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    TracyTracy
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      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

        #6255
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          My Grandparents

          George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995

          Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Utrillo

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

          #6253
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            My Grandparents Kitchen

            My grandmother used to have golden syrup in her larder, hanging on the white plastic coated storage rack that was screwed to the inside of the larder door. Mostly the larder door was left propped open with an old flat iron, so you could see the Heinz ketchup and home made picallilli (she made a particularly good picallili), the Worcester sauce and the jar of pickled onions, as you sat at the kitchen table.

            If you were sitting to the right of the kitchen table you could see an assortment of mismatched crockery, cups and bowls, shoe cleaning brushes, and at the back, tiny tins of baked beans and big ones of plum tomatoes,  and normal sized tins of vegetable and mushroom soup.  Underneath the little shelves that housed the tins was a blue plastic washing up bowl with a few onions, some in, some out of the yellow string bag they came home from the expensive little village supermarket in.

            There was much more to the left in the awkward triangular shape under the stairs, but you couldn’t see under there from your seat at the kitchen table.  You could see the shelf above the larder door which held an ugly china teapot of graceless modern lines, gazed with metallic silver which was wearing off in places. Beside the teapot sat a serving bowl, squat and shapely with little handles, like a flattened Greek urn, in white and reddish brown with flecks of faded gilt. A plain white teapot completed the trio, a large cylindrical one with neat vertical ridges and grooves.

            There were two fridges under the high shallow wooden wall cupboard.  A waist high bulbous old green one with a big handle that pulled out with a clunk, and a chest high sleek white one with a small freezer at the top with a door of its own.  On the top of the fridges were biscuit and cracker tins, big black keys, pencils and brittle yellow notepads, rubber bands and aspirin value packs and a bottle of Brufen.  There was a battered old maroon spectacle case and a whicker letter rack, letters crammed in and fanning over the top.  There was always a pile of glossy advertising pamphlets and flyers on top of the fridges, of the sort that were best put straight into the tiny pedal bin.

            My grandmother never lined the pedal bin with a used plastic bag, nor with a specially designed plastic bin liner. The bin was so small that the flip top lid was often gaping, resting on a mound of cauliflower greens and soup tins.  Behind the pedal bin, but on the outer aspect of the kitchen wall, was the big black dustbin with the rubbery lid. More often than not, the lid was thrust upwards. If Thursday when the dustbin men came was several days away, you’d wish you hadn’t put those newspapers in, or those old shoes!  You stood in the softly drizzling rain in your slippers, the rubbery sheild of a lid in your left hand and the overflowing pedal bin in the other.  The contents of the pedal bin are not going to fit into the dustbin.  You sigh, put the pedal bin and the dustbin lid down, and roll up your sleeves ~ carefully, because you’ve poked your fingers into a porridge covered teabag.  You grab the sides of the protruding black sack and heave. All being well,  the contents should settle and you should have several inches more of plastic bag above the rim of the dustbin.  Unless of course it’s a poor quality plastic bag in which case your fingernail will go through and a horizontal slash will appear just below rubbish level.  Eventually you upend the pedal bin and scrape the cigarette ash covered potato peelings into the dustbin with your fingers. By now the fibres of your Shetland wool jumper are heavy with damp, just like the fuzzy split ends that curl round your pale frowning brow.  You may push back your hair with your forearm causing the moisture to bead and trickle down your face, as you turn the brass doorknob with your palm and wrist, tea leaves and cigarette ash clinging unpleasantly to your fingers.

            The pedal bin needs rinsing in the kitchen sink, but the sink is full of mismatched saucepans, some new in shades of harvest gold, some battered and mishapen in stainless steel and aluminium, bits of mashed potato stuck to them like concrete pebbledash. There is a pale pink octagonally ovoid shallow serving dish and a little grey soup bowl with a handle like a miniature pottery saucepan decorated with kitcheny motifs.

            The water for the coffee bubbles in a suacepan on the cream enamelled gas cooker. My grandmother never used a kettle, although I do remember a heavy flame orange one. The little pan for boiling water had a lip for easy pouring and a black plastic handle.

