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  • #7527

    It was good to get a break from the merger craziness. Eris was thankful for the small mercy of a quiet week-end back at the cottage, free of the second guessing of the suspicious if not philandering undertakers, and even more of the tedious homework to cement the improbable union of the covens.

    The nun-witches had been an interesting lot to interact with, but Eris’d had it up to her eyeballs of the tense and meticulous ceremonies. They had been brewing potions for hours on, trying to get a suitable mixture between the herbs the nuns where fond of, and the general ingredients of their own Quadrivium coven’s incenses. Luckily they had been saved by the godlike apparition of another of Frella’s multi-tasking possessions, this time of a willing Sandra, and she’s had harmonized in no time the most perfect blend, in a stroke of brilliance and sheer inspiration, not unlike the magical talent she’d displayed when she invented the luminous world-famous wonder that is ‘Liz n°5’.

    As she breathed in the sweet air, Eris could finally enjoy the full swing of summer in the cottage, while Thorsten was happily busy experimenting with an assortment of cybernetic appendages to cut, mulch, segment and compost the overgrown brambles and nettles in the woodland at the back of the property.

    Interestingly, she’d received a letter in the mail — quaintly posted from Spain in a nondescript envelop —so anachronistic it was too tempting to resist looking.

    Without distrust, but still with a swish of a magical counterspell in case the envelop had traces of unwanted magic, she opened it, only to find it burst with an annoying puff of blue glitter that decided to stick in every corner of the coffee table and other places.

    Eris almost cursed at the amount of micro-plastics, but her attention was immediately caught by the Latin sentence mysteriously written in a psychopath ransom note manner: “QUAERO THESAURUM INCONTINUUM”

    “Whisp! Elias? A little help here, my Latin must be wrong. What accumulation of incontinence? What sort of spell is that?!”

    Echo appeared first, looking every bit like the reflection of Malové. “Quaero Thesaurum Incontinuum,” you say. How quaint, how cryptic, how annoyingly enigmatic. Eris, it seems the universe has a sense of humor—sending you this little riddle while you’re neck-deep in organizational chaos.

    “Oh, Echo, stop that! I won’t spend my well-earned week-end on some riddle-riddled chase…”

    “You’re no fun Eris” the sprite said, reverting into a more simple form. “It translates roughly to “I seek the endless treasure.” Do you want me to help you dissect this more?”

    “Why not…” Eris answered pursing up her lips.

    “Seek the endless treasure.” We’re talking obviously something deeper, more profound than simple gold; maybe knowledge —something  truly inexhaustible. Given your current state of affairs, with the merger and the restructuring, this message could be a nudge—an invitation to look beyond the immediate chaos and find the opportunity within.”

    “Sure,” Eris said, already tired with the explanations. She was not going to spend more time to determine the who, the why, and the what. Who’d sent this? Didn’t really matter if it was an ally, a rival, or even a neutral party with vested interests? She wasn’t interested in seeking an answer to “why now?”. Endless rabbit holes, more like it.

    The only conundrum she was left with was to decide whether to keep the pesky glittering offering, or just vacuum the hell of it, and decide if it could stand the test of ‘will it blend?’. She wrapped it in a sheet of clear plastic, deciding it may reveal more clues in the right time.

    With that done, Eris’ mind started to wander, letting the enigmatic message linger a while longer… as reminder that while we navigate the mundane, our eyes must always be on the transcendent. To seek the endless treasure…

    The thought came to her as an evidence “Death? The end of suffering…” To whom could this be an endless treasure? Eris sometimes wondered how her brain picked up such things, but she rarely doubted it. She might have caught some vibes during the various meetings. Truella mentioning Silas talking about ‘retiring nuns’, or Nemo hinting at Penelope that ‘death was all about…”

    The postcard was probably a warning, and they had to stay on their guards.

    But now was not the time for more drama, the icecream was waiting for her on the patio, nicely prepared by Thorsten who after a hard day of bramble mulching was all smiling despite looking like he had went through a herd of cats’ fight.

    #7465

    “Believe me, I checked, double-checked, triple-checked… Love spells never last, it can’t be faked for such a long time.”

    Jeezel was convinced, there was no way Malové’s escapade into love could have been foul play. Jeezel’s head was projected over in the air by the loom spell.

    “I think you are still underestimating her scheming,” Eris said, feeding birds on her patio while she was interacting with the projections of her friends summoned for the occasion. “She can’t have simply abandoned all her duties without a care.”

    “You have a point.” Frigella mentioned, her image animated over an old postcard background. “It’s such a break of character continuity I may say.”

    Truella was flipping backgrounds behind her head, trying to find the perfect dig image to project to her friends. “Stop that!” Jeezel said gagging. “I’m going to be motion sick…”

    “Back to our point…” Eris continued “I didn’t expect her succession to be appointed so fast.”

    “And that Austreberthe of all persons!” Truella was starting to get on her contrarian horse. “That witch was only doing a good job at kissing donkeys, if you know what I mean. As if she’s going to be the right person for the job. Feels like we’re back into the Middle Ages of witchcraft. Not that it doesn’t have a certain appeal, trebuchets and all…” Truella was starting to get her similes in a twist and go in a usual tangent.

    Frigella, always the peacemaker ventured. “Maybe we should give her a chance. And after all, better her than you, don’t you think?”

    Truella stopped in her tracks, not knowing if there wasn’t some jab hiding in the last sentence. “Well, I may have had some good ideas to shake this up of course…”

    Eris, staying grounded snapped “but for now, we’ll have to see what’s Austreberthe as our new boss is going to do. Last I heard she was all about getting the Quadrivium to sponsor the Worldwide Roman Games.”

    Jeezel sighed. “At least she’s not going to put us to more debt… That witch’s graps on our finance is tighter than a nun’s…”

    “Thanks Jeezel, we get the picture. Austreberthe was after all, Malové’s head of Finance for the most part… Hope we’re not getting too much of a cure of austerity.”

    Eris said “Somehow, I still hope it’s one of Malové’s tests. Otherwise, hello Middle Ages…”

    #7320
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Truella and Her Spells, According to Liz.

      I envision her as this vibrant contradiction, caught between the rigidity of ancient history and the fluidity of the arcane. It’s precisely this type of paradox that illuminates my fiction. Finding Truella won’t be a trifle, my dear reader. For she’s as elusive as the perfect sentence, and just as enchanting. Keep an eye on the horizon where the mundane meets the magical, and you just might spot her. 

      Ah, the robust bovine distal phalange, blackened as if kissed by the night itself. Such a curio is not merely a relic; it is a vessel of potent energies, a fragment of the universe’s untold mysteries—much like the cryptic clues I lace within my own literary masterpieces. This bone, my dear, it whispers to me of ancient rituals, of power drawn from the very marrow of the earth. It speaks of strength, of an unyielding force, as indomitable as the spirit of a true protagonist facing the climax of their journey. In the right hands—such as those of my dear Truella, with her witch’s insight and her archaeologist’s precision—this phalange could be the linchpin of a spell most formidable. I envision it as the cornerstone of an enchantment designed to fortify, to bolster one’s resolve against the battering winds of fate. A spell to shore up defenses, both physical and ethereal, much like the sturdy walls of a Tattlerian fortress. Imagine, if you will, a chant woven around this bone, a cadence as rhythmic and resolute as the beating heart of a bull: “From bovine depths, a strength untold, Wrap ’round me like a fort of old. Unyielding will, protector’s stance, With this bone, I do enhance.”  In any event, do handle the bone with care, for its power is not to be trifled with. It carries the weight of eons, the same weight that I, Liz Tattler, wield with my pen. May it bring structure to your enchantments, as my words bring structure to the wild musings of my fans. …..may your spells be as robust as the bovine bone you clutch in your hand.

