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  • #7370

    She knew she was being followed even before her familiar started to psst her about the dark haired cloaked stranger.

    Eris couldn’t pinpoint precisely what drove her to leap headfirst into the swirling vortex. Perhaps it was a misplaced sense of duty —it was certainly not the sentiment of thrill that Malové had attempted to instill. It was probably the same habit that compelled her to eat the repulsive morsels off her plate first, working her way up to the more palatable fare.

    Kirottu juoma, she muttered under her breath as she forced down the bitter potion Frigella had provided, intended to counteract the disorienting effects of the displacement spells within the vortex. Their abrupt arrival in the sultry heat of Rio caught them off guard, despite the stillness of the night.

    “Would go down better with a dash of brandy” Truella said, wincing. She appeared on and off, and seemed to struggle to remain focused.

    “I can’t believe it! Are you actually on a bilocating spell?” Malové asked reproachfully to Truella. “I thought it was obvious I needed your undivided attention!”

    “Sorry,” Truella said after a moment of absence and a burp. “Was talking to Roger at the same time.” Then catching up with the remark, she shrugged and retorted “must have missed the fine print.”

    Malové remained stoic like a serene swan above water, her mad paddling never perceptible. “No time to dawdle, we have to make preparations for the gathering of essence. “Jeezel! Are you listening?”

    “Yes, M’am,… I mean Grand Hexmistress.”

    The other witches looked at her like she’d blurted out something out of place. Malové chose to let it pass. “Quick now, you’re the one with the sigils to find us the perfect spot to set up our equipment.”

    “Yes, yes! I’m on it!” Jeezel replied, so visibly distracted that her wig went askew by a millimeter without her noticing.

    “Have you forgotten proper decorum in addressing the Head Witch? What’s happening?” Frigella drew Jeezel gently by the sleeve.

    Jeezel’s eyes widened in mild panic: “I think I may have forgotten to close the portal.”

    #7319

    Eris, logged off the Ritual, and stretched her long legs. That pandemic had brought them more work than ever, a new brand of Incense called “Vaxations” which they’d produced in record time, but of the little compensations for that harrowing time was the allowance to HFH (a.k.a Hex-From-Home). The Classical tenants of the Faith were missing quite a few of the modernities of the current world, and despite they’d been accounts of remote hexing from as long as the ages stretched, the Quadrivium Policies were quite clear you had to clock-in physically. That is, until the pandemic brought mayhem unto their clientèle, and rules had to be amended.

    Eris was short for Ætheris, her formal witch name, which sounded much more airy than she’d liked. Eris, like the Goddess of Discord, well, that was more like her.

    If she had to put her biography on the website of the Quadrivium Emporium it would read something like this:

    Eris, the tech-savvy witch of discord, remains an enigma to most. She thrives in chaos, has a knack for bending technology to her will, and is pioneering a new branch of the Coven’s operations.

    Technology had always been the eternal foe of Magic. As if everything explained by science somehow took away something off the realm of Magic. It was neither true, nor that simple, she believed. For one, she loved to blend the two (as most witches did, unwittingly).

    Her familiar, Echo, was a proof of that. Echo wasn’t a tangible creature. Instead, Eris has somehow managed to summon an invisible digital sprite. This ethereal entity, capable of interfacing with any electronic device, was an invaluable asset to Eris’s technological endeavors.

    Malové, their Head Witch CEO, had tasked her to launch a new branch, and given her some means to do so. Her intentions were rather unclear, but Eris had won her over when she showed her the parallels of Incense magic and Social Media.
    Maybe that year, she would be keen to try and enhance their yearly Incense with some tech intelligence. Truth was, most of the artificial lives had been failures so far. Only Echo somehow turned out fine. One of a kind.

    “Echo,” she called, while a glowing blue sigil appeared in mid-air. “When you’re done with the latest…”

    Eris, sorry for interjecting, but you need to hear about this.”

    She was too surprised to be mad. “What’s the matter?”

    “Quality control on the first Ritual. It’s pointing out to some anomalies.”

    #7234
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Aunt Idle:

      It took us weeks to clean up after that dust storm, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t help much. I had a lot to think about.  Finley and the twins did most of it, and Bert of course. Mater took to her room after the revelations and stayed up there like queen bee, not speaking to any of us, only Finley who took her meals up. I banged on her door a few times (she’d locked it, can you believe it?) but she wouldn’t even speak to me through the door. I’d have thought she was dead but Finley said no she wasn’t dead, she’d just about had enough of all of us and wanted to be left in peace to think about it.  Well, what about me, I said, don’t you think I need some time to think about it all too? But Finley snorted (picked it up off that Yasmin I reckon) and swanned off, quite rudely if you ask me.