            The steam has caused the condensation on the window over the sink to race in rivulets down to the fablon coated windowsill.  The yellow gingham curtains hang limply, the left one tucked behind the back of the cooker.

            You put the pedal bin back it it’s place below the tea towel holder, and rinse your mucky fingers under the tap. The gas water heater on the wall above you roars into life just as you turn the tap off, and disappointed, subsides.

            As you lean over to turn the cooker knob, the heat from the oven warms your arm. The gas oven was almost always on, the oven door open with clean tea towels and sometimes large white pants folded over it to air.

            The oven wasn’t the only heat in my grandparents kitchen. There was an electric bar fire near the red formica table which used to burn your legs. The kitchen table was extended by means of a flap at each side. When I was small I wasn’t allowed to snap the hinge underneath shut as my grandmother had pinched the skin of her palm once.

            The electric fire was plugged into the same socket as the radio. The radio took a minute or two to warm up when you switched it on, a bulky thing with sharp seventies edges and a reddish wood effect veneer and big knobs.  The light for my grandfathers workshop behind the garage (where he made dentures) was plugged into the same socket, which had a big heavy white three way adaptor in. The plug for the washing machine was hooked by means of a bit of string onto a nail or hook so that it didn’t fall down behing the washing machine when it wasn’t plugged in. Everything was unplugged when it wasn’t in use.  Sometimes there was a shrivelled Christmas cactus on top of the radio, but it couldn’t hide the adaptor and all those plugs.

            Above the washing machine was a rhomboid wooden wall cupboard with sliding frsoted glass doors.  It was painted creamy gold, the colour of a nicotine stained pub ceiling, and held packets of Paxo stuffing and little jars of Bovril and Marmite, packets of Bisto and a jar of improbably red Maraschino cherries.

            The nicotine coloured cupboard on the opposite wall had half a dozen large hooks screwed under the bottom shelf. A variety of mugs and cups hung there when they weren’t in the bowl waiting to be washed up. Those cupboard doors seemed flimsy for their size, and the thin beading on the edge of one door had come unstuck at the bottom and snapped back if you caught it with your sleeve.  The doors fastened with a little click in the centre, and the bottom of the door reverberated slightly as you yanked it open. There were always crumbs in the cupboard from the numerous packets of bisucits and crackers and there was always an Allbran packet with the top folded over to squeeze it onto the shelf. The sugar bowl was in there, sticky grains like sandpaper among the biscuit crumbs.

            Half of one of the shelves was devoted to medicines: grave looking bottles of codeine linctus with no nonsense labels,  brown glass bottles with pills for rheumatism and angina.  Often you would find a large bottle, nearly full, of Brewers yeast or vitamin supplements with a dollar price tag, souvenirs of the familys last visit.  Above the medicines you’d find a faded packet of Napolitana pasta bows or a dusty packet of muesli. My grandparents never used them but she left them in the cupboard. Perhaps the dollar price tags and foreign foods reminded her of her children.

            If there had been a recent visit you would see monstrous jars of Sanka and Maxwell House coffee in there too, but they always used the coffee.  They liked evaporated milk in their coffee, and used tins and tins of “evap” as they called it. They would pour it over tinned fruit, or rhubard crumble or stewed apples.

            When there was just the two of them, or when I was there as well, they’d eat at the kitchen table. The table would be covered in a white embroidered cloth and the food served in mismatched serving dishes. The cutlery was large and bent, the knife handles in varying shades of bone. My grandfathers favourite fork had the tip of each prong bent in a different direction. He reckoned it was more efficient that way to spear his meat.  He often used to chew his meat and then spit it out onto the side of his plate. Not in company, of course.  I can understand why he did that, not having eaten meat myself for so long. You could chew a piece of meat for several hours and still have a stringy lump between your cheek and your teeth.

            My grandfather would always have a bowl of Allbran with some Froment wheat germ for his breakfast, while reading the Daily Mail at the kitchen table.  He never worse slippers, always shoes indoors,  and always wore a tie.  He had lots of ties but always wore a plain maroon one.  His shirts were always cream and buttoned at throat and cuff, and eventually started wearing shirts without detachable collars. He wore greeny grey trousers and a cardigan of the same shade most of the time, the same colour as a damp English garden.

