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Helix 25 – Gentle Utopia at Upper Decks

The Upper Decks of Helix 25 were a marvel of well-designed choreography and engineered tranquility. Life here was made effortless, thanks to an artful curation of everyday problems. Climate control ensured the air was always crisp, with just enough variation to keep the body alert, while maintaining a perfect balance of warm and cool, hygrometry, with no crazy seasons or climate change upheaval to disrupt the monotony. Food dispensers served gourmet meals for every individual preferences —decadent feasts perfectly prepared at the push of a button. The Helix cruise starships were designed for leisure, an eternity of comfort — and it had succeeded.

For the average resident, the days blended into one another in an animated swirl of hobbyist pursuits. There were the Arboretum Philosophers, who debated meaningfully over the purpose of existence while sipping floral-infused teas. There were the Artisans, who crafted digital masterpieces that vanished into the ship’s archives as soon as they were complete. There were the Virtual Adventurers, who lived entire lifetimes in fully immersive life-like simulations, all while reclining on plush lounges, connected to their brain chips courtesy of Muck Industries.

And then, there were Sharon, Gloria, and Mavis.

Three old ladies who, by all accounts, should have spent their days knitting and reminiscing about their youth, but instead had taken it upon themselves to make Helix 25 a little more interesting.

“Another marvelous day, ladies,” Sharon declared as she strolled along the gilded walkway of the Grand Atrium, a cavernous space filled with floating lounges and soft ambient music. The ceiling was a perfect replica of a sky—complete with drifting, lazy clouds and the occasional simulated flock of birds. Enough to make you almost forget you were in a closed fully-controlled environment.

Mavis sighed, adjusting her gaudy, glittering shawl. “It’s too marvelous, if you ask me. Bit samey, innit? Not even a good scandal to shake things up.”

Gloria scoffed. “Pah! That’s ‘cause we ain’t lookin’ hard enough. Did you hear about that dreadful business down in the Granary? Dried ‘im up like an apricot, they did. Disgustin’.”

“Dreadful,” Sharon agreed solemnly. “And not a single murder for decades, you know. We were overdue.”

Mavis clutched her pearls. “You make it sound like a good thing.”

Gloria waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just sayin’, bit of drama keeps people from losing their minds. No offense, but how many decades of spa treatments can a person endure before they go barmy?”

They passed a Wellness Lounge, where a row of residents were floating in Zero-G Hydrotherapy Pods, their faces aglow with Rejuvenex™ Anti-Aging Serum. Others lounged under mild UV therapy lamps, soaking up synthetic vitamin D while attendants rubbed nutrient-rich oils into their wrinkle-free skin.

Mavis peered at them. “Y’know, I swear some of ‘em are the same age as when we boarded.”

Gloria sniffed. “Not the same, Mavis. Just better preserved.”

Sharon tapped her lips, thoughtful. “I always wondered why we don’t have crime ‘ere. I mean, back on Earth, it were all fights, robbery, someone goin’ absolutely mental over a parking space—”

Gloria nodded. “It’s ‘cause we ain’t got money, Sha. No money, no stress, see? Everyone gets what they need.”

“Needs? Glo, love, people here have twelve-course meals and private VR vacations to Ancient Rome! I don’t reckon that counts as ‘needs’.”

“Well, it ain’t money, exactly,” Mavis pondered, “but we still ‘ave credits, don’t we?”

They fell into deep philosophical debates —or to say, their version of it.

Currency still existed aboard Helix 25, in a way. Each resident had a personal wealth balance, a digital measure of their social contributions—creative works, mentorship, scientific discovery, or participation in ship maintenance (for those who actually enjoyed labor, an absurd notion to most Upper Deckers). It wasn’t about survival, not like on the Lower Decks or the Hold, but about status. The wealthiest weren’t necessarily the smartest or the strongest, but rather those who best entertained or enriched the community.

Gloria finally waved her hand dismissively. “Point is, they keep us comfortable so we don’t start thinkin’ about things too much. Keep us occupied. Like a ship-sized cruise, but forever.”

Mavis wrinkled her nose. “A bit sinister, when you put it like that.”

“Well, I didn’t say it were sinister, I just said it were clever.” Gloria sniffed. “Anyway, we ain’t the ones who need entertainin’, are we? We’ve got a mystery on our hands.”

Sharon clapped excitedly. “Ooooh yes! A real mystery! Ain’t it thrillin’?”

“A proper one,” Gloria agreed. “With dead bodies an’ secrets an’—”

“—murder,” Mavis finished, breathless.

The three of them sighed in unison, delighted at the prospect.

They continued their stroll past the Grand Casino & Theatre, where a live orchestral simulation played for a well-dressed audience. Past the Astronomer’s Lounge, where youngster were taught to chart the stars that Helix 25 would never reach. Past the Crystal Arcade, where another group of youth of the ship enjoyed their free time on holographic duels and tactical board games.

So much entertainment. So much luxury.

So much designed distraction.

Gloria stopped suddenly, narrowing her eyes. “You ever wonder why we ain’t heard from the Captain in years?”

Sharon and Mavis stopped.

A hush fell over them.

Mavis frowned. “I thought you said the Captain were an idea, not a person.”

“Well, maybe. But if that’s true, who’s actually runnin’ the show?” Gloria folded her arms.

They glanced around, as if expecting an answer from the glowing Synthia panels embedded in every wall.

For the first time in a long while, they felt watched.

