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  • #6471
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      The Jorid is a vessel that can travel through dimensions as well as time, within certain boundaries.

      The Jorid has been built and is operated by Georges and his companion Salomé.
      Georges was a French thief possibly from the 1800s, turned other-dimensional explorer, and along with Salomé, a girl of mysterious origins who he first met in the Alienor dimension but believed to be born in Northern India in a distant past, they have lived rich adventures together, and are deeply bound by love and mutual interests.

      Georges, with his handsome face, dark hair and amber gaze, is a bit of a daredevil at times, curious and engaging with others. He is very interesting in anything that shines, strange mechanisms and generally the ways consciousness works in living matter. Salomé, on the other hand is deeply intuitive, empath at times, quite logical and rational but also interested in mysticism, the ways of the Truth, and the “why” rather than the “how” of things.

      The world of Alienor (a pale green sun under which twin planets originally orbited – Duane, Murtuane – with an additional third, Phreal, home planet of the Guardians, an alien race of builders with god-like powers) lived through cataclysmic changes, finished by the time this story is told.

      The Jorid’s original prototype designs were crafted by Léonard, a mysterious figure, self-taught in the arts of dimensional magic in Alienor sects, who acted as a mentor to Georges during his adventures. It is not known where he is now.

      The story unfolds 14 years after we discovered Georges & Salomé in the story.

       

      (for more background information, refer to this thread)

      #6463

      In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Additional clues from AL (based on Xavier’s comment)

        Yasmin

        :snake:

        Yasmin was having a hard time with the heavy rains and mosquitoes in the real-world. She couldn’t seem to make a lot of progress on finding the snorting imp, which she was trying to find in the real world rather than in the game. She was feeling discouraged and unsure of what to do next.

        Suddenly, an emoji of a snake appeared on her screen. It seemed to be slithering and wriggling, as if it was trying to grab her attention. Without hesitation, Yasmin clicked on the emoji.

        She was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in tall grass and the sky was dark and stormy. She could see the snorting imp in the distance, but it was surrounded by a group of dangerous-looking snakes.

        Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re having a hard time in the real world, but don’t let that discourage you in the game. The snorting imp is nearby and it seems like the snakes are guarding it. You’ll have to be brave and quick to catch it. Remember, the snorting imp represents your determination and bravery in real life.

        🐍🔍🐗 Use your skills and abilities to navigate through the tall grass and avoid the snakes. Keep your eyes peeled for any clues or symbols that may help you in your quest. Don’t give up and remember that the snorting imp is a representation of your determination and bravery.

        A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

        Stryke_Assist is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

        Youssef

        :desert:

        Youssef has not yet been aware of the quest, since he’s been off the grid in the Gobi desert. But, interestingly, his story unfolds in real-life parallel to his quest. He’s found a strange grumpy shaman at a food booth, and it seems that his natural steps are converging back with the game. His blog website for his boss seems to take most of his attention.

        An emoji of a desert suddenly appeared on his screen. It seemed to be a barren and empty landscape, with sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Without hesitation, Youssef clicked on the emoji.

        He was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in sand and the sky was a deep orange, as if the sun was setting. He could see a mysterious figure in the distance, standing at the top of a sand dune.

        Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re in a remote location and disconnected from the game. But, your real-life experiences seem to be converging with your quest. The grumpy shaman you met at the food booth may hold the key to unlocking the next steps in the game. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

        🏜️🧭🧙‍♂️ Explore the desert and see if the grumpy shaman’s clues lead you to the next steps in the game. Keep an open mind and pay attention to any symbols or clues that may help you in your quest. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

        A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

        Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

        Zara

        :carved_tile:

        Zara looked more advanced [in her explorations – stream breaks – resume conversation]

        Zara had come across a strange and ancient looking mine. It was clear that it had been abandoned for many years, but there were still signs of activity. The entrance was blocked by a large pile of rocks, but she could see a faint light coming from within. She knew that she had to find a way in.

        As she approached the mine, she noticed a small, carved wooden tile on the ground. It was intricately detailed and seemed to depict a map of some sort. She picked it up and examined it closely. It seemed to show the layout of the mine and possibly the location of the secret room.

        With this new clue in hand, Zara set to work trying to clear the entrance. She used all of her strength to move the rocks, and after a few minutes of hard work, she was able to create an opening large enough for her to squeeze through.

        As she ventured deeper into the mine, she found herself in a large chamber. The walls were lined with strange markings and symbols, and she could see a faint light coming from a small room off to the side. She knew that this must be the secret room she had been searching for.

        Zara approached the room and pushed open the door. Inside, she found a small, dimly lit chamber. In the center of the room stood a large stone altar, and on the altar was a strange, glowing object. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but she knew that this must be the key to solving the mystery of the mine.

        With a sense of excitement and curiosity, Zara reached out to take the glowing object. As her hand touched it, she felt a strange energy coursing through her body. She knew that her quest was far from over, and that there were many more secrets to uncover in the mine.

        #6343
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum

          William James Stokes

           

          William James Stokes was the first son of Thomas Stokes and Eliza Browning. Oddly, his birth was registered in Witham in Essex, on the 6th September 1841.

          Birth certificate of William James Stokes:

          birth William Stokes

           

          His father Thomas Stokes has not yet been found on the 1841 census, and his mother Eliza was staying with her uncle Thomas Lock in Cirencester in 1841. Eliza’s mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) was staying there too. Thomas and Eliza were married in September 1840 in Hempstead in Gloucestershire.

          It’s a mystery why William was born in Essex but one possibility is that his father Thomas, who later worked with the Chipperfields making circus wagons, was staying with the Chipperfields who were wheelwrights in Witham in 1841. Or perhaps even away with a traveling circus at the time of the census, learning the circus waggon wheelwright trade. But this is a guess and it’s far from clear why Eliza would make the journey to Witham to have the baby when she was staying in Cirencester a few months prior.

          In 1851 Thomas and Eliza, William and four younger siblings were living in Bledington in Oxfordshire.

          William was a 19 year old wheelwright living with his parents in Evesham in 1861. He married Elizabeth Meldrum in December 1867 in Hackney, London. He and his father are both wheelwrights on the marriage register.

          Marriage of William James Stokes and Elizabeth Meldrum in 1867:

          1867 William Stokes

           

          William and Elizabeth had a daughter, Elizabeth Emily Stokes, in 1868 in Shoreditch, London.

          On the 3rd of December 1870, William James Stokes was admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum. One week later on the 10th of December, he was dead.

          On his death certificate the cause of death was “general paralysis and exhaustion, certified. MD Edgar Sheppard in attendance.” William was just 29 years old.

          Death certificate William James Stokes:

          death William Stokes

           

          I asked on a genealogy forum what could possibly have caused this death at such a young age. A retired pathology professor replied that “in medicine the term General Paralysis is only used in one context – that of Tertiary Syphilis.”
          “Tertiary syphilis is the third and final stage of syphilis, a sexually transmitted disease that unfolds in stages when the individual affected doesn’t receive appropriate treatment.”

          From the article “Looking back: This fascinating and fatal disease” by Jennifer Wallis:

          “……in asylums across Britain in the late 19th century, with hundreds of people receiving the diagnosis of general paralysis of the insane (GPI). The majority of these were men in their 30s and 40s, all exhibiting one or more of the disease’s telltale signs: grandiose delusions, a staggering gait, disturbed reflexes, asymmetrical pupils, tremulous voice, and muscular weakness. Their prognosis was bleak, most dying within months, weeks, or sometimes days of admission.

          The fatal nature of GPI made it of particular concern to asylum superintendents, who became worried that their institutions were full of incurable cases requiring constant care. The social effects of the disease were also significant, attacking men in the prime of life whose admission to the asylum frequently left a wife and children at home. Compounding the problem was the erratic behaviour of the general paralytic, who might get themselves into financial or legal difficulties. Delusions about their vast wealth led some to squander scarce family resources on extravagant purchases – one man’s wife reported he had bought ‘a quantity of hats’ despite their meagre income – and doctors pointed to the frequency of thefts by general paralytics who imagined that everything belonged to them.”

           

          The London Archives hold the records for Colney Hatch, but they informed me that the particular records for the dates that William was admitted and died were in too poor a condition to be accessed without causing further damage.

          Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum gained such notoriety that the name “Colney Hatch” appeared in various terms of abuse associated with the concept of madness. Infamous inmates that were institutionalized at Colney Hatch (later called Friern Hospital) include Jack the Ripper suspect Aaron Kosminski from 1891, and from 1911 the wife of occultist Aleister Crowley. In 1993 the hospital grounds were sold and the exclusive apartment complex called Princess Park Manor was built.

          Colney Hatch:

          Colney Hatch

           

          In 1873 Williams widow married William Hallam in Limehouse in London. Elizabeth died in 1930, apparently unaffected by her first husbands ailment.

          #6340
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Wheelwrights of Broadway

            Thomas Stokes 1816-1885

            Frederick Stokes 1845-1917

            Stokes Wheelwrights

            Stokes Wheelwrights. Fred on left of wheel, Thomas his father on right.

            Thomas Stokes

            Thomas Stokes was born in Bicester, Oxfordshire in 1816. He married Eliza Browning (born in 1814 in Tetbury, Gloucestershire) in Gloucester in 1840 Q3. Their first son William was baptised in Chipping Hill, Witham, Essex, on 3 Oct 1841. This seems a little unusual, and I can’t find Thomas and Eliza on the 1841 census. However both the 1851 and 1861 census state that William was indeed born in Essex.

            In 1851 Thomas and Eliza were living in Bledington, Gloucestershire, and Thomas was a journeyman carpenter.

            Note that a journeyman does not mean someone who moved around a lot. A journeyman was a tradesman who had served his trade apprenticeship and mastered his craft, not bound to serve a master, but originally hired by the day. The name derives from the French for day – jour.

            Also on the 1851 census: their daughter Susan, born in Churchill Oxfordshire in 1844; son Frederick born in Bledington Gloucestershire in 1846; daughter Louisa born in Foxcote Oxfordshire in 1849; and 2 month old daughter Harriet born in Bledington in 1851.

            On the 1861 census Thomas and Eliza were living in Evesham, Worcestershire, and daughter Susan was no longer living at home, but William, Fred, Louisa and Harriet were, as well as daughter Emily born in Churchill Oxfordshire in 1856. Thomas was a wheelwright.

            On the 1871 census Thomas and Eliza were still living in Evesham, and Thomas was a wheelwright employing three apprentices. Son Fred, also a wheelwright, and his wife Ann Rebecca live with them.

            Mr Stokes, wheelwright, was found guilty of reprehensible conduct in concealing the fact that small-pox existed in his house, according to a mention in The Oxfordshire Weekly News on Wednesday 19 February 1873:

            Stokes smallpox 1873

             

             

            From Paul Weaver’s ancestry website:

            “It was Thomas Stokes who built the first “Famous Vale of Evesham Light Gardening Dray for a Half-Legged Horse to Trot” (the quotation is from his account book), the forerunner of many that became so familiar a sight in the towns and villages from the 1860s onwards. He built many more for the use of the Vale gardeners.

            Thomas also had long-standing business dealings with the people of the circus and fairgrounds, and had a contract to effect necessary repairs and renewals to their waggons whenever they visited the district. He built living waggons for many of the show people’s families as well as shooting galleries and other equipment peculiar to the trade of his wandering customers, and among the names figuring in his books are some still familiar today, such as Wilsons and Chipperfields.

            He is also credited with inventing the wooden “Mushroom” which was used by housewives for many years to darn socks. He built and repaired all kinds of vehicles for the gentry as well as for the circus and fairground travellers.

            Later he lived with his wife at Merstow Green, Evesham, in a house adjoining the Almonry.”

             

            An excerpt from the book Evesham Inns and Signs by T.J.S. Baylis:

            Thomas Stokes dray

            The Old Red Horse, Evesham:

            Old Red Horse

             

            Thomas died in 1885 aged 68 of paralysis, bronchitis and debility.  His wife Eliza a year later in 1886.

             

            Frederick Stokes

            In Worcester in 1870 Fred married Ann Rebecca Day, who was born in Evesham in 1845.

            Ann Rebecca Day:

            Rebecca Day

             

            In 1871 Fred was still living with his parents in Evesham, with his wife Ann Rebecca as well as their three month old daughter Annie Elizabeth. Fred and Ann (referred to as Rebecca) moved to La Quinta on Main Street, Broadway.

             

            Rebecca Stokes in the doorway of La Quinta on Main Street Broadway, with her grandchildren Ralph and Dolly Edwards:

            La Quinta

             

            Fred was a wheelwright employing one man on the 1881 census. In 1891 they were still in Broadway, Fred’s occupation was wheelwright and coach painter, as well as his fifteen year old son Frederick.

            In the Evesham Journal on Saturday 10 December 1892 it was reported that  “Two cases of scarlet fever, the children of Mr. Stokes, wheelwright, Broadway, were certified by Mr. C. W. Morris to be isolated.”

             

            Still in Broadway in 1901 and Fred’s son Albert was also a wheelwright.  By 1911 Fred and Rebecca had only one son living at home in Broadway, Reginald, who was a coach painter. Fred was still a wheelwright aged 65.

            Fred’s signature on the 1911 census:

            1911 La Quinta

            Rebecca died in 1912 and Fred in 1917.

            Fred Stokes:

            Fred Stokes

             

            In the book Evesham to Bredon From Old Photographs By Fred Archer:

            Stokes 1

            Stokes 2

            #6336
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The Hamstall Ridware Connection

              Stubbs and Woods

              Hamstall RidwareHamstall Ridware

               

               

              Charles Tomlinson‘s (1847-1907) wife Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs (1819-1880), born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs.

              Solomon Stubbs (1781-1857) was born in Hamstall Ridware in 1781, the son of Samuel and Rebecca.  Samuel Stubbs (1743-) and Rebecca Wood (1754-) married in 1769 in Darlaston.  Samuel and Rebecca had six other children, all born in Darlaston. Sadly four of them died in infancy. Son John was born in 1779 in Darlaston and died two years later in Hamstall Ridware in 1781, the same year that Solomon was born there.

              But why did they move to Hamstall Ridware?

              Samuel Stubbs was born in 1743 in Curdworth, Warwickshire (near to Birmingham).  I had made a mistake on the tree (along with all of the public trees on the Ancestry website) and had Rebecca Wood born in Cheddleton, Staffordshire.  Rebecca Wood from Cheddleton was also born in 1843, the right age for the marriage.  The Rebecca Wood born in Darlaston in 1754 seemed too young, at just fifteen years old at the time of the marriage.  I couldn’t find any explanation for why a woman from Cheddleton would marry in Darlaston and then move to Hamstall Ridware.  People didn’t usually move around much other than intermarriage with neighbouring villages, especially women.  I had a closer look at the Darlaston Rebecca, and did a search on her father William Wood.  I found his 1784 will online in which he mentions his daughter Rebecca, wife of Samuel Stubbs.  Clearly the right Rebecca Wood was the one born in Darlaston, which made much more sense.

              An excerpt from William Wood’s 1784 will mentioning daughter Rebecca married to Samuel Stubbs:

              Wm Wood will

               

              But why did they move to Hamstall Ridware circa 1780?

              I had not intially noticed that Solomon Stubbs married again the year after his wife Phillis Lomas (1787-1844) died.  Solomon married Charlotte Bell in 1845 in Burton on Trent and on the marriage register, Solomon’s father Samuel Stubbs occupation was mentioned: Samuel was a buckle maker.

              Marriage of Solomon Stubbs and Charlotte Bell, father Samuel Stubbs buckle maker:

              Samuel Stubbs buckle maker

               

              A rudimentary search on buckle making in the late 1700s provided a possible answer as to why Samuel and Rebecca left Darlaston in 1781.  Shoe buckles had gone out of fashion, and by 1781 there were half as many buckle makers in Wolverhampton as there had been previously.

