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    TracyTracy
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      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.

       

      #6264
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        From Tanganyika with Love

        continued  ~ part 5

        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

        Chunya 16th December 1936

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

        Much love to all,
        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        With love,
        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

        Eleanor.

        Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Chunya 29th January 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

        We should be with you in three weeks time!

        Very much love,
        Eleanor.

        Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        With love to you all,
        Eleanor.

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

        George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        #6263
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          From Tanganyika with Love

          continued  ~ part 4

          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

          Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          With much love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Heaps of love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots of love,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          With heaps of love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

          Lots and lots of love,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

          Your very affectionate,
          Eleanor

          Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

          With love to you all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love to you all,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

          Your worried but affectionate,
          Eleanor.

          Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

          Much love,
          Eleanor.

          Mchewe. 12th November 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Lots and lots of love to all,
          Eleanor.

          Chunya 27th November 1936

          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

          Much love to all,
          Eleanor.

           

          #6228
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Francis Purdy: The Beggarlea Bulldog and Primitive Methodist Preacher

            Francis Purdy was my great great grandfather.  We did not know anything about the Primitive Methodists prior to this family research project, but my mother had another look through the family souvenirs and photographs and found a little book dated 1913, by William Purdy called: The History of The Primitive Methodists of Langley, Heanor, Derbyshire and District. Practical remarks on Sunday school work and a biography of the late Francis Purdy, an early local preacher. Printed by GC Brittain and sons.  William Purdy was Francis son, and George’s brother.

            Francis Purdy 1913 book

            Francis Purdy:

            Francis Purdy

             

            The following can be found online from various sources but I am unable to find the original source to credit with this information:

            “In spite of having pious parents, Francis was a great prize-fighter and owner of champion dogs. He was known as the Beggarlee Bulldog, and fought many pitched battles. It was in 1823 that he fought on Nottingham Forest for the championship of three counties. After the fight going eleven rounds, which continued one hour and twenty minutes, he was declared victorious.”

            The Primitive Methodists under the Rev Richard Whitechurch began a regular mission in Beggarlee. The locals tried to dismiss the Methodist “Ranters” by the use of intimidating tactics. Francis was prepared to release his fighting dogs during their prayer meeting, but became so interested in their faith that he instead joined them. The Methodist Church wrote: ”A strong feeling came over him, while his mates incited him to slip his dogs from the leads. He refused, and decided to return home. After concealing himself in a dyke, to listen to the Missioners on the following Sunday, he stole into the house of a Mrs Church, where a service was being held. Shortly after this, a society was formed with Francis Purdy as leader, and he was also the superintendent of the first Sunday School. After a short spell as local preacher at Beauvale, Tag Hill, Awsworth, Kimberly, Brinsley, etc., Mr Francis Purdy was ordained a minister by the Rev. Thomas King, of Nottingham, on the 17th December, 1827.”

            #6225
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              William Marshall’s Parents

              William Marshall  1876-1968, my great grandfather, married Mary Ann Gilman Purdy in Buxton. We assumed that both their families came from Buxton, but this was not the case.  The Marshall’s came from Elton, near Matlock; the Purdy’s from Eastwood, Nottinghamshire.

              William Marshall, seated in centre, with colleagues from the insurance company:

              William Marshall

               

               

              William and all his siblings were born in Fairfield in Buxton. But both Emma Featherstone 1847-1928, his mother, and John Marshall 1842-1930, his father, came from rural Derbyshire. Emma from Ashbourne (or Biggin, Newhaven, or Hartington, depending on what she chose to put on the census, which are all tiny rural places in the same area).

              Emma and John Marshall in the middle, photo says “William Marshall’s parents” on the back:

              Emma and John Marshall

               

              John Marshall was a carter, later a coal carter, and was born in Elton, Derbyshire. Elton is a rural village near to Matlock. He was unable to write (at least at the time of his wedding) but Emma signed her own name.

              In 1851 Emma is 3 or 4 years old living with family at the Jug and Glass Inn, Hartington. In 1861 Emma was a 14 year old servant at a 112 acre farm, Heathcote, but her parents were still living at the Jug and Glass. Emma Featherstone’s parents both died when she was 18, in 1865.
              In 1871 she was a servant at Old House Farm, Nether Hartington Quarter, Ashborne.

              On the census, a female apprentice was listed as a servant, a boy as an apprentice. It seems to have been quite normal, at least that’s what I’ve found so far,  for all teenagers to go and live in another household to learn a trade, to be independent from the parents, and so doesn’t necessarily mean a servant as we would think of it. Often they stayed with family friends, and usually married in their early twenties and had their own household ~ often with a “servant” or teenager from someone else’s family.

              The only marriage I could find for Emma and John was in Manchester in 1873, which didn’t make much sense. If Emma was single on the 1871 census, and her first child James was born in 1873, her marriage had to be between those dates. But the marriage register in Manchester appears to be correct, John was a carter, Emma’s father was Francis Featherstone. But why Manchester?

