after malaria. So it was arranged that
                  I should go to Mbeya and stay with Mrs Harmer, the wife of the newly appointed Lands
                  and Mines Officer, whose husband was away on safari.

                  So here I am in Mbeya staying in the Harmers temporary wattle and daub
                  house. Unfortunately I had a relapse of the malaria and stayed in bed for three days with
                  a temperature. Poor Mrs Harmer had her hands full because in the room next to mine
                  she was nursing a digger with blackwater fever. I could hear his delirious babble through
                  the thin wall – very distressing. He died poor fellow , and leaves a wife and seven

                  I feel better than I have done for weeks and this afternoon I walked down to the
                  store. There are great signs of activity and people say that Mbeya will grow rapidly now
                  owing to the boom on the gold fields and also to the fact that a large aerodrome is to be
                  built here. Mbeya is to be a night stop on the proposed air service between England
                  and South Africa. I seem to be the last of the pioneers. If all these schemes come about
                  Mbeya will become quite suburban.

                  26th December 1930

                  George, Col. Kelly and Mr Harmer all returned to Mbeya on Christmas Eve and
                  it was decided that we should stay and have midday Christmas dinner with the
                  Harmers. Col. Kelly and the Assistant District Commissioner came too and it was quite a
                  festive occasion, We left Mbeya in the early afternoon and had our evening meal here at
                  Hickson-Wood’s farm. I wore my wedding dress.

                  I went across to our house in the car this morning. George usually walks across to
                  save petrol which is very expensive here. He takes a short cut and wades through the
                  river. The distance by road is very much longer than the short cut. The men are now
                  thatching the roof of our cottage and it looks charming. It consists of a very large living
                  room-dinning room with a large inglenook fireplace at one end. The bedroom is a large
                  square room with a smaller verandah room adjoining it. There is a wide verandah in the
                  front, from which one has a glorious view over a wide valley to the Livingstone
                  Mountains on the horizon. Bathroom and storeroom are on the back verandah and the
                  kitchen is some distance behind the house to minimise the risk of fire.

                  You can imagine how much I am looking forward to moving in. We have some
                  furniture which was made by an Indian carpenter at Iringa, refrectory dining table and
                  chairs, some small tables and two armchairs and two cupboards and a meatsafe. Other
                  things like bookshelves and extra cupboards we will have to make ourselves. George
                  has also bought a portable gramophone and records which will be a boon.
                  We also have an Irish wolfhound puppy, a skinny little chap with enormous feet
                  who keeps me company all day whilst George is across at our farm working on the

                  Lots and lots of love,

                  Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                  Dearest Family,

                  Alas, I have lost my little companion. The Doctor called in here on Boxing night
                  and ran over and killed Paddy, our pup. It was not his fault but I was very distressed
                  about it and George has promised to try and get another pup from the same litter.
                  The Hickson-Woods returned home on the 29th December so we decided to
                  move across to our nearly finished house on the 1st January. Hicky Wood decided that
                  we needed something special to mark the occasion so he went off and killed a sucking
                  pig behind the kitchen. The piglet’s screams were terrible and I felt that I would not be
                  able to touch any dinner. Lamek cooked and served sucking pig up in the traditional way
                  but it was high and quite literally, it stank. Our first meal in our own home was not a

                  However next day all was forgotten and I had something useful to do. George
                  hung doors and I held the tools and I also planted rose cuttings I had brought from
                  Mbeya and sowed several boxes with seeds.

                  Dad asked me about the other farms in the area. I haven’t visited any but there
                  are five besides ours. One belongs to the Lutheran Mission at Utengule, a few miles
                  from here. The others all belong to British owners. Nearest to Mbeya, at the foot of a
                  very high peak which gives Mbeya its name, are two farms, one belonging to a South
                  African mining engineer named Griffiths, the other to I.G.Stewart who was an officer in the
                  Kings African Rifles. Stewart has a young woman called Queenie living with him. We are
                  some miles further along the range of hills and are some 23 miles from Mbeya by road.
                  The Mchewe River divides our land from the Hickson-Woods and beyond their farm is
                  Major Jones.