              “Where there were 127 buckle makers at work in Wolverhampton, 68 in Bilston and 58 in Birmingham in 1770, their numbers had halved in 1781.”

              via “historywebsite”(museum/metalware/steel)

              Steel buckles had been the height of fashion, and the trade became enormous in Wolverhampton.  Wolverhampton was a steel working town, renowned for its steel jewellery which was probably of many types.  The trade directories show great numbers of “buckle makers”.  Steel buckles were predominantly made in Wolverhampton: “from the late 1760s cut steel comes to the fore, from the thriving industry of the Wolverhampton area”. Bilston was also a great centre of buckle making, and other areas included Walsall. (It should be noted that Darlaston, Walsall, Bilston and Wolverhampton are all part of the same area)

              In 1860, writing in defence of the Wolverhampton Art School, George Wallis talks about the cut steel industry in Wolverhampton.  Referring to “the fine steel workers of the 17th and 18th centuries” he says: “Let them remember that 100 years ago [sc. c. 1760] a large trade existed with France and Spain in the fine steel goods of Birmingham and Wolverhampton, of which the latter were always allowed to be the best both in taste and workmanship.  … A century ago French and Spanish merchants had their houses and agencies at Birmingham for the purchase of the steel goods of Wolverhampton…..The Great Revolution in France put an end to the demand for fine steel goods for a time and hostile tariffs finished what revolution began”.

               

              The next search on buckle makers, Wolverhampton and Hamstall Ridware revealed an unexpected connecting link.

              In Riotous Assemblies: Popular Protest in Hanoverian England by Adrian Randall:

              Riotous Assembles

              Hamstall Ridware

              In Walsall in 1750 on “Restoration Day” a crowd numbering 300 assembled, mostly buckle makers,  singing  Jacobite songs and other rebellious and riotous acts.  The government was particularly worried about a curious meeting known as the “Jubilee” in Hamstall Ridware, which may have been part of a conspiracy for a Jacobite uprising.

               

              But this was thirty years before Samuel and Rebecca moved to Hamstall Ridware and does not help to explain why they moved there around 1780, although it does suggest connecting links.

              Rebecca’s father, William Wood, was a brickmaker.  This was stated at the beginning of his will.  On closer inspection of the will, he was a brickmaker who owned four acres of brick kilns, as well as dwelling houses, shops, barns, stables, a brewhouse, a malthouse, cattle and land.

              A page from the 1784 will of William Wood:

              will Wm Wood

               

              The 1784 will of William Wood of Darlaston:

              I William Wood the elder of Darlaston in the county of Stafford, brickmaker, being of sound and disposing mind memory and understanding (praised be to god for the same) do make publish and declare my last will and testament in manner and form following (that is to say) {after debts and funeral expense paid etc} I give to my loving wife Mary the use usage wear interest and enjoyment of all my goods chattels cattle stock in trade ~ money securities for money personal estate and effects whatsoever and wheresoever to hold unto her my said wife for and during the term of her natural life providing she so long continues my widow and unmarried and from or after her decease or intermarriage with any future husband which shall first happen.

              Then I give all the said goods chattels cattle stock in trade money securites for money personal estate and effects unto my son Abraham Wood absolutely and forever. Also I give devise and bequeath unto my said wife Mary all that my messuages tenement or dwelling house together with the malthouse brewhouse barn stableyard garden and premises to the same belonging situate and being at Darlaston aforesaid and now in my own possession. Also all that messuage tenement or dwelling house together with the shop garden and premises with the appurtenances to the same ~ belonging situate in Darlaston aforesaid and now in the several holdings or occupation of George Knowles and Edward Knowles to hold the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances to my said wife Mary for and during the term of her natural life provided she so long continues my widow and unmarried. And from or after her decease or intermarriage with a future husband which shall first happen. Then I give and devise the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances unto my said son Abraham Wood his heirs and assigns forever.

              Also I give unto my said wife all that piece or parcel of land or ground inclosed and taken out of Heath Field in the parish of Darlaston aforesaid containing four acres or thereabouts (be the same more or less) upon which my brick kilns erected and now in my own possession. To hold unto my said wife Mary until my said son Abraham attains his age of twenty one years if she so long continues my widow and unmarried as aforesaid and from and immediately after my said son Abraham attaining his age of twenty one years or my said wife marrying again as aforesaid which shall first happen then I give the said piece or parcel of land or ground and premises unto my said son Abraham his heirs and assigns forever.

              And I do hereby charge all the aforesaid premises with the payment of the sum of twenty pounds a piece to each of my daughters namely Elizabeth the wife of Ambrose Dudall and Rebecca the wife of Samuel Stubbs which said sum of twenty pounds each I devise may be paid to them by my said son Abraham when and so soon as he attains his age of twenty one years provided always and my mind and will is that if my said son Abraham should happen to depart this life without leaving issue of his body lawfully begotten before he attains his age of twenty one years then I give and devise all the aforesaid premises and every part thereof with the appurtenances so given to my said son Abraham as aforesaid unto my said son William Wood and my said daughter Elizabeth Dudall and Rebecca Stubbs their heirs and assigns forever equally divided among them share and share alike as tenants in common and not as joint tenants. And lastly I do hereby nominate constitute and appoint my said wife Mary and my said son Abraham executrix and executor of this my will.

               

               

              The marriage of William Wood (1725-1784) and Mary Clews (1715-1798) in 1749 was in Hamstall Ridware.

              Wm Wood Mary Clews

               

              Mary was eleven years Williams senior, and it appears that they both came from Hamstall Ridware and moved to Darlaston after they married. Clearly Rebecca had extended family there (notwithstanding any possible connecting links between the Stubbs buckle makers of Darlaston and the Hamstall Ridware Jacobites thirty years prior).  When the buckle trade collapsed in Darlaston, they likely moved to find employment elsewhere, perhaps with the help of Rebecca’s family.

              I have not yet been able to find deaths recorded anywhere for either Samuel or Rebecca (there are a couple of deaths recorded for a Samuel Stubbs, one in 1809 in Wolverhampton, and one in 1810 in Birmingham but impossible to say which, if either, is the right one with the limited information, and difficult to know if they stayed in the Hamstall Ridware area or perhaps moved elsewhere)~ or find a reason for their son Solomon to be in Burton upon Trent, an evidently prosperous man with several properties including an earthenware business, as well as a land carrier business.

              #6306
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Looking for Robert Staley

                 

                William Warren (1835-1880) of Newhall (Stapenhill) married Elizabeth Staley (1836-1907) in 1858. Elizabeth was born in Newhall, the daughter of John Staley (1795-1876) and Jane Brothers. John was born in Newhall, and Jane was born in Armagh, Ireland, and they were married in Armagh in 1820. Elizabeths older brothers were born in Ireland: William in 1826 and Thomas in Dublin in 1830. Francis was born in Liverpool in 1834, and then Elizabeth in Newhall in 1836; thereafter the children were born in Newhall.

                Marriage of John Staley and Jane Brothers in 1820:

                1820 marriage Armagh

                 

                 

                My grandmother related a story about an Elizabeth Staley who ran away from boarding school and eloped to Ireland, but later returned. The only Irish connection found so far is Jane Brothers, so perhaps she meant Elizabeth Staley’s mother. A boarding school seems unlikely, and it would seem that it was John Staley who went to Ireland.

                The 1841 census states Jane’s age as 33, which would make her just 12 at the time of her marriage. The 1851 census states her age as 44, making her 13 at the time of her 1820 marriage, and the 1861 census estimates her birth year as a more likely 1804. Birth records in Ireland for her have not been found. It’s possible, perhaps, that she was in service in the Newhall area as a teenager (more likely than boarding school), and that John and Jane ran off to get married in Ireland, although I haven’t found any record of a child born to them early in their marriage. John was an agricultural labourer, and later a coal miner.

                John Staley was the son of Joseph Staley (1756-1838) and Sarah Dumolo (1764-). Joseph and Sarah were married by licence in Newhall in 1782. Joseph was a carpenter on the marriage licence, but later a collier (although not necessarily a miner).

                The Derbyshire Record Office holds records of  an “Estimate of Joseph Staley of Newhall for the cost of continuing to work Pisternhill Colliery” dated 1820 and addresssed to Mr Bloud at Calke Abbey (presumably the owner of the mine)

                Josephs parents were Robert Staley and Elizabeth. I couldn’t find a baptism or birth record for Robert Staley. Other trees on an ancestry site had his birth in Elton, but with no supporting documents. Robert, as stated in his 1795 will, was a Yeoman.

                “Yeoman: A former class of small freeholders who farm their own land; a commoner of good standing.”
                “Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.”

                He left a number of properties in Newhall and Hartshorne (near Newhall) including dwellings, enclosures, orchards, various yards, barns and acreages. It seemed to me more likely that he had inherited them, rather than moving into the village and buying them.

                There is a mention of Robert Staley in a 1782 newpaper advertisement.