              Marshall Featherstone marriage

              I noticed that the witnesses to the marriage were Francis and Elizabeth Featherstone. He father was Francis, but who was Elizabeth? Emma’s mother was Sarah. Then I found that Emma’s brother Francis married Elizabeth, and they lived in Manchester on the 1871 census. Henry Street, Ardwick. Emma and John’s address on the marriage register is Emily Street, Ardwick. Both of them at the same address.

              The marriage was in February 1873, and James, the first child was born in July, 1873, in Buxton.

              It would seem that Emma and John had to get married, hence the move to Manchester where her brother was, and then quickly moved to Buxton for the birth of the child.  It was far from uncommon, I’ve found while making notes of dates in registers, for a first child to be born six or 7 months after the wedding.

              Emma died in 1928 at the age of 80, two years before her husband John. She left him a little money in her will! This seems unusual so perhaps she had her own money, possibly from the death of her parents before she married, and perhaps from the sale of the Jug and Glass.

              I found a photo of the Jug and Glass online.  It looks just like the pub I’d seen in my family history meditations on a number of occasions:

              Jug and Glass

              #6087

              In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

              “I knew it!” Tara had gone to investigate early, disguised as an elderly jogger in a velvet teal jogging. “Seemed clear enough that that retirement home was a front…”

              Later when she came back to the office, she was quizzed by Star, who was still yawning despite the bright sunlight.

              “So tell me, a front for what?”

              “Can’t you guess?” Tara said, removing her false teeth.

              “Nooo?” her hand flew at Star’s mouth and incredulous face.

              “Yes, hmm-hmm; you guessed right: a time travel agency.”

              “Oh dangit, they stole my idea! After all the virus pandemic thing, they sure know how to surf the crisis to make a buck. The buying carrots alibi traffic, and now that!”

              “Yep, guess that people unable to go anywhere for holidays make up for a good clientele. You can imagine the slogans: Celerity: Why go anywhere? When we can send you anywhen! “

              “And a convenient way of disposing of nosy people too. I hope they didn’t send Uncle Basil to the Dinosaurs, can’t imagine the stench of those Time sewers.”

              “Oh no, don’t think he was affluent enough, you see. Apparently you pay by the time meter. The further in time, the pricier. And I guess the surest way to dispose of someone would be in the past rather than in the future…”

              “So Uncle Basil is in the past!”

              “Exactly.”

              “Well, I could have told you that from the start. No wonder Mr French paid us in advance then, he already knew we’d crack that case. Our first case’s closed, dear! If Mr French ever wakes up and calls, we’ll just redirect him to our Time Dragglers friends in Marseille for their ‘relative lost in time’ retrieval package. Now, anyone for mojitos?”

              #4554

              The wind was playing with the fine grained ash that had been the enchanted forest and Margorrit’s cottage. Fox felt empty, he sat prostrated like an old jute bag abandoned on the ground. He was unable to shake off the inertia that had befallen on him since his arrival.
              He was caught in an endless cycle of guilt that rolled over him, crushing his self esteem and motivation until it disappeared in the ashes like his friend and the whole world.

              After a moment, his stomach growled, reminding him that he was still alive and that he hadn’t eaten that well during the last few days. His nose wriggled as beyond the decay it had caught the smell of a living creature that was passing by. He heard a crow caw.
              Fox wailed, he didn’t want to be taken out of his lamentations and self pity. He thought he didn’t deserve it. But this time, like all the others before, hunger won the battle without that much of a fight and Fox was soon on his feet.

              He looked around, there was cold ash everywhere. It smell bad, but he couldn’t really tell where it came from. It seemed to be everywhere.
              The crow landed in front of him and cawed again. It looked at him intently.
              It cawed. As if it wanted to tell him something. The black of its feathers reminded him of Glynis’s burka. Glynis. She had told him something. They count on you, as if there was still time. The last potion, cawed the crow. And it took off, only to land in what would have been the cottage kitchen. It rummaged through the ashes.
              “The kitchen!” shouted Fox, suddenly recalling what she had said. The crow looked up at Fox and cawed as if encouraging him to join it in the search.
              “The last potion that can turn back time!?”
              “Caw”

              Fox ran and foraged the ashes with the crow. He found broken china, and melted silverware. He coughed as his foraging dispersed the ashes into the air. Suddenly he shivered. He had found a bone under a piece of china. He shook his head. What a fool, it’s only chicken bone.

              “Caw”
              The raven, which Fox wondered if it was Glynis, showed Fox a place with its beak. There was a small dark bottle. He wondered why they were always dark like that. He felt a rush of excitement run through his body and he was about to open it and drink it when he saw the skull and crossbones on the label. In fact it was the only thing that was on the label. Fill with a sudden repulsion, Fox almost let go of the bottle.