                  All these people have been away from their farms for some time but have now
                  returned so we will have some neighbours in future. However although the houses are
                  not far apart as the crow flies, they are all built high in the foothills and it is impossible to
                  connect the houses because of the rivers and gorges in between. One has to drive right
                  down to the main road and then up again so I do not suppose we will go visiting very
                  often as the roads are very bumpy and eroded and petrol is so expensive that we all
                  save it for occasional trips to Mbeya.

                  The rains are on and George has started to plant out some coffee seedlings. The
                  rains here are strange. One can hear the rain coming as it moves like a curtain along the
                  range of hills. It comes suddenly, pours for a little while and passes on and the sun
                  shines again.

                  I do like it here and I wish you could see or dear little home.

                  Your loving,

                  Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                  Dearest Family,

                  Everything is now running very smoothly in our home. Lamek continues to
                  produce palatable meals and makes wonderful bread which he bakes in a four gallon
                  petrol tin as we have no stove yet. He puts wood coals on the brick floor of the kitchen,
                  lays the tin lengh-wise on the coals and heaps more on top. The bread tins are then put
                  in the petrol tin, which has one end cut away, and the open end is covered by a flat
                  piece of tin held in place by a brick. Cakes are also backed in this make-shift oven and I
                  have never known Lamek to have a failure yet.

                  Lamek has a helper, known as the ‘mpishi boy’ , who does most of the hard
                  work, cleans pots and pans and chops the firewood etc. Another of the mpishi boy’s
                  chores is to kill the two chickens we eat each day. The chickens run wild during the day
                  but are herded into a small chicken house at night. One of the kitchen boy’s first duties is
                  to let the chickens out first thing in the early morning. Some time after breakfast it dawns
                  on Lamek that he will need a chicken for lunch. he informs the kitchen boy who selects a
                  chicken and starts to chase it in which he is enthusiastically joined by our new Irish
                  wolfhound pup, Kelly. Together they race after the frantic fowl, over the flower beds and
                  around the house until finally the chicken collapses from sheer exhaustion. The kitchen
                  boy then hands it over to Lamek who murders it with the kitchen knife and then pops the
                  corpse into boiling water so the feathers can be stripped off with ease.

                  I pointed out in vain, that it would be far simpler if the doomed chickens were kept
                  in the chicken house in the mornings when the others were let out and also that the correct
                  way to pluck chickens is when they are dry. Lamek just smiled kindly and said that that
                  may be so in Europe but that his way is the African way and none of his previous
                  Memsahibs has complained.

                  My houseboy, named James, is clean and capable in the house and also a
                  good ‘dhobi’ or washboy. He takes the washing down to the river and probably
                  pounds it with stones, but I prefer not to look. The ironing is done with a charcoal iron
                  only we have no charcoal and he uses bits of wood from the kitchen fire but so far there
                  has not been a mishap.

                  It gets dark here soon after sunset and then George lights the oil lamps and we
                  have tea and toast in front of the log fire which burns brightly in our inglenook. This is my
                  favourite hour of the day. Later George goes for his bath. I have mine in the mornings
                  and we have dinner at half past eight. Then we talk a bit and read a bit and sometimes
                  play the gramophone. I expect it all sounds pretty unexciting but it doesn’t seem so to

                  Very much love,

                  Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                  Dearest Family,

                  It is still raining here and the countryside looks very lush and green, very different
                  from the Mbeya district I first knew, when plains and hills were covered in long brown
                  grass – very course stuff that grows shoulder high.

                  Most of the labourers are hill men and one can see little patches of cultivation in
                  the hills. Others live in small villages near by, each consisting of a cluster of thatched huts
                  and a few maize fields and perhaps a patch of bananas. We do not have labour lines on
                  the farm because our men all live within easy walking distance. Each worker has a labour
                  card with thirty little squares on it. One of these squares is crossed off for each days work
                  and when all thirty are marked in this way the labourer draws his pay and hies himself off
                  to the nearest small store and blows the lot. The card system is necessary because
                  these Africans are by no means slaves to work. They work only when they feel like it or
                  when someone in the family requires a new garment, or when they need a few shillings
                  to pay their annual tax. Their fields, chickens and goats provide them with the food they
                  need but they draw rations of maize meal beans and salt. Only our headman is on a
                  salary. His name is Thomas and he looks exactly like the statues of Julius Caesar, the
                  same bald head and muscular neck and sardonic expression. He comes from Northern
                  Rhodesia and is more intelligent than the locals.

