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  • #7163
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Aunt Idle

      Contention 

      Endless legal squabbling,
      Eventually it comes to blows.
      Zhang Ji has a speech defect,
      Hair loose, turning northward.

      I don’t know what the dickens that I Ching is supposed to mean, I was hoping it would give me a clue about that new guest.  There’s something about her but I can’t put my finger on it. I must remember to ask Bert about her, see if he’s noticed anything funny. Not that she’s acting funny, not unusual for a guest who’s travelled far to get here ~ and anyone getting here has travelled, let’s face it ~ to stay in their room catching up on sleep, but I don’t know, there is something niggling me about her. I barely caught a glimpse of her but she seemed familiar somehow.  I’ll ask Bert, but we’re all so busy now what with the lager and cart race coming up, and those four friends staying, and god only knows when that dust storm comes what we’re supposed to do to entertain them all when they can’t go outside, and they’ll be expecting poor old Finly to keep the place dusted and the windows cleaned.   I sometimes think I prefered it here when nobody hardly came.

      Hardly got a moment to myself and our Prune is up to something but god knows I don’t have time to follow her around, and there’s no weaseling anything out of her when she’s got one of her secret missions going on.  Mater’s pulled her finger out, it has to be said, she’s been as good as gold with the guests, she can turn the old dear charm on when she wants to, and she’s pulled out all the stops playing the gracious hostess, and I can’t say a word against good old Finly. She’s a cheeky minx when we’re not busy but she’s been a real trooper.  I think I’ll speak to Mater about a little bonus for her.   Yes, I think that might sweeten her up for when I ask her to do my roots tomorrow which reminds me to put pink dye on Berts list for when he goes to Alice in the morning.

      Honestly there’s too much to think about, I haven’t had a minute to get a costume ready for the cart race, maybe I’ll ask the twins.  Gotta say it, they’ve been brilliant organizing the cart decorating with the four friends. They’re a lovely group, I just wish I had more time to hang out with them, especially the big guy, oh my.  Maybe after the cart race, anything can happen after a cart race, lord knows ~ it was after a cart race in a dust storm that Howard and I had a fling and thank god Betsy never found out, she’s have had my guts for garters and nobody would have blamed her.  I still wonder what happened to Howard. We always had a soft spot for each other, but he felt so guilty he never strayed from Betsy again. I’d have been game, I’ll be honest, but I didn’t push it.  Betsy was a big girl back in those days, but nowhere near as big as she is now. Must be hard for her wondering what happened to her husband all these years, no wonder she got sucked into all that mumbo jumbo and stuffing her chops all day long.

      And not being able to claim the inheritance that would have been Howards, that must have been hard.  They could have lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of their lives when Howard’s father died, and he hasn’t died yet, must be pushing 90 by now.  I know she’s hoping Howard didn’t die in the mines ~ obviously ~ and that he’ll come back one day somehow, and you can bet your bottom dollar she’s hoping he comes back before the old man dies and it all gets left to someone else.

      That new guest went in Betsy’s before she even checked in here,  Corrie saw her, I guess she’s into mumbo jumbo in a big way if she had to get supplies of crystals or amulets or whatever they sell in there, before checking in to the hotel.

      #6536

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Youssef hadn’t changed a bit since they last met in real life. He definitely brought the bear in the bear hug he gave Xavier after Xavier had entered the soft sandal wood scented atmosphere of the Indian restaurant.

      It was like there’d seen each other the day before, and conversation naturally flew without a thought on the few years’ hiatus between their last trip.

      As they inquired about each other’s lives and events on the trip to get to Alice Springs, they ordered cheese nan, salted and mango lassi, a fish biryani and chicken tikka masala and a side thali for Youssef who was again ravenous after the jumpy ride. Soon after, the discussion turned to the road ahead.

      “How long to the hostel?” asked Youssef, his mouth full of buns.

      Xavier looked at his connected watch “It’s about 1 and half hour drive apparently. I called the number to check when to arrive, they told me to arrive before sunset… which I guess gives us 2-3 hours to visit around… I mean,” he looked at his friend “… we can also go straight there.”

      Youssef nodded. He seemed to have had already enough of interactions in the past day.

      Xavier continued “so it’s settled, we leave after we finish here. According to the landlady, it looks like Zara went off trekking, she didn’t seem too sure about Zara’s whereabouts. That would explain why we heard so little from her.”

      Youssef laughed “If they don’t know Zara, I can bet they’ll be running around searching for her in the middle of the night.”

      Xavier looked though the large window facing the street pensively. “I’m not sure I would want to get lost away from the beaten tracks here. There’s something so alien to the scale of it, and the dryness. Have you noticed we’re next to a river? I tried to have a look when I arrived, but it’s mostly dried up. And it’s supposed to be the wet season…”

      Youssef didn’t reply, and turned to the leftovers of the biryani.

      Despite the offering to top it off with gulab jamun and rose ice cream, it didn’t take too long to finish the healthy meal at the Indian restaurant. Youssef and Xavier went for the car.

      “Here, catch!” Xavier threw the keys to Youssef. He knew his friend would have liked to drive; meanwhile he’d be able to catch on some emails and work stuff. After all, he was supposed to remote work for some days.

      #6506

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Bert dropped Zara off after breakfast at the start of the Yeperenye trail.  He suggested that she phone him when she wanted him to pick her up, and asked if she was sure she had enough water and reminded her, not for the first time, not to wander off the trail.   Of course not, she replied blithely, as if she’d never wandered off before.