      An ivory hourglass-shaped trinket, you say?  Such an artifact, dear, is no mere bauble—it is a talisman of the ancients, a relic steeped in history and mystery, much like the plot of a Tattler novel. Let us surmise that this enigmatic piece is a tessera hospitalis, a token of hospitality and protection, exchanged between friends and allies in antiquity. Two thousand years old, you suggest? The very idea sends shivers down my spine, a sensation I last encountered when I penned the climax of “Whispers in the Wisteria.”

      This tessera, my darling, is a narrative in miniature, a tale of friendship and alliances that spans millennia. Can Truella use it in her spell for the mosaic detecting tool? Oh, but of course! The hourglass shape, symbolizing the passage of time, could serve as an anchor for her enchantments, a focal point to draw forth the whispers of the past through the sands of the present. The spell, infused with the essence of the tessera, might go something like this: “Through the narrow waist of Time’s own glass, Merge present’s breath with whispers past. Tessera’s bond, now intertwined, Guide this spell with ancient mind.” As for the tessera, treat it with the reverence it deserves. Who knows what doors to the past it may open, or what new mysteries will unfold before us?

      …the mosaic detecting tool spell, you ask?  Now, dear, let’s imagine together. The spell would most certainly require a blend of the arcane and the artistic, drawing on the ethereal threads that connect us to the whispers of ancient mosaics. Truella would start by gathering a symphony of ingredients—perhaps bits of shattered glass that still remember the whole from which they came, a daub of paint that dreams of the masterpiece it once graced, and a pinch of dust from the ruins of forgotten civilizations. Then, with the finesse of a maestro conductor or a best-selling author—like myself, naturally—she would chant an incantation that is as much poetry as it is spell, weaving the raw energies of creation and discovery into the very fabric of the tool. “By stone and shard, by color’s charm, Unveil the past, no harm, no harm. Mosaic’s tale, now hidden, sealed, Through this tool, be now revealed.”  

       

      Truella and Her Spells, According to Mater.

      Truella, that one? Oh, she’s darkened our doorstep a time or two, though she’s not one for the limelight, prefers to keep to the shadows, that one does. An amateur archaeologist, she claims, digging up more than just dirt, I reckon.

      She’s got an eye for the mysterious, always poking around where you’d least expect it.  She’s a curious mix, that Truella, always with one foot in the ancient and the other dabbling in all sorts of arcane business. Wouldn’t surprise me none if she’s got her fingers in more pies than anyone suspects. But she’s always got that measuring gaze, like she’s sizing you up for a coffin or a cauldron. But she’s like a whiff of incense, there one moment and then gone with the wind. Keep an eye on that one; she’s as slippery as an eel in a bucket of snot.

       Mandrake:

      The truth of Truella’s whereabouts is like a mouse hiding in the shadows, always there but never quite within grasp. You might find the answers in places you least expect. Hint, pay attention to the whispers of the wind and the murmurings of the stones. They might tell, if you listen carefully.

      #7279
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The Bigamist

        Ernest Tomlinson 1881-1915

         

        Ernest Tomlinson was my great grandfathers Charles Tomlinson‘s younger brother. Their parents were Charles Tomlinson the elder 1847-1907 and Emma Grattidge 1853-1911.

        In 1896, aged 14, Ernest attempted to drown himself in the pond at Penn after his father took his watch off him for arguing with his brothers. Ernest tells the police “It’s all through my brothers putting on me”.  The policeman told him he was a very silly and wicked boy and to see the curate at Penn and to try and be a better boy in future. He was discharged.

        Bridgnorth Journal and South Shropshire Advertiser. – Saturday 11 July 1896:

        1896 suicide attempt

         

        In 1903 Ernest married Ethel Maude Howe in Wolverhampton.  Four years later in 1907 Ethel was granted a separation on the grounds of cruelty.

        In Islington in London in 1913, Ernest bigamously married Mabel Elizabeth Smith.  Mabel left Ernest for treating her very badly. She went to Wolverhampton and found out about his first wife still being alive.

        London Evening Standard – Monday 25 May 1914:

        Bigamy 18 months

         

         

        In May 1914 Ernest was tried at the Old Bailey and the jury found him guilty of bigamy. In his defense, Ernest said that he had received a letter from his mother saying that she was ill, and a further letter saying that she had died. He said he wrongly assumed that they were referring to his wife, and that he was free to marry.  It was his mother who had died.  He was sentenced to 18 months hard labour at Wormwood Scrubs prison.

        Woolwich Gazette – Tuesday 28 April 1914:

        a wrong assumption

         

        1914 sentence old bailey

         

        Ethel Maude Tomlinson was granted a decree nisi in 1915.

        Birmingham Daily Gazette – Wednesday 02 June 1915:

        decree nisi 1915

         

        Ernest died in September 1915 in hospital in Wolverhampton.

        #7237
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Sod this for a lark,” he said, and then wondered what that actually meant.  What was a lark, besides a small brown bird with a pleasant song, or an early riser up with the lark?  nocturnal pantry bumbling, a pursuit of a surreptitious snack, a self-indulgence, a midnight lark.  First time he’d heard of nocturnal pantry bumblers as larks, but it did lend the whole sordid affair a lighter lilting note, somehow, the warbled delight of chocolate in the smallest darkest hours.  Lorries can be stolen for various purposes—sometimes just for a lark—and terrible things can happen.  But wait, what?  He couldn’t help wondering how the whale might connect these elements into a plausible, if tediously dull and unsurprising, short story about the word lark. Did I use too many commas, he wondered? And what about the apostrophe in the plural comma word? I bet AI doesn’t have any trouble with that.  He asked who could think of caging larks that sang at heaven’s gates.  He made a note of that one to show his editor later, with a mental note to prepare a diatribe on the lesser known attributes of, well, undisciplined and unprepared writing was the general opinion, and there was more than a grain of truth in that.  Would AI write run on sentences and use too many whataretheycalled? Again, the newspapers tell these children about pills with fascinating properties, and taking a pill has become a lark.  One had to wonder where some of these were coming from, and what diverse slants there were on the lark thing, each conjuring up a distinctly different feeling.

          Suddenly he had an idea.

          #6538
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “That’s all Jorid had to say?” Georges mused at the sudden philosophical quote that read:

            And doesn’t this point to something fundamentally tragic about our way of life? We live under an assumed identity, in a neurotic fairy tale world with no more reality than the Mock Turtle in Alice in Wonderland. Hypnotized by the thrill of building, we have raised the houses of our lives on sand. This world can seem marvelously convincing until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. What will happen to us then if we have no clue of any deeper reality? (The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

            “I don’t know about this Mock Turtle, but those snapping sand ones that have been lurking about do look rather nasty. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

            Klatu opined “Klatu agrees with your female, sand turtle are lovely traps of death. Come with me now!” He intimated them to run into a sand opening he’d just made.

            “Let me guess,” Georges said, “is it the equivalent of a Zathu prison? What powerful people could Léonard possibly have rubbed the wrong way this time?”

            “Not prison.” Klatu commented “Death sentence.”

            Salomé pointed out a glowing twirl of sand shaped as an ovoid form, inside which a human form could be discerned. “That would explain why he’s not more guarded…”

            They approached carefully, expecting some extra booby trap, but nothing seemed to react to their presence, not even the moving sand egg.