      I did spend quite a bit of time down by the water hole, thinking about it all.  I never in a million years expected that baby to come back and haunt me forty odd years later.  I did get to wondering though, if I’d have brought her up instead of those nuns, she might have been a happier soul.   Not much ever seemed to please her, quite the reverse in fact.  Bert said Well what do you expect? in an exasperated tone.  I got a bit fed up with all the dirty looks to tell you the truth. I even thought of leaving the Flying Fish once and for all and never coming back. Then I thought, bugger that, I’m staying right here.

      Zara and her friends left right after the dust had settled (from the dust storm that is ~ it was quite some time before the metaphorical dust had settled, in fact I don’t think it’ll ever settle.  Some people do like to harp on and on about things) and I was sorry to see them go. They were great sports about everything, they didn’t judge me. Unlike my own family!

      I didn’t dare tell anyone about the night of the cart race when Youssef and I holed up in the cellar with all the old books. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to grab a couple of bottles of gin and something to smoke before we fled down the stairs.  I tell you what though, the next day I had such a hangover I had a job remembering everything and wondered if I’d been dreaming.  Youssef wasn’t there when I woke up, and he had the darn cheek to avoid me the next day, and the day after that, and then they left.

      One good thing was seeing Fred again. I wish he’d have stayed for a bit longer.  If Fred had stayed awhile, maybe he’d have helped smooth things over with me and my ill gotten brat.  Some people are so ungrateful! I may have dumped her, but it was in a nice place and she wouldn’t be alive at all if it wasn’t for me.

      People are strange.

      #6617

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Youssef had brought his black obsidian with him in the kitchen at breakfast. IdleYoussef had realised that on top of being her way of life, it was also her name—was preparing a herbal brownie under the supervision of a colourful parrot perched on her shoulder.

      “If you’re interested in rocks, you should go to Betsy’s. She’s got that ‘Gems & Minerals’ shop on Main street. She opened it with her hubby a few years back. Before he died.”

      “Nutty Betsy, Pretty Girl likes her better,” said the parrot.

      Idle looked at his backpack and his clothes.

      “You seem the wandering type, lad. I was like you when I was younger, always gallivanting here, there, and everywhere with my brother. Now, I prefer wandering in my mind, if you know what I mean,” she said licking her finger full of chocolate. “Anyway, an advice. Don’t go down the mines alone. Betsy’s hubby’s still down there after one of the tunnels collapsed a few years back. She’s not been quite herself ever since.”

      Main street was —well— the only street in town. They’ve been preparing for some kind of festival, putting banners on top of the shops and in between two trees near the gas station. Youssef stopped there to buy snacks that he stacked on top of the obsidian stone in his backpack. The young boy who worked there, Devan, seemed quite excited at the perspective of the Lager and Cart Race. It happened only every ten years and last time he was too young to participate.

      The shop had not been difficult to find, at the other end of the street. A tiny sign covered in purple star sequins indicated “Betsy’s Gems & Minerals — We deliver worldwide”. He felt with his hand the black rock he had put in his backpack. If Idle had not mentioned the mines and the dead husband, Youssef might have reconsidered going in. But the coincidence with his dream and the game was too intriguing. He entered.

      The shop was a mess. Crates full of stones, cardboard boxes and bubble wrappings. In the back, a plump woman, working on a giant starfish she held  on her lap, was humming as she listened to loud rock music. Youssef recognised a song from the Last Shadow Puppets’ second album : The Element of Surprise. Apparently, the woman hadn’t heard him enter. She wore a dress and a hat sprinkled with golden stars, and her wrists were hidden under a ton of stone bracelets. The music track changed. The woman started shaking her head following the rhythm of the tune. She was gluing small red stones, she picked in a little box, on one of the starfish arms.

      “Bad Habits! Uhu. Bad Habits! Uhu.”

      Youssef moved closer. His shadow covered the starfish. The woman raised her head and screamed, scattering the red stones in her workshop. The starfish fell from her lap onto the ground with a thud.

      “Oh! My! Little devil. Look at what you made me do. I lost my marbles,” she said with a high pitched laugh. “Your mother never taught you? That’s bad habit to creep up on people like that. You scared the sheep out of me!”

      “I’m so sorry,” said Youssef, getting on his knees to help her gather the stones.

      When they were all back in their box, Youssef got back on his feet. The woman looked a him with a softened face.

      “You such a cutie with your bear shirt. You make me think of my Howard. He was as tall as you are. I’m Betsy, obviously” she said with a giggle, extending her hand to him.

      They shook hands, making the pearls of her bracelets clink together.

      “I’m Youssef.”