      “It’s a beautiful gorge, you’ll like it,” he called through the open window, “You’ll need the bug spray when you get to the water holes.”  Zara smiled and waved as the car roared off in a cloud of dust.

      On the short drive to the start of the trail, Bert had told her that the trail was named after the Yeperenye dreamtime, also known as ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’  and that it was a significant dreamtime story in Aboriginal mythology. Be sure to look at the aboriginal rock art, he’d said.   He mentioned several varieties of birds but Zara quickly forgot the names of them.

      It felt good to be outside, completely alone in the vast landscape with the bone warming sun. To her surprise, she hadn’t seen the parrot again after the encounter at the bedroom window, although she had heard a squalky laugh coming from a room upstairs as she passed the staircase on her way to the dining room.

      But it was nice to be on her own. She walked slowly, appreciating the silence and the scenery. Acacia and eucalyptus trees were dotted about and long grasses whispered in the occasional gentle breezes.  Birds twittered and screeched and she heard a few rustlings in the undergrowth from time to time as she strolled along.

      After a while the rocky outcrops towered above her on each side of the path and the gorge narrowed, the trail winding through stands of trees and open grassland. Zara was glad of the shade as the sun rose higher.

      Zara water hole

       

      The first water hole she came to took Zara by surprise. She expected it to be pretty and scenic, like the photos she’d seen, but the spectacular beauty of the setting and shimmering light somehow seemed timeless and otherwordly.  It was a moment or two before she realized she wasn’t alone.

      It was time to stop for a drink and the sandwich that one of the twins had made for her, and this was the perfect spot, but she wondered if the man would find it intrusive of her to plonk herself down and picnic at the same place as him.  Had he come here for the solitude and would he resent her appearance?

      It is a public trail, she reminded herself not to be silly, but still, she felt uneasy.  The man hadn’t even glanced up as far as Zara could tell. Had he noticed her?

      She found a smooth rock to sit on under a tree and unwrapped her lunch, glancing up from time to time ready to give a cheery wave and shout hi, if he looked up from what he was doing.  But he didn’t look up, and what exactly was he doing? It was hard to say, he was pacing around on the opposite side of the pool, looking intently at the ground.

      When Zara finished her drink, she went behind a bush for a pee, making sure she would not be seen if the man glanced up. When she emerged, the man was gone.  Zara walked slowly around the water hole, taking photos, and keeping an eye out for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen.  When she reached the place where he’d been pacing looking at the ground, she paused and retraced his steps.  Something small and shiny glinted in the sun catching her eye. It was a compass, a gold compass, and quite an unusual one.

      Zara didn’t know what to do, had the man been looking for it?  Should she return it to him?  But who was he and where did he go?  She decided there was no point in leaving it here, so she put it in her pocket. Perhaps she could ask at the inn if there was a lost and found place or something.

      Refreshed from the break, Zara continued her walk. She took the compass out and looked at it, wondering not for the first time how on earth anyone used one to find their way.  She fiddled with it, and the needle kept pointing in the same direction.   What good is it knowing which way north is, if you don’t know where you are anyway? she wondered.

      With a squalk and a beating of wings, Pretty Girl appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.  “It’s not that kind of compass. You’re supposed to follow the pointer.”

      “Am I?  But it’s pointing off the trail, and Bert said don’t go off the trail.”

      “That’s because Bert doesn’t want you to find it,” replied the parrot.

      Intrigued, Zara set off in the direction the compass was pointing towards.

      #6501
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Potential situations and complications:

        • While searching for Dumbass Voldomeer, they stumble upon a group of political protesters who are demanding the resignation of the President.
        • Dumbass Voldomeer mistakenly takes Maryechka and her friends for secret agents sent to spy on him and tries to escape.
        • The group is treated to a unique performance by the local swan-dancing troupe, who are trying to raise awareness about the mysterious swan flu virus.
        • Dumbass Voldomeer invites the group to his workshop and shows them his latest creations, including a wooden replica of the Eiffel Tower.
        • While looking through the books of families connected to Egna, they find a page with a recipe for a special cocktail that supposedly grants immortality.
        • Maryechka and her friends come across a black market for wooden legs, where they meet a man who claims to have the original wooden leg made by Dumbass Voldomeer for the President.
        #6486

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Zara took dozens of screenshots of the many etchings and drawings, as her game character paused to do the same.  She had lost sight of the two figures up ahead, and remembered she probably should have been following them.

        The tunnel came to a four way junction. There were drawings on the walls and floors of all of them, and a dim light coming from a distance in each. One was more brightly lit than the others, and Zara chose to explore that one first.  Presently a side room appeared, with green tiles on the floor similar to the one at the mine entrance. Daylight shone though a small window, and a diagram was drawn onto the wall.

        Zara toyed with the idea of simply climbing out through the window while there was still a chance to get out of the mine.  She knew she was lost and would not be able to find her way out the way she came. It was tempting, but she just took a screenshot.  Maybe when she looked at them later she’d be able to work out how to retrace her steps.

        Zara room of tiles window

        After recording the image of the room of tiles, Zara continued along the tunnel. The light shining from the little window in the tile room faded as she progressed, and she found herself once again in near darkness.  She came to a fork.  Both ways were equally gloomy, but a faint blue light enticed her to take the right hand tunnel.