                “Fire Engine To Be Sold.  An exceedingly good fire engine, with the boiler, cylinder, etc in good condition. For particulars apply to Mr Burslem at Burton-upon-Trent, or Robert Staley at Newhall near Burton, where the engine may be seen.”

                fire engine

                 

                Was the fire engine perhaps connected with a foundry or a coal mine?

                I noticed that Robert Staley was the witness at a 1755 marriage in Stapenhill between Barbara Burslem and Richard Daston the younger esquire. The other witness was signed Burslem Jnr.

                 

                Looking for Robert Staley

                 

                I assumed that once again, in the absence of the correct records, a similarly named and aged persons baptism had been added to the tree regardless of accuracy, so I looked through the Stapenhill/Newhall parish register images page by page. There were no Staleys in Newhall at all in the early 1700s, so it seemed that Robert did come from elsewhere and I expected to find the Staleys in a neighbouring parish. But I still didn’t find any Staleys.

                I spoke to a couple of Staley descendants that I’d met during the family research. I met Carole via a DNA match some months previously and contacted her to ask about the Staleys in Elton. She also had Robert Staley born in Elton (indeed, there were many Staleys in Elton) but she didn’t have any documentation for his birth, and we decided to collaborate and try and find out more.

                I couldn’t find the earlier Elton parish registers anywhere online, but eventually found the untranscribed microfiche images of the Bishops Transcripts for Elton.

                via familysearch:
                “In its most basic sense, a bishop’s transcript is a copy of a parish register. As bishop’s transcripts generally contain more or less the same information as parish registers, they are an invaluable resource when a parish register has been damaged, destroyed, or otherwise lost. Bishop’s transcripts are often of value even when parish registers exist, as priests often recorded either additional or different information in their transcripts than they did in the original registers.”

                 

                Unfortunately there was a gap in the Bishops Transcripts between 1704 and 1711 ~ exactly where I needed to look. I subsequently found out that the Elton registers were incomplete as they had been damaged by fire.

                I estimated Robert Staleys date of birth between 1710 and 1715. He died in 1795, and his son Daniel died in 1805: both of these wills were found online. Daniel married Mary Moon in Stapenhill in 1762, making a likely birth date for Daniel around 1740.

                The marriage of Robert Staley (assuming this was Robert’s father) and Alice Maceland (or Marsland or Marsden, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it presumably) was in the Bishops Transcripts for Elton in 1704. They were married in Elton on 26th February. There followed the missing parish register pages and in all likelihood the records of the baptisms of their first children. No doubt Robert was one of them, probably the first male child.

                (Incidentally, my grandfather’s Marshalls also came from Elton, a small Derbyshire village near Matlock.  The Staley’s are on my grandmothers Warren side.)

                The parish register pages resume in 1711. One of the first entries was the baptism of Robert Staley in 1711, parents Thomas and Ann. This was surely the one we were looking for, and Roberts parents weren’t Robert and Alice.

                But then in 1735 a marriage was recorded between Robert son of Robert Staley (and this was unusual, the father of the groom isn’t usually recorded on the parish register) and Elizabeth Milner. They were married on the 9th March 1735. We know that the Robert we were looking for married an Elizabeth, as her name was on the Stapenhill baptisms of their later children, including Joseph Staleys.  The 1735 marriage also fit with the assumed birth date of Daniel, circa 1740. A baptism was found for a Robert Staley in 1738 in the Elton registers, parents Robert and Elizabeth, as well as the baptism in 1736 for Mary, presumably their first child. Her burial is recorded the following year.

                The marriage of Robert Staley and Elizabeth Milner in 1735:

                rbt staley marriage 1735

                 

                There were several other Staley couples of a similar age in Elton, perhaps brothers and cousins. It seemed that Thomas and Ann’s son Robert was a different Robert, and that the one we were looking for was prior to that and on the missing pages.

                Even so, this doesn’t prove that it was Elizabeth Staleys great grandfather who was born in Elton, but no other birth or baptism for Robert Staley has been found. It doesn’t explain why the Staleys moved to Stapenhill either, although the Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution could have been factors.

                The 18th century saw the rise of the Industrial Revolution and many renowned Derbyshire Industrialists emerged. They created the turning point from what was until then a largely rural economy, to the development of townships based on factory production methods.

                The Marsden Connection

                There are some possible clues in the records of the Marsden family.  Robert Staley married Alice Marsden (or Maceland or Marsland) in Elton in 1704.  Robert Staley is mentioned in the 1730 will of John Marsden senior,  of Baslow, Innkeeper (Peacock Inne & Whitlands Farm). He mentions his daughter Alice, wife of Robert Staley.

                In a 1715 Marsden will there is an intriguing mention of an alias, which might explain the different spellings on various records for the name Marsden:  “MARSDEN alias MASLAND, Christopher – of Baslow, husbandman, 28 Dec 1714. son Robert MARSDEN alias MASLAND….” etc.

                Some potential reasons for a move from one parish to another are explained in this history of the Marsden family, and indeed this could relate to Robert Staley as he married into the Marsden family and his wife was a beneficiary of a Marsden will.  The Chatsworth Estate, at various times, bought a number of farms in order to extend the park.

                THE MARSDEN FAMILY
                OXCLOSE AND PARKGATE
                In the Parishes of
                Baslow and Chatsworth

                by
                David Dalrymple-Smith

                John Marsden (b1653) another son of Edmund (b1611) faired well. By the time he died in
                1730 he was publican of the Peacock, the Inn on Church Lane now called the Cavendish
                Hotel, and the farmer at “Whitlands”, almost certainly Bubnell Cliff Farm.”

                “Coal mining was well known in the Chesterfield area. The coalfield extends as far as the
                Gritstone edges, where thin seams outcrop especially in the Baslow area.”

                “…the occupants were evicted from the farmland below Dobb Edge and
                the ground carefully cleared of all traces of occupation and farming. Shelter belts were
                planted especially along the Heathy Lea Brook. An imposing new drive was laid to the
                Chatsworth House with the Lodges and “The Golden Gates” at its northern end….”

                Although this particular event was later than any events relating to Robert Staley, it’s an indication of how farms and farmland disappeared, and a reason for families to move to another area:

                “The Dukes of Devonshire (of Chatsworth)  were major figures in the aristocracy and the government of the
                time. Such a position demanded a display of wealth and ostentation. The 6th Duke of
                Devonshire, the Bachelor Duke, was not content with the Chatsworth he inherited in 1811,
                and immediately started improvements. After major changes around Edensor, he turned his
                attention at the north end of the Park. In 1820 plans were made extend the Park up to the
                Baslow parish boundary. As this would involve the destruction of most of the Farm at
                Oxclose, the farmer at the Higher House Samuel Marsden (b1755) was given the tenancy of
                Ewe Close a large farm near Bakewell.
                Plans were revised in 1824 when the Dukes of Devonshire and Rutland “Exchanged Lands”,
                reputedly during a game of dice. Over 3300 acres were involved in several local parishes, of
                which 1000 acres were in Baslow. In the deal Devonshire acquired the southeast corner of
                Baslow Parish.
                Part of the deal was Gibbet Moor, which was developed for “Sport”. The shelf of land
                between Parkgate and Robin Hood and a few extra fields was left untouched. The rest,
                between Dobb Edge and Baslow, was agricultural land with farms, fields and houses. It was
                this last part that gave the Duke the opportunity to improve the Park beyond his earlier
                expectations.”

                 

                The 1795 will of Robert Staley.

                Inriguingly, Robert included the children of his son Daniel Staley in his will, but omitted to leave anything to Daniel.  A perusal of Daniels 1808 will sheds some light on this:  Daniel left his property to his six reputed children with Elizabeth Moon, and his reputed daughter Mary Brearly. Daniels wife was Mary Moon, Elizabeths husband William Moons daughter.

                The will of Robert Staley, 1795:

                1795 will 2

                1795 Rbt Staley will

                 

                The 1805 will of Daniel Staley, Robert’s son:

                This is the last will and testament of me Daniel Staley of the Township of Newhall in the parish of Stapenhill in the County of Derby, Farmer. I will and order all of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses to be fully paid and satisfied by my executors hereinafter named by and out of my personal estate as soon as conveniently may be after my decease.