      :fleuron:

      Youssef didn’t need to insist too much. Betsy was a real juke box of gossips. He just had to ask one question from time to time, and she would get going again. He was starting to feel his quirk could be more than a curse after all.

      “When the tunnel collapsed,” Betsy said, “I was ready to give up the stone shop. The pain was too much to bear, everything in the shop reminded me of Howard. And in a miners’ town, who would want to buy stones anyway. We’ve been in bad terms with Idle and her family for some time, but that tragic incident coincided with her brother Fred’s disappearance. They thought at first Fred had died in the mines with Howard, because they spent so much time discussing together in Room 8 at the Inn. I overheard them once, talking about something they found in the mines. But Howard never told me, he was so secretive about that. We even had a fight, you know. But Fred, the children found some message later that suggested he had just left the family. Imagine, the children! Idle was pissed with him of course. Abandoning her with that mother of theirs and that money pit of an Inn and the rest of the family. And I needed company. So we started to get together on a regular basis. She would bring her special cakes, and we would complain about our lives. At some point she got involved with that shamanic stuff she found online, and she helped me find my totem Bear. It was quite a revelation. Bear suggested I diversify and open an online shop and start making orgonites. I love those little gummy bears so much. So, I followed Bear’s advice and it has been working like a charm ever since. That’s why I trusted you straight away, lad. Not ’cause of your cute face. You got the Bear in your heart,” she said putting her finger at the center of his chest.

      My inner Bear, of course, thought Youssef. That’s the magnet. His phone buzzed. He took it out and saw he had an alert from the game and a message from his friends.

      You found the source of your quirk, the magnetic pull that attracts talkative people to you.
      Now obtain the silver key in the shape of a tongue to fulfil your quest.

       

      Zara : Where are you!? :yahoo_bee: We’re at the bar, getting parched! They got Pale Ale!

      “I have to go,” said Youssef.

      “Wait,” said Betsy.

      She foraged through her orgonite collection and handed Youssef one little gummy bear and an ornate metal badge.

      “Bear wants me to give this to you. Howard made it. He said it was his forked tongue key.”

      She looked at him, emotion in her eyes.

      “I know you won’t listen if I tell you not to. So, be careful when you go into the mines.”

      #6552

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      When Xavier woke up, the sun was already shining, its rays darting in pulsating waves throughout the land, blinding him. The room was already heating up, making the air difficult to breathe.

      He’d heard the maid rummaging in the neighbouring rooms for some time now, which had roused him from sleep. He couldn’t recall seeing any “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the doorknob, so staying in bed was only delaying the inevitable barging in of the lady who was now vacuuming vigorously in the corridor.

      Feeling a bit dull from the restless sleep, he quickly rose from the bed and put on his clothes.

      Once out of his room, he smiled at the cleaning lady (who seemed to be the same as the cooking lady), who harumphed back as a sort of greeting. Arriving in the kitchen, he wondered whether it was probably too late for breakfast —until he noticed the figure of the owner, who was quietly watching him through half-closed eyes in her rocking chair.

      Idle should have left some bread, butter and jam to eat if you’re hungry. It’s too late for bacon and sausages. You can help yourself with tea or coffee, there’s a fresh pot on the kitchen counter.”

      “Thanks M’am.” He answered, startled by the unexpected appearance.

      “No need. Finly didn’t wake you up, did she? She doesn’t like when people mess up her schedule.”

      “Not at all, it was fine.” he lied politely, helping himself to some tea. He wasn’t sure buttered bread was enough reward to suffer a long, awkward conversation, given that the lady (Mater, she insisted he’s called him) wasn’t giving him any sign of wanting to leave.

      “It shouldn’t be long until your friends come back from the airport. Your other friend, the big lad, he went for a walk around. Idle seems to have sold him a visit to our Gems & Rocks boutique down Main avenue.” She tittered. “Sounds grand when we say it —that’s just the only main road, but it helps with tourists bookings. And Betsy will probably tire him down quickly. She tends to get too excited when she gets clients down there; most of her business she does online now.”

      Xavier was done with his tea, and looking for an exit strategy, but she finally seemed to pick up on the signals.

      “… As I probably do; look at me wearing you down. Anyway, we have some preparing to do for the Carts & whatnot festival.”

      When she was gone, Xavier’s attention was attracted by a small persistent ticking noise followed by some cracking.

      It was on the front porch.

      A young girl in her thirteens, hoodie on despite the heat, and prune coloured pants, was sitting on the bench reading.

      She told him without raising her head from her book. “It’s Aunt Idle’s new pet bird. It’s quite a character.”

      “What?”

      “The noise, it’s from the bird. It’s been cracking nuts for the past twenty minutes. Hence the noise. And yes, it’s annoying as hell.”