        So many forks and side tunnels, I am surely completely lost now! And not one of these supposed maps is helping, I can’t decipher any of them. Another etching on the wall caught her eye, and Zara forgot about being lost.

        Zara stopped to look at what appeared to be a map on the tunnel wall, but it was unfathomable at this stage. She recorded it for future reference, and then looked around, unsure whether to continue on this path or retrace her stops back to the four way junction.  And then she saw him in an alcove.

        Osnas 2

        Osnas! This time Zara did say it out loud, and just as the frog faced stewardess was passing with her cart piled with used cups and cans and empty packets.  I swear she just winked at me!  Zara did a double take, but the cart and the woman had passed, collecting more rubbish.

        With a little smile, Zara noticed that the mask Osnas was wearing was one of those paper pandemic masks.  She had expected something a bit more Venice carnival when the prompt mentioned that he always wore a mask, not one of those.  She hoped the clue in this case wasn’t the mask, as she had avoided the plague successfully so far and didn’t want to be late to that particular party,  but the square green thing on his cart resembled the tile at the mine entrance.  What do I do now though? I still don’t know what any of these things mean.  Approach him and see if he speaks I suppose.

        “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Alice Springs, please fasten your seatbelts and switch off all your devices ready for landing.  We hope you have enjoyed your flight.”

        #6485

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

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

        Osnas 1

         

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

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

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

        “Sorry, did you say nuts?”

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

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

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

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

        Zara tunnels floor drawings

         

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

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

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

        #6476

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

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

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

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

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

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

        :fleuron2:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        #6458

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        “I’m going to have to jump in this pool, Pretty Girl, look at this one! It reminds me of something…”

        Zara came to a green pool that was different from the others, and walked into it.

        Zara Game 7

        She emerged into a new scene, with what appeared  to be a floating portal, but a square one this time.

        “May as well step onto it and see where it goes!” Zara told the parrot, who was taking a keen interest in the screen, somewhat strangely for a bird.  “I like having you here, Pretty Girl, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

        Zara stepped onto the floating tile portal.

        Zara Game 9

         

        “Hey, wasn’t my quest to find a wooden tile?” Zara suddenly remembered. She’d forgotten her quest while she was wandering around the enchanting castle.

        “Yes, but that doesn’t look like the tile you were supposed to find though,”  replied the parrot.

        “It might lead me to it,” snapped Zara who didn’t really want to leave the pretty castle scenes anyway.  It felt magical and somehow familiar, like she’d been there before, a long long time ago.

        After stepping onto the floating tile portal, Zara encountered another tile portal. This time it was upright, with a circular portal in the centre. By now it seemed clear that the thing to do was to walk through it.  She wandered around the scene first as if she was a tourist simply taking in the new sights before taking the plunge.

        Zara Game 9

        “Oh my god, look! It’s my tile!” Zara said excitedly to the parrot, just as the words flashed up on her screen:

        Congratulations!  You have reached the first goal of your first quest!

        Zara Game 10

         

        “Oh bugger!  Look at the time, it’s already starting to get light outside. I completely forgot about going to that church to see Isaac’s ghost, and now I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night.”

        “Time well spent,” said the parrot sagely, “You can go and see Isaac tomorrow night, and he may be all the more willing to talk since you kept him waiting.”

        #6455

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Zara decided she may as well spend the hour wandering around the game before going back to the church to see the ghost of Isaac when she was sure her host Bertie was asleep.  It was a warm night but a gentle breeze wafted through the open window and Zara was comfortable and content. Not just one but three new adventures had her tingling with delicious anticipation, even if she was a little anxious about not getting confused with the game.  Talking to ghosts in old churches wasn’t unfamiliar, nor was a holiday in a strange hotel off the beaten track, but the game was still a bit of a mystery to her.  Yeah, I know it’s just a game, she whispered to the parrot who made a soft clicking noise by way of response.

        Zara found her game character, also (somewhat confusingly) named Zara, standing in the woods.  Not entirely sure how it had happened, she was rather pleased to see that the cargo pants and tank top in red had changed to a more pleasing hippyish red skirt ensemble.   A bit less Tomb Looter, and a bit more fairy tale looking which was more to her taste.

        The woods were strangely silent and still.  Zara made a 360 degree turn on the spot to see in all directions. The scene looked the same whichever way she turned, and Zara didn’t know which way to go. Then a faint path appeared to the left, and she set off in that direction.  Before long she came to a round green pool.

        Zara Game 1

        She stopped to look but carried on walking past it, not sure what it signified.  She came upon another glowing green pool before long, which looked like an entrance to a tunnel.

         

        Zara game 2

        I bet those are portals or something, Zara realized. I wonder if I’m supposed to step into it?

        “Go for it”, said Pretty Girl, “It’s only a game.”

        “Ok, well here goes!” replied Zara, mentally bracing herself for a plunge into the unknown.

        Zara stepped into the circle of glowing green.

        “Like when Alice went down the rabbit hole!” Zara whispered to the parrot.  “I’m falling, falling…oh!”

        Zara emerged from the green pool onto a wide walled path.  She was now in some kind of inhabited area, or at least not in the deep woods with no sign of human occupation. 

        Zara Game 3

        “I guess that green pool is the portal back to the woods.”

        “By George, she’s getting it,” replied Pretty Girl.