              “Caw”
              “I’m not drinking that,” said Fox.
              “Caw!”
              The bird jumped on his arm and attempted to uncork the bottle.
              “Caw”
              “Glynis?”
              “Caw Caw”
              She picked at the cork.
              Fox looked at the dreaded sign on the bottle. He hesitated but opened it. When the smell reached his nose he was surprised that it was sweet and reminded him of strawberry. Maybe it was by contrast to the ambient decay.
              At least, he thought, if I die, the last thing I taste would be strawberry.
              He gulped the potion down and disappeared.
              The bottle fell on the floor, a drop hanging on the edge of its opening. Certainly attracted by the sweet smell, the crow took it with his black beak. It just had time for a last satisfied caw before it also disappeared.

              #4551

              Fox popped back into existence, blind, after what felt like a very long black out. He heard a thud on the ground as he let go of the ice flute. A strong smell of decay and cold ash rendered him dizzy. He fell on his knees, threw up and cursed when the pain caused by a little stone reached his brain. It hurt.
              He rolled on the side and banged his head on a tree trunk. He cursed, grabbing his head in an attempt to contain the pain that threatened to make him faint.
              Where is the hellishcopter? he thought, confused as his hands touched the sandy ground. He tried to control a wave of panic.
              “Rukshan? Lhamom?”

              Maybe I fell off the carpet during the transfer, Fox thought. But why am I blind?
              “Olli?..” he tried. His voice broke off. _Where is everyone?”

              He remained prostrated. He would have been glad to hear any noise other than his heartbeat and his quick breath.
              After some time his sight came back. He would have preferred it did not. Everything was grey. The forest had burnt, and so had the cottage.
              He looked around what remained of the kitchen. His heart sank when he saw what looked like a burnt body trying to escape. He went back out and found Gorrash, broken into pieces scattered near the pergola. The stones were covered in a thin layer of grey ash. Fox cried and sobbed. He couldn’t believe what had happened.
              Where was everyone? Wasn’t he supposed to have the power of miracles? His heart ached.

              A black silhouette slid between the burnt trees.
              “Glynis! You’re aliv…” Fox’s voice trailed off. He could now see the dead trees through the burka. It was only a ghost.

              She came and met him with a sad smile.
              “You were not there,” she said more as a constatation than an accusation. Still Fox felt the guilt weigh on his shoulders. He wasn’t there for his friends. The people he had grown to love. The people he called family in his heart.

              “What happened?”
              “You were not there. The monster came right after the others came through the portal. I wasn’t prepared. They counted on you and the flute. But it was too quick. It escaped and went to the village where it merged with Leroway. Eleri tried to cast her stone spell but it bounced back and she met the same end as Gorrash.”
              Fox looked at the scattered stones on the ground.
              “Once it controlled Leroway, it went into a frenzy and burnt everything. Everything. Only ashes remain.”
              Fox remained silent, unable to speak. It was his fault.

              “You have to go back,” said Glynis’s shadow. “They count on you.”
              “What?”
              The breeze blew. The ghost flickered, a surprised expression on her face.
              “Under the ashes in the kitchen, the last potion,” she said quickly. “It can turn back time. Bring the sh…” A cold breeze blew her off before she could finish.

              #4550

              There was a knock at the door. It was a tentative knock, 3 small taps really, and It would have been easy to miss if Glynnis and Eleri had not lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and now sat glowering at each other across the kitchen table.

              They turned their heads towards the door in alarm, differences forgotten in light of this new threat. Nobody had knocked on the door of the cottage in the woods for such a long time.

              “It could be one of Leroway’s men”, hissed Eleri. “I wonder how they found the cottage now it is so well hidden,” she added, unable to help herself.

              Glynis went to the window by the front door and peeped out.

              “It’s an old lady,” she said in surprise

              “Could be a trick! Don’t answer it! What’s an old lady doing in the forest this hour of the evening? That’s too strange.”

              Eleri rushed to the door and put her body in front of it, blocking Glynis.

              “She looks a lot like Margoritt, only shorter,” said Glynis. “I don’t sense any danger. I’m going to open it. Get out of the way will you.”

              “Well, I sense danger actually,” said Eleri haughtily but she stood aside and Glynis opened the door carefully, just a few inches at first, peeping out through the gap while Eleri hovered anxiously behind her. A plump little lady wearing a crinkly blue suit and a hat with a bird’s feather on it stood on the front step.

              “Hello, can I help you?” said Glynis

              “Hello dear, I was starting to think nobody was home. Is this where Margoritt lives? I do hope I have the right place. I have come such a long way.”

              “Margoritt is out on business at the moment. May I ask what it is you want with her?” said Glynis politely.

              “I’m her sister, Muriel, from the North. I’m sure she must have spoken of me. Do let me in, dears. It is icy cold out here. And I think I may be having one of my turns because your lovely wee house is looking ever so twinkly. It’s the migraine you know … they get me in the head ever so badly now and then. It’s the stress of the long journey I think ….”

              She took a step inside, gently but firmly pushing Glynis and Eleri aside, and entered the room, a strong smell of lavender wafting off her clothes and lingering in the air around her.