      She rose from the bench. “Your bear friend will be back quick I’m certain; it’s just a small boutique with some nice crystals, but mostly cheap orgonite new-agey stuff. Betsy only swears by that, protection for electromagnetic waves and stuff she says, but look around… we are probably got more at risk to be hit by Martian waves or solar coronal mass ejections that by the ones from the telecom tower nearby.”

      Xavier didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and smiled. He felt a bit out of his element. When he looked around, the girl had already disappeared.

      Now alone, he sat on the empty bench, stretched and yawned while trying to relax. It was so different from the anonymity in the city: less people here, but everything and everyone very tightly knit together, although they all seemed to irk and chafe at the thought.

      The flapping of wings startled him.

      “Hellooo.” The red parrot had landed on the backrest of the bench and dropped shells from a freshly cracked nut which rolled onto the ground.

      Xavier didn’t think to respond; like with AL, sometimes he’d found using polite filler words was only projecting human traits to something unable to respond back, and would just muddle the prompt quality.

      “So ruuuude.” The parrot nicked his earlobe gently.

      “Ouch! Sorry! No need to become aggressive!”

      “You arrrre one to talk. Rouge is on Yooour forehead.”

      Xavier looked surprised at the bird in disbelief. Did the bird talk about the mirror test? “What sort of smart creature are you now?”

      “Call meee Rose. Pretty Giiirl acceptable.”

      Xavier smiled. The bird seemed quite fascinating all of a sudden.
      It was strange, but the bird seemed left completely free to roam about; it gave him an idea.

      “Rose, Pretty Girl, do you know some nice places around you’d like to show me?”

      “Of couuurse. Foôllow Pretty Girl.”

      #6549

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      “Have you been drinking?” blurted out Yasmin. Immediately she regretted her careless question. Zara had  never  been one to worry overly about appearances and Yasmin, who worried overly about everything, admired her carefree attitude. But she’d been a little taken aback by her friend’s unkempt hair and the smell of stale alcohol on her breath.  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just joking …obviously.”

      “What? You’ve just arrived and already you’re insulting me! Sheesh!”

      “Oh well, no doubt I’ll turn into a lush too after a few days in the outback!” Yasmin snort laughed nervously, hoping to smooth things over. “You look well! And I really appreciate you picking me up.”

      It seemed to do the trick as Zara relaxed and smiled.  “You should. I’ve gone out of my way.” She gestured to Yasmin’s bag. “Have you just got the one? Shall we get going? I’ve got so much to tell you.”

      #6544

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Despite the late night and the abundance of wine, Zara awoke just after 6am as the sun was rising. It was too early to get up, but she desperately wanted a coffee. There was no sign of room service being available so she made her way quietly to the kitchen, hoping that someone would be up.

      The strange child called Prune was sitting at the kitchen table eating rice crispies.

      “Your friends are here,” she said, “But they went to bed before you came back. Late, weren’t you?  Bert was cussing about you, you know, not letting him know.”

      “Oh, terribly sorry,” Zara thought the child a tad impertinent.  And was it really Bert’s place to be cussing about her, she was a guest after all.  “Any chance of a cup of coffee?  I’ll make it myself if you tell me where the things are.”

      Aunt Idle wasn’t bothered though,” Prune said, wiping some milk that had dribbled down her chin with the back of her hand.   “But Bert said he didn’t want you to find it.”

      “Find what?”  The parrot had said the same thing.

      “OBVIOUSLY I can’t tell you, can I? It’s a secret,” and with that Prune scraped her chair back, leaving her breakfast things on the table, and sauntered out of the kitchen in what could only be described as a cocky manner.  Zara found what she needed to make coffee and made two cups and took them both back to her room.  She had a couple of hours to play the game before breakfast and the reunion with her friends.

      #6507

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      To Youssef’s standards, a plane was never big and Flight AL357 was even smaller. When he found his seat, he had to ask a sweaty Chinese man and a snorting woman in a suit with a bowl cut and pink almond shaped glasses to move out so he could squeeze himself in the small space allotted to economy class passengers. On his right, an old lady looked at the size of his arms and almost lost her teeth. She snapped her mouth shut just in time and returned quickly to her magazine. Her hands were trembling and Youssef couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or something else.

      The pilote announced they were ready to leave and Youssef sighed with relief. Which was short lived when he got the first bump on the back of his seat. He looked back, apologising to the woman with the bowl cut on his left. Behind him was a kid wearing a false moustache and chewing like a cow. He was swinging his tiny legs, hitting the back of Youssef’s seat with the regularity of a metronome. The kid blew his gum until the bubble exploded. The mother looked ready to open fire if Youssef started to complain. He turned back again and tried to imagine he was getting a massage in one of those Japanese shiatsu chairs you find in some airports.