         

        Zara walked along the path which led to an old deserted ancient looking village with alleyways and steps.

        “This is heaps more interesting than those woods, look how pretty it all is! I love this place.”

        “Weren’t you supposed to be looking for a hermit in the woods though,” said Pretty Girl.

        “Or a lost traveler, and the lost traveler may be here, after falling in one of those green pools in the woods,”  replied Zara tartly, not wanting to leave the enchanting scene she found her avatar in.

        Zara Game 4

        #6450

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        The images were forming on the screen of the VR set, a little blurry to start with, but taking some shapes, and with a few clicks in the right direction, the reality around him was transphormed as if he’d been into a huge deFørmiñG mirror, that they could shape with their strangest thoughts.

        The jungle had an oppressing quality… Maybe it has to do with the shrieks of the apes tearing the silence apart. :yahoo_monkey:   All sorts of them were gathered overhead, gibbons, baboons, chimps and Barbery apes, macaques and marmosets… some silent, but most of them in a swirl of manic agitation.

        When Xavier entered the ancient blue stone temple, he felt his quest was doomed from the start. It had taken a while to find the monkey’s sacred temple hidden deep within the jungle in which clues were supposed to be found. Thanks to a prompt from Zara who’d stumbled into a map, and some gentle push from a wise Y🦉wl, he’d managed to locate the temple. It was right under his nose all along. Obviously all this a metaphor, but once he found the proper connecting link, getting the right setup for dealing with the task was easier.

        So the monkeys were his and his RL colleagues crazy thoughts, and he’d even taken some fun in painting the faces of some of them into the game. He could hear Boss gorilla pounding his chest in the distance.

        “F£££” he couldn’t help but grumble when the notification prompt got him out of his meditative point. The Golden Banana would have to wait… The real life monkeys were requiring his attention for now.

        #6419

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        ~~~

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        ~~~

         

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

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

         

        ghost of Isaac Stokes

         

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

         

        Ghost of Isaac Stokes

        #6396

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Youssef woke up with a hangover. The guy from the restaurant had put fermented horse milk in his yak butter tea and he was already drunk before he could realize it. Apparently it had been a joke played on him by some of the team members he suspected didn’t quite like the humour of his real life shirt collection. Especially the one with the man shouting at his newspaper on his toilets.
        As soon as he had gotten out of the yurt, before he could go have some breakfast, his boss, Miss Tartiflate, pounced on him because there was something wrong with THE BLOG. And Youssef was the one in charge of it. And it was important because people in the world were expecting her posts about the shooting everyday. Truth is, since they couldn’t find the last Mongolian shaman, who apparently called himself Lama Yoneze, and the views had dropped dramatically. Youssef suspected Miss Tartiflate was not as ignorante as she wanted him to believe and had broken the blog on purpose so that her own boss wouldn’t accuse her of being lazy.

        “I have a reputation, you know!”

        She had said that looking like he didn’t have one, and nobody cared anyway.

        Youssef looked at the clock on his phone. They were supposed to meet with Zara, Xavier and Yasmine in thirty minutes. He had tried to sort out THE BLOG problem, but nothing seemed to work, and time was running out. Despite all being ok on the admin console, nothing was showing up on the page. He had called Gang Thi, the Nepalese company in charge of the blog, three times. Each time the receptionist hang up on him while attempting to put him on hold, or so she said. Now, nobody even bother to answer the damn phone.

        Miss Tartiflate passed her head between the curtains of the yurt.

        “Are you finished yet ?” she asked that as if he was on the throne.

        “Nope!”

        “What!? How? Do you have sausage fingers? My 5 years old daughter is more nimble than you with computers.”

        “Well, you should have brought her with us then,” said Youssef with an irritated smile, fed up by her constant useless interruptions.

        She grunted and closed the curtains angrily. Youssef growled like a bear, showing his bare teeth. Everybody knew why she jumped on the occasion for this trip: needed some fresh air from her nimble daughter and her husband.

        An alert showed up on his phone : “You’ve got a message from 💣Gang Thi💣”. The bomb in the title looked suspicious, and his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten this morning. He clicked to open it.

        The face of a mummy looking like Darth Vader and laughing like the Joker jumped on his screen. After a few seconds a message started to appear in a tongue he couldn’t decipher.

        Youssef looked at the clock and almost threw his phone on the ground as the mummy started to laugh again.
        He would definitely have to miss the meeting with his friends.

        #6384
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Wait, never mind, don’t call Finnley yet, show me how it works, Godfrey.”  Liz had an idea.  If this thing was as good as it was supposed to be, she could get it to do everything. Maybe it wouldn’t even argue. No more rude remarks from the staff!  It could be a godsend!

          #6333
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Grattidge Family

             

            The first Grattidge to appear in our tree was Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) who married Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) in 1872.

            Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) was their son and he married my great grandmother Nellie Fisher. Their daughter Margaret (later Peggy Edwards) was my grandmother on my fathers side.

            Emma Grattidge was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs, born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs, a land carrier. William and Mary married at St Modwens church, Burton on Trent, in 1839. It’s unclear why they moved to Wolverhampton. On the 1841 census William was employed as an agent, and their first son William was nine months old. Thereafter, William was a licensed victuallar or innkeeper.