                  We still live mainly on chickens. We have a boy whose job it is to scour the
                  countryside for reasonable fat ones. His name is Lucas and he is quite a character. He
                  has such long horse teeth that he does not seem able to close his mouth and wears a
                  perpetual amiable smile. He brings his chickens in beehive shaped wicker baskets
                  which are suspended on a pole which Lucas carries on his shoulder.

                  We buy our groceries in bulk from Mbeya, our vegetables come from our
                  garden by the river and our butter from Kath Wood. Our fresh milk we buy from the
                  natives. It is brought each morning by three little totos each carrying one bottle on his
                  shaven head. Did I tell you that the local Wasafwa file their teeth to points. These kids
                  grin at one with their little sharks teeth – quite an “all-ready-to-eat-you-with-my-dear” look.
                  A few nights ago a message arrived from Kath Wood to say that Queenie
                  Stewart was very ill and would George drive her across to the Doctor at Tukuyu. I
                  wanted George to wait until morning because it was pouring with rain, and the mountain
                  road to Tukuyu is tricky even in dry weather, but he said it is dangerous to delay with any
                  kind of fever in Africa and he would have to start at once. So off he drove in the rain and I
                  did not see him again until the following night.

                  George said that it had been a nightmare trip. Queenie had a high temperature
                  and it was lucky that Kath was able to go to attend to her. George needed all his
                  attention on the road which was officially closed to traffic, and very slippery, and in some
                  places badly eroded. In some places the decking of bridges had been removed and
                  George had to get out in the rain and replace it. As he had nothing with which to fasten
                  the decking to the runners it was a dangerous undertaking to cross the bridges especially
                  as the rivers are now in flood and flowing strongly. However they reached Tukuyu safely
                  and it was just as well they went because the Doctor diagnosed Queenies illness as
                  Spirillium Tick Fever which is a very nasty illness indeed.


                  Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                  Dear Family,

                  I’m feeling fit and very happy though a bit lonely sometimes because George
                  spends much of his time away in the hills cutting a furrow miles long to bring water to the
                  house and to the upper part of the shamba so that he will be able to irrigate the coffee
                  during the dry season.

                  It will be quite an engineering feat when it is done as George only has makeshift
                  surveying instruments. He has mounted an ordinary cheap spirit level on an old camera
                  tripod and has tacked two gramophone needles into the spirit level to give him a line.
                  The other day part of a bank gave way and practically buried two of George’s labourers
                  but they were quickly rescued and no harm was done. However he will not let them
                  work unless he is there to supervise.

                  I keep busy so that the days pass quickly enough. I am delighted with the
                  material you sent me for curtains and loose covers and have hired a hand sewing
                  machine from Pedro-of-the-overcoat and am rattling away all day. The machine is an
                  ancient German one and when I say rattle, I mean rattle. It is a most cumbersome, heavy
                  affair of I should say, the same vintage as George Stevenson’s Rocket locomotive.
                  Anyway it sews and I am pleased with my efforts. We made a couch ourselves out of a
                  native bed, a mattress and some planks but all this is hidden under the chintz cover and
                  it looks quite the genuine bought article. I have some diversions too. Small black faced
                  monkeys sit in the trees outside our bedroom window and they are most entertaining to
                  watch. They are very mischievous though. When I went out into the garden this morning
                  before breakfast I found that the monkeys had pulled up all my carnations. There they
                  lay, roots in the air and whether they will take again I don’t know.

                  I like the monkeys but hate the big mountain baboons that come and hang
                  around our chicken house. I am terrified that they will tear our pup into bits because he is
                  a plucky young thing and will rush out to bark at the baboons.

                  George usually returns for the weekends but last time he did not because he had
                  a touch of malaria. He sent a boy down for the mail and some fresh bread. Old Lucas
                  arrived with chickens just as the messenger was setting off with mail and bread in a
                  haversack on his back. I thought it might be a good idea to send a chicken to George so
                  I selected a spry young rooster which I handed to the messenger. He, however,
                  complained that he needed both hands for climbing. I then had one of my bright ideas
                  and, putting a layer of newspaper over the bread, I tucked the rooster into the haversack
                  and buckled down the flap so only his head protruded.