                I give, devise and bequeath to Humphrey Trafford Nadin of Church Gresely in the said County of Derby Esquire and John Wilkinson of Newhall aforesaid yeoman all my messuages, lands, tenements, hereditaments and real and personal estates to hold to them, their heirs, executors, administrators and assigns until Richard Moon the youngest of my reputed sons by Elizabeth Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years upon trust that they, my said trustees, (or the survivor of them, his heirs, executors, administrators or assigns), shall and do manage and carry on my farm at Newhall aforesaid and pay and apply the rents, issues and profits of all and every of my said real and personal estates in for and towards the support, maintenance and education of all my reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon until the said Richard Moon my youngest reputed son shall attain his said age of twenty one years and equally share and share and share alike.

                And it is my will and desire that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall recruit and keep up the stock upon my farm as they in their discretion shall see occasion or think proper and that the same shall not be diminished. And in case any of my said reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon shall be married before my said reputed youngest son shall attain his age of twenty one years that then it is my will and desire that non of their husbands or wives shall come to my farm or be maintained there or have their abode there. That it is also my will and desire in case my reputed children or any of them shall not be steady to business but instead shall be wild and diminish the stock that then my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority in their discretion to sell and dispose of all or any part of my said personal estate and to put out the money arising from the sale thereof to interest and to pay and apply the interest thereof and also thereunto of the said real estate in for and towards the maintenance, education and support of all my said reputed children by the said
                Elizabeth Moon as they my said trustees in their discretion that think proper until the said Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years.

                Then I give to my grandson Daniel Staley the sum of ten pounds and to each and every of my sons and daughters namely Daniel Staley, Benjamin Staley, John Staley, William Staley, Elizabeth Dent and Sarah Orme and to my niece Ann Brearly the sum of five pounds apiece.

                I give to my youngest reputed son Richard Moon one share in the Ashby Canal Navigation and I direct that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority to pay and apply all or any part of the fortune or legacy hereby intended for my youngest reputed son Richard Moon in placing him out to any trade, business or profession as they in their discretion shall think proper.
                And I direct that to my said sons and daughters by my late wife and my said niece shall by wholly paid by my said reputed son Richard Moon out of the fortune herby given him. And it is my will and desire that my said reputed children shall deliver into the hands of my executors all the monies that shall arise from the carrying on of my business that is not wanted to carry on the same unto my acting executor and shall keep a just and true account of all disbursements and receipts of the said business and deliver up the same to my acting executor in order that there may not be any embezzlement or defraud amongst them and from and immediately after my said reputed youngest son Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years then I give, devise and bequeath all my real estate and all the residue and remainder of my personal estate of what nature and kind whatsoever and wheresoever unto and amongst all and every my said reputed sons and daughters namely William Moon, Thomas Moon, Joseph Moon, Richard Moon, Ann Moon, Margaret Moon and to my reputed daughter Mary Brearly to hold to them and their respective heirs, executors, administrator and assigns for ever according to the nature and tenure of the same estates respectively to take the same as tenants in common and not as joint tenants.

                And lastly I nominate and appoint the said Humphrey Trafford Nadin and John Wilkinson executors of this my last will and testament and guardians of all my reputed children who are under age during their respective minorities hereby revoking all former and other wills by me heretofore made and declaring this only to be my last will.

                In witness whereof I the said Daniel Staley the testator have to this my last will and testament set my hand and seal the eleventh day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five.

                 

                #6266
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued part 7

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa. 30th November 1938

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Nzassa 5th August 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th September 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 4th November 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Iringa 8th December 1939

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 10th March 1940

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 14th July 1940

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 16th November 1940

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Eleanor.

                   

                  #6265
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued  ~ part 6

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Mchewe 6th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    With much love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 25th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Lots of love,
                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 9th July 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor

                    Mchewe 8th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 17th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbulu 20th June 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Karatu 3rd July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Karatu 12th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    #6264
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued  ~ part 5

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Chunya 16th December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Much love to all,
                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      With love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Chunya 29th January 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      We should be with you in three weeks time!

                      Very much love,
                      Eleanor.

                      Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      With love to you all,
                      Eleanor.

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

                      George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      #6263
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued  ~ part 4

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        With much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Heaps of love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Lots of love,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        With heaps of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                        Lots and lots of love,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Your very affectionate,
                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

                        With love to you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Much love to you all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

                        Your worried but affectionate,
                        Eleanor.

                        Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

                        Much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Lots and lots of love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                        Chunya 27th November 1936

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Much love to all,
                        Eleanor.

                         

                        #6260
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love my dear,
                          your jubilant
                          Eleanor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Bless you all,
                          Eleanor.

                          S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor Leslie.

                          Eleanor and George Rushby:

                          Eleanor and George Rushby

                          Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Your cave woman
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to you all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Your loving
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mbeya 23rd December 1930

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          26th December 1930

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate 8th Jan 1931

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Your loving,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 1st April 1931

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate 20th April 1931

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 20th May 1931

                          Dear Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor.

                          #6255
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            My Grandparents

                            George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995

                            Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988

                            I always called my grandfather Mop, apparently because I couldn’t say the name Grandpa, but whatever the reason, the name stuck. My younger brother also called him Mop, but our two cousins did not.

                            My earliest memories of my grandparents are the picnics.  Grandma and Mop loved going out in the car for a picnic. Favourite spots were the Clee Hills in Shropshire, North Wales, especially Llanbedr, Malvern, and Derbyshire, and closer to home, the caves and silver birch woods at Kinver Edge, Arley by the river Severn, or Bridgnorth, where Grandma’s sister Hildreds family lived.  Stourbridge was on the western edge of the Black Country in the Midlands, so one was quickly in the countryside heading west.  They went north to Derbyshire less, simply because the first part of the trip entailed driving through Wolverhampton and other built up and not particularly pleasant urban areas.  I’m sure they’d have gone there more often, as they were both born in Derbyshire, if not for that initial stage of the journey.

                            There was predominantly grey tartan car rug in the car for picnics, and a couple of folding chairs.  There were always a couple of cushions on the back seat, and I fell asleep in the back more times than I can remember, despite intending to look at the scenery.  On the way home Grandma would always sing,  “Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, I had a little drink about an hour ago, And it’s gone right to my head.”  I’ve looked online for that song, and have not found it anywhere!

                            Grandma didn’t just make sandwiches for picnics, there were extra containers of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and so on.  I used to love to wash up the picnic plates in the little brook on the Clee Hills, near Cleeton St Mary.  The close cropped grass was ideal for picnics, and Mop and the sheep would Baaa at each other.

                            Mop would base the days outting on the weather forcast, but Grandma often used to say he always chose the opposite of what was suggested. She said if you want to go to Derbyshire, tell him you want to go to Wales.  I recall him often saying, on a gloomy day, Look, there’s a bit of clear sky over there.  Mop always did the driving as Grandma never learned to drive. Often she’d dust the dashboard with a tissue as we drove along.

                            My brother and I often spent the weekend at our grandparents house, so that our parents could go out on a Saturday night.  They gave us 5 shillings pocket money, which I used to spend on two Ladybird books at 2 shillings and sixpence each.  We had far too many sweets while watching telly in the evening ~ in the dark, as they always turned the lights off to watch television.  The lemonade and pop was Corona, and came in returnable glass bottles.  We had Woodpecker cider too, even though it had a bit of an alcohol content.

                            Mop smoked Kensitas and Grandma smoked Sovereign cigarettes, or No6, and the packets came with coupons.  They often let me choose something for myself out of the catalogue when there were enough coupons saved up.

                            When I had my first garden, in a rented house a short walk from theirs, they took me to garden nurseries and taught me all about gardening.  In their garden they had berberis across the front of the house under the window, and cotoneaster all along the side of the garage wall. The silver birth tree on the lawn had been purloined as a sapling from Kinver edge, when they first moved into the house.  (they lived in that house on Park Road for more than 60 years).  There were perennials and flowering shrubs along the sides of the back garden, and behind the silver birch, and behind that was the vegeatable garden.  Right at the back was an Anderson shelter turned into a shed, the rhubarb, and the washing line, and the canes for the runner beans in front of those.  There was a little rose covered arch on the path on the left, and privet hedges all around the perimeter.

                            My grandfather was a dental technician. He worked for various dentists on their premises over the years, but he always had a little workshop of his own at the back of his garage. His garage was full to the brim of anything that might potentially useful, but it was not chaotic. He knew exactly where to find anything, from the tiniest screw for spectacles to a useful bit of wire. He was “mechanicaly minded” and could always fix things like sewing machines and cars and so on.