“…Maybe we oughta be careful,” Sharon muttered.

Mavis shivered. “Oh, Glo. What ‘ave you gotten us into this time?”

Gloria straightened her collar. “Dunno yet, love. But ain’t it excitin’?”

“With all the excitment, I almost forgot to tell you about that absolutely ghastly business,” Gloria declared, moments later, at the Moonchies’ Café, swirling her lavender-infused tea. “Watched a documentary this morning. About man-eating lions of Njombe.”

Sharon gasped, clutching her pearls. “Man eating lions?!”

Mavis blinked. “Wait. Man-eating lions, or man eating lions?”

There was a pause.

Gloria narrowed her eyes. “Mavis, why in the name of clotted cream would I be watchin’ a man eating lions?”

Mavis shrugged. “Well, I dunno, do I? Maybe he ran out of elephants.”

Sharon nodded sagely. “Yes, happens all the time in those travel shows.”

Gloria exhaled through her nose. “It’s not a travel show, Sha. And it’s not fiction.”

Mavis scoffed. “You sure? Sounds ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as a man sittin’ down to a plate of roast lion chops,” Gloria shot back.

Mavis tilted her head. “Maybe it’s in a recipe book?”

Gloria slammed her teacup down. “I give up. I absolutely give up.”

Sharon patted her hand. “There, there, Glo. You can always watch somethin’ lighter tomorrow. Maybe a nice documentary about man-eating otters.”

Mavis grinned. “Or man eating otters.”

Gloria inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to upend her tea.

This, this was why Helix 25 had never known war.

No one had the time.

Transportation

Isaac Stokes 1804-1877

 

Isaac was born in Churchill, Oxfordshire in 1804, and was the youngest brother of my 4X great grandfather Thomas Stokes. The Stokes family were stone masons for generations in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire, and Isaac’s occupation was a mason’s labourer in 1834 when he was sentenced at the Lent Assizes in Oxford to fourteen years transportation for stealing tools.

Churchill where the Stokes stonemasons came from: on 31 July 1684 a fire destroyed 20 houses and many other buildings, and killed four people. The village was rebuilt higher up the hill, with stone houses instead of the old timber-framed and thatched cottages. The fire was apparently caused by a baker who, to avoid chimney tax, had knocked through the wall from her oven to her neighbour’s chimney.

Isaac stole a pick axe, the value of 2 shillings and the property of Thomas Joyner of Churchill; a kibbeaux and a trowel value 3 shillings the property of Thomas Symms; a hammer and axe value 5 shillings, property of John Keen of Sarsden.

(The word kibbeaux seems to only exists in relation to Isaac Stokes sentence and whoever was the first to write it was perhaps being creative with the spelling of a kibbo, a miners or a metal bucket. This spelling is repeated in the criminal reports and the newspaper articles about Isaac, but nowhere else).

In March 1834 the Removal of Convicts was announced in the Oxford University and City Herald: Isaac Stokes and several other prisoners were removed from the Oxford county gaol to the Justitia hulk at Woolwich “persuant to their sentences of transportation at our Lent Assizes”.

via digitalpanopticon:

Hulks were decommissioned (and often unseaworthy) ships that were moored in rivers and estuaries and refitted to become floating prisons. The outbreak of war in America in 1775 meant that it was no longer possible to transport British convicts there. Transportation as a form of punishment had started in the late seventeenth century, and following the Transportation Act of 1718, some 44,000 British convicts were sent to the American colonies. The end of this punishment presented a major problem for the authorities in London, since in the decade before 1775, two-thirds of convicts at the Old Bailey received a sentence of transportation – on average 283 convicts a year. As a result, London’s prisons quickly filled to overflowing with convicted prisoners who were sentenced to transportation but had no place to go.

To increase London’s prison capacity, in 1776 Parliament passed the “Hulks Act” (16 Geo III, c.43). Although overseen by local justices of the peace, the hulks were to be directly managed and maintained by private contractors. The first contract to run a hulk was awarded to Duncan Campbell, a former transportation contractor. In August 1776, the Justicia, a former transportation ship moored in the River Thames, became the first prison hulk. This ship soon became full and Campbell quickly introduced a number of other hulks in London; by 1778 the fleet of hulks on the Thames held 510 prisoners.
Demand was so great that new hulks were introduced across the country. There were hulks located at Deptford, Chatham, Woolwich, Gosport, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Sheerness and Cork.

The Justitia via rmg collections:

Convicts perform hard labour at the Woolwich Warren. The hulk on the river is the ‘Justitia’. Prisoners were kept on board such ships for months awaiting deportation to Australia. The ‘Justitia’ was a 260 ton prison hulk that had been originally moored in the Thames when the American War of Independence put a stop to the transportation of criminals to the former colonies. The ‘Justitia’ belonged to the shipowner Duncan Campbell, who was the Government contractor who organized the prison-hulk system at that time. Campbell was subsequently involved in the shipping of convicts to the penal colony at Botany Bay (in fact Port Jackson, later Sydney, just to the north) in New South Wales, the ‘first fleet’ going out in 1788.

 

While searching for records for Isaac Stokes I discovered that another Isaac Stokes was transported to New South Wales in 1835 as well. The other one was a butcher born in 1809, sentenced in London for seven years, and he sailed on the Mary Ann. Our Isaac Stokes sailed on the Lady Nugent, arriving in NSW in April 1835, having set sail from England in December 1834.

