Search Results for 'sweets'

Forums Search Search Results for 'sweets'

Viewing 10 results - 1 through 10 (of 10 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #6268
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      From Tanganyika with Love

      continued part 9

      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

      Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 14 May 1945

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Lyamungu 19th September 1945

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

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

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

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

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

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

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

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

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      Mbeya 1st November 1946

      Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Eleanor.

      #6265
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        continued  ~ part 6

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

        Mchewe 6th June 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

        With much love,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe 25th June 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Lots of love,
        Eleanor.

        Mchewe 9th July 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor

        Mchewe 8th October 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mchewe 17th October 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mchewe 18th November 1937

        My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

        Mchewe 18th November 1937

        Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

        Mchewe 12th February, 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mbulu 18th March, 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mbulu 24th March, 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Mbulu 20th June 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Karatu 3rd July 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Karatu 12th July 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Oldeani. 19th July 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Oldeani. 10th August 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Oldeani. 20th August 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        #6264
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued  ~ part 5

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Chunya 16th December 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          With love,
          Eleanor.

          Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Eleanor.

          Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Chunya 29th January 1937

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

          We should be with you in three weeks time!

          Very much love,
          Eleanor.

          Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          With love to you all,
          Eleanor.

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

          George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          #6263
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            From Tanganyika with Love

            continued  ~ part 4

            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

            Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            With much love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Heaps of love to all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots of love,
            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            With heaps of love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

            Lots and lots of love,
            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

            Your very affectionate,
            Eleanor

            Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            With love to you all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love to you all,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            Your worried but affectionate,
            Eleanor.

            Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

            Much love,
            Eleanor.

            Mchewe. 12th November 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Lots and lots of love to all,
            Eleanor.

            Chunya 27th November 1936

            Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Much love to all,
            Eleanor.

             

            #6255
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              My Grandparents

              George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995

              Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              Utrillo

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

              #4123

              Corrie’s findings from elsewhere:

              “Mike wasn’t as courageous as his former self, the Baron. That new name had a cowardly undertone which wasn’t as enticing to craze and bravery as “The Baron”.

              The idea of the looming limbo which had swallowed the man whole, and having to care for a little girl who surely shouldn’t be out there on her own at such an early hour of the day spelt in unequivocal letters “T-R-O-U-B-B-L-E” — ah, and that he was barely literate wasn’t an improvement on the character either.

              Mike didn’t want to think to much. He could remember a past, maybe even a future, and be bound by them. As well, he probably had a family, and the mere though of it would be enough to conjure up a boring wife named Tina, and six or seven… he had to stop now. Self introspection wasn’t good for him, he would get lost in it in quicker and surer ways than if he’d run into that Limbo.

              “Let me tell you something… Prune?… Prune is it?”
              “I stop you right there, mister, we don’t have time for the “shouldn’t be here on your own” talk, there is a man to catch, and maybe more where he hides.”

              “Little girl, this is not my battle, I know a lost cause when I see one. You look exhausted, and I told my wife I would be back with her bloody croissants before she wakes up. You can’t imagine the dragon she becomes if she doesn’t get her croissants and coffee when she wakes up. My pick-up is over there, I can offer you a lift.”

              Prune made a frown and a annoyed pout. At her age, she surely should know better than pout. The thought of the dragon-wife made her smile though, she sounded just like Mater when she was out of vegemite and toasts.

              Prune started to have a sense of when characters appearing in her life were just plot devices conjured out of thin air. Mike had potential, but somehow had just folded back into a self-imposed routine, and had become just a part of the story background. She’d better let him go until just finds a real character. She could start by doing a stake-out next to the strange glowing building near the frontier.

              “It’s OK mister, you go back to your wife, I’ll wait a little longer at the border. Something tells me this story just got started.”

              ~~~

              Aunt Idle was craving for sweets again. She tip toed in the kitchen, she didn’t want to hear another lecture from Mater. It only took time from her indulging in her attachments. Her new yogiguru Togurt had told the flockus group that they had to indulge more. And she was determined to do so.
              The kitchen was empty. A draft of cold air brushed her neck, or was it her neck brushing against the tiny molecules of R. She cackled inwardly, which almost made her choke on her breath. That was surely a strange experience, choking on something without substance. A first for her, if you know what I mean.