            William Grattidge was born in Foston, Derbyshire in 1820. His parents were Thomas Grattidge, farmer (1779-1843) and Ann Gerrard (1789-1822) from Ellastone. Thomas and Ann married in 1813 in Ellastone. They had five children before Ann died at the age of 25:

            Bessy was born in 1815, Thomas in 1818, William in 1820, and Daniel Augustus and Frederick were twins born in 1822. They were all born in Foston. (records say Foston, Foston and Scropton, or Scropton)

            On the 1841 census Thomas had nine people additional to family living at the farm in Foston, presumably agricultural labourers and help.

            After Ann died, Thomas had three children with Kezia Gibbs (30 years his junior) before marrying her in 1836, then had a further four with her before dying in 1843. Then Kezia married Thomas’s nephew Frederick Augustus Grattidge (born in 1816 in Stafford) in London in 1847 and had two more!

             

            The siblings of William Grattidge (my 3x great grandfather):

             

            Frederick Grattidge (1822-1872) was a schoolmaster and never married. He died at the age of 49 in Tamworth at his twin brother Daniels address.

            Daniel Augustus Grattidge (1822-1903) was a grocer at Gungate in Tamworth.

            Thomas Grattidge (1818-1871) married in Derby, and then emigrated to Illinois, USA.

            Bessy Grattidge  (1815-1840) married John Buxton, farmer, in Ellastone in January 1838. They had three children before Bessy died in December 1840 at the age of 25: Henry in 1838, John in 1839, and Bessy Buxton in 1840. Bessy was baptised in January 1841. Presumably the birth of Bessy caused the death of Bessy the mother.

            Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

            “Sacred to the memory of Bessy Buxton, the affectionate wife of John Buxton of Stanton She departed this life December 20th 1840, aged 25 years. “Husband, Farewell my life is Past, I loved you while life did last. Think on my children for my sake, And ever of them with I take.”

            20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

            Bessy Buxton

             

            In the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge, farmer of Foston, he leaves fifth shares of his estate, including freehold real estate at Findern,  to his wife Kezia, and sons William, Daniel, Frederick and Thomas. He mentions that the children of his late daughter Bessy, wife of John Buxton, will be taken care of by their father.  He leaves the farm to Keziah in confidence that she will maintain, support and educate his children with her.

            An excerpt from the will:

            I give and bequeath unto my dear wife Keziah Grattidge all my household goods and furniture, wearing apparel and plate and plated articles, linen, books, china, glass, and other household effects whatsoever, and also all my implements of husbandry, horses, cattle, hay, corn, crops and live and dead stock whatsoever, and also all the ready money that may be about my person or in my dwelling house at the time of my decease, …I also give my said wife the tenant right and possession of the farm in my occupation….

            A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

            1843 Thomas Grattidge

             

            William Grattidges half siblings (the offspring of Thomas Grattidge and Kezia Gibbs):

             

            Albert Grattidge (1842-1914) was a railway engine driver in Derby. In 1884 he was driving the train when an unfortunate accident occured outside Ambergate. Three children were blackberrying and crossed the rails in front of the train, and one little girl died.

            Albert Grattidge:

            Albert Grattidge

             

            George Grattidge (1826-1876) was baptised Gibbs as this was before Thomas married Kezia. He was a police inspector in Derby.

            George Grattidge:

            George Grattidge

             

            Edwin Grattidge (1837-1852) died at just 15 years old.

            Ann Grattidge (1835-) married Charles Fletcher, stone mason, and lived in Derby.

            Louisa Victoria Grattidge (1840-1869) was sadly another Grattidge woman who died young. Louisa married Emmanuel Brunt Cheesborough in 1860 in Derby. In 1861 Louisa and Emmanuel were living with her mother Kezia in Derby, with their two children Frederick and Ann Louisa. Emmanuel’s occupation was sawyer. (Kezia Gibbs second husband Frederick Augustus Grattidge was a timber merchant in Derby)

            At the time of her death in 1869, Emmanuel was the landlord of the White Hart public house at Bridgegate in Derby.

            The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

            “On Wednesday morning Mr Coroner Vallack held an inquest in the Grand
            Jury-room, Town-hall, on the body of Louisa Victoria Cheeseborough, aged
            33, the wife of the landlord of the White Hart, Bridge-gate, who committed
            suicide by poisoning at an early hour on Sunday morning. The following
            evidence was taken:

            Mr Frederick Borough, surgeon, practising in Derby, deposed that he was
            called in to see the deceased about four o’clock on Sunday morning last. He
            accordingly examined the deceased and found the body quite warm, but dead.
            He afterwards made enquiries of the husband, who said that he was afraid
            that his wife had taken poison, also giving him at the same time the
            remains of some blue material in a cup. The aunt of the deceased’s husband
            told him that she had seen Mrs Cheeseborough put down a cup in the
            club-room, as though she had just taken it from her mouth. The witness took
            the liquid home with him, and informed them that an inquest would
            necessarily have to be held on Monday. He had made a post mortem
            examination of the body, and found that in the stomach there was a great
            deal of congestion. There were remains of food in the stomach and, having
            put the contents into a bottle, he took the stomach away. He also examined
            the heart and found it very pale and flabby. All the other organs were
            comparatively healthy; the liver was friable.