Lady Nugent was built at Bombay in 1813. She made four voyages under contract to the British East India Company (EIC). She then made two voyages transporting convicts to Australia, one to New South Wales and one to Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). (via Wikipedia)

via freesettlerorfelon website:

On 20 November 1834, 100 male convicts were transferred to the Lady Nugent from the Justitia Hulk and 60 from the Ganymede Hulk at Woolwich, all in apparent good health. The Lady Nugent departed Sheerness on 4 December 1834.

SURGEON OLIVER SPROULE

Oliver Sproule kept a Medical Journal from 7 November 1834 to 27 April 1835. He recorded in his journal the weather conditions they experienced in the first two weeks:

‘In the course of the first week or ten days at sea, there were eight or nine on the sick list with catarrhal affections and one with dropsy which I attribute to the cold and wet we experienced during that period beating down channel. Indeed the foremost berths in the prison at this time were so wet from leaking in that part of the ship, that I was obliged to issue dry beds and bedding to a great many of the prisoners to preserve their health, but after crossing the Bay of Biscay the weather became fine and we got the damp beds and blankets dried, the leaks partially stopped and the prison well aired and ventilated which, I am happy to say soon manifested a favourable change in the health and appearance of the men.

Besides the cases given in the journal I had a great many others to treat, some of them similar to those mentioned but the greater part consisted of boils, scalds, and contusions which would not only be too tedious to enter but I fear would be irksome to the reader. There were four births on board during the passage which did well, therefore I did not consider it necessary to give a detailed account of them in my journal the more especially as they were all favourable cases.

Regularity and cleanliness in the prison, free ventilation and as far as possible dry decks turning all the prisoners up in fine weather as we were lucky enough to have two musicians amongst the convicts, dancing was tolerated every afternoon, strict attention to personal cleanliness and also to the cooking of their victuals with regular hours for their meals, were the only prophylactic means used on this occasion, which I found to answer my expectations to the utmost extent in as much as there was not a single case of contagious or infectious nature during the whole passage with the exception of a few cases of psora which soon yielded to the usual treatment. A few cases of scurvy however appeared on board at rather an early period which I can attribute to nothing else but the wet and hardships the prisoners endured during the first three or four weeks of the passage. I was prompt in my treatment of these cases and they got well, but before we arrived at Sydney I had about thirty others to treat.’

The Lady Nugent arrived in Port Jackson on 9 April 1835 with 284 male prisoners. Two men had died at sea. The prisoners were landed on 27th April 1835 and marched to Hyde Park Barracks prior to being assigned. Ten were under the age of 14 years.

The Lady Nugent:

 

Isaac’s distinguishing marks are noted on various criminal registers and record books:

“Height in feet & inches: 5 4; Complexion: Ruddy; Hair: Light brown; Eyes: Hazel; Marks or Scars: Yes [including] DEVIL on lower left arm, TSIS back of left hand, WS lower right arm, MHDW back of right hand.”

Another includes more detail about Isaac’s tattoos:

“Two slight scars right side of mouth, 2 moles above right breast, figure of the devil and DEVIL and raised mole, lower left arm; anchor, seven dots half moon, TSIS and cross, back of left hand; a mallet, door post, A, mans bust, sun, WS, lower right arm; woman, MHDW and shut knife, back of right hand.”

 

 

From How tattoos became fashionable in Victorian England (2019 article in TheConversation by Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alkar):

“Historical tattooing was not restricted to sailors, soldiers and convicts, but was a growing and accepted phenomenon in Victorian England. Tattoos provide an important window into the lives of those who typically left no written records of their own. As a form of “history from below”, they give us a fleeting but intriguing understanding of the identities and emotions of ordinary people in the past.
As a practice for which typically the only record is the body itself, few systematic records survive before the advent of photography. One exception to this is the written descriptions of tattoos (and even the occasional sketch) that were kept of institutionalised people forced to submit to the recording of information about their bodies as a means of identifying them. This particularly applies to three groups – criminal convicts, soldiers and sailors. Of these, the convict records are the most voluminous and systematic.
Such records were first kept in large numbers for those who were transported to Australia from 1788 (since Australia was then an open prison) as the authorities needed some means of keeping track of them.”

On the 1837 census Isaac was working for the government at Illiwarra, New South Wales. This record states that he arrived on the Lady Nugent in 1835. There are three other indent records for an Isaac Stokes in the following years, but the transcriptions don’t provide enough information to determine which Isaac Stokes it was. In April 1837 there was an abscondment, and an arrest/apprehension in May of that year, and in 1843 there was a record of convict indulgences.

From the Australian government website regarding “convict indulgences”:

“By the mid-1830s only six per cent of convicts were locked up. The vast majority worked for the government or free settlers and, with good behaviour, could earn a ticket of leave, conditional pardon or and even an absolute pardon. While under such orders convicts could earn their own living.”

 

In 1856 in Camden, NSW, Isaac Stokes married Catherine Daly. With no further information on this record it would be impossible to know for sure if this was the right Isaac Stokes. This couple had six children, all in the Camden area, but none of the records provided enough information. No occupation or place or date of birth recorded for Isaac Stokes.

