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  • #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.”

    #6791
    AvatarJib
    Participant

      The trio entered the medical bay, Barney proudly perched on Salomé’s shoulder. Léonard was sitting on the edge of his bed in a blue hospital dress, looking around him, confused. He turned his head toward them and squinted.

      Georges?” he asked. “Salomé? Where…” He winced and slapped his forehead.

      “Are you ok?” asked Salomé, moving toward him.

      Léonard stretched his arm in front of him and Salomé felt her body pushed backward. Barney squeaked and the wave subsided.

      “I’m ok,” Léonard said a few seconds later, breathing with difficulties, “just a headache. Where…”

      Georges exchanged a look and a brief telepathic communication with Salomé. He had felt the wave too, and he was also feeling some kind of shield around his mind. It was different from all they had encountered before. They might have to fall back to the old ways.

      “We’re back on Duane,” he said with a cheerful tone, hoping it would help their friend relax. Léonard had explored this system extensively, and it was there he had introduced Georges and Salomé to the reality of multidimensional travels and Elemental magic. It was a place full of memories and Georges was looking closely at his friend’s face and at the same time prodding his mind. But Léonard’s face didn’t show any reaction and his mind appeared empty.

      “Actually, way back… in time,” Georges continued. “Jorid’s navigation array was gravely disturbed by this little creature… where is Barney?”

      A weak chirp came out of Salomé’s luscious raven black hair.

      “Come on, Barney,” she said, trying to take him out. “Come meet our friend Léonard.”

      The creature was trembling like a leaf and clinging to strands of her hair, clearly not wanting to leave his hiding place.

      “I think he likes your shampoo,” said Georges with a smirk. “Well, we just found this little sand Rin on Jorid’s hull, and the little culprit is generating interferences in the Boodenbaum quantum field. So until we find a way to neutralise whatever he’s doing, we’re stuck.”

      Léonard looked annoyed. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t support him and he fell back on the bed.

      “Why did the Zathu put you in that sand egg on Bluhm’Oxl?” asked Salomé, trying not to sound too concerned.

      Léonard opened his mouth and froze, looking surprised. He frowned.

      “I don’t recall,” he said.

      “What do you recall?”

      “I recall… receiving a tip from an old friend.”

      “Who?”

      “…”

      “Jorid, can you read us the message from his friend?” asked Georges with a smile, as if he had found a simple solution.

      “I can’t access the data,” said the ship. “Léonard deleted it, and the backups before he left.”

      Georges’ smile faded. He looked at Salomé. She was thinking the same thing he was thinking and nodded.

      “Why don’t we let you have some rest, you’ll join us for lunch when you’re dressed up and ready.”

      #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.”

      #6503

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      The plane trip stretched on forever. Xavier had the time to rewatch a few blockbusters, and catch up on light novels – in particular a roadtrip of 3 elderly Ukrainians —a story that didn’t seem to have much to say, but did put a smile on his face.

      The plane has wifi, and he could have connected to the game, but he was trying his capacity to be weaned of the adrenaline rush that came with the adventures. Glimmer and the pirate ship would have to wait. He’d put his avatar on autopilot, and usually that helped propel the plot forward without investing too much time in going through relatively mundane adventures (those were needed to provide background balance and contrast against the rush of the occasional action). He hoped Glimmer wouldn’t abuse of it, and send them both to some crazy place looking for Flove knows what.

      There was the occasional temptation to catch a hold of the news and his friends, but relying on the old ways of daydreaming and imagination, he could feel they were doing fine.

      He could well picture Zara off to explore in and out of the game, that much was a given. As for Youssef he should be able to catch up in Alice Springs, since he wasn’t anywhere in Sydney when he landed. He was probably squeezed right now on an economy seat in between a sweaty tourist, an annoying expat, and a chatty woman. Xavier chuckled to himself thinking of the large frame of his friend in the tiny space.
      He hoped all was right with Yasmin. He hadn’t be able to connect before the flight, but she was resourceful and given her competitive spirit, there was actually a good chance she had a shortcut to be there before any of them.

      Alice Springs was close by now. The plane prepared for landing.

      Xavier remembered he’d have to get the black notebook that was part of the last assignment. They surely would have something like that in the duty free area.

      #6489

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      It was a pleasant 25 degrees as Zara stepped off the plane. The flat red land stretched as far as the eye could see, and although she prefered a more undulating terrain there was something awe inspiring about this vast landscape. It was quite a contrast from the past few hours spent inside mine tunnels.

      Bert, a weatherbeaten man of indeterminate advanced age, was there to meet her as arranged and led her to the car, a battered old four wheel drive.  Although clearly getting on in years, he was tall and spry and dressed in practical working clothes.

      “Welcome to Alice,” he said, taking her bag and putting in on the back seat.  “I expect you’ll be wanting to know a bit about the place.”

      “How long have you lived here?” Zara asked, as Bert settled into the creaky drivers seat and started the car.

      Bert gave her a funny look and replied “Longer than a ducks ass.”  Zara had never heard that expression before; she assumed it meant a long time but didn’t like to pursue the question.

      “All this land belongs to the Arrernte,” he said, pronouncing it Arrunda.  “The local aboriginals.  1862 when we got here. Well,” Bert turned to give Zara a lopsided smile, “Not me personally, I aint quite that old.”

      Zara chuckled politely as Bert continued, “It got kinda busy around these parts round 1887 with the gold.”

      “Oh, are there mines near here?”  Zara asked with some excitement.

      Bert gave her a sharp look. “Oh there’s mines alright. Abandoned now though, and dangerous. Dangerous places, old mines.  You’ll be more interested in the hiking trails than those old mines, some real nice hiking and rock gorges, and it’s a nice temperature this time of year.”

      Bert lapsed into silence for a few minutes, frowning.

      “If you’da been arriving back then, you’da been on a camel train, that’s how they did it back then. Camel trains.   They do camel tours for tourists nowadays.”

      “Do you get many tourists?”