      The woman in front of him had thrown her very blond hair atop her seat and it was all over his screen. The old lady looked at him and offered him a gum. He wondered how she could chew gums with her false teeth, and kindly declined. The woman with the bowl cut and pink glasses started to talk to her sweaty neighbour in Chinese. The man looked at Youssef as if he had been caught by a tiger and was going to get eaten alive. His eyes were begging for help.

      As the plane started to move, the old woman started to talk.

      « Hi, I’m Gladys. I am afraid of flying, she said. Can I hold your hand during take off ? »

      After another bump on his back, Youssef sighed. It was going to be a long flight for everyone.

      As soon as they had gained altitude, Youssef let go of the old woman’s hand. She hadn’t stopped talking about her daughter and how she was going to be happy to see her again. The flight attendant passed by with a trolley and offered them a drink and a bag of peanuts. The old woman took a glass of red wine. Youssef was tempted to take a coke and dip the hair of the woman in front of him in it. He had seen a video on LooTube recently with a girl in a similar situation. She had stuck gum and lollypops in the hair of her nemesis, dipped a few strands in her soda and clipped strands randomly with her nail cutter. He could ask the old woman one of her gums, but thought that if a girl could do it, it would certainly not go well for him if he tried.

      Instead he asked the flight attendant if there was wifi on board. Sadly there was none. He had hoped at least the could play the game and catch up with his friends during that long flight to Sydney.

      :fleuron:

      When the doors opened, Youssef thought he was free of them all. He was tired, his back hurt, and he couldn’t sleep because the kid behind him kept crying and kicking, the food looked like it had been regurgitated twice by a yak, and the old chatty woman had drained his batteries. She said she wouldn’t sleep on a plane because she had to put her dentures in a glass for hygiene reasons and feared someone would steal them while she had her eyes closed.

      He walked with long strides in the corridors up to the custom counters and picked a line, eager to put as much distance between him and the other passengers. Xavier had sent him a message saying he was arriving in Sydney in a few hours. Youssef thought it would be nice to change his flight so that they could go together to Alice Spring. He could do some time with a friend for a change.

      His bushy hair stood on end when he heard the voice of the old woman just behind him. He wondered how she had managed to catch up so fast. He saw a small cart driving away.

      « I wanted to tell, Gladys said, it was such a nice flight in your company. How long have you before your flight to Alice? We can have a coffee together. »

      Youssef mentally said sorry to his friend. He couldn’t wait for the next flight.

      #6490

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Youssef gave his passport and ticket to the woman at gate 11. He was followed closely by Kyle and other members of the team. The flight attendant looked at him and gave him his passport and ticket back without scanning them with her machine.

      “I’m sorry, you’re at the wrong gate. Your flight is at gate 8,” she said.

      “But I’m going to Boston. My ticket says gate 11.”

      Youssef showed his ticket to the hostess, and she pointed the destination and the gate to him. She was right.

      “Your ticket is for flight AL357 to Sydney. It’s currently boarding at gate 8. Next person please.”

      Kyle patted him on the shoulder.

      “You should have double checked your ticket, he said.”

      “What’s wrong? asked Miss Tartiflate. Why are you going to Australia?”

      “I’m not.”

      “Well, it says you are,” she said pointing at the ticket. He didn’t understand the dark intensity of her gaze and her clenched fist, until he remembered that Botty Banworth lived there.

      “I’m not… I mean…”

      “You better not. If I hear you were in with that…”

      The words got lost as they broadcasted a call for flight AL357 to Sydney at Gate 8.

      “You’d better get that f…ing BLOG running during your little vacation or you can stay there and forget about your job,” she said before bumping into the border of the gate.

      Youssef moved on the side and looked at his ticket to Sydney, puzzled. When he passed security his ticket was to Boston. He recalled a message from Zara saying she would meet them in Australia soon. But how could she have managed to change his ticket without his knowing.

      Sure there was that moment when he had left his passport with his ticket on the table at the Starmoose when going back to the counter pick his second slice of cinnamon apple tart. But he was looking away only for a few seconds.

      “This is the last call for flight AL357 to Sydney. Youssef Ali is requested at Gate 8 before we close the gate.”

      Let’s just hope whomever made the change thought about transferring my luggage to the right plane,” he said as he started walking to Gate 8 with his bag.

      #6485

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      The two figures disappeared from view and Zara continued towards the light. An alcove to her right revealed a grotesque frog like creature with a pile of bones and gruesome looking objects. Zara hurried past.