              The shelves were closed with simple locks. She snorted. Mater would need more than that to put a stop to Idle’s cravings. She had watched a video on Wootube recently about how to unlock a lock. She would need pins. She rummaged through her dreadlocks, she was sure she had forgotten one or two in there when she began to forge the dreads. Very practicle for smuggling things.

              It took her longer than she had thought, only increasing her craving for sweets.
              There was only one jar. Certainly honey. Idle took the jar and turned it to see the sticker. It was written Termite Honey, Becky’s Farm in Mater’s ornate writing. Idle opened the jar. Essence of sweetness reached her nose and made her drool. She plunged her fingers into the white thick substance.”

              ~~~

              “But wait! What is this?

              Her greedy fingers had located something unexpected; something dense and uncompromising was lurking in her precious nectar. Carefully, she explored the edges of the object with her finger tips and then tugged. The object obligingly emerged, a gooey gelatinous blob.

              Dido sponged off the honey allowing it to plunk on to the table top. It did not occur to her to clean it up. Indeed, she felt a wave of defiant pleasure.

              The ants will love that, although I guess Mater won’t be so thrilled. Fussy old bat.
              She licked her fingers then transferred her attention back to the job at hand. After a moment of indecision whilst her slightly disordered mind flicked through various possibilities, she managed to identify the object as a small plastic package secured with tape. Excited, and her ravenous hunger cravings temporarily stilled in the thrill of the moment, she began to pick at the edges of the tape.

              Cocooned Inside the plastic was a piece of paper folded multiple times. Released from its plicature, the wrinkled and dog-eared paper revealed the following type written words:

              food self herself next face write water truth religious behind mince salt words soon yourself hope nature keep wrong wonder noticed.”

              ~~~

              ““What a load of rubbish!” Idle exclaimed, disappointed that it wasn’t a more poetic message. She screwed up the scrap of crumpled paper, rolled it in the honey on the table, and threw it at the ceiling. It stuck, in the same way that cooked spaghetti sticks to the ceiling when you throw it to see if it’s done. She refocused on the honey and her hunger for sweetness, and sank her fingers back into the jar.”

              ~~~

              “The paper fell from the ceiling on to Dido’s head. She was too busy stuffing herself full of honey to notice. In fact it was days before anyone noticed.”

              ~~~

              “The honeyed ball of words had dislodged numerous strands of dried spaghetti, which nestled amongst Aunt Idle’s dreadlocks rather attractively, with the paper ball looking like a little hair bun.”

              ~~~

              ““Oh my god …. gross!“ cackled the cautacious Cackler.”

              ~~~

              ““Right, that does it! I’m moving the whole family back to the right story!” said Aunt Idle, invigorated and emboldened with the sweet energy of the honey. “Bloody cackling nonsense!””

              #3949

              Aunt Idle was craving for sweets again. She tip toed in the kitchen, she didn’t want to hear another lecture from Mater. It only took time from her indulging in her attachments. Her new yogiguru Togurt had told the flockus group that they had to indulge more. And she was determined to do so.
              The kitchen was empty. A draft of cold air brushed her neck, or was it her neck brushing against the tiny molecules of R. She cackled inwardly, which almost made her choke on her breath. That was surely a strange experience, choking on something without substance. A first for her, if you know what I mean.

              The shelves were closed with simple locks. She snorted. Mater would need more than that to put a stop to Idle’s cravings. She had watched a video on Wootube recently about how to unlock a lock. She would need pins. She rummaged through her dreadlocks, she was sure she had forgotten one or two in there when she began to forge the dreads. Very practicle for smuggling things.

              It took her longer than she had thought, only increasing her craving for sweets.
              There was only one jar. Certainly honey. Idle took the jar and turned it to see the sticker. It was written Termite Honey, Becky’s Farm in Mater’s ornate writing. Idle opened the jar. Essence of sweetness reached her nose and made her drool. She plunged her fingers into the white thick substance.