                  I thought no more about it until two days later when the messenger again
                  appeared for fresh bread. He brought a rather terse note from George saying that the
                  previous bread was uneatable as the rooster had eaten some of it and messed on the
                  rest. Ah me!

                  The previous weekend the Hickson-Woods, Stewarts and ourselves, went
                  across to Tukuyu to attend a dance at the club there. the dance was very pleasant. All
                  the men wore dinner jackets and the ladies wore long frocks. As there were about
                  twenty men and only seven ladies we women danced every dance whilst the surplus
                  men got into a huddle around the bar. George and I spent the night with the Agricultural
                  Officer, Mr Eustace, and I met his fiancee, Lillian Austin from South Africa, to whom I took
                  a great liking. She is Governess to the children of Major Masters who has a farm in the
                  Tukuyu district.

                  On the Sunday morning we had a look at the township. The Boma was an old German one and was once fortified as the Africans in this district are a very warlike tribe.
                  They are fine looking people. The men wear sort of togas and bands of cloth around
                  their heads and look like Roman Senators, but the women go naked except for a belt
                  from which two broad straps hang down, one in front and another behind. Not a graceful
                  garb I assure you.

                  We also spent a pleasant hour in the Botanical Gardens, laid out during the last
                  war by the District Commissioner, Major Wells, with German prisoner of war labour.
                  There are beautiful lawns and beds of roses and other flowers and shady palm lined
                  walks and banana groves. The gardens are terraced with flights of brick steps connecting
                  the different levels and there is a large artificial pond with little islands in it. I believe Major
                  Wells designed the lake to resemble in miniature, the Lakes of Killarney.
                  I enjoyed the trip very much. We got home at 8 pm to find the front door locked
                  and the kitchen boy fast asleep on my newly covered couch! I hastily retreated to the
                  bedroom whilst George handled the situation.



                    Border Straddlers of The Midlands

                    It has become obvious while doing my family tree that I come from a long line of border straddlers.  We seem to like to live right on the edge of a county, sometimes living on one side of the border, sometimes on the other.  What this means is that for every record search, one must do separate searches in both counties.

                    The Purdy’s and Housley’s of Eastwood and Smalley are on the Derbyshire Nottinghamshire border.   The Brookes in Sutton Coldfield are on the Staffordshire Warwickshire border.  The Malkins of Ellastone and Ashbourne are on the Staffordshire Derbyshire border, as are the Grettons and Warrens of Burton Upon Trent. The Warrens and Grettons of  Swadlincote are also on the Leicestershire border, and cross over into Ashby de la Zouch.

                    I noticed while doing the family research during the covid restrictions that I am a border straddler too.  My village is half in Cadiz province and half in Malaga, and if I turn right on my morning walk along the dirt roads, I cross the town boundary into Castellar, and if I turn left, I cross into San Roque.  Not to mention at the southern tip of Spain, I’m on the edge of Europe as well.

                    More recent generations of the family have emigrated to Canada, USA, South Africa, Australia, and Spain, but researching further back, the family on all sides seems to have stuck to the midlands, like a dart board in the middle of England, the majority in Derbyshire, although there is one family story of Scottish blood.


                      Ay, the framework knittin’ were ‘ard work, but it were our own, and better by a mile than what come next. We ‘ad the frame in our home and all the family helped, the girls’d be the seamers and the spool threaders and many a fine stocking we made in our cottages, until those industrialists and capitalists came to our fair dales with their factories and such and took our livelihoods from under our noses.

                      We ‘ad a needle maker in our village, a miller and a baker, and a dressmaker. We ‘ad farms and a dairy and a butcher, and all the old families in our parish ‘ad their place. There’s always those that find work hard, and those that find it rewarding, but even them as found the framework knittin’ ‘ard soon changed their tune about the framework knittin’ being hard when they was doubled over under gods green earth all the day long in the coal mines.

                      Ay, the changes wrought upon our fair parish wreaked an unholy disruption upon the face of village life.  It were the inclosures act what started our downfall, when our common land was took from us, that were indeed the beginning of the end of our fine community of largely honest souls, and even the good nature of the gent from the hall and the Parish poor fund couldn’t halt the downfall.