              “I am not sure where my case is … I left it in the forest I think. Perhaps one of you young things could find it for me. It was getting ever so heavy. Now, tell me your names and then if someone could make me a nice hot cup of tea, and one for themselves of course!” She laughed brightly and Glynis and Eleri joined in though they weren’t sure why. “And perhaps you could get me a wool blanket for my knees and I expect after a good sleep I’ll be right as rain.” She looked around the cottage with a small frown. “I can see I have come to the right place. I’d know my sister’s tastes anywhere.”

              #4549

              A deep guttural roar echoed through the mountains, ferocious and hungry.
              Fox’s hairs stood on his arms and neck as a wave of panic rolled through his body. He looked at the other his eyes wide open.
              Olliver had teleported closer to Rukshan whose face seemed pale despite the warmth of the fire, and Lhamom’s jaw had dropped open. Their eyes met and they swallowed in unison.
              “Is that…” asked Fox. His voice had been so low that he wasn’t sure someone had heard him.
              Rukshan nodded.

              “It seems you are leaving the mountains sooner than you expected,” said Kumihimo with a jolly smile as she dismounted Ronaldo.
              She plucked her icy lyre from which loud and rich harmonics bounced. The wind carried them along and they echoed back in defiance to the Shadow. It hissed and hurled back, clearly pissed off. The dogs howled and Kumihimo started to play a wild and powerful rhythm on her instrument.
              It shook the group awake from their trance of terror. Everobody stood and ran in chaos.
              Someone tried to cover the fire.
              “Don’t bother, we’re leaving,” said Rukshan, and he himself rushed toward the multicolour sand mandala he had made earlier that day. Accompanied by the witche’s mad arpeggios, he began chanting. The sand glowed faintly. It needed something more for the magic to take the relay. Something resisted. There was a strong gush of wind and Rukshan bent forward just in time as the screen and bamboo poles flew above his head. His chanting held the sands together, but they needed to act quickly.

              Lhamom told the others to jump on the hellishcopter whose carpet was slowly turning in a clockwise direction. Fox didn’t wait to be told twice but Olliver stood his ground.
              “But I want to help,” he said.
              “You’ll help best by being ready to leave as soon as the portal opens,” said Lhamom. Not checking if the boy was following her order, she went to her messenger bag and foraged for the bottle of holy snot. On her way to the mandala, she picked the magic spoon from the steaming cauldron of stew, leaving a path of thick dark stains in the snow.

              Lhamom stopped beside Rukshan who had rivulets of sweat flowing on his face and his coat fluttering wildly in the angry wind. He’s barely holding the sands together, she thought. She didn’t like being rushed, it made her act mindlessly. She opened the holy snot bottle and was about to pour it in the spoon covered in sauce, but she saw Rukshan’s frown of horror. She realised the red sauce might have unforgivable influence on the portal spell. She felt a nudge on her right arm, it was Ronaldo. Lhamom didn’t think twice and held the spoon for him to lick.
              “Enjoy yourself!” she said. If the sauce’s not good, what about donkey saliva? she wondered, her inner voice sounding a tad hysterical. But it was not a time for meditation. She poured the holy snot in the relatively clean spoon, pronounced the spell the Lama had told her in the ancient tongue and prayed it all worked out as she poured it in the center of the mandala.
              As soon as it touched the sand, they combined together in a glossy resin. The texture spread quickly to all the mandala and a dark line appeared above it. The portal teared open. Rukshan continued to chant until it was big enough to allow the hellishcopter through.

              COME NOW!” shouted Fox.
              Rukshan and Lhamom looked at the hellishcopter, behind it an immense shadow had engulfed the night. It was different from the darkness of the portal that was full of potential and probabilities and energy. The Shadow was chaotic and mad and light was absent from it. It was spreading fast and Lhamom felt panic overwhelm her.

              They ran. Jumped on the carpet. Kumihimo threw an ice flute to them and Fox caught it not knowing what to do with it.
              “You’ll have one note!” the shaman shouted. “One note to destroy the Shadow when you arrive!”
              Fox nodded unable to speak. His heart was frozen by the dark presence.
              Kumihimo hit the hellishcopter as if it were a horse, and it bounced forward. The shaman looked at them disappear through the tear, soon followed by the shadow.
              The wind stopped. Kumihimo heard the dogs approaching. They too wanted to go through. But before they could do so, Kumihimo closed the portal with a last chord that made her lyre explode.

              The dogs growled menacingly, frustrated they had been denied their hunt.
              They closed in slowly on Kumihimo and Ronaldo who licked a drop of sauce from his lips.

              #4542
              Jib
              Participant

                Liz was lying on the living room couch in a very roman pose and admiring the shiny glaze of her canines in the pocket mirror she now carried with her at all time. The couch was layered with fabrics and cushions that made it look like a giant rose in which Liz, still wearing her pink satin night gown, was like a fresh baby girl who just saw her first dawn…

                ehm, thought Finnley, eyeing Liz’s face, Maybe not her first. But to the famous author of so many unpublished books’s defence, since the unfortunate ageing spell it was hard to tell Liz’s true age.