              #460

              Dory’s stopover at Heathrow airport was longer than expected, due to the knock on effect of delays caused by the air traffic controllers strike in Paris. She bought coffee in a paper cup and went and sat in the cramped smoking room. A couple of middle aged overweight women were sitting opposite her, their chubby knees almost touching Dory’s in the unpleasant little nicotine yellow room.

              Dory couldn’t help but listen to their conversation, and had to bite her lip on several occasions to prevent herself interjecting questions. Dory wanted to ask where this Tikfijikoo Island was. There was something about the sound of it that caught her attention, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on the strange feeling it gave her to hear the name.

              The two women, who appeared to be named Shah and Glaw, were apparently on their way to an island to participate in some kind of experimental treatment, Dory gathered, organized by a Dr Bronklehampton. On hearing the name of the doctor, Dory had a series of images flit through her mind. One of them was of an impish looking redhead with an incredibly large head, doing the tango.

              When the two plump ladies left the smoking room, Dory followed them. They bought magazines in the airport shop, and boiled sweets ‘in case their ears went’, and deliberated over sunscreen lotion, and then after some inaudible whispering, in which Dory heard only the words ‘treatment’ and ‘skin’, apparently decided against purchasing any of the skin care products.

              Dory followed them into the public lavatories, and learned that ‘our Mavis’ would be joining them for the treatment, and listened to a great deal of rather unkind comments about ‘our Fred’ and his bullying ways. On the way out of the Ladies Room, the bleached blonde named Shah collided with a bag lady, at which point Dory saw a shower of bright blue sparks in her peripheral vision. The bag lady looked up and laughed at Shah and her friend and said ‘It matters not, my friend….HA! HA! HA!’, and winked at Dory as she shuffled past.

              Dory followed the ladies to the baggage check-in desk. Yukailli Airlines. Dory had never heard of it; new airlines starting up all the time, she thought, and such silly names, like that Be My Baby one…what a daft name for an airline. Dory sauntered past, as she couldn’t really stand behind them without arousing suspicion. She was momentarily swallowed up in a swarm of Italians, there must have been two coachloads of them. By the time they’d passed her, Dory had made a decision. She would book a ticket to Tikfijikoo, hopefully on the same plane as Shah and Glaw.

              She turned around briskly, fleetingly wondering what to say to Dan and Becky about her sudden change of plans, and made her way back to the Yukailli Airlines desk.

              That’s funny, she said out loud, It was right here!

              She scanned the names above the row of desks….British Airways, Monarch, Air France, Qantas…..but no Yukailli Airlines. Dory asked at the Airport Information desk.

              I’m sorry madam, there’s no airline of that name here, the young man behind the desk informed her, looking at her quizzically.

              Dory opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, and wondered for a moment if she had imagined it. Just then someone bumped into her shoulder, causing her to spin round. It was the bag lady she’d seen earlier in the Ladies room.

              Leaving at Gate 57 and three quarters, the bag lady whispered, and winked conspiratorily.

              Dory’s mouth fell open. She was about to say Oh now really, what is this, Harry Potter Airport? but something stopped her. Instead she asked, But what about tickets and baggage check? But the bag lady had gone.

              #352
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                If Tina hadn’t hung up the phone so fast, Becky mumbled to herself, I could have told her I was with Sam, and she could say hello to him herself. And I could have asked her to come over and help me try to get some rice water down him.

                So far he’d refused, asking instead for flowers and sweets. Delirious, Becky suspected, and running a fever. And still scribbling all that jibberish!

                #345
                AvatarJib
                Participant

                  Sam was quite pleased actually to be so unwell, it was giving him an excuse not to go out in the newly flooded city… it was quite unusual and sudden, and he was also quite pleased that the flood was just stopping at the first floor ;))

                  Well he had news from Becky who wanted to come here and bring him some flowers and sweets. And he realized that he himself hadn’t their phone numbers… he’ll have to ask his friends.

                  The bell!!! :-O

                  :yahoo_time_out:

                  Becky was already here!? He was still in pajamas, Foo’kin gondolas, so much faster than the cabs…

                Viewing 10 results - 1 through 10 (of 10 total)