                      Ay and I’ve traveled to the future and seen the ungoldy sight of it now. The old farm on the turnpike road surrounded now by house upon house and not an onion nor a carrot to be seen growing in their gardens, and the fronts all hardened floors for those contraptions they move around in, and empty all day long with not a sign of life until nightfall when they all come home and go inside and shut the doors, and never a one passing the time of day with their neighbours over the garden fence, and not a chicken or a cow in sight.

                      There’s no needlemaker now, and the mill’s been knocked down, and there are painted lines on all the hard roads, although I will say that ugly as they are they don’t get near so rutted and muddy when the weather’s bad.

                      I can’t stay long when I visit the future with that woman who comes to call upon us asking questions. I can’t stay long at all.


                        Damn these municipal restrictions! Frustrated, Nora looked again at the photo of the inscriptions on the mysterious pear shaped box that Clara had found.  She picked up a pen and copied the symbols onto a piece of paper. Glancing back over the message her friend had sent, her face softened at Clara’s pet name for her, Alienor.  Clara had started called her that years ago, when she found out about the ouija board incident and the aliens Nora had been talking to.  Was it really an alien, or….? Clara had asked, and Nora had laughed and said Of course it was an alien or! and the name had stuck.

                        Nora’s mood had changed with the reminiscence, and she had an idea. She was working from home, but all that really meant was that she had to have internet access. Nobody would have to know which home she was working from, if she could just make it past the town barriers.  But she didn’t have to go by road: the barriers were only on the roads.  There was nothing stopping her walking cross country.

                        Putting aside the paper with the symbols on, she perused a map.  She had to cross three town boundaries, and by road it was quite a distance. But as the crow flies, not that far.  And if she took the old smugglers track, it was surprisingly direct.  Nora calculated the distance: forty nine kilometers.  Frowning, she wondered if she could walk that distance in a single day and thought it unlikely.   Three days more like, but maybe she could do it in two, at a push.  That would mean one overnight stay somewhere. What a pity it was so cold!  It would mean carrying a warm sleeping bag, and she hated carrying things.

                        Nora looked at the map again, and found the halfway point: it was a tiny hamlet. A perfect place to spend the night. If only she knew someone who lived there, somebody who wouldn’t object to her breaking the restrictions.

                        Nora yawned. It was late. She would finalize the plan tomorrow, but first she sent a message to Clara, asking her if she knew anyone in the little village.


                          Shawn Paul continued to rub his temple. He didn’t want let on how badly it hurt, and even nodding that he was ok made his brains hurt. He was starting to get double vision, but told himself to calm down, that it would soon pass. The jolting of the taxi over the pot holed roads didn’t help. He started to wish he’d never come on this beastly trip.


                            “Hang on. I just saw a friend of mine,” said the driver, skidding to a stop. “You don’t mind, do ya?”

                            Without waiting for an answer, he leaned over and opened the front passenger door.

                            “Oy, Veranassessee! You wanna a lift somewhere?”

                            “I’m out for the exercise. Thanks though. “ She waved them on.

                            She’s a good sort,” said the driver, narrowly avoiding a large pot hole. “Bloody roads are a disgrace. She’s been on the island for years. Since the upset.”

                            “What upset was that?” Asked Maeve, raising questioning eyebrows at Shawn-Paul.

                            The driver turned round and looked at them in the back seat. “I’ve probably said more than I should but …. “

                            “Watch out!” shouted Shawn-Paul.


                              Rukhsan was ready with his package, the plan, the backup plan, and all the disaster recovery plans they would never need to do their journey to the west.
                              All of this preparation was starting to make him antsy, and he hoped everyone would make it in time to start the expedition.

                              Eleri had promised to be back in time, but she had that tendency to… forget things even more since her bout of illness. Glynis’ ginkgo leaves tea had helped a little, at least for the memory thing, not really for Eleri’s stubbornness to have them wait for her return — such assertiveness that was a sure sign of her recovery she’d said.
                              She’d gone already for weeks, and tonight’s was the departure… He had to trust everything would line up.

                              Right now, there was nothing to expect… but the unexpected. All carefully laid out plans would never stand a chance once on the roads, he knew that. It gave him some small comfort to just be aware of all the places and manners where the camel’s back would break.

                              Pricking up his ear in the still evening, he found out that this time, it seemed to start from the kitchen.


                                “Good morning Yorath! I had a most amazing dream last night,” said Eleri, while turning the mushrooms sizzling in the pan. “But I can’t recall a thing. Do you have a spell for dream recall?”