I wrote to the National Library of Australia about the marriage record, and their reply was a surprise! Issac and Catherine were married on 30 September 1856, at the house of the Rev. Charles William Rigg, a Methodist minister, and it was recorded that Isaac was born in Edinburgh in 1821, to parents James Stokes and Sarah Ellis!  The age at the time of the marriage doesn’t match Isaac’s age at death in 1877, and clearly the place of birth and parents didn’t match either. Only his fathers occupation of stone mason was correct.  I wrote back to the helpful people at the library and they replied that the register was in a very poor condition and that only two and a half entries had survived at all, and that Isaac and Catherines marriage was recorded over two pages.

I searched for an Isaac Stokes born in 1821 in Edinburgh on the Scotland government website (and on all the other genealogy records sites) and didn’t find it. In fact Stokes was a very uncommon name in Scotland at the time. I also searched Australian immigration and other records for another Isaac Stokes born in Scotland or born in 1821, and found nothing.  I was unable to find a single record to corroborate this mysterious other Isaac Stokes.

As the age at death in 1877 was correct, I assume that either Isaac was lying, or that some mistake was made either on the register at the home of the Methodist minster, or a subsequent mistranscription or muddle on the remnants of the surviving register.  Therefore I remain convinced that the Camden stonemason Isaac Stokes was indeed our Isaac from Oxfordshire.

 

I found a history society newsletter article that mentioned Isaac Stokes, stone mason, had built the Glenmore church, near Camden, in 1859.

 

From the Wollondilly museum April 2020 newsletter:

 

From the Camden History website:

“The stone set over the porch of Glenmore Church gives the date of 1860. The church was begun in 1859 on land given by Joseph Moore. James Rogers of Picton was given the contract to build and local builder, Mr. Stokes, carried out the work. Elizabeth Moore, wife of Edward, laid the foundation stone. The first service was held on 19th March 1860. The cemetery alongside the church contains the headstones and memorials of the areas early pioneers.”

 

Isaac died on the 3rd September 1877. The inquest report puts his place of death as Bagdelly, near to Camden, and another death register has put Cambelltown, also very close to Camden.  His age was recorded as 71 and the inquest report states his cause of death was “rupture of one of the large pulmonary vessels of the lung”.  His wife Catherine died in childbirth in 1870 at the age of 43.

 

Isaac and Catherine’s children:

William Stokes 1857-1928

Catherine Stokes 1859-1846

Sarah Josephine Stokes 1861-1931

Ellen Stokes 1863-1932

Rosanna Stokes 1865-1919

Louisa Stokes 1868-1844.

 

It’s possible that Catherine Daly was a transported convict from Ireland.

 

Some time later I unexpectedly received a follow up email from The Oaks Heritage Centre in Australia.

“The Gaudry papers which we have in our archive record him (Isaac Stokes) as having built: the church, the school and the teachers residence.  Isaac is recorded in the General return of convicts: 1837 and in Grevilles Post Office directory 1872 as a mason in Glenmore.”

Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum

William James Stokes

 

William James Stokes was the first son of Thomas Stokes and Eliza Browning. Oddly, his birth was registered in Witham in Essex, on the 6th September 1841.

Birth certificate of William James Stokes:

 

His father Thomas Stokes has not yet been found on the 1841 census, and his mother Eliza was staying with her uncle Thomas Lock in Cirencester in 1841. Eliza’s mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) was staying there too. Thomas and Eliza were married in September 1840 in Hempstead in Gloucestershire.

It’s a mystery why William was born in Essex but one possibility is that his father Thomas, who later worked with the Chipperfields making circus wagons, was staying with the Chipperfields who were wheelwrights in Witham in 1841. Or perhaps even away with a traveling circus at the time of the census, learning the circus waggon wheelwright trade. But this is a guess and it’s far from clear why Eliza would make the journey to Witham to have the baby when she was staying in Cirencester a few months prior.

In 1851 Thomas and Eliza, William and four younger siblings were living in Bledington in Oxfordshire.

William was a 19 year old wheelwright living with his parents in Evesham in 1861. He married Elizabeth Meldrum in December 1867 in Hackney, London. He and his father are both wheelwrights on the marriage register.

Marriage of William James Stokes and Elizabeth Meldrum in 1867:

 

William and Elizabeth had a daughter, Elizabeth Emily Stokes, in 1868 in Shoreditch, London.

On the 3rd of December 1870, William James Stokes was admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum. One week later on the 10th of December, he was dead.

On his death certificate the cause of death was “general paralysis and exhaustion, certified. MD Edgar Sheppard in attendance.” William was just 29 years old.

Death certificate William James Stokes:

 

I asked on a genealogy forum what could possibly have caused this death at such a young age. A retired pathology professor replied that “in medicine the term General Paralysis is only used in one context – that of Tertiary Syphilis.”
“Tertiary syphilis is the third and final stage of syphilis, a sexually transmitted disease that unfolds in stages when the individual affected doesn’t receive appropriate treatment.”

From the article “Looking back: This fascinating and fatal disease” by Jennifer Wallis:

“……in asylums across Britain in the late 19th century, with hundreds of people receiving the diagnosis of general paralysis of the insane (GPI). The majority of these were men in their 30s and 40s, all exhibiting one or more of the disease’s telltale signs: grandiose delusions, a staggering gait, disturbed reflexes, asymmetrical pupils, tremulous voice, and muscular weakness. Their prognosis was bleak, most dying within months, weeks, or sometimes days of admission.