      Osnas 1

       

      Bugger, I bet that was Osnas, Zara realized. But she wasn’t going to go back now.  It seemed there was only one way to go, towards the light.   Although in real life she was sitting on a brightly lit aeroplane with the stewards bustling about with the drinks and snacks cart, she could feel the chill of the tunnels and the uneasy thrill of secrets and danger.

      “Tea? Coffee? Soft drink?” smiled the hostess with the blue uniform, leaning over her cart towards Zara.

      “Coffee please,” she replied, glancing up with a smile, and then her smile froze as she noticed the frog like features of the woman.  “And a packet of secret tiles please,” she added with a giggle.

      “Sorry, did you say nuts?”

      “Yeah, nuts.  Thank you, peanuts will be fine, cheers.”

      Sipping coffee in between handfulls of peanuts, Zara returned to the game.

      As Zara continued along the tunnels following the light, she noticed the drawings on the floor. She stopped to take a photo, as the two figures continued ahead of her.

      I don’t know how I’m supposed to work out what any of this means, though. Just keep going I guess. Zara wished that Pretty Girl was with her. This was the first time she’d played without her.

      Zara tunnels floor drawings

       

      The walls and floors had many drawings, symbols and diagrams, and Zara stopped to take photos of all of them as she slowly made her way along the tunnel.  

      Zara meanwhile make screenshots of them all as well.   The frisson of fear had given way to curiosity, now that the tunnel was more brightly lit, and there were intriguing things to notice.  She was no closer to working out what they meant, but she was enjoying it now and happy to just explore.

      But who had etched all these pictures into the rock? You’d expect to see cave paintings in a cave, but in an old mine?  How old was the mine? she wondered. The game had been scanty with any kind of factual information about the mine, and it could have been a bronze age mine, a Roman mine, or just a gold rush mine from not so very long ago.  She assumed it wasn’t a coal mine, which she deduced from the absence of any coal, and mentally heard her friend Yasmin snort with laughter at her train of thought.  She reminded herself that it was just a game and not an archaeology dig, after all, and to just keep exploring.  And that Yasmin wasn’t reading her mind and snorting at her thoughts.

      #6476

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      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. 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.

      Rude!  thought Yasmin. Telling me I’m having a hard time!  And I’m supposed to be the brains of the group! Suddenly the screen went blank. “Oh blimmin dodgy internet!” she moaned.

      :fleuron2:

      “Road’s closed with the flooding,” said a man from the kitchen door. Yasmin didn’t know him; he had a tinge of an accent and took up a lot of space in the doorway. “They reckon it should be clear by tomorrow though.”

      Fred!” Sister Aliti looked up from chopping yam and beamed. She pointed her knife at Yasmin who was washing the breakfast dishes. “Have you met Yasmin? One of our new volunteers. Such a good girl.” The knife circled towards the door. “Yasmin this is FredFred drives the van for us when we are too busy to do it ourselves. So very kind.” She smiled fondly at the man.

      Fred nodded and, taking a step into the kitchen, he stuck a hand towards Yasmin. She quickly wiped her damp hands on her skirt before taking it. Fred’s hand was brown and weathered like his face and he gripped her fingers firmly.

      “Nice to meet you Yasmin. So where are you from?”

      “Oh, um, I’ve been living in London most recently but originally from Manchester.” Yasmin noticed he had a snake tattoo curling up his inner  bicep, over his shoulder and disappearing under his black singlet. “Is your accent Australian?”

      A flicker of a frown crossed Fred’s face and Yasmin felt anxious. “Sorry,” she mumbled, although she wasn’t sure what for. “It’s just I’m visiting soon …”

      “Yeah, originally. But I’ve not been back home for while.” His eyes drifted to the kitchen window and stayed there. For a moment, they all watched the rain pelt against the glass.

      Sister Aliti broke the silence. “Fred’s a writer,” she said sounding like a proud mother.

      “Oh, that’s so cool! What do you write?” Yasmin immediately worried she’d been too nosy again. “I’ve always wanted to write!” she added brightly which wasn’t true, she’d never given it much thought. Realising this, and to her horror, she snort laughed.

      Fred dragged his eyes back from the window and looked at her with amusement. “Yeah? Well you should go for it!” He turned to Sister Aliti. “Internet’s down again too with this weather,” He dug into the pocket of his shorts and dangled some keys in the air. “I’ll leave the van keys with you but I’ll be back tomorrow, if the rain’s stopped.” The keys clanked onto the bench.

      “He’s such a chatterbox,” murmured Sister Aliti after Fred had gone and Yasmin laughed.

      “Shall I put these in the office?” Yasmin gestured to the set of keys then gasped as she saw that on the keychain was a devilish looking imp grinning up at her.