            Hannah Stone, aunt of the deceased’s husband, said she acted as a servant
            in the house. On Saturday evening, while they were going to bed and whilst
            witness was undressing, the deceased came into the room, went up to the
            bedside, awoke her daughter, and whispered to her. but what she said the
            witness did not know. The child jumped out of bed, but the deceased closed
            the door and went away. The child followed her mother, and she also
            followed them to the deceased’s bed-room, but the door being closed, they
            then went to the club-room door and opening it they saw the deceased
            standing with a candle in one hand. The daughter stayed with her in the
            room whilst the witness went downstairs to fetch a candle for herself, and
            as she was returning up again she saw the deceased put a teacup on the
            table. The little girl began to scream, saying “Oh aunt, my mother is
            going, but don’t let her go”. The deceased then walked into her bed-room,
            and they went and stood at the door whilst the deceased undressed herself.
            The daughter and the witness then returned to their bed-room. Presently
            they went to see if the deceased was in bed, but she was sitting on the
            floor her arms on the bedside. Her husband was sitting in a chair fast
            asleep. The witness pulled her on the bed as well as she could.
            Ann Louisa Cheesborough, a little girl, said that the deceased was her
            mother. On Saturday evening last, about twenty minutes before eleven
            o’clock, she went to bed, leaving her mother and aunt downstairs. Her aunt
            came to bed as usual. By and bye, her mother came into her room – before
            the aunt had retired to rest – and awoke her. She told the witness, in a
            low voice, ‘that she should have all that she had got, adding that she
            should also leave her her watch, as she was going to die’. She did not tell
            her aunt what her mother had said, but followed her directly into the
            club-room, where she saw her drink something from a cup, which she
            afterwards placed on the table. Her mother then went into her own room and
            shut the door. She screamed and called her father, who was downstairs. He
            came up and went into her room. The witness then went to bed and fell
            asleep. She did not hear any noise or quarrelling in the house after going
            to bed.

            Police-constable Webster was on duty in Bridge-gate on Saturday evening
            last, about twenty minutes to one o’clock. He knew the White Hart
            public-house in Bridge-gate, and as he was approaching that place, he heard
            a woman scream as though at the back side of the house. The witness went to
            the door and heard the deceased keep saying ‘Will you be quiet and go to
            bed’. The reply was most disgusting, and the language which the
            police-constable said was uttered by the husband of the deceased, was
            immoral in the extreme. He heard the poor woman keep pressing her husband
            to go to bed quietly, and eventually he saw him through the keyhole of the
            door pass and go upstairs. his wife having gone up a minute or so before.
            Inspector Fearn deposed that on Sunday morning last, after he had heard of
            the deceased’s death from supposed poisoning, he went to Cheeseborough’s
            public house, and found in the club-room two nearly empty packets of
            Battie’s Lincoln Vermin Killer – each labelled poison.

            Several of the Jury here intimated that they had seen some marks on the
            deceased’s neck, as of blows, and expressing a desire that the surgeon
            should return, and re-examine the body. This was accordingly done, after
            which the following evidence was taken:

            Mr Borough said that he had examined the body of the deceased and observed
            a mark on the left side of the neck, which he considered had come on since
            death. He thought it was the commencement of decomposition.
            This was the evidence, after which the jury returned a verdict “that the
            deceased took poison whilst of unsound mind” and requested the Coroner to
            censure the deceased’s husband.

            The Coroner told Cheeseborough that he was a disgusting brute and that the
            jury only regretted that the law could not reach his brutal conduct.
            However he had had a narrow escape. It was their belief that his poor
            wife, who was driven to her own destruction by his brutal treatment, would
            have been a living woman that day except for his cowardly conduct towards
            her.

            The inquiry, which had lasted a considerable time, then closed.”

             

            In this article it says:

            “it was the “fourth or fifth remarkable and tragical event – some of which were of the worst description – that has taken place within the last twelve years at the White Hart and in the very room in which the unfortunate Louisa Cheesborough drew her last breath.”

            Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

            Louisa Cheesborough

            #6271
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The Housley Letters

              FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

              from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

               

              George apparently asked about old friends and acquaintances and the family did their best to answer although Joseph wrote in 1873: “There is very few of your old cronies that I know of knocking about.”

              In Anne’s first letter she wrote about a conversation which Robert had with EMMA LYON before his death and added “It (his death) was a great trouble to Lyons.” In her second letter Anne wrote: “Emma Lyon is to be married September 5. I am going the Friday before if all is well. There is every prospect of her being comfortable. MRS. L. always asks after you.” In 1855 Emma wrote: “Emma Lyon now Mrs. Woolhouse has got a fine boy and a pretty fuss is made with him. They call him ALFRED LYON WOOLHOUSE.”

              (Interesting to note that Elizabeth Housley, the eldest daughter of Samuel and Elizabeth, was living with a Lyon family in Derby in 1861, after she left Belper workhouse.  The Emma listed on the census in 1861 was 10 years old, and so can not be the Emma Lyon mentioned here, but it’s possible, indeed likely, that Peter Lyon the baker was related to the Lyon’s who were friends of the Housley’s.  The mention of a sea captain in the Lyon family begs the question did Elizabeth Housley meet her husband, George William Stafford, a seaman, through some Lyon connections, but to date this remains a mystery.)