The fatal nature of GPI made it of particular concern to asylum superintendents, who became worried that their institutions were full of incurable cases requiring constant care. The social effects of the disease were also significant, attacking men in the prime of life whose admission to the asylum frequently left a wife and children at home. Compounding the problem was the erratic behaviour of the general paralytic, who might get themselves into financial or legal difficulties. Delusions about their vast wealth led some to squander scarce family resources on extravagant purchases – one man’s wife reported he had bought ‘a quantity of hats’ despite their meagre income – and doctors pointed to the frequency of thefts by general paralytics who imagined that everything belonged to them.”

 

The London Archives hold the records for Colney Hatch, but they informed me that the particular records for the dates that William was admitted and died were in too poor a condition to be accessed without causing further damage.

Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum gained such notoriety that the name “Colney Hatch” appeared in various terms of abuse associated with the concept of madness. Infamous inmates that were institutionalized at Colney Hatch (later called Friern Hospital) include Jack the Ripper suspect Aaron Kosminski from 1891, and from 1911 the wife of occultist Aleister Crowley. In 1993 the hospital grounds were sold and the exclusive apartment complex called Princess Park Manor was built.

Colney Hatch:

 

In 1873 Williams widow married William Hallam in Limehouse in London. Elizabeth died in 1930, apparently unaffected by her first husbands ailment.

The Grattidge Family

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

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

20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

 

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

An excerpt from the will:

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

A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

 

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

 

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

Albert Grattidge:

 

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

George Grattidge:

 

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

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

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

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

The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

In this article it says:

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

Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

To Australia

Grettons

Charles Herbert Gretton 1876-1954

Charles Gretton, my great grandmothers youngest brother, arrived in Sydney Australia on 12 February 1912, having set sail on 5 January 1912 from London. His occupation on the passenger list was stockman, and he was traveling alone.  Later that year, in October, his wife and two sons sailed out to join him.

 

Charles was born in Swadlincote.  He married Mary Anne Illsley, a local girl from nearby Church Gresley, in 1898. Their first son, Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton, was born in 1900 in Church Gresley, and their second son, George Herbert Gretton, was born in 1910 in Swadlincote.  In 1901 Charles was a colliery worker, and on the 1911 census, his occupation was a sanitary ware packer.

Charles and Mary Anne had two more sons, both born in Footscray:  Frank Orgill Gretton in 1914, and Arthur Ernest Gretton in 1920.

On the Australian 1914 electoral rolls, Charles and Mary Ann were living at 72 Moreland Street, Footscray, and in 1919 at 134 Cowper Street, Footscray, and Charles was a labourer.  In 1924, Charles was a sub foreman, living at 3, Ryan Street E, Footscray, Australia.  On a later electoral register, Charles was a foreman.  Footscray is a suburb of Melbourne, and developed into an industrial zone in the second half of the nineteenth century.

Charles died in Victoria in 1954 at the age of 77. His wife Mary Ann died in 1958.

 

Charles and Mary Ann Gretton:

 

Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton 1900-1955

Leslie was an electrician.   He married Ethel Christine Halliday, born in 1900 in Footscray, in 1927.  They had four children: Tom, Claire, Nancy and Frank. By 1943 they were living in Yallourn.  Yallourn, Victoria was a company town in Victoria, Australia built between the 1920s and 1950s to house employees of the State Electricity Commission of Victoria, who operated the nearby Yallourn Power Station complex. However, expansion of the adjacent open-cut brown coal mine led to the closure and removal of the town in the 1980s.

On the 1954 electoral registers, daughter Claire Elizabeth Gretton, occupation teacher, was living at the same address as Leslie and Ethel.

Leslie died in Yallourn in 1955, and Ethel nine years later in 1964, also in Yallourn.

 

George Herbert Gretton 1910-1970

George married Florence May Hall in 1934 in Victoria, Australia.  In 1942 George was listed on the electoral roll as a grocer, likewise in 1949. In 1963 his occupation was a process worker, and in 1968 in Flinders, a horticultural advisor.

George died in Lang Lang, not far from Melbourne, in 1970.

 

Frank Orgill Gretton 1914-

Arthur Ernest Gretton 1920-

 

Orgills

John Orgill 1835-1911

John Orgill was Charles Herbert Gretton’s uncle.  He emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926 in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. They had seven children, and their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

John Orgill was a councillor for the Shire of Dandenong in 1873, and between 1876 and 1879.

John Orgill:

 

John Orgill obituary in the South Bourke and Mornington Journal, 21 December 1911:

 

 

John’s wife Elizabeth Orgill, a teacher and a “a public spirited lady” according to newspaper articles, opened a hydropathic hospital in Dandenong called Gladstone House.

Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill:

 

On the Old Dandenong website:

Gladstone House hydropathic hospital on the corner of Langhorne and Foster streets (153 Foster Street) Dandenong opened in 1896, working on the theory of water therapy, no medicine or operations. Her husband passed away in 1911 at 77, around similar time Dr Barclay Thompson obtained control of the practice. Mrs Orgill remaining on in some capacity.

Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).

Around 1912 Dr A. E. Taylor took over the location from Dr. Barclay Thompson. Mrs Orgill was still working here but no longer controlled the practice, having given it up to Barclay. Taylor served as medical officer for the Shire for before his death in 1939. After Taylor’s death Dr. T. C. Reeves bought his practice in 1939, later that year being appointed medical officer,

Gladstone Road in Dandenong is named after her family, who owned and occupied a farming paddock in the area on former Police Paddock ground, the Police reserve having earlier been reduced back to Stud Road.