                                “Of course I do! Put orange skin on your forehead and say carambar, that will do the trick,” he replied with a smile. If it works, he thought to himself, I can put it in my new spell book.

                                “How handy that it’s orange season, I was just about to squeeze some for breakfast.” Eleri did as he suggested and placed the orange on her forehead. Immediately she had a vision of a fairy tale castle, silvery with many turrets. She was at a crossroads and a little bridge was in front of her leading to the castle. An old crone swathed in black skirts and shawl approached from the right, carrying a basket. The dream character pulled aside a red gingham cloth covering her basket and handed Eleri a large black book. Holding the book, she had an almost trippy sensation that the book was writhing or pulsing as if it’s stories would burst through the plain cover. And sure enough, as she held the book in her dream hands, while holding the cool orange to the middle of her forehead, she started to get flashes of recall.


                                  Aunt Idle:

                                  Bert came with me. Usually one of us always stayed home to keep an eye on Mater and the kids, but now we had that capable girl, Finly, to keep an eye on things.

                                  It was good to get away from the place for a few hours, and head off on a different route to the usual shopping and errand trips. The nearest sizable town was in the opposite direction; it was years since I’d been to Ninetown. I asked Bert about the place on the other side of the river, what was it that intrigued him so. I’ll be honest, I wondered if he was losing his marbles when he said it was the medieval ruins over there.

                                  “Don’t be daft, Bert, how can there be medieval ruins over there?” I asked.

                                  “I didn’t say they were medieval, Idle, I said that’s what they looked like,” he replied.

                                  “But …but history, Bert! There’s no history here of medieval towns! Who could have built it?”

                                  “That’s why I found it so fucking interesting, but if it doesn’t fit the picture, nobody wants to hear anything about it!”

                                  “Well I’m interested Bert. Yes, yes, I know I wasn’t interested before, but I am now.”

                                  Bert grunted and lit a cigarette.


                                  We stopped at a roadside restaurant just outside Ninetown for lunch. The midday heat was enervating, but inside the restaurant was a pleasant few degrees cooler. Bert wasn’t one for small talk, so I picked up a local paper to peruse while I ate my sandwich and Bert tucked into a greasy heap of chips and meat. I flicked through it without much interest in the mundane goings on of the town, that is, until I saw those names: Tattler, Trout and Trueman.

                                  It was an article about a ghost town on the other side of Ninetown that had been bought up by a consortium of doctors. Apparently they’d acquired it for pennies as it had been completely deserted for decades, with the intention of developing it into an exclusive clinic.

                                  “There’s something fishy about that!” I exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Several of the locals turned to look at me. I lowered my voice, not wanting to attract any more attention while I tried to make sense of it.

                                  “Read this!” I passed the paper over the Bert.

                                  “So what?” he asked. “Who cares?”

                                  “Look!” I said, jabbing my finger on the names Tattler, Trout and Trueman. Bert looked puzzled, understandably enough. “Allow me to explain” I said, and I told him about the business card that Flora had left on the porch table.

                                  “What does Flora have to do with this consortium of doctors? And what the hell is the point in setting up a clinic there, in the middle of nowhere?”

                                  “That,” I replied, “Is the question!”


                                    After a few months travelling from Spain to France in their quest for the dragons, with already two visa applications for China rejected, endless unkind mocking laughs or condescending looks from strangers, and having had to pawn temporarily the sabulmantium to buy Vincentius a shirt, Arona and her motley family were thinking it was time for a turn of fate.

                                    It didn’t take them too long hopefully.
                                    Of course, the sabulmantium was recovered as soon as they had realized it was actually more lucrative in this dimension to have Vincentius take off his shirt in shady bars at night for a few meals and lodging, and some little extras. Mandrake had been kind to provide ample squeaking mice supplements, which Arona had politely declined, for which Mandrake faked each time the saddest of disappointments. All in all, so far their life on the roads had been easier than she would have thought.
                                    Of course, they’d lost Sanso a few times as he couldn’t stay at one place for too long, and keeping track of his movements was near impossible. So they relied on trust that he would always find his way, which surprisingly enough, he did every single time.