              Elizabeth Housley living with Peter Lyon and family in Derby St Peters in 1861:

              Lyon 1861 census

               

              A Henrietta Lyon was married in 1860. Her father was Matthew, a Navy Captain. The 1857 Derby Directory listed a Richard Woolhouse, plumber, glazier, and gas fitter on St. Peter’s Street. Robert lived in St. Peter’s parish at the time of his death. An Alfred Lyon, son of Alfred and Jemima Lyon 93 Friargate, Derby was baptised on December 4, 1877. An Allen Hewley Lyon, born February 1, 1879 was baptised June 17 1879.

               

              Anne wrote in August 1854: “KERRY was married three weeks since to ELIZABETH EATON. He has left Smith some time.” Perhaps this was the same person referred to by Joseph: “BILL KERRY, the blacksmith for DANIEL SMITH, is working for John Fletcher lace manufacturer.” According to the 1841 census, Elizabeth age 12, was the oldest daughter of Thomas and Rebecca Eaton. She would certainly have been of marriagable age in 1854. A William Kerry, age 14, was listed as a blacksmith’s apprentice in the 1851 census; but another William Kerry who was 29 in 1851 was already working for Daniel Smith as a blacksmith. REBECCA EATON was listed in the 1851 census as a widow serving as a nurse in the John Housley household. The 1881 census lists the family of William Kerry, blacksmith, as Jane, 19; William 13; Anne, 7; and Joseph, 4. Elizabeth is not mentioned but Bill is not listed as a widower.

              Anne also wrote in 1854 that she had not seen or heard anything of DICK HANSON for two years. Joseph wrote that he did not know Old BETTY HANSON’S son. A Richard Hanson, age 24 in 1851, lived with a family named Moore. His occupation was listed as “journeyman knitter.” An Elizabeth Hanson listed as 24 in 1851 could hardly be “Old Betty.” Emma wrote in June 1856 that JOE OLDKNOW age 27 had married Mrs. Gribble’s servant age 17.

              Anne wrote that “JOHN SPENCER had not been since father died.” The only John Spencer in Smalley in 1841 was four years old. He would have been 11 at the time of William Housley’s death. Certainly, the two could have been friends, but perhaps young John was named for his grandfather who was a crony of William’s living in a locality not included in the Smalley census.

              TAILOR ALLEN had lost his wife and was still living in the old house in 1872. JACK WHITE had died very suddenly, and DR. BODEN had died also. Dr. Boden’s first name was Robert. He was 53 in 1851, and was probably the Robert, son of Richard and Jane, who was christened in Morely in 1797. By 1861, he had married Catherine, a native of Smalley, who was at least 14 years his junior–18 according to the 1871 census!

              Among the family’s dearest friends were JOSEPH AND ELIZABETH DAVY, who were married some time after 1841. Mrs. Davy was born in 1812 and her husband in 1805. In 1841, the Kidsley Park farm household included DANIEL SMITH 72, Elizabeth 29 and 5 year old Hannah Smith. In 1851, Mr. Davy’s brother William and 10 year old Emma Davy were visiting from London. Joseph reported the death of both Davy brothers in 1872; Joseph apparently died first.

              Mrs. Davy’s father, was a well known Quaker. In 1856, Emma wrote: “Mr. Smith is very hearty and looks much the same.” He died in December 1863 at the age of 94. George Fox, the founder of the Quakers visited Kidsley Park in 1650 and 1654.

              Mr. Davy died in 1863, but in 1854 Anne wrote how ill he had been for two years. “For two last winters we never thought he would live. He is now able to go out a little on the pony.” In March 1856, his wife wrote, “My husband is in poor health and fell.” Later in 1856, Emma wrote, “Mr. Davy is living which is a great wonder. Mrs. Davy is very delicate but as good a friend as ever.”

              In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

              Davy Death

               

              Whenever the girls sent greetings from Mrs. Davy they used her Quaker speech pattern of “thee and thy.”  Mrs. Davy wrote to George on March 21 1856 sending some gifts from his sisters and a portrait of their mother–“Emma is away yet and A is so much worse.” Mrs. Davy concluded: “With best wishes for thy health and prosperity in this world and the next I am thy sincere friend.”

              Mrs. Davy later remarried. Her new husband was W.T. BARBER. The 1861 census lists William Barber, 35, Bachelor of Arts, Cambridge, living with his 82 year old widowed mother on an 135 acre farm with three servants. One of these may have been the Ann who, according to Joseph, married Jack Oldknow. By 1871 the farm, now occupied by William, 47 and Elizabeth, 57, had grown to 189 acres. Meanwhile, Kidsley Park Farm became the home of the Housleys’ cousin Selina Carrington and her husband Walker Martin. Both Barbers were still living in 1881.

              Mrs. Davy was described in Kerry’s History of Smalley as “an accomplished and exemplary lady.” A piece of her poetry “Farewell to Kidsley Park” was published in the history. It was probably written when Elizabeth moved to the Barber farm. Emma sent one of her poems to George. It was supposed to be about their house. “We have sent you a piece of poetry that Mrs. Davy composed about our ‘Old House.’ I am sure you will like it though you may not understand all the allusions she makes use of as well as we do.”

              Kiddsley Park Farm, Smalley, in 1898.  (note that the Housley’s lived at Kiddsley Grange Farm, and the Davy’s at neighbouring Kiddsley Park Farm)

              Kiddsley Park Farm

               

              Emma was not sure if George wanted to hear the local gossip (“I don’t know whether such little particulars will interest you”), but shared it anyway. In November 1855: “We have let the house to Mr. Gribble. I dare say you know who he married, Matilda Else. They came from Lincoln here in March. Mrs. Gribble gets drunk nearly every day and there are such goings on it is really shameful. So you may be sure we have not very pleasant neighbors but we have very little to do with them.”