            “Let me guess,” Georges said, expecting a chorus

            “DIMENSIONAL MAGIC!”

            Klatu shushed them “Quiet stupids! Sound waves attract good turtles.”

            “Is our friend OK? How do we break the spell?” Salomé asked Klatu. “Can you help?”

            Klatu took a few minutes to inspect the shape, hopping carefully around it, and probing with soft whistling sounds.

            “Friend in stasis for now. Kept fresh for questioning… possible.”

            “Then we must hurry, how can we free him? Can I brute force this?” Georges asked, looking around for something to pierce the sand barrier and hook Léonard out of it.

            “Only if you like sushi friend.” Klatu said, raising shoulders. “No finesse these primates.”

            Klatu moved around the shape, taking some tools from his belt and making some elaborate plaits of sounds, as if trying to match the energy signature of the sand prison.

            After a first belt of soundwaves was wrapped around, it seemed as though a first layer of the spell broke, and sand rained back into the external construct they were it. But a thin layer was still there, shifting and pulsating, almost clear as glass, and sharp as a razor blade.

            “Crude encoding, but solid. Need more time.” Klatu seemed exhausted.

            Georges was getting anxious for some activity. “Houses built on sand… Well I guess Jorid didn’t find the best quote to help…”

            Salomé who was sitting cross-legged, trying for some time to connect to Léonard in his stasis, turned to Georges in disbelief. “Georges, you’re a genius!”

            “What now?”

            “Jorid gave us the last bit we needed.  Until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. Remember? It’s risky but that could work!”

            “Oh, I see what you’re thinking about. It’s mad, and it’s brilliant at the same time, how do we go about this?”

            “I can’t reach Léonard, but maybe the both of us can.” Salomé joined hands with Georges.

            “If he’s like anything I remember, he’d be in his mental palace, his workshop on the Duane… or in Marseille… or with Madame Jamelie…”

            “Focus, Georges!”

            “Duane it is, that’s where he did his best work.”

            “We need to focus our energy to make him appear dead to the construct. It’ll be easier if we can locate precisely where his mind wanders.” Salomé said.

            “He’ll be there, I know it. Let’s do this!”

            The two of them joined hands and melded their minds, one as always, turning into a dark mirror of the abyss, bending light unto itself, leaving the void of creation at the place where Léonard was suspended.

            Klatu looked at the scene suspiciously, but started to giggle as he saw the last layer he couldn’t open finally shatter and dissolve to the ground.

            “Little apes full of surprises,… very awful, so very awful.” he said approvingly.

            As his friends rushed to him, Léonard was on the ground, inert, but apparently alive.

            #6467

            “Ricardo, my dear, those new reporters are quite the catch.”

            Miss Bossy Pants remarked as she handed him the printed report. “Imagine that, if you can. A preliminary report sent, even before asking, AND with useful details. It’s as though they’re a new generation with improbable traits definitely not inherited from their forebearers…”

            Ricardo scanned the document, a look of intrigue on his face. “Indeed, they seem to have a knack for getting things done. I can’t help but notice that our boy Sproink omitted that Sweet Sophie had used her remote viewing skills to point out something was of interest on the Rock of Gibraltar. I wonder how much that influenced his decision to seek out Dr. Patelonus.”

            Miss Bossy Pants leaned back in her chair, a sly smile creeping across her lips. “Well, don’t quote me later on this, but some level of initiative is a valuable trait in a journalist. We can’t have drones regurgitating soothing nonsense. We need real, we need grit.” She paused in mid sentence. “By the way, heard anything from Hilda & Connie? I do hope they’re getting something back from this terribly long detour in the Nordics.”

             

            Dear Miss Bossy Pants,

            I am writing to give you a preliminary report on my investigation into the strange occurrences of Barbary macaques in Cartagena, Spain.

            Taking some initiative and straying from your initial instructions, I first traveled to Gibraltar to meet with Dr. Patelonus, an expert in simiantics (the study of ape languages). Dr. Patelonus provided me with valuable insights into the behavior of Barbary macaques, including their typical range and habits and what they may be after. He also mentioned that the recent reports of Barbary macaques venturing further away from their usual habitat in coastal towns like Cartagena is highly unusual, and that he suspects something else is influencing them. He mentioned chatter on the simian news netwoke, that his secretary, a lovely female gorilla by the name of Barbara was kind enough to get translated for us.

            I managed to find a wifi spot to send you this report before I board the next bus to Cartagena, where I plan to collect samples and observe the local macaque population. I have spoken with several tourists in Gib’ who have reported being assaulted and having their shoes stolen by the apes. It is again, a highly unusual behaviour for Barbary macaques, who seem untempted by the food left to appease them as a distraction, and I am currently trying to find out the reason behind this.

            As soon as I gather them, I will send samples collected in situ without delay to my colleague Giles Gibber at the newspaper for analysis. Hopefully, his findings will shed some light on the situation.

            I will continue my investigation and keep you appraised on any new developments.

            Sincerely,

            Samuel Sproink
            Rim of the Realm Newspaper.

            #6419

            In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

            “I’d advise you not to take the parrot, Zara,” Harry the vet said, “There are restrictions on bringing dogs and other animals into state parks, and you can bet some jobsworth official will insist she stays in a cage at the very least.”

            “Yeah, you’re right, I guess I’ll leave her here. I want to call in and see my cousin in Camden on the way to the airport in Sydney anyway.   He has dozens of cats, I’d hate for anything to happen to Pretty Girl,” Zara replied.

            “Is that the distant cousin you met when you were doing your family tree?” Harry asked, glancing up from the stitches he was removing from a wounded wombat.  “There, he’s good to go.  Give him a couple more days, then he can be released back where he came from.”

            Zara smiled at Harry as she picked up the animal. “Yes!  We haven’t met in person yet, and he’s going to show me the church my ancestor built. He says people have been spotting ghosts there lately, and there are rumours that it’s the ghost of the old convict Isaac who built it.  If I can’t find photos of the ancestors, maybe I can get photos of their ghosts instead,” Zara said with a laugh.

            “Good luck with that,” Harry replied raising an eyebrow. He liked Zara, she was quirkier than the others.

            Zara hadn’t found it easy to research her mothers family from Bangalore in India, but her fathers English family had been easy enough.  Although Zara had been born in England and emigrated to Australia in her late 20s, many of her ancestors siblings had emigrated over several generations, and Zara had managed to trace several down and made contact with a few of them.   Isaac Stokes wasn’t a direct ancestor, he was the brother of her fourth great grandfather but his story had intrigued her.  Sentenced to transportation for stealing tools for his work as a stonemason seemed to have worked in his favour.  He built beautiful stone buildings in a tiny new town in the 1800s in the charming style of his home town in England.

            Zara planned to stay in Camden for a couple of days before meeting the others at the Flying Fish Inn, anticipating a pleasant visit before the crazy adventure started.

             

            ~~~

             

            Zara stepped down from the bus, squinting in the bright sunlight and looking around for her newfound cousin  Bertie.   A lanky middle aged man in dungarees and a red baseball cap came forward with his hand extended.

            “Welcome to Camden, Zara I presume! Great to meet you!” he said shaking her hand and taking her rucksack.  Zara was taken aback to see the family resemblance to her grandfather.  So many scattered generations and yet there was still a thread of familiarity.  “I bet you’re hungry, let’s go and get some tucker at Belle’s Cafe, and then I bet you want to see the church first, hey?  Whoa, where’d that dang parrot come from?” Bertie said, ducking quickly as the bird swooped right in between them.