                Finnley looked suspiciously at the fluffy cushions surrounding Liz. Where do they come from. I don’t recall seeing them before. I don’t even recall the couch had that rosy pink cover on it. She snorted. It sure looks like bad taste, she thought. She looked around and details that she hadn’t seen before seemed to pop in to her attention. A small doll with only one button eye. Reupholstered chairs with green pattern fabrics, a tablecloth with white and black stripes, and a table runner in jute linen… Something was off. Not even Godfrey would dare do such an affront to aesthetic, even to make her cringe.

                Finnley went into the kitchen, where she rarely set foot in normal circumstance, and found a fowl pattern fabric stapled on one wall, a new set of… No, she thought, I can not in the name of good taste call those tea towels. They look more like… rubbish towels.

                “Oh, my!” she almost signed herself when she saw an ugly wine cover. Her mind was unable to find a reference for it.

                “Do you like it?” asked Roberto.
                Finnley started. She hadn’t heard him come. She looked at him, and back at the wine cover. She found herself at a loss for words, which in itself made her at loss for words.
                “It’s a little duckling wine cover,” said Roberto. “I made it myself with my new sewing machine. I found the model on Pintearest.” saying so, he stuck his chest out as if he was the proud duck father of that little ugly ducklin. Finnley suddenly recovered her ability to talk.
                “You certainly nailed it,” she said. In an attempt to hold back the cackle that threatens to degenerate in an incontrollable laugh, it came out like a quack. She heard her grandmother’s voice in her head: “You can not hold energy inside forever, my little ducky, it has to be expressed.”

                Uncomfortably self conscious, Finnley looked up at Roberto with round eyes.
                “I…”
                “Oh you cheeky chick,” said the gardener with a broad smile. He pinched her cheek between his warm fingers and for a moment she felt even more like a child. “I didn’t know you are so playful.”

                Somewhere in the part of her mind that could still work a voice thought it had to give him points for having rendered her speechless twice.

                #4537

                Fox’s stomach growled and resonated on the cave’s walls. He feared it would awaken the others. It was cold and he curled up inside his ten blankets made of yak wool, tempted to turn into a fox to get extra fur.

                After being caught in a snowstorm, they had found a cave with a frozen toothless body. Rukshan had used incense and chanting to perform a commummycation spell, and to everyone’s surprise, Lhamom’s voice came out of the toothless frozen mouth. It was feeble and was full of sharp crystalline harmonics that made Fox’s grind his teeth. Because the commummycation was bad, Rukshan had to lean closer, almost touching its face. Fox shivered incontrollably, unable to know if it was of disgust or of cold.
                Rukshan told them that Lhamom had been rescued by a hellishcopter from the underworld and was on her way to extract them from the ice. He seemed as puzzled as Fox, but their guide seemed to know the strange beast and assumed their friend was blessed because hellishcopters were not known to help strangers.

                Dogs barked in the distance. Fox winced and wondered why he came to the mountain. He wished he could be back to simple cottage life in the enchanted forest. Then he recalled it was not that simple at the moment and he wondered how their friends were dealing with their own problems.

                He couldn’t sleep, like the previous nights and he didn’t dare go to far from the camp to relieve his bowels by fear of the hungry dogs.
                He also had had dreams. Strange dreams of master Gibbon’s home in the forest threatened by dozens of bulls with bright red eyes running angrily toward his unaware master. Each time Fox woke up when the bulls were about to crush the hut and master Gibbons opened his eyes, his face hurling towards Fox. Afterwards he never could go back to sleep. So he waited. He waited for their friend Lhamom to arrive as she promised.

                #4516

                “There, it’s ready” Tak said to Glynnis, sniffing the delicious pommade.

                “Just in time for the beautiful moon eclipse”, Margoritt pointed out — she added with a smile “Don’t worry dear, I’m sure Tak replicated it to perfection.”

                “Will be nice to see you with a change of outfit, you totally need a makeover” Eleri added with a high-pitched laugh.

                “I liked that burka” Gorrash said in a grumpgh.

                “Ask her nicely and she might give it to you!” Eleri giggled, unable to stop herself.

                #4469

                A few weeks back now, a visitor had come to the forest. A visitor dressed in the clothes of a tramp.

                “I’ve come to speak with Glynnis,” he said, when Margoritt answered the door of the cottage.

                “And who might I say is calling?” asked Margoritt. She looked intently into the eyes of the tramp and a look of shock crossed her countenance. “Ah, I see now who you are.”

                The tramp nodded.

                “I mean no harm to you, Old Lady and I mean no harm to Glynis. Tell her to come to the clearing under the Silver Birch. Tell her to make haste.”

                And with that he hobbled away.

                It was no more than a few minutes later, Glynnis came to the clearing. She strode up to the tramp and stood defiant in front of him.

                “What is it you want now!?” she demanded. “And why have you come disguised as a homeless wanderer dressed in rags, you coward! Is this more of your trickery! Can you not leave me in peace with my fate! Have you not done enough harm to me already! And all because I could not love you in return! she scoffed at him, her voice raised in fury and unable to halt the angry tirade though she knew caution would be the more prudent path to take.