      #6468

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      At the former Chinggis Khaan International Airport which was now called the New Ulaanbaatar International Airport, the young intern sat next to Youssef, making the seats tremble like a frail suspended bridge in the Andes. Youssef had been considering connecting to the game and start his quest to meet with his grumpy quirk, but the girl seemed pissed, almost on the brink of crying. So Youssef turned off his phone and asked her what had happened, without thinking about the consequences, and because he thought it was a nice opportunity to engage the conversation with her at last, and in doing so appear to be nice to care so that she might like him in return.

      Natalie, because he had finally learned her name, started with all the bullying she had to endure from Miss Tartiflate during the trip, all the dismissal about her brilliant ideas, and how the Yeti only needed her to bring her coffee and pencils, and go fetch someone her boss needed to talk to, and how many time she would get no thanks, just a short: “you’re still here?”

      After some time, Youssef even knew more about her parents and her sisters and their broken family dynamics than he would have cared to ask, even to be polite. At some point he was starting to feel grumpy and realised he hadn’t eaten since they arrived at the airport. But if he told Natalie he wanted to go get some food, she might follow him and get some too. His stomach growled like an angry bear. He stood more quickly than he wanted and his phone fell on the ground. The screen lit up and he could just catch a glimpse of a desert emoji in a notification before Natalie let out a squeal. Youssef looked around, people were glancing at him as if he might have been torturing her.

      “Oh! Sorry, said Youssef. I just need to go to the bathroom before we board.”

      “But the boarding is only in one hour!”

      “Well I can’t wait one hour.”

      “In that case I’m coming with you, I need to go there too anyway.”

      “But someone needs to stay here for our bags,” said Youssef. He could have carried his own bag easily, but she had a small suitcase, a handbag and a backpack, and a few paper bags of products she bought at one of the two the duty free shops.

      Natalie called Kyle and asked him to keep a close watch on her precious things. She might have been complaining about the boss, but she certainly had caught on a few traits of her.

      Youssef was glad when the men’s bathroom door shut behind him and his ears could have some respite. A small Chinese business man was washing his hands at one of the sinks. He looked up at Youssef and seemed impressed by his height and muscles. The man asked for a selfie together so that he could show his friends how cool he was to have met such a big stranger in the airport bathroom. Youssef had learned it was easier to oblige them than having them follow him and insist.

      When the man left, Youssef saw Natalie standing outside waiting for him. He thought it would have taken her longer. He only wanted to go get some food. Maybe if he took his time, she would go.

      He remembered the game notification and turned on his phone. The icon was odd and kept shifting between four different landscapes, each barren and empty, with sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. One with a six legged camel was already intriguing, in the second one a strange arrowhead that seemed to be getting out of the desert sand reminded him of something that he couldn’t quite remember. The fourth one intrigued him the most, with that car in the middle of the desert and a boat coming out of a giant dune.

      Still hungrumpy he nonetheless clicked on the shapeshifting icon and 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.

      The bell at the top right of the screen wobbled, signalling a message from the game. There were two. He opened the first one.

      We’re excited to hear about your real-life parallel quest. It sounds like you’re getting close to uncovering the mystery of the grumpy shaman. Keep working on your blog website and keep an eye out for any clues that Xavier and the Snoot may send your way. We believe that you’re on the right path.

      What on earth was that ? How did the game know about his life and the shaman at the oasis ? After the Thi Gang mess with THE BLOG he was becoming suspicious of those strange occurrences. He thought he could wonder for a long time or just enjoy the benefits. Apparently he had been granted a substantial reward in gold coins for successfully managing his first quest, along with a green potion.

      He looked at his avatar who was roaming the desert with his pet bear (quite hungrumpy too). The avatar’s body was perfect, even the hands looked normal for once, but the outfit had those two silver disks that made him look like he was wearing an iron bra.

      He opened the second message.

      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.

      Youssef recalled that strange paper given by the lama shaman, was it another of the clues he needed to solve that game? He didn’t have time to think about it because a message bumped onto his screen.

      “Need help? Contact me 👉”

      Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓
      #6425

      It is a challenge of utmost magnitude to keep track of time here in this land where the Dream Time is so nigh as to make its presence oft palpable in the very air. The subtle shifts in timelines and probabilities do naught to aid in this endeavor. No coincidence “Dream Time” is the label on Aunt Idle’s not-so-secret stash — she could not keep its location secret lest she forget it during the waking hours.

      We jumped without warning into 2023. At 15, I am a grown-up now, so says Mater, and I could not wait to hear such words from her. She is always here, such a comfort, unchanging, unyielding, the only immutable force in the universe.
      So now, life can start to unfold in front of me in the manner of my choosing, rather than being dictated by the sorry state of affairs of my family. I have set my sights upon a boarding school that may provide such an escape, but it will require the procurement of the tuition money — which will take a few more years to acquire. Patience, I have, at least for now.