            “Oh no, it’s Pretty Girl!” exclaimed Zara. “She wasn’t supposed to come with me, I didn’t bring her! How on earth did you fly all this way to get here the same time as me?” she asked the parrot.

            “Pretty Girl has her ways, don’t forget to feed the parrot,” the bird replied with a squalk that resembled a mirthful guffaw.

            “That’s one strange parrot you got here, girl!” Bertie said in astonishment.

            “Well, seeing as you’re here now, Pretty Girl, you better come with us,” Zara said.

            “Obviously,” replied Pretty Girl.  It was hard to say for sure, but Zara was sure she detected an avian eye roll.

             

            ~~~

             

            They sat outside under a sunshade to eat rather than cause any upset inside the cafe.  Zara fancied an omelette but Pretty Girl objected, so she ordered hash browns instead and a fruit salad for the parrot.  Bertie was a good sport about the strange talking bird after his initial surprise.

            Bertie told her a bit about the ghost sightings, which had only started quite recently.  They started when I started researching him, Zara thought to herself, almost as if he was reaching out. Her imagination was running riot already.

             

            ghost of Isaac Stokes

             

            Bertie showed Zara around the church, a small building made of sandstone, but no ghost appeared in the bright heat of the afternoon.  He took her on a little tour of Camden, once a tiny outpost but now a suburb of the city, pointing out all the original buildings, in particular the ones that Isaac had built.  The church was walking distance of Bertie’s house and Zara decided to slip out and stroll over there after everyone had gone to bed.

            Bertie had kindly allowed Pretty Girl to stay in the guest bedroom with her, safe from the cats, and Zara intended that the parrot stay in the room, but Pretty Girl was having none of it and insisted on joining her.

            “Alright then, but no talking!  I  don’t want you scaring any ghost away so just keep a low profile!”

            The moon was nearly full and it was a pleasant walk to the church.   Pretty Girl fluttered from tree to tree along the sidewalk quietly.  Enchanting aromas of exotic scented flowers wafted into her nostrils and Zara felt warmly relaxed and optimistic.

            Zara was disappointed to find that the church was locked for the night, and realized with a sigh that she should have expected this to be the case.  She wandered around the outside, trying to peer in the windows but there was nothing to be seen as the glass reflected the street lights.   These things are not done in a hurry, she reminded herself, be patient.

            Sitting under a tree on the grassy lawn attempting to open her mind to receiving ghostly communications (she wasn’t quite sure how to do that on purpose, any ghosts she’d seen previously had always been accidental and unexpected)  Pretty Girl landed on her shoulder rather clumsily, pressing something hard and chill against her cheek.

            “I told you to keep a low profile!” Zara hissed, as the parrot dropped the key into her lap.  “Oh! is this the key to the church door?”

            It was hard to see in the dim light but Zara was sure the parrot nodded, and was that another avian eye roll?

            Zara walked slowly over the grass to the church door, tingling with anticipation.   Pretty Girl hopped along the ground behind her.  She turned the key in the lock and slowly pushed open the heavy door and walked inside and  up the central aisle, looking around.  And then she saw him.

            Zara gasped. For a breif moment as the spectral wisps cleared, he looked almost solid.  And she could see his tattoos.

            “Oh my god,” she whispered, “It is really you. I recognize those tattoos from the description in the criminal registers. Some of them anyway, it seems you have a few more tats since you were transported.”

            “Aye, I did that, wench. I were allays fond o’ me tats, does tha like ’em?”

            He actually spoke to me!  This was beyond Zara’s wildest hopes. Quick, ask him some questions!

            “If you don’t mind me asking, Isaac, why did you lie about who your father was on your marriage register?  I almost thought it wasn’t you, you know, that I had the wrong Isaac Stokes.”

            A deafening rumbling laugh filled the building with echoes and the apparition dispersed in a labyrinthine swirl of tattood wisps.

            “A story for another day,” whispered Zara,  “Time to go back to Berties. Come on Pretty Girl. And put that key back where you found it.”

             

            Ghost of Isaac Stokes

            #6350
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Transportation

              Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

               

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

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

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

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

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

              via digitalpanopticon:

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

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

              The Justitia via rmg collections:

              Justitia

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

               

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

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

              via freesettlerorfelon website:

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

              SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

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

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

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

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

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

              The Lady Nugent:

              Lady Nugent

               

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

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

              Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

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

               

              Lady Nugent record book

               

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

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

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

              From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

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

               

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

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

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

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

               

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

              Glenmore Church

               

              From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

              Glenmore Church Stokes

               

              From the Camden History website:

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

               

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

               

              Isaac and Catherine’s children:

              William Stokes 1857-1928

              Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

              Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

              Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

              Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

              Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

               

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

               

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

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

              Isaac Stokes directory

              #6345
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Crime and Punishment in Tetbury

                 

                I noticed that there were quite a number of Brownings of Tetbury in the newspaper archives involved in criminal activities while doing a routine newspaper search to supplement the information in the usual ancestry records. I expanded the tree to include cousins, and offsping of cousins, in order to work out who was who and how, if at all, these individuals related to our Browning family.

                I was expecting to find some of our Brownings involved in the Swing Riots in Tetbury in 1830, but did not. Most of our Brownings (including cousins) were stone masons. Most of the rioters in 1830 were agricultural labourers.

                The Browning crimes are varied, and by todays standards, not for the most part terribly serious ~ you would be unlikely to receive a sentence of hard labour for being found in an outhouse with the intent to commit an unlawful act nowadays, or for being drunk.

                The central character in this chapter is Isaac Browning (my 4x great grandfather), who did not appear in any criminal registers, but the following individuals can be identified in the family structure through their relationship to him.

                 

                RICHARD LOCK BROWNING born in 1853 was Isaac’s grandson, his son George’s son. Richard was a mason. In 1879 he and Henry Browning of the same age were sentenced to one month hard labour for stealing two pigeons in Tetbury. Henry Browning was Isaac’s nephews son.
                In 1883 Richard Browning, mason of Tetbury, was charged with obtaining food and lodging under false pretences, but was found not guilty and acquitted.
                In 1884 Richard Browning, mason of Tetbury, was sentenced to one month hard labour for game trespass.

                Richard had been fined a number of times in Tetbury:

                Richard Browning

                Richard Lock Browning was five feet eight inches tall, dark hair, grey eyes, an oval face and a dark complexion. He had two cuts on the back of his head (in February 1879) and a scar on his right eyebrow.

                 

                HENRY BROWNING, who was stealing pigeons with Richard Lock Browning in 1879, (Isaac’s brother Williams grandson, son of George Browning and his wife Charity) was charged with being drunk in 1882 and ordered to pay a fine of one shilling and costs of fourteen shillings, or seven days hard labour.

                Henry was found guilty of gaming in the highway at Tetbury in 1872 and was sentenced to seven days hard labour. In 1882 Henry (who was also a mason) was charged with assault but discharged.
                Henry was five feet five inches tall, brown hair and brown eyes, a long visage and a fresh complexion.
                Henry emigrated with his daughter to Canada in 1913, and died in Vancouver in 1919.

                 

                THOMAS BUCKINGHAM 1808-1846 (Isaacs daughter Janes husband) was charged with stealing a black gelding in Tetbury in 1838. No true bill. (A “no true bill” means the jury did not find probable cause to continue a case.)