Hydropathy (now known as Hydrotherapy) and also called water cure, is a part of medicine and alternative medicine, in particular of naturopathy, occupational therapy and physiotherapy, that involves the use of water for pain relief and treatment.

Gladstone House, Dandenong:

 

 

John’s brother Robert Orgill 1830-1915 also emigrated to Australia. I met (online) his great great grand daughter Lidya Orgill via the Old Dandenong facebook group.

John’s other brother Thomas Orgill 1833-1908 also emigrated to the same part of Australia.

Thomas Orgill:

 

One of Thomas Orgills sons was George Albert Orgill 1880-1949:

 

A letter was published in The South Bourke & Mornington Journal (Richmond, Victoria, Australia) on 17 Jun 1915, to Tom Orgill, Emerald Hill (South Melbourne) from hospital by his brother George Albert Orgill (4th Pioneers) describing landing of Covering Party prior to dawn invasion of Gallipoli:

 

Another brother Henry Orgill 1837-1916 was born in Measham and died in Dandenong, Australia. Henry was a bricklayer living in Measham on the 1861 census. Also living with his widowed mother Elizabeth at that address was his sister Sarah and her husband Richard Gretton, the baker (my great great grandparents). In October of that year he sailed to Melbourne.  His occupation was bricklayer on his death records in 1916.

Two of Henry’s sons, Arthur Garfield Orgill born 1888 and Ernest Alfred Orgill born 1880 were killed in action in 1917 and buried in Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France. Another son, Frederick Stanley Orgill, died in 1897 at the age of seven.

A fifth brother, William Orgill 1842-   sailed from Liverpool to Melbourne in 1861, at 19 years of age. Four years later in 1865 he sailed from Victoria, Australia to New Zealand.

 

I assumed I had found all of the Orgill brothers who went to Australia, and resumed research on the Orgills in Measham, in England. A search in the British Newspaper Archives for Orgills in Measham revealed yet another Orgill brother who had gone to Australia.

Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 went to South Africa and to Australia, but returned to Measham.

The Orgill brothers had two sisters. One was my great great great grandmother Sarah, and the other was Hannah.  Hannah married Francis Hart in Measham. One of her sons, John Orgill Hart 1862-1909, was born in Measham.  On the 1881 census he was a 19 year old carpenters apprentice.  Two years later in 1883 he was listed as a joiner on the passenger list of the ship Illawarra, bound for Australia.   His occupation at the time of his death in Dandenong in 1909 was contractor.

An additional coincidental note about Dandenong: my step daughter Emily’s Australian partner is from Dandenong.

 

 

Housleys

Charles Housley 1823-1856

Charles Housley emigrated to Australia in 1851, the same year that his brother George emigrated to USA.  Charles is mentioned in the Narrative on the Letters by Barbara Housley, and appears in the Housley Letters chapters.

 

Rushbys

George “Mike” Rushby 1933-

Mike moved to Australia from South Africa. His story is a separate chapter.

From Tanganyika with Love

continued part 8

With thanks to Mike Rushby.

Morogoro 20th January 1941

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 30th July 1941

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 26th August 1941

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 25th December 1941

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 26th January 1944

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Lyamungu 20th March 1944

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Lyamungu 15th May 1944

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Lyamungu 18th July 1944

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Lyamungu 16th August 1944

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

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

Dearest Mummy,

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

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

Very much love,
Eleanor.

Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love,
Eleanor.

 

From Tanganyika with Love

continued part 7

With thanks to Mike Rushby.

Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mbulu. 30th September 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mbulu. 25th October 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Iringa. 30th November 1938

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 14th February 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 28th February 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 25th March 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 28th April 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Nzassa 5th August 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 14th September 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 4th November 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

Eleanor.

Iringa 8th December 1939

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 10th March 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 14th July 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

Morogoro 16th November 1940

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Eleanor.

 

From Tanganyika with Love

continued

With thanks to Mike Rushby.

Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lots of love,
Eleanor

Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Very much love,
Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your very loving,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lots and lots of love,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love to all,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Much love to all,
Eleanor.

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

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

We all send our love,
Eleanor.

Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very much love,
Eleanor.

Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Much love from a proud mother of two.
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Your affectionate,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

your affectionate,
Eleanor

Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Very much love
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

Dear Family,

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

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

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

Lots and lots of love,
Eleanor.

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

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very much love,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

Much love to all,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Lots of love,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lots of love to all,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love to you all,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

Much love,
Eleanor.

Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

Lots of love, Eleanor

George “Mike” Rushby

A short autobiography of George Gilman Rushby’s son, published in the Blackwall Bugle, Australia.

Early in 2009, Ballina Shire Council Strategic and
Community Services Group Manager, Steve Barnier,
suggested that it would be a good idea for the Wardell
and District community to put out a bi-monthly
newsletter. I put my hand up to edit the publication and
since then, over 50 issues of “The Blackwall Bugle”
have been produced, encouraged by Ballina Shire
Council who host the newsletter on their website.
Because I usually write the stories that other people
generously share with me, I have been asked by several
community members to let them know who I am. Here is
my attempt to let you know!

My father, George Gilman Rushby was born in England
in 1900. An Electrician, he migrated to Africa as a young
man to hunt and to prospect for gold. He met Eleanor
Dunbar Leslie who was a high school teacher in Cape
Town. They later married in Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika.
I was the second child and first son and was born in a
mud hut in Tanganyika in 1933. I spent my first years on
a coffee plantation. When four years old, and with
parents and elder sister on a remote goldfield, I caught
typhoid fever. I was seriously ill and had no access to
proper medical facilities. My paternal grandmother
sailed out to Africa from England on a steam ship and
took me back to England for medical treatment. My
sister Ann came too. Then Adolf Hitler started WWII and
Ann and I were separated from our parents for 9 years.