                                    He had been the one to provide them with the way to the island actually. One day, after weeks without news, he’d reappeared, hammering at the door of their little room at the top of their 9 storey hotel in Paris, near the St Honoré Market Place. He was wearing the quaintest bright violet velvet surplice, and was carrying a bottle of glowing green liquor.

                                    To settle in a lovely island of the Ocean they called Pacific… It didn’t take too much convincing: Paris was starting to get boring, and far too cold. Arona missed the moist glowing warmth of Leormn’s cave, that was so good for her skin. She didn’t miss the riddles though.

                                    The entry point of the tunnel was inside the catacombs, and they’d almost got lost a few times, she could have sworn, although Sanso was ever confident they were on track, even when a few dead-ends were staring at him in the face with toothless skulls grins. But after a few hours, the tunnel actually broadened, and glowed a lovely shade of orange.

                                    It was funny, traveling through the Earth’s crust, made her almost feel at home. If all the dragons of this realm had left, and were hidden somewhere, she was certain it had to be to such a place. It gave her hopes again to meet one in this strange land which had forgotten magic.


                                      Pearl wrapped the jars of apple pie moonshine carefully inside a beach towel, and placed them in the middle of her suitcase. Her flight was at midnight, and eveything was ready for her trip to Andalucia to assist the surge team on the night of the three kings parade. But there was a problem: the snow had all but submerged her house, her car was nowhere to be seen beneath the white drifts, and the roads were silent and impassable. Pearl called Skye in London, and asked her to send a red car.


                                      In reply to: Strings of Nines


                                        Robin Peter’s wife, Felicity, was handing out sample bottles of shampoo on the opposite street corner. Felicity knew that fresh rain water was marvellous for the hair, and often wondered why so many people went to such extraordinary lengths to keep their hair covered during the rain. They ran across roads in front of traffic, and dashed hither and yon, tiptoeing through puddles, racing home to their houses and flats, and then went straight into the shower to get themselves wet ~ after they accidentally got themselves wet outside.

                                        “There’s nowt so queer as folk,” as Felicity’s Granny always used to say.



                                          “Any idea what this is all about?” Beattie asked, to nobody in particular. A crowd was gathering at the crossroad.

                                          The crossroad reminded Bea of a movie she’d watched some years previously, called, coincidentally enough, Crossroads. A symbolic sort of place, although real enough, a junction seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There was a large oak tree looming above the intersection, but nothing else could be seen in any direction but endless expanses of fields. There was a wooden signpost, the old fashioned kind, with two slats of wood pinned crosswise in the middle to a leaning post, but the place names had long since weathered away.

                                          It was an odd sort of place and not much traffic passed by. In fact, the only traffic to pass by the crossroad stopped and disengorged itself of passengers..

                                          “Is that a word, Bea?” asked Leonora. “Disengorged?”

                                          “Don’t butt in to the narrative part Leo, or the story won’t make any sense.” hisssed Beattie, “Wait until you’re supposed to speak as one of the characters.”

                                          “Well alright, but I don’t suppose it will have much effect on the making sense aspect, either way. Do continue.”

                                          To say it was a motley crew gathering would be an understatement.

                                          “You got that right,” Leonora said, sotto voce, surupticiously scanning the assortment of individuals alighting from the rather nautical looking yellow cab. Bea glared at Leo. “I suppose I’ll have to include your interrupions as a part of the story now.”

                                          “Good thinking, Batman!”

                                          “Oh for Pete’s sake, Leo, don’t go mad with endless pointless remarks then, ok? Or I will delete you altogether, and that will be the end of it.”

                                          “You can’t delete me. I exist as a character, therefore I am.”

                                          “You might have a nasty accident though and slide off the page,” Bea replied warningly.

                                          “Why don’t you just get on with it, Bea? Might shut me up, you never know…”. Leo smirked and put her ridiculously large sunglasses on, despite the swirling fog..

                                          “Oh I thought it was sunny” said Leonora, taking her sunglasses back off again. “You hadn’t mentioned weather.” She put her sunglasses back on again anyway, the better to secretly examine the others assembled at the crossroads.

                                          “Why don’t you go and introduce yourself to them and see if anyone knows why we’re here, Leo, while I get on with the story.”

                                          “Who will write what they say, though?”

                                          “I’ll add it later, just bugger off and see if anyone knows who sent us that mysterious invitation.”