                            Mop used to let me sit with him in his workshop, and make things out of the pink wax he used for gums to embed the false teeth into prior to making the plaster casts. The porcelain teeth came on cards, and were strung in place by means of little holes on the back end of the teeth. I still have a necklace I made by threading teeth onto a string. There was a foot pedal operated drill in there as well, possibly it was a dentists drill previously, that he used with miniature grinding or polishing attachments. Sometimes I made things out of the pink acrylic used for the final denture, which had a strong smell and used to harden quickly, so you had to work fast. Initially, the workshop was to do the work for Uncle Ralph, Grandmas’s sisters husband, who was a dentist. In later years after Ralph retired, I recall a nice man called Claude used to come in the evening to collect the dentures for another dental laboratory. Mop always called his place of work the laboratory.

                            Grandma loved books and was always reading, in her armchair next to the gas fire. I don’t recall seeing Mop reading a book, but he was amazingly well informed about countless topics.
                            At family gatherings, Mops favourite topic of conversation after dinner was the atrocities committed over the centuries by organized religion.

                            My grandfather played snooker in his younger years at the Conservative club. I recall my father assuming he voted Conservative, and Mop told him in no uncertain terms that he’s always voted Labour. When asked why he played snooker at the Conservative club and not the Labour club, he said with a grin that “it was a better class of people”, but that he’d never vote Conservative because it was of no benefit to the likes of us working people.

                            Grandma and her sister in law Marie had a little grocers shop on Brettel Lane in Amblecote for a few years but I have no personal recollection of that as it was during the years we lived in USA. I don’t recall her working other than that. She had a pastry making day once a week, and made Bakewell tart, apple pie, a meat pie, and her own style of pizza. She had an old black hand operated sewing machine, and made curtains and loose covers for the chairs and sofa, but I don’t think she made her own clothes, at least not in later years. I have her sewing machine here in Spain.
                            At regular intervals she’d move all the furniture around and change the front room into the living room and the back into the dining room and vice versa. In later years Mop always had the back bedroom (although when I lived with them aged 14, I had the back bedroom, and painted the entire room including the ceiling purple). He had a very lumpy mattress but he said it fit his bad hip perfectly.

                            Grandma used to alternate between the tiny bedroom and the big bedroom at the front. (this is in later years, obviously) The wardrobes and chests of drawers never changed, they were oak and substantial, but rather dated in appearance. They had a grandfather clock with a brass face and a grandmother clock. Over the fireplace in the living room was a Utrillo print. The bathroom and lavatory were separate rooms, and the old claw foot bath had wood panels around it to make it look more modern. There was a big hot water geyser above it. Grandma was fond of using stick on Fablon tile effects to try to improve and update the appearance of the bathroom and kitchen. Mop was a generous man, but would not replace household items that continued to function perfectly well. There were electric heaters in all the rooms, of varying designs, and gas fires in living room and dining room. The coal house on the outside wall was later turned into a downstairs shower room, when Mop moved his bedroom downstairs into the front dining room, after Grandma had died and he was getting on.

                            Utrillo

                            Mop was 91 when he told me he wouldn’t be growing any vegetables that year. He said the sad thing was that he knew he’d never grow vegetables again. He worked part time until he was in his early 80s.

                            #6234
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Ben Warren

                              Derby County and England football legend who died aged 37 penniless and ‘insane’

                               

                              Ben Warren

                              Ben Warren 1879 – 1917  was Samuel Warren’s (my great grandfather) cousin.

                              From the Derby Telegraph:

                              Just 17 months after earning his 22nd England cap, against Scotland at Everton on April 1, 1911, he was certified insane. What triggered his decline was no more than a knock on the knee while playing for Chelsea against Clapton Orient.

                              The knee would not heal and the longer he was out, the more he fretted about how he’d feed his wife and four children. In those days, if you didn’t play, there was no pay. 

                              …..he had developed “brain fever” and this mild-mannered man had “become very strange and, at times, violent”. The coverage reflected his celebrity status.

                              On December 15, 1911, as Rick Glanvill records in his Official Biography of Chelsea FC: “He was admitted to a private clinic in Nottingham, suffering from acute mania, delusions that he was being poisoned and hallucinations of hearing and vision.”

                              He received another blow in February, 1912, when his mother, Emily, died. She had congestion of the lungs and caught influenza, her condition not helped, it was believed, by worrying about Ben.

                              She had good reason: her famous son would soon be admitted to the unfortunately named Derby County Lunatic Asylum.

                              Ben Warren Madman

                               

                              As Britain sleepwalked towards the First World War, Ben’s condition deteriorated. Glanvill writes: “His case notes from what would be a five-year stay, catalogue a devastating decline in which he is at various times described as incoherent, restless, destructive, ‘stuporose’ and ‘a danger to himself’.’”

                              photo: Football 27th April 1914. A souvenir programme for the testimonial game for Chelsea and England’s Ben Warren, (pictured) who had been declared insane and sent to a lunatic asylum. The game was a select XI for the North playing a select XI from The South proceeds going to Warren’s family.

                              Ben Warren 1914

                               

                              In September, that decline reached a new and pitiable low. The following is an abridged account of what The Courier called “an amazing incident” that took place on September 4.

                              “Spotted by a group of men while walking down Derby Road in Nottingham, a man was acting strangely, smoking a cigarette and had nothing on but a collar and tie.

                              “He jumped about the pavement and roadway, as though playing an imaginary game of football. When approached, he told them he was going to Trent Bridge to play in a match and had to be there by 3.30.”

                              Eventually he was taken to a police station and recognised by a reporter as England’s erstwhile right-half. What made the story even harder to digest was that Ben had escaped from the asylum and walked the 20 miles to Nottingham apparently unnoticed.

                              He had played at “Trent Bridge” many times – at least on Nottingham Forest’s adjacent City Ground.

                              As a shocked nation came to terms with the desperate plight of one of its finest footballers, some papers suggested his career was not yet over. And his relatives claimed that he had been suffering from nothing more than a severe nervous breakdown.

                              He would never be the same again – as a player or a man. He wasn’t even a shadow of the weird “footballer” who had walked 20 miles to Nottingham.

                              Then, he had nothing on, now he just had nothing – least of all self-respect. He ripped sheets into shreds and attempted suicide, saying: “I’m no use to anyone – and ought to be out of the way.”

                              “A year before his suicide attempt in 1916 the ominous symptom of ‘dry cough’ had been noted. Two months after it, in October 1916, the unmistakable signs of tuberculosis were noted and his enfeebled body rapidly succumbed.

                              At 11.30pm on 15 January 1917, international footballer Ben Warren was found dead by a night attendant.

                              He was 37 and when they buried him the records described him as a “pauper’.”

                              However you look at it, it is the salutary tale of a footballer worrying about money. And it began with a knock on the knee.

                              On 14th November 2021, Gill Castle posted on the Newhall and Swadlincote group:

                              I would like to thank Colin Smith and everyone who supported him in getting my great grandfather’s grave restored (Ben Warren who played for Derby, Chelsea and England)

                              The month before, Colin Smith posted:

                              My Ben Warren Journey is nearly complete.
                              It started two years ago when I was sent a family wedding photograph asking if I recognised anyone. My Great Great Grandmother was on there. But soon found out it was the wedding of Ben’s brother Robert to my 1st cousin twice removed, Eveline in 1910.
                              I researched Ben and his football career and found his resting place in St Johns Newhall, all overgrown and in a poor state with the large cross all broken off. I stood there and decided he needed to new memorial & headstone. He was our local hero, playing Internationally for England 22 times. He needs to be remembered.
                              After seeking family permission and Council approval, I had a quote from Art Stone Memorials, Burton on Trent to undertake the work. Fundraising then started and the memorial ordered.
                              Covid came along and slowed the process of getting materials etc. But we have eventually reached the final installation today.
                              I am deeply humbled for everyone who donated in January this year to support me and finally a massive thank you to everyone, local people, football supporters of Newhall, Derby County & Chelsea and football clubs for their donations.
                              Ben will now be remembered more easily when anyone walks through St Johns and see this beautiful memorial just off the pathway.
                              Finally a huge thank you for Art Stone Memorials Team in everything they have done from the first day I approached them. The team have worked endlessly on this project to provide this for Ben and his family as a lasting memorial. Thank you again Alex, Pat, Matt & Owen for everything. Means a lot to me.
                              The final chapter is when we have a dedication service at the grave side in a few weeks time,
                              Ben was born in The Thorntree Inn Newhall South Derbyshire and lived locally all his life.
                              He played local football for Swadlincote, Newhall Town and Newhall Swifts until Derby County signed Ben in May 1898. He made 242 appearances and scored 19 goals at Derby County.
                              28th July 1908 Chelsea won the bidding beating Leicester Fosse & Manchester City bids.
                              Ben also made 22 appearance’s for England including the 1908 First Overseas tour playing Austria twice, Hungary and Bohemia all in a week.
                              28 October 1911 Ben Injured his knee and never played football again
                              Ben is often compared with Steven Gerard for his style of play and team ethic in the modern era.
                              Herbert Chapman ( Player & Manager ) comments “ Warren was a human steam engine who played through 90 minutes with intimidating strength and speed”.
                              Charles Buchan comments “I am certain that a better half back could not be found, Part of the Best England X1 of all time”
                              Chelsea allowed Ben to live in Sunnyside Newhall, he used to run 5 miles every day round Bretby Park and had his own gym at home. He was compared to the likes of a Homing Pigeon, as he always came back to Newhall after his football matches.
                              Ben married Minnie Staley 21st October 1902 at Emmanuel Church Swadlincote and had four children, Harry, Lillian, Maurice & Grenville. Harry went on to be Manager at Coventry & Southend following his father in his own career as football Manager.
                              After Ben’s football career ended in 1911 his health deteriorated until his passing at Derby Pastures Hospital aged 37yrs
                              Ben’s youngest son, Grenville passed away 22nd May 1929 and is interred together in St John’s Newhall with his Father
                              His wife, Minnie’s ashes are also with Ben & Grenville.
                              Thank you again everyone.
                              RIP Ben Warren, our local Newhall Hero. You are remembered.

                              Ben Warren grave

                               

                              Ben Warren Grave

                              Ben Warren Grave

                               

                              #6123

                              In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                              “Did someone say drinks are on the house?” asked Rosamund, pushing past the burly bouncer as she entered the pub.  “What’s your name, handsome?”

                              “Percival,” the bouncer replied with a wry grin.  “Yeah I know, doesn’t fit the image.”

                              Rosamund looked him up and down while simultaneously flicking a bit of food from between her teeth with a credit card.  “I keep forgetting to buy dental floss,” she said.

                              “Is that really necessary?” hissed Tara. “Is that moving the plot forward?”

                              “Careful now,” Star said, “Your Liz is showing.”

                              “I’ll be away for a while on an important mission,” Rosamund said to Percival, “But give me your number and I’ll call you when I get back.”

                              “The trip is cancelled, you’re not going anywhere,” Star told her, “Except to the shop to buy dental floss.”

                              “Will someone please tell me why we’re talking about dental floss when we have this serious case to solve?” Tara sounded exasperated, and glared at Rosamund.  What a brazen hussy she was!

                              “I’m glad you mentioned it!” piped up a middle aged lady sitting at the corner table. “I have run out of dental floss too.”

                              “See?” said Rosamund.  “You never can tell how helpful you are when you just act yourself and let it flow.  Now tell me why I’m not going to New Zealand? I already packed my suitcase!”

                              “Because it seems that New Zealand has come to us,” replied Star, “Or should I say, the signs of the cult are everywhere.  It’s not so much a case of finding the cult as a case of, well finding somewhere the cult hasn’t already infected.  And as for April,” she continued, “She changes her story every five minutes, I think we should ignore everything she says from now on. Nothing but a distraction.”

                              “That’s it!” exclaimed Tara. “Exactly! Distraction tactics!  A well known ruse, tried and tested.  She has been sent to us to distract us from the case. She isn’t a new client. She’s a red herring for the old clients enemies.”

                              “Oh, good one, Tara,” Star was impressed. Tara could be an abusive drunk, but some of the things she blurted out were pure gold.  Or had a grain of gold in them, it would be more accurate to say. A certain perspicacity shone through at times when she was well lubricated.  “Perhaps we should lock her back in the wardrobe for the time being until we’ve worked out what to do with her.”

                              “You’re right, Star, we must restrain her….oy! oy!  Percival, catch that fleeing aunt at once!”  April had made a dash for it out of the pub door.  The burly bouncer missed his chance. April legged it up the road and disappeared round the corner.

                              “That’s entirely your fault, Rosamund,” Tara spat, “Distracting the man from his duties, you rancid little strumpet!”

                              “Oh I say, that’s going a bit far,” interjected the middle aged lady sitting at the corner table.

                              “What’s it got to do with you?” Tara turned on her.

                              “This,” the woman replied with a smugly Trumpish smile. She pulled her trouser leg up to reveal a bell bird tattoo.

                              “Oh my fucking god,” Tara was close to tears again.

                              #6044

                              They had to stop to get some rest. Rukshan knew the signs, the song of a black swan, a nesting bear in the forest, cubic clouds… All strange omens not to be taken lightly. He told the others they’d better find shelter somewhere and not spend the night outside.

                              As soon had he make the announcement that he saw the relief on their faces. They’d been enthusiastic for half a day, but the monotony of walking got the better of their motivation, especially the kids who were not used to such long journeys out of the cottage’s safety.

                              Fortunately they were not far from the Sooricat Inn, a place lost in the woods, it still had four walls, warm food and almost certainly a hot bath. Let’s just hope they’re open, thought the Fae.

                              When they arrived, the owner, an old man from Sina, looked at them suspiciously.

                              “Ya’ll have your attestation? I can’t believe ya’re all family. Don’t think I’m a fool, ya’re a Fae, and this little fella there, he’s smaller than the children but has a beard. Never saw anything like him,” he said with rumbling r’s pointing at the children and Gorrash with his chin. The dwarf seemed offended but a stern look from Rukshan prevented him from speaking.

                              “Anyway,” continued the innkeeper, “I can just sell ya food. Not’ing parsonal. That’s rooles, ya’know with the all stayin’at home thing from Gavernor Leraway, I can not even let ya’in. Ya can buy food and eat it outside if ya want.”

                              “Look, it’s almost twilight,” said Rukshan. “We’ve walked the whole day, the children are exhausted.”

                              Tak and Nesy showed their best puppy face, risking to make Fox burst into laughter. That seemed to soften the man a little.

                              “Oh! I really shouldn’t. I don’t like breaking rooles.”

                              “I knew you more daring, Admirable Fuyi,” said a booming voice coming from behind them. They all turned around to see Kumihimo. She was wearing a cloak made of green and yellow gingko leaves, her silvery white hair, almost glowing in the dark, cascading beautifully on her shoulders. A grey cat strode alongside her.

                              “Oh! that’s just the donkey, Ronaldo. It got transformed into a cat after walking directly into a trap to get one of those darn carrots. He knew better, don’t pity him. He got what he deserved.” Kumihimo’s rant got a indignant meow, close to a heehaw, from Ronaldo.

                              “Kumi! I can’t believe it’s ya!” said the innkeeper.

                              “You two know each others?” asked Rukshan.

                              “It’s a long story,” said the innkeeper, “From when I was serving in Sina’s army, we had conquered the high plateaus. I gave up the title of Admirable when I left the army. After Kumi opened my eyes.” Fuyi’s eyes got wet. “Ah! I’m sure I’ll regret it, but come on in, ya’ll. Let me hear yar story after you taste the soup.”

                              #5660

                              Arthur was driving the minivan. It was an old Chewy Express van with the big bold “DRAPES CLEANING” sign on it that he’d repainted by himself over the years. The business wasn’t doing great, truth be told, so he’d cut down the marketing costs, which according to Ella Marie wasn’t a bright idea. “You never know where you next patrons could hide.” She’d said, and then had him hooked up on some social website to post random things and get some likes and thumbs up. He’d come a little late for the new century’s game and couldn’t see any of the appeal, but he’d learned over the years never to make the missus irate.

                              He’d been so glad when she’d come back from the floods, unscathed and full of completely batshit crazy stories. Mummies and stuff. Sounded like being rolled in shredded drapes fanfiction to him. Complete garbage, but you can’t tell people they’re crazy, they’d hate you for it, and in truth you may be wrong. You might be the one crazy and all the others the sane ones. How’s that for a thought.