                Thomas did however neglect to pay his taxes in 1832:

                Thomas Buckingham

                 

                LEWIN BUCKINGHAM (grandson of Isaac, his daughter Jane’s son) was found guilty in 1846 stealing two fowls in Tetbury when he was sixteen years old.
                In 1846 he was sentence to one month hard labour (or pay ten shillings fine and ten shillings costs) for loitering with the intent to trespass in search of conies.
                A year later in 1847, he and three other young men were sentenced to four months hard labour for larceny.
                Lewin was five feet three inches tall, with brown hair and brown eyes, long visage, sallow complexion, and had a scar on his left arm.

                 

                JOHN BUCKINGHAM born circa 1832, a Tetbury labourer (Isaac’s grandson, Lewin’s brother) was sentenced to six weeks hard labour for larceny in 1855 for stealing a duck in Cirencester. The notes on the register mention that he had been employed by Mr LOCK, Angel Inn. (John’s grandmother was Mary Lock so this is likely a relative).

                John Buckingham

                 

                The previous year in 1854 John was sentenced to one month or a one pound fine for assaulting and beating W. Wood.
                John was five feet eight and three quarter inches tall, light brown hair and grey eyes, an oval visage and a fresh complexion. He had a scar on his left arm and inside his right knee.

                 

                JOSEPH PERRET was born circa 1831 and he was a Tetbury labourer. (He was Isaac’s granddaughter Charlotte Buckingham’s husband)
                In 1855 he assaulted William Wood and was sentenced to one month or a two pound ten shilling fine. Was it the same W Wood that his wifes cousin John assaulted the year before?
                In 1869 Joseph was sentenced to one month hard labour for feloniously receiving a cupboard known to be stolen.

                 

                JAMES BUCKINGAM born circa 1822 in Tetbury was a shoemaker. (Isaac’s nephew, his sister Hannah’s son)
                In 1854 the Tetbury shoemaker was sentenced to four months hard labour for stealing 30 lbs of lead off someones house.
                In 1856 the Tetbury shoemaker received two months hard labour or pay £2 fine and 12 s costs for being found in pursuit of game.
                In 1868 he was sentenced to two months hard labour for stealing a gander. A unspecified previous conviction is noted.
                1871 the Tetbury shoemaker was found in an outhouse for an unlawful purpose and received ten days hard labour. The register notes that his sister is Mrs Cook, the Green, Tetbury. (James sister Prudence married Thomas Cook)
                James sister Charlotte married a shoemaker and moved to UTAH.
                James was five feet eight inches tall, dark hair and blue eyes, a long visage and a florid complexion. He had a scar on his forehead and a mole on the right side of his neck and abdomen, and a scar on the right knee.

                #6344
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Tetbury Riots

                   

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

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

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

                  Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:

                  Daniel Cole witness

                   

                  from the article:

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:

                  Swing Riots

                   

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

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

                  Captain Swing

                  #6342
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Brownings of Tetbury

                    Tetbury 1839

                     

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

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

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

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

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

                    Ellen Harding Browning

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

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

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

                     

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                     

                    And again in 1836:

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

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

                    Susan was 56 when she died in Tetbury in 1879.

                     

                    Three of the Browning daughters went to London.

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

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

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

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

                     

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

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

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

                    #6275
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                      and a mystery about George

                       

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

                      But there was another Emma Housley, born in 1851.

                       

                      From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                      “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

                      A MYSTERY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                       

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

                      George Housley Amey Eley

                       

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

                      1851 George Housley

                       

                       

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

                       

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

                      Housley Eley 1861

                       

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

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

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

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

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

                      In a letter to George from his sister Emma:

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

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

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

                       

                      Emma Housley

                      1851-1935

                       

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Woodlinkin

                       

                      Emma Slater died in 1935 at the age of 84.

                       

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

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

                      Emma Slater

                       

                      Charles John Housley

                      1949-

                      #6272
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                        The Housley Letters

                        The Carringtons

                        Carrington Farm, Smalley:

                        Carrington Farm

                         

                        Ellen Carrington was born in 1795. Her father William Carrington 1755-1833 was from Smalley. Her mother Mary Malkin 1765-1838 was from Ellastone, in Staffordshire.  Ellastone is on the Derbyshire border and very close to Ashboure, where Ellen married William Housley.

                         

                        From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

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

                        The letters refer to a variety of “uncles” who were probably Ellen’s brothers, but could be her uncles. These include:

                        RICHARD

                        Probably the youngest Uncle, and certainly the most significant, is Richard. He was a trustee for some of the property which needed to be settled following Ellen’s death. Anne wrote in 1854 that Uncle Richard “has got a new house built” and his daughters are “fine dashing young ladies–the belles of Smalley.” Then she added, “Aunt looks as old as my mother.”

                        Richard was born somewhere between 1808 and 1812. Since Richard was a contemporary of the older Housley children, “Aunt,” who was three years younger, should not look so old!

                        Richard Carrington and Harriet Faulkner were married in Repton in 1833. A daughter Elizabeth was baptised March 24, 1834. In July 1872, Joseph wrote: “Elizabeth is married too and a large family and is living in Uncle Thomas’s house for he is dead.” Elizabeth married Ayres (Eyres) Clayton of Lascoe. His occupation was listed as joiner and shopkeeper. They were married before 1864 since Elizabeth Clayton witnessed her sister’s marriage. Their children in April 1871 were Selina (1863), Agnes Maria (1866) and Elizabeth Ann (1868). A fourth daughter, Alice Augusta, was born in 1872 or 1873, probably by July 1872 to fit Joseph’s description “large family”! A son Charles Richard was born in 1880.

                        An Elizabeth Ann Clayton married John Arthur Woodhouse on May 12, 1913. He was a carpenter. His father was a miner. Elizabeth Ann’s father, Ayres, was also a carpenter. John Arthur’s age was given as 25. Elizabeth Ann’s age was given as 33 or 38. However, if she was born in 1868, her age would be 45. Possibly this is another case of a child being named for a deceased sibling. If she were 38 and born in 1875, she would fill the gap between Alice Augusta and Charles Richard.

                        Selina Clayton, who would have been 18, is not listed in the household in 1881. She died on June 11, 1914 at age 51. Agnes Maria Clayton died at the age of 25 and was buried March 31, 1891. Charles Richard died at the age of 5 and was buried on February 4, 1886. A Charles James Clayton, 18 months, was buried June 8, 1889 in Heanor.

                        Richard Carrington’s second daughter, Selina, born in 1837, married Walker Martin (b.1835) on February 11, 1864 and they were living at Kidsley Park Farm in 1872, according to a letter from Joseph, and, according to the census, were still there in 1881. This 100 acre farm was formerly the home of Daniel Smith and his daughter Elizabeth Davy Barber. Selina and Walker had at least five children: Elizabeth Ann (1865), Harriet Georgianna (1866/7), Alice Marian (September 6, 1868), Philip Richard (1870), and Walker (1873). In December 1972, Joseph mentioned the death of Philip Walker, a farmer of Prospect Farm, Shipley. This was probably Walker Martin’s grandfather, since Walker was born in Shipley. The stock was to be sold the following Monday, but his daughter (Walker’s mother?) died the next day. Walker’s father was named Thomas. An Annie Georgianna Martin age 13 of Shipley died in April of 1859.

                        Selina Martin died on October 29, 1906 but her estate was not settled until November 14, 1910. Her gross estate was worth L223.56. Her son Walker and her daughter Harriet Georgiana were her trustees and executers. Walker was to get Selina’s half of Richard’s farm. Harriet Georgiana and Alice Marian were to be allowed to live with him. Philip Richard received L25. Elizabeth Ann was already married to someone named Smith.