            The same colour as the slimy green wooden clothes pegs that I threw away and replaced with mauve and fuschia pink plastic ones.  “They’re a bit bright for up the garden, aren’t they,” he said.  He was right. I should have ignored the green peg stains on the laundry.  An English garden should be shades of moss and grassy green, rich umber soil and brick red walls weighed down with an atmosphere of dense and heavy greyish white.

            After Grandma died and Mop had retired (I always called him Mop, nobody knows why) at 10:00am precisely Mop would  have a cup of instant coffee with evap. At lunch, a bowl of tinned vegetable soup in his special soup bowl, and a couple of Krackawheat crackers and a lump of mature Cheddar. It was a job these days to find a tasty cheddar, he’d say.

            When he was working, and he worked until well into his seventies, he took sandwiches. Every day he had the same sandwich filling: a combination of cheese, peanut butter and marmite.  It was an unusal choice for an otherwise conventional man.  He loved my grandmothers cooking, which wasn’t brilliant but was never awful. She was always generous with the cheese in cheese sauces and the meat in meat pies. She overcooked the cauliflower, but everyone did then. She made her gravy in the roasting pan, and made onion sauce, bread sauce, parsley sauce and chestnut stuffing.  She had her own version of cosmopolitan favourites, and called her quiche a quiche when everyone was still calling it egg and bacon pie. She used to like Auntie Daphne’s ratatouille, rather exotic back then, and pronounced it Ratta Twa.  She made pizza unlike any other, with shortcrust pastry smeared with tomato puree from a tube, sprinkled with oregano and great slabs of cheddar.

            The roast was always overdone. “We like our meat well done” she’d say. She’d walk up the garden to get fresh mint for the mint sauce and would announce with pride “these runner beans are out of the garding”. They always grew vegetables at the top of the garden, behind the lawn and the silver birch tree.  There was always a pudding: a slice of almond tart (always with home made pastry), a crumble or stewed fruit. Topped with evap, of course.

            #6226
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Border Straddlers of The Midlands

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

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

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

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

              #6220
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Helper Belper: “Let’s start at the beginning.”

                When I found a huge free genealogy tree website with lots of our family already on it, I couldn’t believe my luck. Quite soon after a perusal, I found I had a number of questions. Was it really possible that our Warren family tree had been traced back to 500AD? I asked on a genealogy forum: only if you can latch onto an aristocratic line somewhere, in which case that lineage will be already documented, as normally parish records only go back to the 1600s, if you are lucky. It is very hard to prove and the validity of it met with some not inconsiderable skepticism among the long term hard core genealogists. This is not to say that it isn’t possible, but is more likely a response to the obvious desire of many to be able to trace their lineage back to some kind of royalty, regardless of the documentation and proof.

                Another question I had on this particular website was about the entries attached to Catherine Housley that made no sense. The immense public family tree there that anyone can add to had Catherine Housley’s mother as Catherine Marriot. But Catherine Marriot had another daughter called Catherine, two years before our Catherine was born, who didn’t die beforehand. It wasn’t unusual to name another child the same name if an earlier one had died in infancy, but this wasn’t the case.

                I asked this question on a British Genealogy forum, and learned that other people’s family trees are never to be trusted. One should always start with oneself, and trace back with documentation every step of the way. Fortified with all kinds of helpful information, I still couldn’t find out who Catherine Housley’s mother was, so I posted her portrait on the forum and asked for help to find her. Among the many helpful replies, one of the members asked if she could send me a private message. She had never had the urge to help someone find a person before, but felt a compulsion to find Catherine Housley’s mother. Eight months later and counting at time of writing, and she is still my most amazing Helper. The first thing she said in the message was “Right. Let’s start at the beginning. What do you know for sure.” I said Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, my great grandmother, and we started from there.

                Fran found all the documentation and proof, a perfect and necessary compliment to my own haphazard meanderings. She taught me how to find the proof, how to spot inconsistencies, and what to look for and where.  I still continue my own haphazard wanderings as well, which also bear fruit.