Sister Ann and I were not to see him or our mother for
nine years because of the war. Dad served as a Captain in
the King’s African Rifles operating in the North African
desert, while our Mum managed the coffee plantation at
home in Tanganyika.

Ann and I lived with our Grandmother and went to
school in Nottingham England. In 1946 the family was
reunited. We lived in Mbeya in Southern Tanganyika
where my father was then the District Manager of the
National Parks and Wildlife Authority. There was no
high school in Tanganyika so I had to go to school in
Nairobi, Kenya. It took five days travelling each way by
train and bus including two days on a steamer crossing
Lake Victoria.

However, the school year was only two terms with long
holidays in between.

When I was seventeen, I left high school. There was
then no university in East Africa. There was no work
around as Tanganyika was about to become
independent of the British Empire and become
Tanzania. Consequently jobs were reserved for
Africans.

A war had broken out in Korea. I took a day off from
high school and visited the British Army headquarters
in Nairobi. I signed up for military service intending to
go to Korea. The army flew me to England. During
Army basic training I was nicknamed ‘Mike’ and have
been called Mike ever since. I never got to Korea!
After my basic training I volunteered for the Parachute
Regiment and the army sent me to Egypt where the
Suez Canal was under threat. I carried out parachute
operations in the Sinai Desert and in Cyprus and
Jordan. I was then selected for officer training and was
sent to England to the Eaton Hall Officer Cadet School
in Cheshire. Whilst in Cheshire, I met my future wife
Jeanette. I graduated as a Second Lieutenant in the
Royal Lincolnshire Regiment and was posted to West
Berlin, which was then one hundred miles behind the
Iron Curtain. My duties included patrolling the
demarcation line that separated the allies from the
Russian forces. The Berlin Wall was yet to be built. I
also did occasional duty as guard commander of the
guard at Spandau Prison where Adolf Hitler’s deputy
Rudolf Hess was the only prisoner.

From Berlin, my Regiment was sent to Malaya to
undertake deep jungle operations against communist
terrorists that were attempting to overthrow the
Malayan Government. I was then a Lieutenant in
command of a platoon of about 40 men which would go
into the jungle for three weeks to a month with only air
re-supply to keep us going. On completion of my jungle
service, I returned to England and married Jeanette. I
had to stand up throughout the church wedding
ceremony because I had damaged my right knee in a
competitive cross-country motorcycle race and wore a
splint and restrictive bandage for the occasion!
At this point I took a career change and transferred
from the infantry to the Royal Military Police. I was in
charge of the security of British, French and American
troops using the autobahn link from West Germany to
the isolated Berlin. Whilst in Germany and Austria I
took up snow skiing as a sport.

Jeanette and I seemed to attract unusual little
adventures along the way — each adventure trivial in
itself but adding up to give us a ‘different’ path through
life. Having climbed Mount Snowdon up the ‘easy way’
we were witness to a serious climbing accident where a
member of the staff of a Cunard Shipping Line
expedition fell and suffered serious injury. It was
Sunday a long time ago. The funicular railway was
closed. There was no telephone. So I ran all the way
down Mount Snowdon to raise the alarm.

On a road trip from Verden in Germany to Berlin with
our old Opel Kapitan motor car stacked to the roof with
all our worldly possessions, we broke down on the ice and snow covered autobahn. We still had a hundred kilometres to go.

A motorcycle patrolman flagged down a B-Double
tanker. He hooked us to the tanker with a very short tow
cable and off we went. The truck driver couldn’t see us
because we were too close and his truck threw up a
constant deluge of ice and snow so we couldn’t see
anyway. We survived the hundred kilometre ‘sleigh
ride!’

I then went back to the other side of the world where I
carried out military police duties in Singapore and
Malaya for three years. I took up scuba diving and
loved the ocean. Jeanette and I, with our two little
daughters, took a holiday to South Africa to see my
parents. We sailed on a ship of the Holland-Afrika Line.
It broke down for four days and drifted uncontrollably
in dangerous waters off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia
until the crew could get the ship’s motor running again.
Then, in Cape Town, we were walking the beach near
Hermanus with my youngest brother and my parents,
when we found the dead body of a man who had thrown
himself off a cliff. The police came and secured the site.
Back with the army, I was promoted to Major and
appointed Provost Marshal of the ACE Mobile Force
(Allied Command Europe) with dual headquarters in
Salisbury, England and Heidelberg, Germany. The cold
war was at its height and I was on operations in Greece,
Denmark and Norway including the Arctic. I had
Norwegian, Danish, Italian and American troops in my
unit and I was then also the Winter Warfare Instructor
for the British contingent to the Allied Command
Europe Mobile Force that operated north of the Arctic
Circle.

The reason for being in the Arctic Circle? From there
our special forces could look down into northern
Russia.

I was not seeing much of my two young daughters. A
desk job was looming my way and I decided to leave
the army and migrate to Australia. Why Australia?
Well, I didn’t want to go back to Africa, which
seemed politically unstable and the people I most
liked working with in the army, were the Australian
troops I had met in Malaya.