                The tramp stood silent in the face of her anger.

                “I have come to say I am sorry and to undo the harm I did to you,” he said at last. “I was wondering would you like me to remove the scales from your face?”

                Glynnis could not reply. She stared at him in shock, trying to comprehend what his words meant.

                “My father left this dimension a short while ago,” he continued. “When he left, something changed in me. A dark mass had obscured my vision so I could feel only hatred towards you. When my father departed, so did the hatred. I realise now he cursed me … since then I have seen clearly the wrong I did to you and hastened to make amends. I came dressed as a tramp … well to be honest I thought it was quite a fun costume and I did not want to cause undue fear in those I met on my path.”

                He reached into his tattered cape and pulled out a small package. “Apply this lotion every night for a week. It will dissolve the scales and as well will heal the scars within as you sleep.”

                #4343

                “I had another vivid dream last night, Sunny. I dreamed of a man I met when i was selling my potions in the market place in town. He was chasing a little red fox and I gave him some potion … “

                “You dreamed of a fox? That’s a very good omen and fortuitously also reminds me of a joke.
                What do you call a fox with a carrot in each ear?
                Anything you want as he can’t hear you!”

                Glynis smiled reluctantly.

                “No, that’s what happened. I’ve not got to the dream part yet.”

                “My apologies,” said Sunny, nudging her ear gently from his perch on her shoulder. “Please continue.”

                “Anyway the man from the market came to me in my dream and thanked me. He said his wife was well now. He said to look for a gift in the heartwoods.”

                “Excellent dream!” said Sunny. “I adore gifts. I will keep my eyes open and hope we find it poste haste. How much further is it now, anyway?”

                “Another few days travel to the fringe of the heartwoods. According to the map, that’s where the first X is.”

                They continued in silence, glad of each other’s company on the journey.

                Glynis had been sad to leave the Bakers and more than a few tears were shed on parting They tried to get her to stay but it was without much conviction for Glynis had shown them the map and, though plain folk, they had sound instincts and knew when something had to be.

                “Any time you want, Girl,” said Mr Baker gruffly, “you’ll find a home here. You hear me? And make sure you keep in touch.”

                And Glynis nodded, unable to find the words to thank him for his kindness.

                And Mrs Baker had made her a new burka. She’d stayed up nights sewing to surprise Glynnis. It shimmered, sometimes green and sometimes blue depending on where the light fell and it felt like silk to the touch. Glynis thought it was the most pretty thing she had ever seen.

                “You’ve a lovely heart, Lass, and anyone who’s worth a penny will see that and not those scales on your face.”

                It was the first time either of the Bakers had mentioned her appearance and for a moment Glynis was rendered speechless.

                But not so, Sunny.

                “Knock, knock!” he cackled loudly. “Oh come on! It’s a good one!”
                “Who’s there?” said Glynis softly.
                “Dragon!”
                “Dragon who?”
                “Dragon your feet again?”

                #4276

                The garden was becoming too small for Gorrash. With time, the familiarity had settled down in his heart and he knew very well each and every stone or blade of grass there was to know. With familiarity, boredom was not very far. Gorrash threw a small pebble in the pond, he was becoming restless and his new and most probably short friendship with Rainbow had triggered a seed in his heart, the desire to know more about the world.

                Before he’d met the creature, Gorrash could remember the pain and sadness present in the heart of his maker. He had thought that was all he needed to know about the world, that mankind was not to be trusted. And he had avoided any contact with that dragon lady, lest she would hurt him. He knew that all came from his maker, although he had no real access to the actual memories, only to their effects.

                Gorrash threw another pebble into the pond, it made a splashing sound which dissolved into the silence. He imagined the sound was like the waves at the surface of the pond, going endlessly outward into the world. He imagined himself on top of those waves, carried away into the world. A shiver ran through his body, which felt more like an earthquake than anything else, stone bodies are not so flexible after all. He looked at the soft glowing light near the bush where Rainbow was hiding. The memory of joy and love he had experienced when they hunted together gave his current sadness a sharp edge, biting into his heart mercilessly. He thought there was nothing to be done, Rainbow would leave and he would be alone again.

                His hand reached in his pocket where he found the phial of black potion he had kept after Rainbow refused it. He shook it a few times. Each time he looked at it, Gorrash would see some strange twirls, curls and stars in the liquid that seemed made of light. He wondered what it was. What kind of liquid was so dark to the point of being luminous sometimes ? The twirls were fascinating, leading his attention to the curls ending in an explosion of little stars. Had the witch captured the night sky into that bottle?

                Following the changes into the liquid was strangely soothing his pain. Gorrash was feeling sleepy and it was a very enjoyable feeling. Feelings were quite new to him and he was quite fascinated by them and how they changed his experience of the world. The phial first seemed to pulse back and forth into his hand, then the movement got out and began to spread into his body which began to move back and forth, carried along with this sensual lullaby. Gorrash wondered if it would go further, beyond his body into the world. But as the thought was born, the feeling was gone and he was suddenly back into the night. A chill went down his spine. It was the first time. The joy triggered his sadness again.