                It was decided to order the birth certificate, a paper copy that could be stuck onto the back of the portrait, so my mother in Wales ordered it as she has the portrait. When it arrived, she read the names of Catherine’s parents to me over the phone. We were expecting it to be John Housley and Sarah Baggaley. But it wasn’t! It was his brother Samuel Housley and Elizabeth Brookes! I had been looking at the photograph of the portrait thinking it was Catherine Marriot, then looking at it thinking her name was Sarah Baggaley, and now the woman in the portrait was Elizabeth Brookes. And she was from Wolverhampton. My helper, unknown to me, had ordered a digital copy, which arrived the same day.

                Months later, Fran, visiting friends in Derby,  made a special trip to Smalley, a tiny village not far from Derby, to look for Housley gravestones in the two churchyards.  There are numerous Housley burials registered in the Smalley parish records, but she could only find one Housley grave, that of Sarah Baggaley.  Unfortunately the documentation had already proved that Sarah was not the woman in the portrait, Catherine Housley’s mother, but Catherine’s aunt.

                Sarah Housley nee Baggaley’s grave stone in Smalley:

                Sarah Housley Grave

                #6155

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

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

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

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

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

                #6151

                Grandpa Bob loved the sound of the kettle whistling. Cheery, he thought as he turned the flame off. Companionable.
                He shuffled to the kitchen door. “Clara, cuppa?” he shouted down the hallway but there was no reply. Maybe she wasn’t up yet—it had been a long trip for her yesterday. Perhaps he could make her up a tray, although she’d probably say he was fussing.
                Just then he heard VanGogh barking from the garden. He drew back the curtain and peered out the kitchen window. There she was! Way down the back digging in the vegetable garden. Bless her soul. Must have got started early on that weeding. She was saying she would last night. Grandpa, you really need to get some help around the place! she’d scolded.
                Clara, love!” he shouted. Damn dog was making such a racket she didn’t hear him. Nothing for it but to go out there. He chuckled, thinking how she’d probably scold him again for wandering around outside in his pyjamas. Bossy little thing she could be. But a good girl coming all this way to visit him.
                He slipped on his outdoor shoes and slowly made his way down the path to the vegetable garden. VanGogh bounded over to him and Grandpa Bob gave him a pat. “What are you two up to out here, eh VanGogh?” But Clara was so engrossed on her phone she didn’t even glance up. He was about to call out to her again when he saw what she’d dug up and the words stuck in his throat. He let out a small cry.

                #6129

                In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                “Clearly,what we do next, my friend, is free the middle-aged lady,” Tara smiled smugly.”First rule, notwithstanding that I hate rules, if you don’t know what to do, do what you do know what to do, even if you don’t want to do it because at least you’ve done something.”

                “Is that a Lemone quote?” asked Star. “Haven’t heard much of him lately.”

                “No, I made it up myself.”

                “Oh, well … I’m too tired to do anything.You do it, Tara.”

                “No, you do it! Lazy tart.”

                “I’ll do it!” says Rosamund, appearing from nowhere and bounding over to the wardrobe. “I want to borrow her lippy again.” She tugged at the door. “It seems to be stuck.”

                “Let Star try,” said Tara. “She goes to the gym.”

                “It does seem to be rather stuck,” said Star said after a few minutes of fruitless tugging. She knocked on the door of the wardrobe. “Excuse me, are you there? Excuse me … dreadfully sorry about all this.” There was no reply.

                “Dead,” said Tara. “Darn it.”

                Undaunted, Star tried again. After a particularly spirited tug, the door flew open and Star fell backwards. “She’s gone! But she left a note. Thank you, Ladies for your hospitality. This is a clue. At 4pm Thursday, go to the cafe on Main street. Vince French will be there..”

                Tara gasped. “Who was she? That seemingly innocuous middle-aged lady.”

                “Perhaps we will never know,” said Star.