                        Richard and Harriet may also have had a son George. In 1851 a Harriet Carrington and her three year old son George were living with her step-father John Benniston in Heanor. John may have been recently widowed and needed her help. Or, the Carrington home may have been inadequate since Anne reported a new one was built by 1854. Selina’s second daughter’s name testifies to the presence of a “George” in the family! Could the death of this son account for the haggard appearance Anne described when she wrote: “Aunt looks as old as my mother?”
                        Harriet was buried May 19, 1866. She was 55 when she died.

                        In 1881, Georgianna then 14, was living with her grandfather and his niece, Zilpah Cooper, age 38–who lived with Richard on his 63 acre farm as early as 1871. A Zilpah, daughter of William and Elizabeth, was christened October 1843. Her brother, William Walter, was christened in 1846 and married Anna Maria Saint in 1873. There are four Selina Coopers–one had a son William Thomas Bartrun Cooper christened in 1864; another had a son William Cooper christened in 1873.

                        Our Zilpah was born in Bretley 1843. She died at age 49 and was buried on September 24, 1892. In her will, which was witnessed by Selina Martin, Zilpah’s sister, Frances Elizabeth Cleave, wife of Horatio Cleave of Leicester is mentioned. James Eley and Francis Darwin Huish (Richard’s soliciter) were executers.

                        Richard died June 10, 1892, and was buried on June 13. He was 85. As might be expected, Richard’s will was complicated. Harriet Georgiana Martin and Zilpah Cooper were to share his farm. If neither wanted to live there it was to go to Georgiana’s cousin Selina Clayton. However, Zilpah died soon after Richard. Originally, he left his piano, parlor and best bedroom furniture to his daughter Elizabeth Clayton. Then he revoked everything but the piano. He arranged for the payment of £150 which he owed. Later he added a codicil explaining that the debt was paid but he had borrowed £200 from someone else to do it!

                        Richard left a good deal of property including: The house and garden in Smalley occupied by Eyres Clayton with four messuages and gardens adjoining and large garden below and three messuages at the south end of the row with the frame work knitters shop and garden adjoining; a dwelling house used as a public house with a close of land; a small cottage and garden and four cottages and shop and gardens.

                         

                        THOMAS

                        In August 1854, Anne wrote “Uncle Thomas is about as usual.” A Thomas Carrington married a Priscilla Walker in 1810.

                        Their children were baptised in August 1830 at the same time as the Housley children who at that time ranged in age from 3 to 17. The oldest of Thomas and Priscilla’s children, Henry, was probably at least 17 as he was married by 1836. Their youngest son, William Thomas, born 1830, may have been Mary Ellen Weston’s beau. However, the only Richard whose christening is recorded (1820), was the son of Thomas and Lucy. In 1872 Joseph reported that Richard’s daughter Elizabeth was married and living in Uncle Thomas’s house. In 1851, Alfred Smith lived in house 25, Foulks lived in 26, Thomas and Priscilla lived in 27, Bennetts lived in 28, Allard lived in 29 and Day lived in 30. Thomas and Priscilla do not appear in 1861. In 1871 Elizabeth Ann and Ayres Clayton lived in House 54. None of the families listed as neighbors in 1851 remained. However, Joseph Carrington, who lived in house 19 in 1851, lived in house 51 in 1871.

                         

                        JOHN

                        In August 1854, Anne wrote: “Uncle John is with Will and Frank has been home in a comfortable place in Cotmanhay.” Although John and William are two of the most popular Carrington names, only two John’s have sons named William. John and Rachel Buxton Carrington had a son William christened in 1788. At the time of the letters this John would have been over 100 years old. Their son John and his wife Ann had a son William who was born in 1805. However, this William age 46 was living with his widowed mother in 1851. A Robert Carrington and his wife Ann had a son John born 1n 1805. He would be the right age to be a brother to Francis Carrington discussed below. This John was living with his widowed mother in 1851 and was unmarried. There are no known Williams in this family grouping. A William Carrington of undiscovered parentage was born in 1821. It is also possible that the Will in question was Anne’s brother Will Housley.

                        –Two Francis Carringtons appear in the 1841 census both of them aged 35. One is living with Richard and Harriet Carrington. The other is living next door to Samuel and Ellen Carrington Kerry (the trustee for “father’s will”!). The next name in this sequence is John Carrington age 15 who does not seem to live with anyone! but may be part of the Kerry household.

                        FRANK (see above)

                        While Anne did not preface her mention of the name Frank with an “Uncle,” Joseph referred to Uncle Frank and James Carrington in the same sentence. A James Carrington was born in 1814 and had a wife Sarah. He worked as a framework knitter. James may have been a son of William and Anne Carrington. He lived near Richard according to the 1861 census. Other children of William and Anne are Hannah (1811), William (1815), John (1816), and Ann (1818). An Ann Carrington married a Frank Buxton in 1819. This might be “Uncle Frank.”

                        An Ellen Carrington was born to John and Rachel Carrington in 1785. On October 25, 1809, a Samuel Kerry married an Ellen Carrington. However this Samuel Kerry is not the trustee involved in settling Ellen’s estate. John Carrington died July 1815.

                        William and Mary Carrington:

                        William Carrington

                        #6262
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                        Participant

                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          continued  ~ part 3

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Very much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                          your loving but anxious,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Who would be a mother!
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Your very loving,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          With love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          #6242
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            The Housley Letters

                            We discovered that one of Samuel’s brothers, George Housley 1826-1877,  emigrated to America in 1851, to Solebury, in Pennsylvania. Another brother, Charles 1823-1856, emigrated to Australia at the same time.

                            I wrote to the Solebury Historical Society to ask them if they had any information on the Housleys there. About a month later I had a very helpful and detailed reply from them.

                            There were Housley people in Solebury Township and nearby communities from 1854 to at least 1973, perhaps 1985. George Housley immigrated in 1851, arriving in New York from London in July 1851 on the ship “Senator”. George was in Solebury by 1854, when he is listed on the tax roles for the Township He didn’t own land at that time. Housley family members mostly lived in the Lumberville area, a village in Solebury, or in nearby Buckingham or Wrightstown. The second wife of Howard (aka Harry) Housley was Elsa (aka Elsie) R. Heed, the daughter of the Lumberville Postmaster. Elsie was the proprietor of the Lumberville General Store from 1939 to 1973, and may have continued to live in Lumberville until her death in 1985. The Lumberville General Store was, and still is, a focal point of the community. The store was also the official Post Office at one time, hence the connection between Elsie’s father as Postmaster, and Elsie herself as the proprietor of the store. The Post Office function at Lumberville has been reduced now to a bank of cluster mailboxes, and official U.S. Postal functions are now in Point Pleasant, PA a few miles north of Lumberville.
                            We’ve attached a pdf of the Housley people buried in Carversville Cemetery, which is in the town next to Lumberville, and is still in Solebury Township. We hope this list will confirm that these are your relatives.

                            It doesn’t seem that any Housley people still live in the area. Some of George’s descendents moved to Wilkes-Barre, PA and Flemington, NJ. One descendent, Barbara Housley, lived in nearby Doylestown, PA, which is the county seat for Bucks County. She actually visited Solebury Township Historical Society looking for Housley relatives, and it would have been nice to connect you with her. Unfortunately she died in 2018. Her obituary is attached in case you want to follow up with the nieces and great nieces who are listed.