      “Too dang many tourists if you ask me, Alice is full of them, and Ayers Rock’s crawling with ’em these days. We don’t get many out our way though.” Bert snorted, reminding Zara of Yasmin. “Our visitors like an off the beaten track kind of holiday, know what I mean?” Bert gave Zara another sideways lopsided smile.  “I reckon you’ll like it at The Flying Fish Inn.  Down to earth, know what I mean? Down to earth and off the wall.”  He laughed heartily at that and Zara wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she laughed too.

      “Sounds great.”

      “Family run, see, makes a difference.  No fancy airs and graces, no traffic ~ well, not much of anything really, just beautiful scenery and peace and quiet.  Aunt Idle thinks she’s in charge but me and old Mater do most of it, well Finly does most of it to be honest, and you dropped lucky coming now, the twins have just decorated the bedrooms. Real nice they look now, they fancied doing some dreamtime murials on the walls.  The twins are Idle’s neices, Clove and Corrie, turned out nice girls, despite everything.”

      “Despite ….?”

      “What? Oh, living in the outback. Youngsters usually leave and head for the cities.  Prune’s the youngest gal, she’s a real imp, that one, a real character.  And Devan calls by regular to see Mater, he works at the gas station.”

      “Are they all Idle’s neices and nephews? Where are their parents?”  Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, Zara thought when she saw Bert’s face.

      “Long gone, mate, long since gone from round here.  We’ve taken good care of ’em.”  Bert turned off the road onto a dirt road.  “Only another five minutes now.  We’re outside the town a bit, but there aint much in town anyway. Population 79, our town. About right for a decent sized town if you ask me.”

      Bert rounded a bend in a eucalyptus grove and announced, “Here we are, then, the Flying Fish Inn.”  He parked the car and retrieved Zara’s bag from the back seat.  “Take a seat on the verandah and I’ll find Idle to show you to your room and get you a drink.  Oh, and don’t be put off by Idle’s appearance, she’s a sweetheart really.”

      Flying Fish Inn

       

      Aunt Idle was nowhere to be found though, having decided to go for a walk on impulse, quite forgetting the arrival of the first guest.    She saw Bert’s car approaching the hotel from her vantage point on a low hill, which reminded her she should be getting back.  It was a lovely evening and she didn’t rush.

      Aunt Idle walk

       

      Bert found Mater in the dining room gazing out of the window.  “Where the bloody hell is Idle? The guest’s outside on the verandah.”

      “She’s taken herself off for a walk, can you believe it?” sighed Mater.

      “Yep” Bert replied, “I can.  Which room’s she in? Can you show her to her room?”

      “Yes of course, Bert. Perhaps you’d see to getting a drink for her.”

      Mater dining room

      #6386

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      At the board game, Zara was the first to break character, although Yasmin had been rolling her eyes in silence for quite some time.

      “They’re all so young and attractive…”

      Yasmin chimed in “Could you add averagely attractive to the prompt? Oh hark at me! Moaning already!”

      Xavier was glad at the break, and stretched his arms, leaning back against the chair. “Time for a bio-break guys, all this setting up is taking a lot of time.”

      Youssef, who was connected via a stream, started to post emojis of food in the chat. He’d been obviously hungry for a while as usual.

      “Ok guys,” said Zara sighing. “That’s settled for today then. Anyway, it’s pretty late for Youssef, let’s resume tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be posting the characters concept art, but don’t hold your breath on that.”

      #6323

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

      “Watch where you are going, Child!”  Egbert’s tone was sharp.

      “Excuse me,” said Maryechka, hunching her shoulders and making herself small as a mouse so she could squeeze past Egbert’s oversized suitcase.

      “To be fair, Old Man,” said Olga, glad of the excuse to pause, “you are taking up all the available space on the stairs with those bags.” She peered at Maryechka. “You are Obadiah’s girl aren’t you?”

      Maryechka nodded shyly. “He’s my grandpa.” She frowned at the suitcases.  “Are you going on holiday?”

      “Never you mind that,” said Egbert. “You run along and see your Grandpa.”

      Maryechka ducked past the bag and ran up the steps.

      “Oy,” said Olga. “What I wouldn’t give for the agility of youth again.” Gripping the wooden hand rail, she stretched out her ankle and grimaced.

      Obadiah is stubborn as a mule,” said Egbert. “I tried warning him! He said he’d die in his room if it came to it.”

      “Pfft,” said Olga. “That one will land on his big stinking feet. And he can hear better than he lets on. Is it him spreading the tales about me?”

      Egbert dropped his bags and sat heavily on the step. He put his head in his hands and groaned. “Is it right though, Olga? Is it right that we leave our friends to their fate?”

      It occurred to Olga that Egbert may be hiding his head so as not to answer her question. However, realising his mental state was fragile, she thought it prudent to keep to the matter at hand. It will keep, she thought.

      Obadiah and myself, we grew up together,” continued Egbert with what sounded like a sob.  “We worked together on the farm as young men.” He raised his head and glared at Olga. “How can you expect me to leave him without a word of farewell? Have you no heart?”

      #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.

           

          #6262
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued  ~ part 3

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Very much love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

            your loving but anxious,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Very much love to all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots and lots of love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Who would be a mother!
            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots and lots of love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            With love to all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

            With love to all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            Your very loving,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

            With love to all,
            Eleanor.

            #6261
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

              Dearest Family,

              You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is
              not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her
              very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very
              fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the
              natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the
              houseboy both speak basic English.

              I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do
              run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly
              from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All
              farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.

              George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot
              of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for
              hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans
              have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was
              disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of
              pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he
              recovered.

              But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath.
              Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are.
              Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time
              for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are
              always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no
              knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always
              welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the
              house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is
              produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is.
              The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and
              diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields.
              This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with
              whom. This is a great country for gossip.

              Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with
              George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than
              his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features,
              burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into
              song.

              Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over
              sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George
              walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a
              great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a
              hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his
              neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were
              carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but
              George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always
              wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front.
              George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.

              I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu,
              all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George
              reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears
              the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite
              but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to
              add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by.
              Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.

              George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind
              the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and
              filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for
              washing pots and pans and for bath water.