I migrated to Brisbane, Australia in 1970 and started
working for Woolworths. After management training,
I worked at Garden City and Brookside then became
the manager in turn of Woolworths stores at
Paddington, George Street and Redcliff. I was also the
first Director of FAUI Queensland (The Federation of
Underwater Diving Instructors) and spent my spare
time on the Great Barrier Reef. After 8 years with
Woollies, I opted for a sea change.

I moved with my family to Evans Head where I
converted a convenience store into a mini
supermarket. When IGA moved into town, I decided
to take up beef cattle farming and bought a cattle
property at Collins Creek Kyogle in 1990. I loved
everything about the farm — the Charolais cattle, my
horses, my kelpie dogs, the open air, fresh water
creek, the freedom, the lifestyle. I also became a
volunteer fire fighter with the Green Pigeon Brigade.
In 2004 I sold our farm and moved to Wardell.
My wife Jeanette and I have been married for 60 years
and are now retired. We have two lovely married
daughters and three fine grandchildren. We live in the
greatest part of the world where we have been warmly
welcomed by the Wardell community and by the
Wardell Brigade of the Rural Fire Service. We are
very happy here.

Mike Rushby

A short article sent to Jacksdale in England from Mike Rushby in Australia:

Sometimes whales
managed taste
whispered guess
line care tell

Plague walk
funny treatment
pop himself
hilda loo

Breath added
free knew

BOARD 7

Board 7, Story 1

Pres. Lump is handling the pre-apocalyptic situation like a pro. Barron is teaching Barron how to summon the elements, hence the rain. April and June, are not too happy to be made to wait in the rain for the daily promenade of their charge.

While Gloria is having trouble fishing in Antarctica, Shar is considering making a meal of that strange beast. Or is that the rest of their pelt after their treatment?

Glynis is attempting a car boot sales of her potions while the baby snoots are playing havoc around. Eleri had a splurge of potions already.

Mavis, Sharon and Gloria were looking like icy popsicles in their cubicles, with only their heads popping out.

Berenice, still under training, was overseeing the process, daunted by the alarming number of blinking buttons from the apparatus. She tried to look composed, knowing full well her aunt Barbara wouldn’t make preferential treatment if she were to make a blunder.

“BWAAAAHA!” blurted out Gloria coming out of what appeared to have been a very lucid dream.

“WHAT NOW?! Bloody hell Glor’ you’re goin’ to get us all a tart attack!” Sharon shouted from the adjacent cubicle.

“I just got meself the most horrid dream Shar’, you know wot?”

“Don’t say, my Glor'” Mavis said, having left her ears on the nearby table with her shining teeth too. “It’s that about anuther wet dream with Flump?”

“Good Lord no! WORSE even!”

“WOT now?” Sharon couldn’t help but ask, shushing with a mean eye the poor Berenice.

“NURSE TRASSIE! She was comin’ fur us!”

“Oh bloody hell. Haven’t they confined her already?” Sharon dismissed with a shrug that made the whole concrete floor vibrate like a panzer washing machine in dry mode. “Look lassies, that’s more interesting.” She nodded towards the haggard Sophie lying on one of the tables. “Brought us some competition on the looks area it seems.”

“What?” Mavis strained to hear.

“Look dammit! The poor fashion-impeded soul that landed on a waiting list for one of our spots. Gosh, that latex thingy she sports makes me all blushy! But don’t you worry. She can’t be competition to us, ladies. That cryo-treatment is already working I can tell.”

She felt the need to add and punctuate towards Berenice “And no thanks to you, young lady. You should learn from me. Never been afraid to push a button in my life!”

As it happens…

POP-IN THREAD (Maeve, Lucinda, Shawn-Paul, Jerk, [Granola])

Maeve and Shawn-Paul have left the Inn in Australia to travel to Tikfijikoo. What they are still doing there is anybody’s guess. Might have do with dolls, and rolling with it.

In Canada, Lucinda has enrolled in a creative fiction course, and is doing progress… of sorts.

Granola managed to escape the red crystal she was trapped in, after it cracked enough due to the pull of her friends’ memories.

FLYING FISH INN THREAD (Mater/Finly, Idle/Coriander/Clove, Devan, Prune, [Tiku])

The Inn is back to its normal routine, after the bout of flu & collective black-out.

Connie and Hilda have come out of the mines.

The others, we don’t know.

DOLINE THREAD (Arona, Sanso/Lottie, Ugo, Albie)

In the Doline, Arona has reunited with Vincentius, but is not ready for a family life of commitments.

NEWSREEL THREAD (Ms Bossy, Hilda/Connie, Sophie, Ricardo)

Sharon, Gloria and Mavis, are undergoing some cool fun in the cryochambers for beauty treatments.

Ms Bossy & Ricardo are speechless. Literally.

LIZ THREAD (Finnley, Liz, Roberto, Godfrey)

There’s always something happening. Listing it is not the problem, but keeping track is.

DRAGONHEARTWOOD THREAD (Glynnis, Eleri, Fox/Gorrash, Rukshan)

Rukshan is in the doldrums of the land of Giants’, an unexplored parallel dimension.
Gorrash has started to crystallize back to life, but nobody noticed yet.

Cackletown & the reSurgence (Bea, Ed Steam & Surge team, etc.)

Ed is back to the Cackletown dimension after some reconnaissance job on the whole dolls story interference. Might have spooked Maeve a little, but given the lack of anything surgey, have sort of closed this case and gone back to HQ.