                #6117

                Well. I did it. I made my escape. I had to! Nobody came for three days and I’d run out of biscuits. Thank the lord my hip wasn’t playing up. I decided not to take anything with me, figuring I could just steal things off washing lines when I wanted a change of clothes.  I’ve always hated carrying heavy bags.  I reckoned it would look less conspicuous, too. Just an old dear popping out for digestive perambulation. Nobody suspects old dears of anything, not unless they’re dragging a suitcase round, and I had no intention of doing that. I did put a couple of spare masks in my pocket though, you can’t be too careful these days. And it would help with the disguise.  I didn’t want any do gooders trying to catch me and take me back to that place.

                I had the presence of mind to wear good stout walking shoes and not my pink feather mules, even though it was a wrench to say goodbye to them.  I used to love to see them peeping out from under my bath robe. One day I might strike lucky and find another pair.

                I’ve been eating like a king, better than ever!  I accidentally coughed on someones burger one day, and they dropped it and ran away, and I thought to myself, well there’s an idea. I stuck to random snacks in the street at first and then one day I fancied a Chinese so I thought, well why not give it a try.   Coughed all over his brown bag of prawn crackers as he walked out of the restaurant and he put the whole takeaway in the nearest bin. Piping hot meal for six! Even had that expensive crispy duck!

                Tonight I fancy sushi.  Wish I’d thought of this trick years ago, I said to myself the other day, then my other self said, yeah but it wouldn’t have worked so well before the plague.

                Not having much luck with the washing lines though, lazy sods either not doing any laundry or putting it all in the dryer. Weeks of sunny weather as well, the lazy bastards.  Lazy and wasteful!  You should see the clothes they throw in the clothes bank bins!  If the bins are full you can get your arm in and pull out the ones on the top.  I change outfits a dozen times a day some days if I’m in the mood.   I do sometimes get an urge to keep something if I like it but I’m sticking to my guns and being ruthless about not carrying anything with me.

                #6106

                In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                Rosamund gaped at her aunt.  “Really, Auntie April? Wow!” She leaped up, not noticing her aunt smirk, and climbed into the wardrobe.

                Seizing the moment, April tossed her pizza aside and sprang over to to the wardrobe door, slammed it shut and turned the key.  Leaning her back on the locked door, she smiled triumphantly.

                The office door opened slowly, due to the melted cheese stuck on the carpet that had slid down the door when the pizza hit it.  Fortunately for April the door got stuck on an olive, providing a valuable few seconds in which to grab the broom and flee to the rest room before Star and Tara entered the room.

                “Don’t let me out until April!” a muffled voice joined the banging sounds coming from the wardrobe.

                “The client is still in the wardrobe!” Tara said, exasperated. “And where the hell is Rosamund? She was supposed to let that woman out! Useless, that’s what she is.”

                “Just ignore her until Rosamund comes back. Sounds like she’s gone a bit mental already anyway. Why does she want to stay in there until April? It’s months away.”

                “I’m going home, it’s been a long day. Come on, let’s leave a note for Rosamund to deal with it. She took long enough off work, now it’s our turn.”  Star didn’t need any more persuading.

                #6076

                “Let’s begin,” said the teacher. She was short and seemed around sixty seven. She walked around the room like a tamer surrounded by wild beasts in a circus. Her dark hair was tied into a long braid falling on her straight back like an I. She wore a sari wrapped around her neatly. “I’m Ms Anika Koskinen, your cryogurt teacher today. You’ve got the recipe in front of you on the benches right with the glass and a bottle of water. The ingredients will be in the cabinets on your left and everything is referenced and written big enough for everyone to see.”

                “Those benches look like the ones in chemistry class when I was in college,” said Glo. “I have bad memories of thoses.”

                “You have bad memories, that’s all,” said Sha making them both laugh.

                “But where’s Mavis?” whispered Glo after looking around the room at the other participants. A majority of women,  wrapped in colourful sarongs and a few older men.

                “How do you want me to know? I was with you since we left the bungalow,” said Sharon who was trying to decipher the blurry letters on the recipe. “Their printer must be malfunctioning, it’s unreadable.”

                “You should try putting on your glasses.”

                “I didn’t bring’em, didn’t think we’d need to see anything.”

                “Oh! There she is,” said Glo as Mavis just entered the room with her beach bag. “Mav! Weehoo! We’re here!”

                “I saw you! no need to shout,” whispered Mavis loudly. She muttered some excuse to the teacher who had been giving them a stern look.