              Lots of love,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

              Dearest Family,

              I think it is about time I told you that we are going to have a baby. We are both
              thrilled about it. I have not seen a Doctor but feel very well and you are not to worry. I
              looked it up in my handbook for wives and reckon that the baby is due about February
              8th. next year.

              The announcement came from George, not me! I had been feeling queasy for
              days and was waiting for the right moment to tell George. You know. Soft lights and
              music etc. However when I was listlessly poking my food around one lunch time
              George enquired calmly, “When are you going to tell me about the baby?” Not at all
              according to the book! The problem is where to have the baby. February is a very wet
              month and the nearest Doctor is over 50 miles away at Tukuyu. I cannot go to stay at
              Tukuyu because there is no European accommodation at the hospital, no hotel and no
              friend with whom I could stay.

              George thinks I should go South to you but Capetown is so very far away and I
              love my little home here. Also George says he could not come all the way down with
              me as he simply must stay here and get the farm on its feet. He would drive me as far
              as the railway in Northern Rhodesia. It is a difficult decision to take. Write and tell me what
              you think.

              The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be
              supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and
              decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a
              solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I
              jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy
              were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate.
              He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on
              the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so
              he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used
              part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.

              The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had
              fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we
              are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the
              Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the
              waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.

              Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth
              their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large
              bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was
              healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am
              becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other
              way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before
              going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned
              it is like the best brisket.

              See what a housewife I am becoming.
              With much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

              Dearest Family,

              I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving
              Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the
              bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it
              before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and
              so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the
              hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really
              healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would
              love to stay on here.

              George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a
              South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is
              very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby
              is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as
              possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It
              may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking
              forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night.
              Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He
              goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the
              men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers
              at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the
              house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out
              some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the
              chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion
              and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it
              together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the
              size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air.
              Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment.
              The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It
              was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too
              obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said
              it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former
              cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby
              monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that
              dish.

              And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad
              shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and
              dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The
              body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the
              ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well
              Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled
              soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a
              lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was.
              I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that
              the baby will be a girl.

              Very much love,
              Eleanor.

              Note
              “There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
              because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
              Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
              birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.

              A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
              started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
              stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
              train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
              old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
              was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
              baby.

              He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
              though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
              and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.

              My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
              down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
              weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
              Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
              that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
              punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
              My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
              comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
              on the appointed day, Feb.8th.

              I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
              rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
              absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
              are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
              surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
              some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
              pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
              melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
              She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
              at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
              went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
              see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
              nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
              through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
              Tanganyika!”

              The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
              of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
              stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
              who longed to cuddle the child.

              As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
              to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
              Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
              put us on the plane for Mbeya.

              Eleanor Rushby

               

              Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

              Dearest Family,

              You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very
              happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way.
              Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went
              to meals in the dining car.

              We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for
              us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where
              the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the
              Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between
              Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk
              all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant
              Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the
              circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead
              by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was
              most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust
              health.

              Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate
              fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and
              offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are
              several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya.
              After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm
              welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the
              new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely
              surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with
              willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table
              and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship
              which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to
              the rather old world air of our living room.

              In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has
              strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top
              of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which
              George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The
              new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and
              they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the
              kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for
              washing up. Lovely!

              George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings
              planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are
              orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely
              adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long
              journey.

              It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I
              have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm,
              Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann
              sends a special bubble for granddad.

              Your very loving,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

              Dearest Family,

              Ann at five months is enchanting. She is a very good baby, smiles readily and is
              gaining weight steadily. She doesn’t sleep much during the day but that does not
              matter, because, apart from washing her little things, I have nothing to do but attend to
              her. She sleeps very well at night which is a blessing as George has to get up very
              early to start work on the shamba and needs a good nights rest.
              My nights are not so good, because we are having a plague of rats which frisk
              around in the bedroom at night. Great big ones that come up out of the long grass in the
              gorge beside the house and make cosy homes on our reed ceiling and in the thatch of
              the roof.

              We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann
              with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between
              the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly
              born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more.
              Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.

              I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and
              sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down
              the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the
              floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few
              mosquitoes.

              Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little
              finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to
              attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet
              arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content.
              The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see
              her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child
              and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or
              a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they
              value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman,
              who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.

              Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the
              baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in
              South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey.
              They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms
              around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah
              walked beside it.

              It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole
              countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.

              Lots and lots of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

              Dearest Family,

              George has been very unwell for the past week. He had a nasty gash on his
              knee which went septic. He had a swelling in the groin and a high temperature and could
              not sleep at night for the pain in his leg. Ann was very wakeful too during the same
              period, I think she is teething. I luckily have kept fit though rather harassed. Yesterday the
              leg looked so inflamed that George decided to open up the wound himself. he made
              quite a big cut in exactly the right place. You should have seen the blackish puss
              pouring out.

              After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has
              the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and
              pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it
              to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job
              of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some
              husband!

              The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George
              and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was
              suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen.
              They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly
              and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up
              swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying
              the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I
              felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window
              behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s
              hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound,
              taking cover.

              George returned quite soon to say that apparently the commotion made by the
              women and children had frightened the lions off. He found their tracks in the soft earth
              round the huts and a bag of maize that had been playfully torn open but the lions had
              moved on.

              Next day we heard that they had moved to Hickson-Wood’s shamba. Hicky
              came across to say that the lions had jumped over the wall of his cattle boma and killed
              both his white Muskat riding donkeys.
              He and a friend sat up all next night over the remains but the lions did not return to
              the kill.

              Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very
              fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both
              cheeks. We are very proud of her.

              Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I
              am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever
              seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens
              we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”

              Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.

              Much love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

              Dearest Family,

              News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I
              hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are
              rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a
              German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good
              living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles
              radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also
              Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings.
              Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no
              teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has
              breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her
              amusement and my exasperation!

              You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we
              haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even
              heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies
              in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down
              there.

              The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and
              wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently.
              Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The
              Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs.
              Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss
              his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle
              over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good
              hunter.

              Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs
              and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the
              idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of
              stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck.
              Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for
              cooking and very like beef fat.

              Much love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932

              Dearest Family,

              George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up
              here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of
              staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.

              Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting
              together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and
              settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town
              in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little
              car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard
              the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over
              the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long
              journey in so tiny a car.

              Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in
              the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when
              the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot,
              sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous
              wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in
              happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a
              treat for a pregnant female.

              We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a
              smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size,
              peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like
              broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning
              after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast
              and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a
              little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she
              placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t
              know whether that was the thing to do.

              We all send our love,
              Eleanor.

              Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

              Dearest Family,

              Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the
              arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again
              to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with
              other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair
              roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl
              now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.

              George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in
              here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in
              hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There
              is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the
              Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.

              As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to
              Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm.
              The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The
              machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too
              comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four
              of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief
              bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort
              of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up
              the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least
              George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would
              have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.

              George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind
              George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best
              attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour
              shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and
              bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.

              Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had
              an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.

              During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small
              daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They
              played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my
              sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the
              room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her,
              looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off
              half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the
              job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.

              I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and
              then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a
              bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant
              towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously.
              I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.

              Very much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

              Dearest Family,

              Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was
              with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit
              of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann
              with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her
              supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a
              great comfort it was to know that he was there.

              The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital
              just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The
              doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny
              looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black
              silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache.
              George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out
              laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t
              understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at
              him.

              Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is
              transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere
              without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all
              snowy white.

              George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for
              company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and
              away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that
              tea is a medicine and good for him.

              Much love from a proud mother of two.
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

              Dearest Family,

              We are all together at home again and how lovely it feels. Even the house
              servants seem pleased. The boy had decorated the lounge with sprays of
              bougainvillaea and Abel had backed one of his good sponge cakes.

              Ann looked fat and rosy but at first was only moderately interested in me and the
              new baby but she soon thawed. George is good with her and will continue to dress Ann
              in the mornings and put her to bed until I am satisfied with Georgie.

              He, poor mite, has a nasty rash on face and neck. I am sure it is just due to that
              tea the nurse used to give him at night. He has lost his moustache and is fast loosing his
              wild black hair and emerging as quite a handsome babe. He is a very masculine looking
              infant with much more strongly marked eyebrows and a larger nose that Ann had. He is
              very good and lies quietly in his basket even when awake.

              George has been making a hatching box for brown trout ova and has set it up in
              a small clear stream fed by a spring in readiness for the ova which is expected from
              South Africa by next weeks plane. Some keen fishermen from Mbeya and the District
              have clubbed together to buy the ova. The fingerlings are later to be transferred to
              streams in Mbeya and Tukuyu Districts.

              I shall now have my hands full with the two babies and will not have much time for the
              garden, or I fear, for writing very long letters. Remember though, that no matter how
              large my family becomes, I shall always love you as much as ever.

              Your affectionate,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

              Dearest Family,

              The four of us are all well but alas we have lost our dear Kelly. He was rather a
              silly dog really, although he grew so big he retained all his puppy ways but we were all
              very fond of him, especially George because Kelly attached himself to George whilst I
              was away having Ann and from that time on he was George’s shadow. I think he had
              some form of biliary fever. He died stretched out on the living room couch late last night,
              with George sitting beside him so that he would not feel alone.

              The children are growing fast. Georgie is a darling. He now has a fluff of pale
              brown hair and his eyes are large and dark brown. Ann is very plump and fair.
              We have had several visitors lately. Apart from neighbours, a car load of diggers
              arrived one night and John Molteno and his bride were here. She is a very attractive girl
              but, I should say, more suited to life in civilisation than in this back of beyond. She has
              gone out to the diggings with her husband and will have to walk a good stretch of the fifty
              or so miles.

              The diggers had to sleep in the living room on the couch and on hastily erected
              camp beds. They arrived late at night and left after breakfast next day. One had half a
              beard, the other side of his face had been forcibly shaved in the bar the night before.

              your affectionate,
              Eleanor

              Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

              Dearest Family,

              George is away on safari with two Indian Army officers. The money he will get for
              his services will be very welcome because this coffee growing is a slow business, and
              our capitol is rapidly melting away. The job of acting as White Hunter was unexpected
              or George would not have taken on the job of hatching the ova which duly arrived from
              South Africa.

              George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane
              by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It
              came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David
              Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to
              the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took
              several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking
              them up in a glass tube.

              When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to
              take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry
              have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry
              down to feed the trout.

              The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words
              and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.

              Very much love
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

              Dear Family,

              All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and
              Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.

              There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called
              for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the
              sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in
              progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop
              fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an
              enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and
              the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified.
              By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath
              to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces
              too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out
              of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the
              kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen
              boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me.
              I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major
              Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of
              us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for
              Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to
              entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.

              George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement
              on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered
              from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor,
              because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid
              being left high and dry.

              Lots and lots of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933

              Dearest Family,

              Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good
              deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such
              sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair
              and the other dark.

              The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so
              that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the
              doctor had no vaccine.

              George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby
              Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to
              have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.

              We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of
              us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the
              gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where
              the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very
              tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled
              three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the
              Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.

              The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble
              with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and
              there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.

              George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope
              the children will enjoy riding it later on.

              Very much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

              Dearest Family,

              You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly
              afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys
              you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next
              day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed
              her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was
              awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that
              Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was
              perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed
              Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and
              gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same
              thing over again.

              At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in
              vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on
              the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither
              George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in
              the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann.
              That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of
              convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the
              next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only
              small sips of water since the onset of the attack.

              The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething.
              George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle
              bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours
              Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now
              up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and
              white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie
              behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to
              sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all
              subdued.

              This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on
              our road or the doctor might not have got through.

              Much love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

              Dearest Family,

              We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a
              fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and
              Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a
              beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the
              edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which
              carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not
              move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and
              bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble
              began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head
              against the cot.