                The dwarf looked at the dark phial. Maybe it could help ease his pain. He opened it, curious and afraid. What if it was poison? said a voice of memory. Gorrash dismissed it as the scent of Jasmine reached his nose. His maker was fond of Jasmine tea, and he was surprised at the fondness that rose in his heart. But still no images, it was merely voices and feelings. Sometimes it was frustrating to only have bits and never the whole picture, and full of exasperation, Gorrash gulped in the dark substance.

                He waited.

                Nothing was happening. He could still hear the cooing of Rainbow, infatuated with it eggs, he could hear the scratches of the shrews, the flight of the insects. That’s when Gorrash noticed something was different as he was beginning to hear the sharp cries of the bats above. He tried to move his arm to look at the phial, but his body was so heavy. He had never felt so heavy in his short conscious life, even as the light of the Sun hardened his body, it was not that heavy.

                The soil seemed to give way under his increasing weight, the surface tension unable to resist. He continued to sink into the ground, down the roots of the trees, through the tunnels of a brown moles quite surprised to see him there, surrounded by rocks and more soil, some little creatures’ bones, and down he went carried into hell by the weight of his pain.

                After some time, his butt met a flat white surface, cold as ice, making him jump back onto his feet. The weird heaviness that a moment before froze his body was gone. He looked around, he was in a huge cave and he was not alone. There was an old woman seated crosslegged on a donkey skin. Gorrash knew it was a donkey because it still had its head, and it was smiling. The old woman had hair the colour of the clouds before a storm in summer, It was full of knots and of lightning streaks twirling and curling around her head. Her attention was all on the threads she had in her hands. Gorrash counted six threads. But she was doing nothing with them. She was very still and the dwarf wondered if she was dead or asleep.

                What do you want? asked the donkey head in a loud bray.

                It startled the dwarf but it didn’t seem to bother the old lady who was still entranced and focused on her threads.

                Nothing, said Gorrash who couldn’t think of anything he would want.

                Nonsense, brayed the donkey, laughing so hard that the skin was shaking under the old lady. Everyone wants something. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something.

                Gorrash thought about what he could want, what he had been wanting that night. He remembered his desire to get out of the garden.

                And there you are, brayed the donkey head, that’s a start. What do you want then?

                Getting out of the garden?

                Noooo! That’s a consequence of a deeper desire, but that’s not what you want.

                I have never thought about desires before, said Gorrash. It’s pretty new to me. I just came to life a few weeks ago during a full moon.

                The donkey head tilted slightly on its right. No excuses, it spat, If you’re awake, then you have a desire in your heart that wants to be fulfilled. What do you want? Take your time, but not too long. The universe is always on the move and you may miss the train, or the bus, or the caravan…

                As the donkey went on making a list of means of transportation, Gorrash looked hesitantly at the old lady. She was still focused on her six threads she had not moved since he had arrived there.

                Who is she? he asked to the donkey.

                _She’s known by many names and has many titles. She’s Kumihimo Weaver of Braids, Ahina Maker of Songs, Gadong Brewer of Stews…

                Ok! said Gorrash, not wanting the donkey go on again into his list enumeration pattern. What is she doing?

                She’s waiting.

                And, what is she waiting for?

                She’s waiting for the seventh thread, brayed the donkey head. I’m also waiting for the thread, it whined loudly. She won’t leave my back until she’s finished her braid. The head started to cry, making the dwarf feel uncomfortable. Suddenly it stopped and asked And, who are you?

                The question resonated in the cave and in his ears, taking Gorrash by surprise. He had no answer to that question. He had just woken up a few weeks ago in that garden near the forest, with random memories of a maker he had not known, and he had no clue what he desired most. Maybe if he could access more memories and know more about his maker that would help him know what he wanted.

                Good! brayed the donkey, We are making some progress here. Now if you’d be so kind as to give her a nose hair, she could have her last thread and she could tell you where to find your maker.

                Hope rose in Gorrash’s heart. Really?

                Certainly, brayed the head with a hint of impatience.

                But wouldn’t a nose hair be too short for her braid? asked the dwarf. All the other threads seemed quite long to him.

                Don’t waste my time with such triviality. Pull it out!

                Gorrash doubted it would work but he grabbed a nose hair between his thumb and index and began to pull. He was surprised as he didn’t feel the pain he expected but instead the hair kept being pulled out. He felt annoyed and maybe ashamed that it was quite long and he had not been aware of it. He took out maybe several meters long before a sudden pain signalled the end of the operation. Ouch!

                hee haw, laughed the donkey head.

                The pain brought out the memory of a man, white hair, the face all wrinkled, a long nose and a thin mouth. He was wearing a blouse tightened at his waist by a tool belt. He was looking at a block of stone wondering what to make out of it, and a few tears were rolling down his cheeks. Gorrash knew very well that sadness, it was the sadness inside of him. Many statues surrounded the man in what looked like a small atelier. There were animals, gods, heads, hands, and objects. The vision shifted to outside the house, and he saw trees and bushes different than the ones he was used to in the garden where he woke up. Gorrash felt a strange feeling in his heart. A deep longing for home.