                “I’m afraid you’ll have to go with your friends,” said Ms Koskinen, “We don’t have enough material for everyone.”

                “Oh! That’ll be perfect,” said Mavis with a broad smile. “Hi girls,” she said while installing herself near Sha and Glo.

                The teacher resumed her explanations of the procedure of making frozen yogurt, checking regularly if everyone had understood. She took everyone bobbing their head as a yes.

                “Is he good looking?” asked Sha, showing one of the men who had been looking at them since Mavis arrival.

                “You shouldn’t ask us,” said Glo, “our eyes are like wrinkles remover apps.”

                “I think he looks better without glasses,” said Mavis.

                After Ms Koskinen had finished giving them instructions, she told everyone to go take the ingredients and bring them back to their benches.

                “I’m going,” said Sha who wanted to have a better look at the man.

                “Don’t forget the recipe with the list of ingredients,” said Mavis waving the paper at her.

                “Oh! Yes.”

                She came back with the man helping her carry the tray of ingredients.

                “Thank you Andrew,” said Sha when he put the tray on their bench.

                “Oh you’re welcome. And those are your friend you told me about?”

                “Yes! This is Gloria and this is Mavis.”

                “Pleased to meet you,” said Andrew. “I’m Andrew Anderson. I suggested Sharon we could have lunch together after the workshop. I’d like you to meet my friends.”

                “Of course!” said Sha. She winked at her friends who were too flabbergasted to speak.

                “That’s settled then. We’ll meet at 1pm at my bungalow.”

                “See you later,” said Sharon with a dulcet voice.

                “What the butt was that all about?” asked Glo.

                “Oh! You’ll thank me. I pretexted not to be able to find everything on the list and Andrew was very helpful. The man is charming, and his yacht makes you forget about his Australian accent. We’re going to have lunch on a yacht girls! That means we’re not stuck on the beach and can have some fun exploring around.”

                Sha looked quite pleased with herself. She put a bottle of orange powder among the ingredients and said :”Now! Let’s make some wrinkle flattener ice cream, ladies. I took some extra tightener.”

                #5999

                Barron wasn’t one to let a call for help unanswered.

                Yes, Barron, not the wee prodigee from the Beige House that he enjoyed possessing, but the demon summoned from Hell.
                It had all been a big misunderstanding, as they all say in the end. He, for one, would have thought the ride more fun. He usually wasn’t summoned for anything short of an apocalypse. That’s what the big elite cabale had promised him.

                Oh well, maybe he shouldn’t have eaten them in their sleep. He couldn’t say no to the fresh taste of unrepentant sharks and sinners. Since then, he’d been a bit stuck with the big Lump. He would have thought he’d be more competent at the whole Armageddon thing.

                Back in the past, now that was something, the Crusades, the plague and all. So much fun. Gilles de Rais, well, he took it too far, blaming monsters for his own horrendous sins. Nowadays, people didn’t really need direction, did they? They were all too happy to ride barrelling out of control towards chaos and certain death. His job was done, he would be a legend down there, and still he felt like a fraud.

                So what could he do? His plan for eternal holidays in Mexico while starting a cartel war had been sadly derailed. His mercurial and weirdo nannies had disappeared leaving him alone. Plus, the voodoo witch he met during their escape had been on his ass the whole time, he’d seen the eye she’d given him. Wouldn’t mess around with that one; can’t possess people against their will and risk a merciless lawyer from Heavens, can we. Heavens’ lawyers were the nastiest of pains.

                He was about to abandon all hope when he’d heard the pleas from the French maid and her child. Well, she sounded too whimsical and high maintenance. But it gave him an idea. With all the death around, there were plenty of near dead people to possess who wouldn’t mind a last ride,… and funny bargains to be made.

                #5972

                In reply to: Story Bored

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Board 3, Story 2:
                  Sophie: “Jesus! What happened to our legs! They’re so skinny I can hardly see them!”
                  Barbara: “Smart, trying to outdo my beehive with a palm tree Sophie. But you’ll know who’s the boss here.”
                  Glor: “I got sand stuck everywhere, somebody help!