              George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not
              take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone
              through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two
              men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the
              diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor
              allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to
              treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!

              There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is
              doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by
              that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The
              coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of
              coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good
              return for all his hard work.

              Lots of love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

              Dearest Family,

              George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well.
              The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me
              and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though
              he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of
              high powered rifles with telescopic sights.

              It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad
              home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return
              George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the
              shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a
              car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car
              Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However
              can we afford one?”

              “Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold
              this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it
              cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an
              A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.

              So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for
              the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we
              heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her
              way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator.
              Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her
              points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most
              comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like
              a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and
              she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.

              Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road
              on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward
              one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George
              carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch
              of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally
              under her own steam.

              George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t
              be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country.
              I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for
              Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with
              kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re
              definitely carriage folk now.

              Lots of love to all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

              Dearest Family,

              Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George
              declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new
              clothes.

              Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now
              rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of
              a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go
              he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of
              Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’,
              follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that
              I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge
              delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing,
              the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.

              The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday.
              They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very
              afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some
              guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk
              back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and
              sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better.
              We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up.
              Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby
              and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up
              in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day
              went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her.
              They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car
              had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne
              refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and
              tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past
              being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the
              feathers had rotted off.

              The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door
              closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.

              I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her
              belated Christmas dinner with relish.

              I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able
              to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.

              Much love to you all,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

              Dearest Family,

              You cannot imagine how lovely it is to have Marjorie here. She came just in time
              because I have had pernicious vomiting and have lost a great deal of weight and she
              took charge of the children and made me spend three days in hospital having treatment.
              George took me to the hospital on the afternoon of New Years Eve and decided
              to spend the night at the hotel and join in the New Years Eve celebrations. I had several
              visitors at the hospital that evening and George actually managed to get some imported
              grapes for me. He returned to the farm next morning and fetched me from the hospital
              four days later. Of course the old A.C. just had to play up. About half way home the
              back axle gave in and we had to send a passing native some miles back to a place
              called Mbalizi to hire a lorry from a Greek trader to tow us home to the farm.
              The children looked well and were full of beans. I think Marjorie was thankful to
              hand them over to me. She is delighted with Ann’s motherly little ways but Georgie she
              calls “a really wild child”. He isn’t, just has such an astonishing amount of energy and is
              always up to mischief. Marjorie brought us all lovely presents. I am so thrilled with my
              sewing machine. It may be an old model but it sews marvellously. We now have an
              Alsatian pup as well as Joseph the donkey and the two cats.

              Marjorie had a midnight encounter with Joseph which gave her quite a shock but
              we had a good laugh about it next day. Some months ago George replaced our wattle
              and daub outside pit lavatory by a substantial brick one, so large that Joseph is being
              temporarily stabled in it at night. We neglected to warn Marj about this and one night,
              storm lamp in hand, she opened the door and Joseph walked out braying his thanks.
              I am afraid Marjorie is having a quiet time, a shame when the journey from Cape
              Town is so expensive. The doctor has told me to rest as much as I can, so it is
              impossible for us to take Marj on sight seeing trips.

              I hate to think that she will be leaving in ten days time.

              Much love,
              Eleanor.

              Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

              Dearest Family,

              You must be able to visualise our life here quite well now that Marj is back and
              has no doubt filled in all the details I forget to mention in my letters. What a journey we
              had in the A.C. when we took her to the plane. George, the children and I sat in front and
              Marj sat behind with numerous four gallon tins of water for the insatiable radiator. It was
              raining and the canvas hood was up but part of the side flaps are missing and as there is
              no glass in the windscreen the rain blew in on us. George got fed up with constantly
              removing the hot radiator cap so simply stuffed a bit of rag in instead. When enough
              steam had built up in the radiator behind the rag it blew out and we started all over again.
              The car still roars like an aeroplane engine and yet has little power so that George sent
              gangs of boys to the steep hills between the farm and the Mission to give us a push if
              necessary. Fortunately this time it was not, and the boys cheered us on our way. We
              needed their help on the homeward journey however.

              George has now bought an old Chev engine which he means to install before I
              have to go to hospital to have my new baby. It will be quite an engineering feet as
              George has few tools.

              I am sorry to say that I am still not well, something to do with kidneys or bladder.
              George bought me some pills from one of the several small shops which have opened
              in Mbeya and Ann is most interested in the result. She said seriously to Kath Wood,
              “Oh my Mummy is a very clever Mummy. She can do blue wee and green wee as well
              as yellow wee.” I simply can no longer manage the children without help and have
              engaged the cook’s wife, Janey, to help. The children are by no means thrilled. I plead in
              vain that I am not well enough to go for walks. Ann says firmly, “Ann doesn’t want to go
              for a walk. Ann will look after you.” Funny, though she speaks well for a three year old,
              she never uses the first person. Georgie say he would much rather walk with
              Keshokutwa, the kitchen boy. His name by the way, means day-after-tomorrow and it
              suits him down to the ground, Kath Wood walks over sometimes with offers of help and Ann will gladly go walking with her but Georgie won’t. He on the other hand will walk with Anne Molteno
              and Ann won’t. They are obstinate kids. Ann has developed a very fertile imagination.
              She has probably been looking at too many of those nice women’s magazines you
              sent. A few days ago she said, “You are sick Mummy, but Ann’s got another Mummy.
              She’s not sick, and my other mummy (very smugly) has lovely golden hair”. This
              morning’ not ten minutes after I had dressed her, she came in with her frock wet and
              muddy. I said in exasperation, “Oh Ann, you are naughty.” To which she instantly
              returned, “My other Mummy doesn’t think I am naughty. She thinks I am very nice.” It
              strikes me I shall have to get better soon so that I can be gay once more and compete
              with that phantom golden haired paragon.

              We had a very heavy storm over the farm last week. There was heavy rain with
              hail which stripped some of the coffee trees and the Mchewe River flooded and the
              water swept through the lower part of the shamba. After the water had receded George
              picked up a fine young trout which had been stranded. This was one of some he had
              put into the river when Georgie was a few months old.