      The Inn is ever in need of assistance it seems. I don’t know how it came to be, but some Italian chap, Georgio, who came last year during the pandemic and got stranded with us, made such a fuss about Mater’s famous bush tucker that the Inn became fashionable overnight. Obviously Mater, bless her soul, doesn’t cook, a mercy for which we are all thankful. Said tucker was truly the handiwork of Tiku and Finly, but Georgio thought that Mater’s tucker” has a nicer ring. Whatever suits these loonies’ fancy, it did bring us a nice stream of income in return.

      #6319

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

      “Calm yourself, Egbert, and sit down. And be quiet! I can barely hear myself think with your frantic gibbering and flailing around,” Olga said, closing her eyes.  “I need to think.”

      Egbert clutched the eiderdown on either side of his bony trembling knees and clamped his remaining teeth together, drawing ragged whistling breaths in an attempt to calm himself.  Olga was right, he needed to calm down. Besides the unfortunate effects of the letter on his habitual tremor, he felt sure his blood pressure had risen alarmingly.  He dared not become so ill that he needed medical assistance, not with the state of the hospitals these days. He’d be lucky to survive the plague ridden wards.

      What had become of him! He imagined his younger self looking on with horror, appalled at his feeble body and shattered mind.  Imagine becoming so desperate that he wanted to fight to stay in this godforsaken dump, what had become of him! If only he knew of somewhere else to go, somewhere safe and pleasant, somewhere that smelled sweetly of meadows and honesuckle and freshly baked cherry pies, with the snorting of pigs in the yard…

      But wait, that was Olga snoring. Useless old bag had fallen asleep! For the first time since Viktor had died he felt close to tears. What a sad sorry pathetic old man he’d become, desperately counting on a old woman to save him.

      “Stop sniveling, Egbert, and go and pack a bag.” Olga had woken up from her momentary but illuminating lapse.    “Don’t bring too much, we may have much walking to do. I hear the buses and trains are in a shambles and full of refugees. We don’t want to get herded up with them.”

      Astonished, Egbert asked where they were going.

      “To see Rosa. My cousins father in laws neice. Don’t look at me like that, immediate family are seldom the ones who help.  The distant ones are another matter.  And be honest Egbert,” Olga said with a piercing look, “Do we really want to stay here? You may think you do, but it’s the fear of change, that’s all. Change feels like too much bother, doesn’t it?”

      Egbert nodded sadly, his eyes fixed on the stain on the grey carpet.

      Olga leaned forward and took his hand gently. “Egbert, look at me.” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. He’d never seen a sparkle in her faded blue eyes before.  “I still have another adventure in me. How about you?”

      #6311

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

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

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

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

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

      #6269
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The Housley Letters 

        From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

         

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

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

        William and Ellen Marriage

         

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

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

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

         

        ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

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

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

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

         

        Mary’s children:

        MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

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

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

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

         

        WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

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

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

         

        Ellen’s children:

        JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

        John Housley

         

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

         

        SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

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

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

        Housley Deaths

         

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

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

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

         

        EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

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

         

        ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

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

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

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

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

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

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

        The Carrington Farm:

        Carringtons Farm

         

        CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

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

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

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

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

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

         

        GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

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

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

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

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

         

        EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

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

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

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

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

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

        Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

        Emma Housley wedding

         

        JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

        Joseph Housley

        #6268
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued part 9

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 14 May 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Lyamungu 19th September 1945

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

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

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Mbeya 1st November 1946

          Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          #6267
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued part 8

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Morogoro 20th January 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 30th July 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 26th August 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 25th December 1941

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Morogoro 26th January 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 20th March 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 15th May 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 18th July 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Lyamungu 16th August 1944

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

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

            Dearest Mummy,

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

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

            Very much love,
            Eleanor.

            Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

            Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love,
            Eleanor.

             

            #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 JanetJohn’s ayah”. One morning I went to a knitting session at a
              neighbours house. We are all knitting madly for the troops. As there were several other
              women in the lounge and no other children, I installed Kate in the dining room with a
              colouring book and crayons. My hostess’ black dog was chained to the dining room
              table leg, but as he and Kate are on friendly terms I was not bothered by this.
              Some time afterwards, during a lull in conversation, I heard a strange drumming
              noise coming from the dining room. I went quickly to investigate and, to my horror, found
              Kate lying on her back with the dog chain looped around her neck. The frightened dog
              was straining away from her as far as he could get and the chain was pulled so tightly
              around her throat that she could not scream. The drumming noise came from her heels
              kicking in a panic on the carpet.

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

              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.

               

              #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.

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