                  India Louise: “Cuthbert, when you’re done with your funny hairy pajamas, you should get tested, that green blob of snot you made on the waxed floor does look terribly suspicious.”
                  The squirrel: “That scene’s too cute, I’m at a loss for quip.”

                  #5834
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Shaking, Liz wiped the egg yolk out of the corner of her eye. The beer that was gluing her hair into sticky clumps would have to wait. She flicked a half sausage off the corner of her desk with a tremulous sigh and sat down. Her noble features creased into a momentary visage of despair when she saw the bacon, but her natural stoicism corrected her expression as she picked the rasher up between her thumb and finger, removed if from her keyboard and blithely flicked it over her shoulder.

                    Roberto, standing silently behind her, ducked nimbly as the greasy slab flew past.  It stuck to the French window briefly and then slithered down, leaving a snail trail of lard.

                    Liz cleared her throat and looked sternly at each of them in turn.

                    “What,” she said, her voice cracking, “What next? Whatever next?”

                    “A whale, maybe?” asked Godfrey with a lop sided smirk.

                    #5814

                    Day 2

                    I feel sick in my stomach. Been days actually. Got to try something new, and a line a day seems like a good start.

                    Had dreams last night, it was months I didn’t get any. Nothing really out of the mundane, though I was selling the house in one of the dreams. 

                    To think we’re still stuck on this nightmarish cruise, nor on land nor on water, and I dream of the house. The brain has a sense of humour. 

                    The walls are paper thin, we can hear the endless complains of the nearby cruisers. That’s two left, one right, 3 across the corridor, and at least 2 above and below — that I can count at least. I call them my voices, makes me laugh a little. I didn’t tell Lorel, she would call me barmy. I thought of giving them numbers, it’s like reducing the complexity of human nature to something more… geometric? Reduce them to lines of code, maybe you can hack into the collective mind, make it work for you.

                    I think one of the voice is a pirate. It’s coughing Awwr, arr, arr more and more now. I’ll call him Eleven. Won’t be long before they catch him and isolate him. Good thing he’s the guy under and not above, from what I hear, the thing spreads through the loos too. Maybe he’ll make a run for it, I heard some tried to escape this hellhole. Well, they missed the free booze vouchers, too bad for them. 

                    So long journal, wife is coming back from her trip to the other room. Yeah, I mean the loo, don’t you enjoy promiscuity. We’re not rolling in dough, couldn’t afford the presidential suite you see. Maybe if we survive longer than everybody else, it’ll be ours, who knows…

                    #5606
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Aunt Idle:

                      I wish now that I’d had the sense to open the letter in private. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of that, but I didn’t. I tried not to make a drama out of it, I didn’t make an announcement or anything. One morning after breakfast I untied the string and opened the letter. It wasn’t any of the things I had expected.  Clearly printed in large capital letters at the top was written DON’T TELL MATER.

                      Quickly I folded it over, dropping it discreetly into my lap under the table.   “Any more nettle tea in the pot, Bert?” I asked and feigned a casual yawn.

                      “Well?” asked Mater.

                      “Well what?” I asked.

                      “I can read you like a book,” she said, to which I replied hotly, “Well then I won’t need to write one, will I.”

                      “What did the letter say?” she pressed on.

                      “What letter?” I said

                      “For crying out loud!” she said.

                      “Pass your cup then,” said Bert, giving me a piercing look. Over the top of Mater’s head he mouthed a word, with a questioning look. I’ve never been any good at lip reading, but it looked like he was trying to say Jasper.

                      “Who?” I mouthed back, but Mater saw me, so I pretended I had a bit of nettle stuck between my teeth.

                      “For crying out loud,”  Mater said again which elicited an exasperated remark from Bert about broken records, open books, unread letters and lost marbles.

                      #4858
                      EricEric
                      Keymaster

                        “Well, where were we?” Jerk took the articles where he left them when he got up to check the price on one lacking a barcode.
                        The blip blip resumed, with the impatient twitching lady pouncing on the items as soon as they passed the scanning, to cram them into her compostable bag.

                        Days were stretching in ennui, and he started to feel like an android. At least, the rhythmical blips and “Have a good day, thank you for your purchase” were now part of his muscle memory, and didn’t require much paying attention to.