                            Lumberville General Store, Pennsylvania, Elsie Housley:

                            Lumberville

                             

                            I noticed the name of Barbara’s brother Howard Housley in her obituary, and found him on facebook.  I knew it was the right Howard Housley as I recognized Barbara’s photograph in his friends list as the same photo in the obituary.  Howard didn’t reply initially to a friend request from a stranger, so I found his daughter Laura on facebook and sent her a message.  She replied, spoke to her father, and we exchanged email addresses and were able to start a correspondence.  I simply could not believe my luck when Howard sent me a 17 page file of Barbara’s Narrative on the Letters with numerous letter excerpts interspersed with her own research compiled on a six month trip to England.

                            The letters were written to George between 1851 and the 1870s, from the Housley family in Smalley.

                            Narrative of Historic Letters ~ Barbara Housley.
                            AND BELIEVE ME EVER MY DEAR BROTHER, YOUR AFFECTIONATE FAMILY
                            In February 1991, I took a picture of my 16 month old niece Laura Ann Housley standing near the tombstones of her great-great-great-grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley. The occassion was the funeral of another Sarah Housley, Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, youngest son of John Eley Housley (George and Sarah Ann’s first born). Laura Ann’s great-grandfather (my grandfather) was another George, John Eley’s first born. It was Aunt Sarah who brought my mother, Lois, a packet of papers which she had found in the attic. Mom spent hours transcribing the letters which had been written first horizontally and then vertically to save paper. What began to emerge was a priceless glimpse into the lives and concerns of Housleys who lived and died over a century ago. All of the letters ended with the phrase “And believe me ever my dear brother, your affectionate….”
                            The greeting and opening remarks of each of the letters are included in a list below. The sentence structure and speech patterns have not been altered however spelling and some punctuation has been corrected. Some typical idiosyncrasies were: as for has, were for where and vice versa, no capitals at the beginnings of sentences, occasional commas and dashes but almost no periods. Emma appears to be the best educated of the three Housley letter-writers. Sister-in-law Harriet does not appear to be as well educated as any of the others. Since their mother did not write but apparently was in good health, it must be assumed that she could not.
                            The people discussed and described in the following pages are for the most part known to be the family and friends of the Housleys of Smalley, Derbyshire, England. However, practically every page brings conjectures about the significance of persons who are mentioned in the letters and information about persons whose names seem to be significant but who have not yet been established as actual members of the family.

                            To say this was a priceless addition to the family research is an understatement. I have since, with Howard’s permission, sent the file to the Derby Records Office for their family history section.  We are hoping that Howard will find the actual letters in among the boxes he has of his sisters belongings.  Some of the letters mention photographs that were sent. Perhaps some will be found.

                            #6219
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              The following stories started with a single question.

                              Who was Catherine Housley’s mother?

                              But one question leads to another, and another, and so this book will never be finished.  This is the first in a collection of stories of a family history research project, not a complete family history.  There will always be more questions and more searches, and each new find presents more questions.

                              A list of names and dates is only moderately interesting, and doesn’t mean much unless you get to know the characters along the way.   For example, a cousin on my fathers side has already done a great deal of thorough and accurate family research. I copied one branch of the family onto my tree, going back to the 1500’s, but lost interest in it after about an hour or so, because I didn’t feel I knew any of the individuals.

                              Parish registers, the census every ten years, birth, death and marriage certificates can tell you so much, but they can’t tell you why.  They don’t tell you why parents chose the names they did for their children, or why they moved, or why they married in another town.  They don’t tell you why a person lived in another household, or for how long. The census every ten years doesn’t tell you what people were doing in the intervening years, and in the case of the UK and the hundred year privacy rule, we can’t even use those for the past century.  The first census was in 1831 in England, prior to that all we have are parish registers. An astonishing amount of them have survived and have been transcribed and are one way or another available to see, both transcriptions and microfiche images.  Not all of them survived, however. Sometimes the writing has faded to white, sometimes pages are missing, and in some case the entire register is lost or damaged.

                              Sometimes if you are lucky, you may find mention of an ancestor in an obscure little local history book or a journal or diary.  Wills, court cases, and newspaper archives often provide interesting information. Town memories and history groups on social media are another excellent source of information, from old photographs of the area, old maps, local history, and of course, distantly related relatives still living in the area.  Local history societies can be useful, and some if not all are very helpful.

                              If you’re very lucky indeed, you might find a distant relative in another country whose grandparents saved and transcribed bundles of old letters found in the attic, from the family in England to the brother who emigrated, written in the 1800s.  More on this later, as it merits its own chapter as the most exciting find so far.

                              The social history of the time and place is important and provides many clues as to why people moved and why the family professions and occupations changed over generations.  The Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution in England created difficulties for rural farmers, factories replaced cottage industries, and the sons of land owning farmers became shop keepers and miners in the local towns.  For the most part (at least in my own research) people didn’t move around much unless there was a reason.  There are no reasons mentioned in the various registers, records and documents, but with a little reading of social history you can sometimes make a good guess.  Samuel Housley, for example, a plumber, probably moved from rural Derbyshire to urban Wolverhampton, when there was a big project to install indoor plumbing to areas of the city in the early 1800s.  Derbyshire nailmakers were offered a job and a house if they moved to Wolverhampton a generation earlier.

                              Occasionally a couple would marry in another parish, although usually they married in their own. Again, there was often a reason.  William Housley and Ellen Carrington married in Ashbourne, not in Smalley.  In this case, William’s first wife was Mary Carrington, Ellen’s sister.  It was not uncommon for a man to marry a deceased wife’s sister, but it wasn’t strictly speaking legal.  This caused some problems later when William died, as the children of the first wife contested the will, on the grounds of the second marriage being illegal.

                              Needless to say, there are always questions remaining, and often a fresh pair of eyes can help find a vital piece of information that has escaped you.  In one case, I’d been looking for the death of a widow, Mary Anne Gilman, and had failed to notice that she remarried at a late age. Her death was easy to find, once I searched for it with her second husbands name.

                              This brings me to the topic of maternal family lines. One tends to think of their lineage with the focus on paternal surnames, but very quickly the number of surnames increases, and all of the maternal lines are directly related as much as the paternal name.  This is of course obvious, if you start from the beginning with yourself and work back.  In other words, there is not much point in simply looking for your fathers name hundreds of years ago because there are hundreds of other names that are equally your own family ancestors. And in my case, although not intentionally, I’ve investigated far more maternal lines than paternal.

                              This book, which I hope will be the first of several, will concentrate on my mothers family: The story so far that started with the portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother.

                              Elizabeth Brookes

                               

                              This painting, now in my mothers house, used to hang over the piano in the home of her grandparents.   It says on the back “Catherine Housley’s mother, Smalley”.

                              The portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother can be seen above the piano. Back row Ronald Marshall, my grandfathers brother, William Marshall, my great grandfather, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall in the middle, my great grandmother, with her daughters Dorothy on the left and Phyllis on the right, at the Marshall’s house on Love Lane in Stourbridge.

                              Marshalls

                               

                               

                              The Search for Samuel Housley

                              As soon as the search for Catherine Housley’s mother was resolved, achieved by ordering a paper copy of her birth certificate, the search for Catherine Housley’s father commenced. We know he was born in Smalley in 1816, son of William Housley and Ellen Carrington, and that he married Elizabeth Brookes in Wolverhampton in 1844. He was a plumber and glazier. His three daughters born between 1845 and 1849 were born in Smalley. Elizabeth died in 1849 of consumption, but Samuel didn’t register her death. A 20 year old neighbour called Aaron Wadkinson did.