              The trials of a coffee farmer are legion. We now have a plague of snails. They
              ring bark the young trees and leave trails of slime on the glossy leaves. All the ring
              barked trees will have to be cut right back and this is heartbreaking as they are bearing
              berries for the first time. The snails are collected by native children, piled upon the
              ground and bashed to a pulp which gives off a sickening stench. I am sorry for the local
              Africans. Locusts ate up their maize and now they are losing their bean crop to the snails.

              Lots of love, Eleanor

              #6178

              Nora woke to the sun streaming  in the little dormer window in the attic bedroom. She stretched under the feather quilt and her feet encountered the cool air, an intoxicating contrast to the snug warmth of the bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well and was reluctant to awaken fully and confront the day. She felt peaceful and rested, and oddly, at home.

              Unfortunately that thought roused her to sit and frown, and look around the room.  The dust was dancing in the sunbeams and rivulets of condensation trickled down the window panes.   A small statue of an owl was silhouetted on the sill, and a pitcher of dried herbs or flowers, strands of spider webs sparkled like silver thread between the desiccated buds.

              An old whicker chair in the corner was piled with folded blankets and bed linens, and the bookshelf behind it  ~ Nora threw back the covers and padded over to the books. Why were they all facing the wall?   The spines were at the back, with just the pages showing. Intrigued, Nora extracted a book to see what it was, just as a gentle knock sounded on the door.

              Yes? she said, turning, placing the book on top of the pile of bedclothes on the chair, her thoughts now on the events of the previous night.

              “I expect you’re ready for some coffee!” Will called brightly. Nora opened the door, smiling. What a nice man he was, making her so welcome, and such a pleasant evening they’d spent, drinking sweet home made wine and sharing stories.  It had been late, very late, when he’d shown her to her room.  Nora has been tempted to invite him in with her (very tempted if the truth be known) and wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t.

              “I slept so well!” she said, thanking him as he handed her the mug.  “It looks like a lovely day today,” she added brightly, and then frowned a little. She didn’t really want to leave.  She was supposed to continue her journey, of course she knew that.  But she really wanted to stay a little bit longer.

              “I’ve got a surprise planned for lunch,” he said, “and something I’d like to show you this morning.  No rush!”  he added with a twinkly smile.

              Nora beamed at him and promptly ditched any thoughts of continuing her trip today.

              “No rush” she repeated softly.

              #5988

              Shawn Paul looked suspiciously at the pictures of the dolls in the Michigan forest on Maeve’s phone. He had heard about the Cottingley Fairies pictures, supposedly taken a long time ago by two little girls. The two little girls came out long after confessing they had staged the whole thing. Some said they had been coerced into it to keep the world from knowing the truth. It could well be the same thing with the whole dollmania, and Shawn Paul thought one was never dubious enough.

              He noded politely to Maeve and decided to hide his doubts for now. They were resting on sunbeds near the hotel swimming pool.

              “Do you want another cocktail?” asked a waitress dressed up in the local costume. Not much really, and so close-fitting. She was presenting them with a tray of colourful drinks and a candid smile. Her bosom was on the brink of spilling over the band of cloth she had around her chest. It was decorated with a pair of parrots stretched in such a way their lubricious eyes threatening to pop out at any moment.

              Shawn Paul, who had the talent to see the odd and misplaced, forced himself to look at the tray and spotted the strangest one. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and asked without looking at the waitress.

              “What’s that strange bluish blob under the layers of alcohol and fruits?”

              Maeve raised one eyebrow and looked at her companion with disapproval, but the waitress answered as if she heard that all the time.

              “That’s a spoonful of honey from the blue bees. We feed them a special treat and they make us honey with remarkable properties that we have learned to use for the treatments we offer.”

              “Oh,” said Shawn Paul who did not dare ask more about the treatments.

              They had arrived to Tikfidjikoo just before the confinement had been declared all over the world, and they had a moment of hesitation to take the last plane with the other tourists and go back safely to Canada. But after the inconclusive adventure in Australia, Maeve had convinced him they had to stay to find out more about the dolls.

              They had met those three old ladies and one of them had one of the dolls. Sharon, Mavis and Gloria, they were called and they were going to a smaller island of the archipelago, one that was not even on the maps apparently. That should have given them suspicions, but it seemed so important to Maeve that Shawn Paul hadn’t had the heart to leave her alone.

              “I have a plan,” had said Maeve, “We’re going to follow them, befriend them and learn more about how they came to have the doll and try and get the key that’s inside of it.”

              “You’re here for the beauty treatment?” had asked the girl at the counter. “You’re lucky, with the confinement a lot of our reservations have been canceled. We have plenty of vacancy and some fantastic deals.”

              Maeve had enrolled them for a free week treatment before Shawn Paul could say anything. They hadn’t seen the ladies much since they had arrived on the island, and now there were no way in or out of the island. They had been assured they had plenty of food and alcohol and a lot of activities that could be fitted to everyone’s taste.

              #4818

              “Don’t you want to stay a little longer here?” Vincentius said to Arona after his bath in the hot springs of the Doline. Arona’s attention was caught by the dripping drops of water on the chiseled muscles, and took a while to answer.

              She stretched lazily on the deck chair, slightly disturbing Mandrake who was napping by her side. He rolled on his side and resumed his nap.

              “I don’t know, the place is nice enough. To speak true, it lacks a bit in decor and natural light; still… you wouldn’t find a nicer place to rest. Look at this white sandy beach… And to think that this pool connects to virtually anywhere, anywhen. Endless opportunities of explorations and travels are drawing you towards an adventure, don’t you think.”

              “I think I only live to please you, just say the word, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

              “Aw, you’ve always been good at sweet-talking me. Don’t get me wrong, I like our occasional flings… for lack of a better word, but I like my independence. I have to keep exploring myself.”

              Seeing a sadness fleeting in his eyes, she added “if only to meet you again and again.”

              #4773

              Albie, wake up, sweetie!”

              “He doesn’t seem to have been hit as hard as the others, yet, he doesn’t look very bright…” Mandrake said to Arona, with a hint of concern behind the usual snark.