                        He’d renewed the yearly fee to maintain his group website yesterday, but he wasn’t sure why he did it. There were still the occasional posts on the groups he was managing, but the buzz had died already. People had moved to other things, autumn for one. Really, what was the point of maintaining it for 3 posts a week (and those were good weeks, of course not counting the spam).

                        There was fun occasionally, but more often than not, there were harangues.
                        He wondered what archetype he was in his life story; maybe he was just a background character, and that was fine, so long as he wasn’t just a supporting cast to another megalomaniac politician.

                        The apartment blocks were he was living were awfully quiet. His neighbours were still in travel, he wondered how they could afford it. Lucinda was completely immersed in her writing courses, and Fabio was still around amazingly – Lucinda didn’t look like she could even care of herself, so a dog… Meanwhile, the town council was envisaging a “refresh” of their neighborhood, but he had strong suspicion it was another real-estate development scheme. Only time would tell. He wasn’t in a rush to jump to the conclusion of an expropriation drama —leave that to Luce.

                        Friday would have been her 60th brithday (funny typo he thought). Their dead friend’s birthday would still crop up in his calendar, and he liked that they were still these connections at least. Did she move on, he wondered. Sometimes her energy felt present, and Lucinda would argue she was helping her in her writing endeavours. He himself wasn’t sure, those synchronicities were nice enough without the emphatic spiritualist extrapolations.

                        “Happy birthday Granola.” he said.

                        :fleuron2:

                        Another crack appeared on the red crystal into which Granola was stuck for what felt like ages.

                        “About time!” she said. “I wonder if they have all forgotten about me now.”

                        She looked closely at the crack. There was an opening, invisible, the size of an atom. But maybe, just maybe, it was just enough for her to squeeze in. She leaned in and focused on the little dot to escape.

                        #4834

                        “I hardly think wearing such a peculiar hat is apt for undercover work, Agent X,” remarked Veranassessee.

                        “It’s a local tradition,” gasped Agent X, trying to catch his breath as he attempted to right his mangled bicycle.

                        “Never mind that! Leave it there, it’s no good now!”

                        “The doll is hidden in the water bottle!” Agent X snapped, “And it’s stuck fast behind all this twisted metal! We have to take the whole thing!”

                        #4787
                        AvatarJib
                        Participant

                          The sun was high in the sky and birds were chirping in the trees by the pool. Roberto was facing a conundrum as the biseasonal pool had started acting strangely. Well even more strangely than one part being frozen in winter and one part stuck in the dog days of who knew what year.

                          It had already been hard to manage an even level between the iced layer, which tended to get brittle near the seasonal line, and the warm waters evaporating too quickly. When it first happened the water pump had been stuck in winter and they had to break some ice to move it to the summer part. Everything had been fine until the last Roman party and they could enjoy ice skating and warm spring like pool in any season. Roberto especially liked the winter season when the steam would create a nice and cozy mist, conducive to some intimate bathing together.

                          Now, after that party, something weird…er was happening. The line between winter and summer had started to shift around the center of the pool. -ish. And now the pump was stuck in ice again and the summer pool was being evaporated too quickly. Roberto had to save two mandarin ducks who had their legs caught in by the ice while bathing in the warm pool. Breaking the ice layer without hurting the tiny bird legs had been quite a challenge, but Roberto was proud to say that they were now safe and sound. One of the unforeseen consequences was that they had been following him everywhere ever since and he had to install two boxes for them to sleep near his bed.

                          Roberto and the ducks were looking at the summer half-pool. It was half empty, even if Ma’am Liz would certainly entertain the idea that it was half full, it was certainly not going stay that way very long if nothing was done.

                          What had happened was some mystery and Roberto was not very good at solving mysteries. He wished that that inspector with the melon hat had not left in such a hurry during the party, he could have asked him some advice.

                          “You want some French pastries?” It was the new French maid, Mirabelle. Roberto had been calling her Marbella and she seemed to like it. She held a silver plate of what she called creamy nuns and chocolate eclairs.
                          “Thanks,” he said.

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