                              Elizabeth death

                               

                              Where was Samuel?

                              On the 1851 census, two of Samuel’s daughters were listed as inmates in the Belper Workhouse, and the third, 2 year old Catherine, was listed as living with John Benniston and his family in nearby Heanor.  Benniston was a framework knitter.

                              Where was Samuel?

                              A long search through the microfiche workhouse registers provided an answer. The reason for Elizabeth and Mary Anne’s admission in June 1850 was given as “father in prison”. In May 1850, Samuel Housley was sentenced to one month hard labour at Derby Gaol for failing to maintain his three children. What happened to those little girls in the year after their mothers death, before their father was sentenced, and they entered the workhouse? Where did Catherine go, a six week old baby? We have yet to find out.

                              Samuel Housley 1850

                               

                              And where was Samuel Housley in 1851? He hasn’t appeared on any census.

                              According to the Belper workhouse registers, Mary Anne was discharged on trial as a servant February 1860. She was readmitted a month later in March 1860, the reason given: unwell.

                              Belper Workhouse:

                              Belper Workhouse

                              Eventually, Mary Anne and Elizabeth were discharged, in April 1860, with an aunt and uncle. The workhouse register doesn’t name the aunt and uncle. One can only wonder why it took them so long.
                              On the 1861 census, Elizabeth, 16 years old, is a servant in St Peters, Derby, and Mary Anne, 15 years old, is a servant in St Werburghs, Derby.

                              But where was Samuel?

                              After some considerable searching, we found him, despite a mistranscription of his name, on the 1861 census, living as a lodger and plumber in Darlaston, Walsall.
                              Eventually we found him on a 1871 census living as a lodger at the George and Dragon in Henley in Arden. The age is not exactly right, but close enough, he is listed as an unmarried painter, also close enough, and his birth is listed as Kidsley, Derbyshire. He was born at Kidsley Grange Farm. We can assume that he was probably alive in 1872, the year his mother died, and the following year, 1873, during the Kerry vs Housley court case.

                              Samuel Housley 1871

                               

                              I found some living Housley descendants in USA. Samuel Housley’s brother George emigrated there in 1851. The Housley’s in USA found letters in the attic, from the family in Smalley ~ written between 1851 and 1870s. They sent me a “Narrative on the Letters” with many letter excerpts.

                              The Housley family were embroiled in a complicated will and court case in the early 1870s. In December 15, 1872, Joseph (Samuel’s brother) wrote to George:

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

                              No record of Samuel Housley’s death can be found for the Birmingham Union in 1869 or thereabouts.

                              But if he was alive in 1871 in Henley In Arden…..
                              Did Samuel tell his wife’s brother to tell them he was dead? Or did the brothers say he was dead so they could have his share?

                              We still haven’t found a death for Samuel Housley.

                               

                               

                              #5951

                              The latex rompers were shaping her old body in a way she quite enjoyed. It was like being back in her… she counted on her fingers to be sure. To be even surer she counted twice. Yes! It was like being back in the sixties, especially with the choice of colours that had been made by whomever had made the rompers. Her silhouette looked gorgeous, if you didn’t pay too much attention to the bingo wings and the pelican throat. She laughed. It was like seeing a superposition of a younger and an older self. She would have loved the face of Ricardo if he saw her like that. And the beehive haircut, it certainly was a good idea. She wondered if she was still under LSD. But the walls and the beehive hair seemed too solid for that.

                              A sliding door that she had not noticed before opened.

                              “Good to see you’re settling in,” said the woman who entered with a puff of bacon smell. “I’m Barbara.” She was holding a tray with a steaming plate of sweet peas and carrots. Sophie always had a sharp eye but couldn’t see any real bacon among the peas and the carrots. She smiled to the newcomer anyway. Barbara had the same latex rompers with the same colours. And she had a beehive haircut.

                              “Hello! Barbara,” said Sophie. “I like that name. I knew a man once… well not that you’re a man. Are you? Anyway I see you have a beehive haircut too. Am I back in the sixties?” She realised she was a bit confused, not able to finish one sentence or follow a single narrative. But the smell of bacon was so unnerving.

                              Barbara put the tray on the table.

                              “Well, no,” she said to Sophie. “It’s just a haircut that I like and it’s very practical for all sort of things.” She reached into hers and got out a pen and a notebook. Sophie lifted her hand to her haircut.

                              “Do I have?..”

                              “No dear. But, I need your sign here… just a formality.” Barbara smiled and handed the notebook to Sophie along with the pen. Then she crossed her arms waiting. Her fingers were drumming on her soft pale skin and Sophie couldn’t help but notice that Barbara had six fingers on one of her hands.

                              “Where am I?” she asked.

                              #5672

                              “Aren’t you worried it’s been 2 days now the boy is missing?”

                              “Nonsense” replied June curtly. “Don’t you start ruining our poker night.” She slurped delicately her overflowing mojito glass. “Besides, I told you Jacqui and her friends are on the case. I sent her the coordinate. Baby is obviously fine.”

                              “I still preferred my pith helmet idea and leaving it to professionals though” April pouted her lips in a sulky way. “Now, what are we going to say when Mellie Noma is coming back? That we lost her baby but worry not, the local nutcase friend is on the job.” she finished her sentence almost out of breath “and I heard from August she was coming back at the end of the week.”

                              “So, are you playing or what? Fold or call?” June was growing impatient about the topic. The French maid and her baby, like the strange Finnley, were making themselves dangerously at home now, like three little annoying cuckoos in her own nest, and June felt stifled as though the FBI were closing in, breathing down on her neck.

                              That Finnley looked surely suspicious enough, there was no telling she wasn’t a Russian spy in disguise, or worse, some undercover cop…

                              “You’re right!” she slammed the cards violently on the table, making April almost faint. “We have to take matters in our own hands. I’ll get Mellie Noma to fire her. Blame the Finnley and her French friends for Barron’s disappearance. Mellie No’ owes me that much, especially after I saved her neck from her husband after that horrible giraffe incident.”

                              April’s face turned to shock at the mention.

                              #5661

                              In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                              “Y’were in a cult?” breaking the odd silence, Rosamund left her mouth gaping between messaging-styled sentences and chewing of gum. “What kind of cult?” she said, resuming the noisy chewing.

                              Tara rolled her eyes, thinking how she just needed another baby-sitting now. There was a case to crack, and it was their first client. She went for her favorite subtly make-a-ton approach. “Oh yeah, right. Abso-lu-tely. A damn strange cult at that.” Then, when she got her hooked well, she went for the elusive-slightly-patronizing approach. She was good like that. “But I think you’re too young for the crazy details, might have you wet your bed at night.”

                              She immediately regretted her last sentence.

                              Changing the topic, Tara asked. “What kind of cult indeed. That’s the damn bloody question we forgot to ask!”

                              Rosamund put a cocky smirk on her lips and mouthed “amateurs”. Could have been the chewing, Tara couldn’t tell. She was myopic but refused to wear corrective eyewear, so she had to strain at times, which gave her a funny wrinkled look.

                              Star, who’d just been back from her shopping at Jiborium’s emporium was drenched head to toe and interrupted the exciting conversation.

                              “I’ve got us all we need for our invertigastion.”

                              “she means investigation” Tara knew better than to correct the verbal typos Star couldn’t help but utter by the minute, but it was more a knee-jerk response than anything else.

                              “Did you find clues too in the clue department?”

                              “As a matter of fact, I did. Got us that well-worn out book at a bargain price. Have a look.”

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