              “It’ll take him a day or two to recover. This was a psychic attack the scale of which I haven’t seen before.” Arona was assessing the situation. Luckily for her, the old protective spells woven in the cloak that she’d used to make her hijab had protected her from it. Sanso seemed to have been hit more, although the effects varied and honestly, it was always a bit difficult to be a fair judge of his sanity or lack thereof.

              “Strange things happen around these keys.” Mandrake said pointing at the key that Arona was wearing around her neck. “Are you sure you still want to run around places finding the others? Especially after what Fergus said about them?”

              “I never knew you to pussy out like that” she said with a smile “where’s your sense of adventure?”

              “The point is, I wouldn’t know where to start. It was all supposed to be a simple recon mission, wasn’t it? But that energy surge… Something else entirely; maybe we should leave it to Ed Steam and his team.”

              Mandrake stretched lazily, and continued “I wouldn’t feel bad about them, seems they got the hang of living in a ghost town, they don’t need all the action to feel good. Might end up wake up the underground monsters, if you let them.”

              Arona sighed “You still have a few of these pearls left, do you? Then let’s give Albie a day or two to recuperate, and we’ll bring him back to the Doline.”

              “Oh, that’s smart. From the Doline’s vortex, it’ll be much easier to pick up the energy signature of the other keys, check if they haven’t been moved.”

              “Better pray that they haven’t been moved, or found.”

              #4707

              An unexpected shaman tart witch was looking and had spotted them coming from afar.

              Head Shaman Tart Witch, if you please.” She muttered in her breath, happy to break the fourth wall and all.

              The sun was already high and the air was sizzling ready to burst out like buttered pop corn.

              “A rather lame metaphor. You’ve done better.”

              The Head Shtart Witch, as we will call her later for brevity’s sake, was as tart as a sour lemon dipped in vinegar, and prone to talking to spirits, when not cackling in tittering fits of laughter, as shamans are wont to do.
              She was surprisingly in tune with the narrator’s voice this late in the day, considering it wasn’t her first bottle of… medicine she ingested today.

              “Voices are rather quiet, yes. I was expecting a bit more… quantity if you know what I mean.”

              The narrator had absolutely no idea of what she meant, not discontent with the quantity per se.

              Three in quantity, they came, looking for her. A girl, visibly in charge, although a bit hard to tell either, buried into the baggy hood and all.

              “The star-studded stockings under the striped red and white trousers were a bit of a give-away though… she was a she, and a bossy pants to boot.” the Head Schwtich replied.

              “And don’t take advantage to maim my full name… Jeeze, they’re so lazy these days. Can’t even spell right.”

              Ignoring the rude comments, the narrator continued.
              Then, a man, a bit namby-pamby with the gait of a devil-may-care goat at that.
              And a boy, on the threshold of manhood, with lots of red hair and freckles he could have put the bush on fire.

              “You have forgotten the gecko… and the cat.”

              The cat wasn’t forgotten of course, but was it technically a cat, with the talking and all? Poor thing had ill-fitted boots (probably a clearance sale from the Jiborium’s), so that it wouldn’t burn its pads on the red hot trail. It seemed stubborn enough to refuse being carried, although not confident enough about the surrounding life in the bush to stop checking every minute for all that crawled and crept around.

              “That’s why they’re here. The protective charms. That, and the jeep of course.”

              The Twitch seemed to know everything so the narrator felt it would probably best to let her finish the comment.

              “Oh, don’t you start. That passive aggressive attitude isn’t going to get your story done, is it. And it’s not like I’m going to follow them in their dangerous and futile quest. It’s your job, better get to it.”

              Indeed, she was only just a sour, old, decrepit…
              “You stop that!”

              :fleuron:

              “Is that her hut?” Albie pointed at the horizon.
              “Yes, I think we’re there.” Arona looked at the compass she’d put around Albie’s neck. “Yes, that’s it.”

              Sanso yawned and stretched lazily “I hope they have a hot shower now, I feel so dirty.”

              Arona chose to ignore Sanso and let him gesticulate. They’d only walked for less than 15 minutes, and the perspective of few more hours of driving with him breathing down her neck started to give her murderous thoughts.

              She turned to the team. “Listen, whatever happens, don’t make rude remarks, even if she seems a bit… unhinged.”

              “Are you talking about the crazy lady with the chameleon on her head, who talks to herself and looks like she hadn’t got a bath in a century?”

              “That’s what I meant Sanso.” Arona rolled her eyes in a secret signature move she owned the secret of. “Listen, it would be better for everyone if you’d stay here and stop talking until we get the keys to the jeep, alright.”

              Luckily for all of them, a little sage smudging and a bakchich in kind sealed the deal with the HEAD Shaman Tart Witch, and less than an hour later, with the mountain at their back, they were all barreling at breakneck speed down the lone road towards the Old Mine Town.

              That’s where the Inn was, now starting to crawl with unexpected guests and long lost family members.

              #4681

              The path ahead was blocked. Repeatedly.

              Some filter was preventing him to access the path, and move forward.

              He wished he had an oiliphant, or something equally powerful that could blast through. But more subtle measures were required. The evil that blocked his path was a different kind of monster, something built on inaction, and slow decay. One would exhaust oneself to argue with it, and moving it with force would only ensure its full and entirely focused resistance.
              Patience and proper action, in a flow like water. It was more than a magical mantra, it should be a way of life.

              Rukshan had looked at his options, and the map he found only confirmed what he had surmised so far. There were three barmkins, old defensive enclosures that hindered his way out of the Zaunoff Camp Fort, the Southern outpost leading to the safety of the Forest’s outer groves.

              Tackling the first wall would test his resolve, but he was ready. He removed his cloak, stretched his back and cracked his knuckles.

              Move like water

              The creeping ivy and catsfoot flowers started to react and whisper in the wind.

              A hole? There was a hole in the old wall, and with some chance, the plants would lead him through.

              #4677

              There were strong wind currents when they passed above land, drafts of warm air competing with each other, and it took some skill to land the Jiborium Air Express without any damage.