                                          “Right Ho, sport, I’m on the bobbins and lace case” replied Leo. Bea shuddered a bit at the mixture of identities bleeding through Leonora’s persona. “Och aye the noo!”

                                          Dear god, thought Beattie, I wish I’d never started this.



                                            The door of the garage opened with a creaking sound, and Madame Chesterhope sped up into the gritty alley.
                                            In that dimension where she had hidden her command base, people were a bit sloppy about roads and tarmac, so she had designed a little modification on her machines to be able to levitate in some of the less practical areas; but she had to admit,… she loved the vibrations and bumps that the motorbike created with the friction of the ground surface.
                                            She started to giggle, all enthusiastic about the speed and the wind in her hair, that she ignored the road sign indicating that the road was flooded some miles ahead. The rain had been pouring cabbages all past hexades, so much so that her leather suit was in all honesty the best thing she could have worn, not to mention the fact of course, that it was making her totally sexy.
                                            Two peasants were coming her way, looking at her with wild eyes like they had just seen something otherworldly. Ahahah she laughed, the fools would soon have forgotten everything about it (another handy and sly magical modification she nodded to herself). Looking in her rear mirror, she could still see them wiggle their hands in a frenzy… What the fl…!


                                            On the road, the two peasants wondered what in the name of Shaint Lejus was that rider… But worse, it was heading straight to the pool that the swollen river had made recently, outpouring on fields and little sniggly and thorny paths, like this one. Making desperate signs to be seen and warn it, they watched in horror the black podgy thing with flabby flapping schpurniatz arms sink straight to the bottom of the pool.


                                            The landing was a bit bumpy, but she found her balance quickly. Those transdimensional puddles were a bit rough to get accustomed to, but once you knew how to manipulate it, you couldn’t forget it.
                                            Now, all she needed to got to the location she was heading to was to hop through a few more transdimensional puddles.
                                            Actually, all sorts of puddles could do the job, water puddles, even oil puddles… or run-over poodle puddles for that matter. She preferred water ones, for the quality of water was very fluid, and allowed for easier defocusing. Lately she had tried transdimensional exhaust fumes clouddles, but that was a bit disorienting more than helping.
                                            As far as she could tell, this first one had been projecting her to a dimension in between Earth and the Duane. Incorporating vibrational qualities of the two, with a little more rigidity though. The machine needed a little time to stabilize and get prepared for the next transdimensional jump.
                                            As far as she could tell, she was in a place that was not unlike her birthplace, in the countryside of England. There were occasionally some giveaways that she still wasn’t quite there yet, like an erratic flying schpurniatz, but she was close now.
                                            A few meters in front of her, she could see a lovely puddle that could do for the next jump. A bit small for her… well, motorbike, what were you thinking… but that would probably do it. She took another breath, then pushed the TDPP (Trans-Dimensional Puddle Propeller) button.


                                            Bugger, bugger…. What the bloody heck!

                                            Straw was flying all over her hair, and obfuscating her vision… Darn last puddle had to much mud in it, and her concentration went off for a split second, heading her towards a field of barley.
                                            Turning round and round for a moment in complete disorientation, she finally pushed the levitation button to take a little altitude.
                                            Oh, now,… at least she could tell she was in England, because she knew that place.
                                            How perfect! She could now just move into the dimension to the Pacific island. The GPS included in the modern expensive motorbike had been bipping as soon as it had found again the satellites, and it was now pointing the direction.
                                            Giggling again, she pushed a new button and disappeared into the sky in a supersonic puff of smoke.


                                            a few days later, Chestershire, UK

                                            AFP - 2008-07-21 - An new amazing design has been reported by eye-witnesses
                                            on a crop of barley of a local farmer along with reports of strange booming sounds
                                            and orbs of light. A sight to behold, the delicate intricacy of these interwoven
                                            patterns is believed by many to be the work of the Crop-circle Makers, some
                                            alien intelligence desiring to communicate with us. The theme of this crop-circle
                                            is thought to be a variation on planet Venus cycles, and would be highlighting
                                            the number of cycles lefts until the notorious end-date of Mayan calendar,
                                            Dec. 21st 2012. Scientists have brushed off the allegations of elderly pranksters,
                                            as this one seemed to have required levels of astronomical knowledge far beyond
                                            human intelligence.
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