              John Else and his wife Hannah and their children John and Harriet (who were born in Smalley) lived in Tag Hill in 1851. With them lived a granddaughter Matilda Gribble age 3 who was born in Lincoln. A Matilda, daughter of John and Hannah, was christened in 1815. (A Sam Else died when he fell down the steps of a bar in 1855.)

              #6266
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 7

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Iringa. 30th November 1938

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Nzassa 5th August 1939

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 14th September 1939

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 4th November 1939

                Dearest Family,

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Iringa 8th December 1939

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 10th March 1940

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 14th July 1940

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                Morogoro 16th November 1940

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                Eleanor.

                 

                #6263
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued  ~ part 4

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  With much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Heaps of love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Lots of love,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  With heaps of love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                  Lots and lots of love,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                  Your very affectionate,
                  Eleanor

                  Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  With love to you all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                  Much love to you all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Your worried but affectionate,
                  Eleanor.

                  Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

                  Much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Lots and lots of love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                  Chunya 27th November 1936

                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  Much love to all,
                  Eleanor.

                   

                  #6187
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Aunt Idle:

                    You can’t blame me for not updating my diary because bugger all has happened all year.  Borders closed, no tourists allowed in.  How are bespoke bijou boutique establishments like ours supposed to survive?  But we’re still here. Somehow we’ve managed to keep the wolf from the door, but only just barely.  I get a bit muddled up these days and can’t remember the dates. Sometimes I find myself living in the past for weeks on end: things change so little around her that it’s easy to do. But what does it matter anyway?

                    Mater went into a sulk the likes of which I hope never to see again, when her 100th birthday party was cancelled. I thought she might give up the will to live, but oh no. She’s determined now to have a 110th birthday party now.  She says the bloody pandemic ought to be over by then.  I hope she’s right. She changes her health food and exercise regimes as often as she changes her knickers. Well more often than that, probably, she doesn’t bother much with personal hygiene.  She says the germs keep her immune system in good shape.  I think the smell of her would keep any plague ridden body well away from her, but whatever works, I always say.  At least she isn’t sulking anymore, she’s grimly stoic now and tediously determined to outlive me.

                    I had some worrying news through the telepathic grapevine about the twins and Pan, they’d gotten into the clutches of a strange cult over there.  I’ve got a feeling they weren’t really sucked into it though, I think they needed to use it as a cover, or to keep themselves safe.  I say cult but it was huge, took over the entire country and even started spreading to other countries. As if the pandemic wasn’t enough to deal with.  I knew they shouldn’t have gone there.  There’s been a peculiar blockage with the telepathic messages for ages now.  It’s a worry, but what can I do.   I keep sending them messages, but get nothing in return.

                    Ah, well. We carry on as best we can. What I wouldn’t give for an unexpected visitor to brighten things up a bit. Fat chance of that.

                    #6183

                    Nora commented favourably on the view, relieved to have been given a clue about what she was supposed to have noticed.  It was a splendid panorama, and Will seemed pleased with her response.  She asked if it was possible to see the old smugglers path from their vantage point, and he pointed to a dirt road in the valley below that disappeared from view behind a stand of eucalyptus trees.  Will indicated a tiny white speck of an old farm ruin, and said the smugglers path went over the hill behind it.

                    Shading her eyes from the sun, Nora peered into the distance beyond the hill, wondering how far it was to Clara’s grandfathers house. Of course she knew it was 25 kilometers or so, but wasn’t sure how many hills behind that one, or if the path veered off at some point in another direction.

                    Wondering where Clara was reminded Nora that her friend would be waiting for her, and quite possibly worrying that she hadn’t yet arrived.  She sighed, making her mind up to leave first thing the next morning.  She didn’t mention this to Will though, and wondered briefly why she hesitated.  Something about the violent sweep of his arm when she asked about her phone had made her uneasy, such a contrast to his usual easy going grins.

                    Then she reminded herself that she had only just met him, and barely knew anything about him at all, despite all the stories they’d shared.  When she thought about it, none of the stories had given her any information ~ they had mostly been anecdotes that had a similarity to her own, and although pleasant, were inconsequential.  And she kept forgetting to ask him about all the statues at his place.

                    Wishing she could at least send a text message to Clara, Nora remembered the remote viewing practice they’d done together over the years, and realized she could at least attempt a telepathic communication. Then later, if Clara gave her a hard time about not staying in contact, she could always act surprised and say, Why, didn’t you get the message?

                    She found a flat stone to sit on, and focused on the smugglers path below. Then she closed her eyes and said clearly in her mind, “I’ll be there tomorrow evening, Clara. All is well. I am safe.”

                    She opened her eyes and saw that Will had started to head back down the path.  “Come on!” he called, “Time for lunch!”

                    #6180

                    Nora looked around. She glanced back at Will, who smiled encouragement, and then looked around again.  What was she supposed to see? Was it just the view, she wondered? What should I say, what should I see?  What was she expecting?  It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Oh is it just the view? I was expecting some good ruins or at least some broken pottery… no she couldn’t say that.  What if she was supposed to notice some kind of energy, and she hadn’t noticed? How embarrassing! What was she to do?

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