              Albie was impressed as he observed Arona swinging between cordages, pushing the levers for added hot air, or throwing away some ballast to adjust their elevation.

              “It’s incredible the distance we can travel without refueling,” he mused aloud. As if Australia’s coasts weren’t huge enough, their travel inland seemed to have stretched for days. Sanso had been seasick most of the time, and at first Arona thought his retching was just emotion sickness, but it was only motion after all.

              “The secret is in the lard, boy. It burns longer.” Sanso said, before reaching for a bucket.
              He resumed. “Arona could have taken a Zeppelin you know, the Emporium always used to have few spares, they’re so much more comfortable, and still quite affordable.”

              “Guess your comfort wasn’t the priority, nor were you expected, were you?” Mandrake was in a somber mood, well, somberer than usual.
              “Mmh, someone’s sprightly today! Guess it doesn’t have anything to do with Ugo the gecko, does it?”

              The bickering continued a while longer after all the landing was done, and the balloon was folded back in a neat package.

              Mandrake! are you coming, or do you prefer to argument to death under the sun?”
              “Of course I’m coming.” The cat stretched and jumped on his feet, with Albie in tow.

              “Before we venture further in Mutitjulu land, we’ll need to seek permission from the local shaman.” Arona said.
              Noticing the boy, she asked “Aren’t your parents going to be concerned, you seem a little far from home!”

              “We can still send them a postcard?” he answered tentatively. “It’ll be like a quest, a rite of passage for me. After that, I’ll be a man in my village!”

              “Well, when you have had enough, let me know. I think most bodies of water are connected to the Doline, I can just send a magical trace with the last pearls to guide you home.”

              “That is kind and generous, Milady. Thank you.”

              “So what is our quest?” Sanso seemed to creep out of the shadows where he was lurking.

              “I don’t know about you Sir,” Albie jumped, “but mine is clear now. I am at Milady’s… and Milord’s (he added for Mandrake) service.”

              “Well, that won’t surely get us run in circles now.” Mandrake sniggered. He turned to Arona who was already ready to trek in the rocks and sand. “What about you? Has your quest anything to do with that key you got?”

              #4661

              A small gecko head showed up from Arona’s hood. It seemed to shout loudly, but to Mandrake it sounded just like the compelling sound of a mouse. His instinct were stronger and he stretched his paw to catch it, but Arona was quicker.
              “Don’t think of it. Ugo the gecko helped me get out of that labyrinthine doline the other day. I don’t quite understand what he says, but I think he’s a bit jealous when I cuddle people… or cats.”

              #4404
              AvatarJib
              Participant

                Liz left her bed at 8:30am, wearing only her pink and blue doubled cotton night gown, a perfect hair and her fluffy pink blue mules. She had been thinking about her characters while the sun was trying to rise with great difficulty. Liz couldn’t blame the Sun as temperatures had dropped dramatically since the beginning of winter and the air outside was really cold.

                When Liz was thinking about her writings and her characters, she usually felt hungry. Someone had told her once that the brain was a hungry organ and that you needed fuel to make it work properly. She didn’t have a sweet tooth, but she wouldn’t say no to some cheesy toast, any time of the day.

                She had heard some noise coming from the kitchen, certainly Finnley doing who knows what, although certainly not cleaning. It might be the association between thinking about her characters and the noise in the kitchen that triggered her sudden craving for a melted slice of cheese on top of a perfectly burnished toast. The idea sufficed to make her stomach growl.

                She chuckled as she thought of inventing a new genre, the toast opera. Or was it a cackle?

                As she was lost in her morning musings, her mules gave that muffled slippery sound on the floor that Finnley found so unladylike. Liz didn’t care, she even deliberately slowed her pace. The slippery sound took on another dimension, extended and stretched to the limit of what was bearable even for herself. Liz grinned, thinking about Finnley’s slight twitching right eye as she certainly was trying to keep her composure in the kitchen.

                Liz, all cheerful, was testing the differences between a chuckle and a cackle when she entered the kitchen. She was about to ask Finnley what she thought about it when she saw a small person in a yellow tunic and green pants, washing the dishes.

                Liz stopped right there, forgetting all about chuckles and cackles and even toasts.

                “Where is Finnley?” she asked, not wanting to appear the least surprised. The small person turned her head toward Liz, still managing to keep on washing the dishes. It was a girl, obviously from India.

                “Good morning, Ma’am. I’m Anna, the new maid only.”

                “The new… maid?”

                Liz suddenly felt panic crawling behind her perfectly still face. She didn’t want to think about the implications.

                “Why don’t you use the dishwasher?” she asked, proud that she could keep the control of her voice despite her hunger, her questions about chuckles and cackles, and…

                “The dirty dishes are very less, there is no need to use the dishwasher only.”

                Liz looked at her bobbing her head sideways as if the spring had been mounted the wrong way.

                “Are you alright?” asked Anna with a worried look.

                “Of course, dear. Make me a toast with a slice of cheese will you?”

                “How do I do that?”

                “Well you take the toaster and you put the slice of bread inside and pushed the lever down… Have you never prepared toasts before?”

                “No, but yes, but I need to know how you like it only. I want to make it perfect for your liking, otherwise you won’t be satisfied.” The maid suddenly looked lost and anxious.

                “Just do as you usually do,” said Liz. “Goddfrey?” she called, leaving the kitchen before the maid could ask anymore questions.

                Where was Goddfrey when she needed him to explain everything?

                “You need me?” asked a voice behind her. He had appeared from nowhere, as if he could walk through the walls or teleport. Anyway, she never thought she would be so relieved to see him.

                “What’s that in the kitchen?”

                “What’s what? Oh! You mean her. The new maid.”

                He knew! Liz felt a strange blend of frustration, despair and anger. She took mental note to remember it for her next chapter, and came back to her emotional turmoil. Was she the only one unaware of such a bit change in her home?

                “Well, she followed us when we were in India. We don’t know how, but she managed to find a place in one of your trunks. Finnley found her as she had the porter unpacked the load. It seems she wants to help.”

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