                              Anyway, he loved his Ella Marie dearly, and had learned not to sweat the small stuff. Like this night drive to a funny place she’d just received coordinates from an acquaintance on the Net. Those were mad times, mad times indeed. At least, she could have told him she wanted to catch a new rare pokemeon go! in the dead of night, and it might have sounded… well, just as mad probably.

                              They were driving steadily, being careful about the road signs; the van wasn’t much for crazy stunts anyway.

                              “How far is that?” he asked the wife, who was busy on her phone tracking the route and chatting on the thing with her friends imaginary or else.

                              “Not far, luv’. Next turn right, then left, then right and we should be there.”

                              The last turn took them off the road, and Arthur started to wonder if that wasn’t another “turn left at your peril” GPS experiment, where they’d have to haul the van out of a tar pit, but it seemed fine so far. The place looked ominous, and full of croaking noises 🐸🐸🐸🐸.

                              He killed the headlights, and moved in the parking lot at a crawl. There was no point in alerting whoever was there of their nocturnal visit. A barn owl flew straight in front of the van, scaring them.

                              “STOP!” jumped Jacqui, who’d been sleeping the whole time, and woke up to a frightful sight.

                              Arthur pushed on the brakes that gave off a screeching sound that would wake up a mummy.

                              “Ooh, I’ve got a bad feeling about this” Ella Marie said. “Something evil is afoot, that owl was bad omen.”

                              #4779
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                Jerk was waiting for the courrier to pick-up the documents and deliver the mail before closing down, and while the mall’s activity was still painfully slow, he was observing the tos and fros of the few people outside.
                                Summer was on its last leg, and there were signs that the city workers would soon come back. Nothing like cranky business people in addition to cranky old people to spice up your day.

                                Maintenance had not come yet. He’d noticed his dead pixel had stopped blinking anyway. Instead it was showing a single red dot.

                                The courrier guy arrived at last. “Never a quiet time, man!” he said maybe as a sort of excuse for his tardiness. Maybe Jerk needed to change his own line of work, since the other’s job looked so thrilling. He signed the documents distractedly, and was ready to lower the iron curtain to close the shop when the guy called him back. “Oh wait, I forgot to give you that.”

                                Jerk looked at the letter, and opened it to find a postcard. That’s when he remembered he’d given the address of the mall to the mysterious Ms M. from the findmydolls forum. Couldn’t be too careful, there were so many weirdos on the Internet.

                                It came from Australia? Half a cup of blue sand was enclosed in a clear plastic wrap bag, along with the postcard.

                                The postcard wasn’t saying much, but it was intriguing.

                                “No network there, so I’m sending a card. Hope it will reach in time. You must flood your group with fake addresses of dolls. It’ll send mysterious nefarious parties off-track and avoid casualties. Otherwise, lovely weather, beautiful scenery. Ms M.
                                PS: Do what you want with the blue powder, I just found it too lovely not to share.”

                                #4676

                                When Hilda received the message from her old friend Lucinda her first thought was Miss Bossy Pants award for the “Most Stylistic Synchronistic Article”. There was already a synchronicity because she’s also had a tip off from some guy calling himself “Superjerk”, which was also about dolls. If she followed the lead about the doll stories, and managed to connect them together, it could be the scoop of the year ~ whether or not there was an actual connection between them.

                                Hilda had made copious notes from the long and garbled telephone conversation with Lucinda about everything she knew thus far, and where she was stuck. Clearly the poor dear needed Hilda’s special expertise in following a lead and putting the clues together to form a picture. Admittedly Hilda didn’t always stick to facts ~ who did in journalism these days anyway! But she had an intuition that this was just what she needed to get her teeth into. It had been a boring year in the extreme reportage department. Extremely boring.

                                It had been years since Hilda had been in contact with Lucinda, and that had been on a remote viewing forum. Neither of them had been much good at it, but some of the other members had been brilliant, so it came in useful at times to use their expertise. Hilda made a mental note to rejoin that forum, if it still existed, or find another one. She changed her mind about the mental note, and jotted it down in her notebook. It was a good idea and could come in handy.

                                The short and cryptic note from the guy calling himself Superjerk didn’t provide much information other than the synchronicity, which was of course noteworthy. And he had provided the link to that website “findmydolls.com”. The story was already starting to show promising signs of weaving together.

                                Not wanting any of the other staff to cotton on to her new thread, Hilda told Miss Bossy Pants that she was going to investigate the “hum” in Cadiz. That peculiar Horns of Gabriel phenomenon that occurred randomly around the world had been heard over a wide area of Cadiz and Seville. Hilda had another old friend in that neck of the woods; so she could easily pretend she was there covering that story, with a bit of collaboration from her friend, while she embarked on the real journey to the Flying Fish Inn, in some godforsaken outpost of the outback.

                                That nosy Connie had somehow managed to find out about the whole thing, eavesdropping again no doubt, and Hilda had no option but to come clean with her and ask her to join her in ironing out the story. They would have to deal with Miss Bossy Pants later. If the scoop was the success that Hilda anticipated, then they would be getting an award, not a reprimand.

                                It was worth it. Hilda felt more alive than she had done in a long time.

                                #4511
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Moving to the city apartment had not been a bad move. It was little things like this ~ being a five minute walk from a cafe terrace…. a selection of cafe terraces, she reminded herself…after all, her old home in the country village had been a thirty second walk from a bar terrace, and she had never used it. But the idea of being able to meet friends easily seemed to be one of the appealing things about urban life, despite being vociferously against the ghastliness of concrete and traffic landscapes for most of her life. Lucinda wasn’t sure what had changed or when it had happened, or even why, but over the years she had socialized increasingly less, to the point where an occasional lunch date seemed like a jarring interruption to her routine, where a trip to a shopping centre became a dreaded ordeal, or god forbid a journey to the nearest airport, on the most horrifying things of all, a motorway. And yet, she’d been quite the social butterfly in her youth, and a part of her still felt that that was who she was, really. And yet the truth was she hadn’t been very sociable at all for years.

                                  The decision to move to an apartment in the city happened suddenly, almost by accident. Or had it? In retrospect, Lucinda could see the signs and the little nudges, one thing after another going wrong as they usually do before a beneficial change ~ would that we could appreciate that at the time, she often thought! At the time she’d wanted nothing more than for nothing at all to change, to be left in peace to appreciate ~ and yes, she promised herself she would remember to appreciate everything more often! ~ if only, if only, nothing changed or went wrong and she could stay just as she was. But as time lurched on, dealing with one thing and then the next, and the next ~ she started to wonder. And then like dominoes falling, it all happened, and here she was. And it wasn’t bad at all.

                                  #4501

                                  Granola allowed herself a few moments to bask in the glow of satisfaction. At least Lucinda had noticed the side bar suggestion she had implanted on the Face It web page, and had perused the ideas sufficiently to motivate her to try out one of the missions.

                                  “Invite a random stranger to join you,” it had said, “to join you for coffee in a nearby cafe, or invite them home for dinner, or to see a movie.” The page had included numerous other suggestions, but that was the gist. They did warn the reader that often, people were suspicious and expected a scam of some kind, and if the random stranger exhibited more that a token display of wary caution, to leave them with a cheery wave, and thank them for helping you to practice your confidence boosting exercises. Under normal circumstances, providing the level of fear and distrust wasn’t too high, this approach usually rendered the random stranger more amenable to an approach in future.

                                  In truth this wasn’t a difficult exercise for Lucinda, for she often spoke to random strangers and quite enjoyed it, although usually she didn’t extend that to personal invitations. But the Ask Aunt Idle Oracle had been droning on and on about interconnection being the primary factor in reducing signs of aging ~ yes, strange, but true: nothing to do with food or toxins or exercise after all ~ so the coincidence of Aunt Idle’s advice mirrored in the side bar suggestion registered sufficiently for Lucinda to actually remember it, and try it out on the bored looking fellow in the supermarket.

                                  Only hesitating slightly before extending his hand to grip hers in a surprisingly firm handshake, he responded: “I’m Jerk. Pleased to meet you.”

                                  Granola grinned from behind the pyramid of baked bean tins, and faded out of the scene. There was work to do on the side bar method for the next clue.

                                  Jerk’s eyes flickered over to the baked beans, registering the peripheral movement, just in time to see a disembodied foot wearing a red sandal vanish into the somewhat heavy air of the canned goods aisle.

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