                Now you have what you came here for. Give the old lady her thread, urged the donkey. She’s like those old machines, you have to put a coin to get your coffee.

                Gorrash had no idea what the donkey was talking about. He was still under the spell of the vision. As soon as he handed the hair to the woman, she began to move. She took the hair and combined it to the other threads, she was moving the threads too swiftly for his eyes to follow, braiding them in odd patterns that he felt attracted to.

                Time for you to go, said the donkey.

                I’d like to stay a bit longer. What she’s doing is fascinating.

                Oh! I’m sure, brayed the donkey, But you have seen enough of it already. And someone is waiting for you.

                The dwarf felt lighter. And he struggled as he began levitating. What!? His body accelerated up through the earth, through the layers of bones and rocks, through the hard soil and the softer soil of years past. He saw the brown mole again and the familiar roots of the trees of the garden in the enchanted forest.

                Gorrash took a deep breath as he reintegrated his stone body. He wobbled, trying to catch his ground. He felt like throwing up after such an accelerated trip. His knees touched the ground and he heard a noise of broken glass as he dropped the phial.

                “Are you alright?” asked a man’s voice. Gorrash forced his head up as a second wave of nausea attempted to get out. A man in a dark orange coat was looking down at him with genuine worry on his face.

                “I’m good,” said the dwarf. “But who are you?”

                “My name is Fox. What’s yours?”

                #4271

                The ghosts had come back during the night.
                Even now they were lurking, trying all they could to obliterate him.
                It wasn’t like him though to feel as powerless. He’d woken up, drenched in a cold sweat.
                He had felt petrified, unable to move, vaguely realising that he was dreaming and yet, incapable of moving a muscle, or waking up from the nightmare.

                It was a clear sign he had to resume his quest, find the Hermit and sooner than later.

                “It’s alright.” Margoritt’s voice was steady and slightly amused. “You don’t owe me any explanation, you should just go. I can take care of this little one for you, you see, I’ve always wanted a child, but never had the chance to bring one in my busy life. Now is as good a time as any.
                When Mr Minn is coming back with the carriage, if you’re not back by then through these woods, you will find us in the city.”

                And with a warm hug and a small bag of provision, he was back on the paths of the forest towards the impregnable mountains.

                #4270

                Yorath led the way down the forest path. Eleri followed, feeling no urge to rush, despite the sense of urgency. Rather, she felt a sense of urgency to linger, perhaps even to sit awhile on a rock beneath an old oak tree, to stop the pell mell rush of thoughts and suppositions and just sit, staring blankly, listening to the forest sounds and sniffing the mushroomy mulch beneath her feet.

                The compulsion to be alone increased. Unable to ignore it any longer, Eleri told Yorath that she would catch him up, she needed to go behind a bush for a moment, knowing quite well that there was no need for the excuse, but still, she didn’t feel like explaining. Talking, even thinking, had become tiring, exhausting even. She needed to sit, just sit.

                She watched his retreating back and breathed a sigh of relief when his form disappeared from view. Much as she loved her dear old friend, the absence of other humans was like a breath of air to the drowning. The rustlings of the living forest, the dappling shadows and busy missions of the insects was a different kind of busyness, far from still and never silent, not always slow or sedate, not even serene or pleasant always, but there was a restful coherence to the movements of the living forest.

                Leaning back into the tree trunk, her foot dislodged a rotten log from its resting place among the leaves ~ crisp and crunchy on the top, damp and decomposing beneath the surface ~ revealing the long slim ivory of bone contrasting sharply with the shades of brown.

                Bones. Eleri paused before leaning over to touch it gently at first, then gently smooth away the composting detritus covering it.

                Bones. She held it, feeling the hard dry texture peculiar to bones, loving the white colour which was more than white, a richer white than white, not bleached of colour, but full of the colours of white, and holding all of the colours of the story of it.

                The story of the bone, the bones. She knelt, carefully brushing the leaves aside. Bones never rested alone, she knew that. Close by she knew she would find more. She knew she would take them home with her, although she knew not why. Just that she always did. A smile flitted across her face as she recalled the horse bones she’d found once ~ an entire, perfect skeleton of a horse. What she wouldn’t have given to take the whole thing home with her, but it was impossible. Perfectly assembled, picked clean and sun bleached, resplendent in the morning sun, it was a thing of unimaginable beauty that morning, reclining on the hilltop. So she took as much of the spine as she could carry, and later wished she’d taken the skull instead. And never really wondered why she didn’t go back for more.

                But that was the thing with bones. You don’t go back. You take what you want, what you can carry, and leave the rest. But Eleri had to admit that she didn’t know why this was so.

                #4264

                Yorath was still trying to explain the nature of forests, the rekindled understanding of the woodland habitats, the memory storing capacity of the vegetation in a vast network of twining tendrils and roots and so on, when Lobbocks burst into the room. Leroway had been finding himself unable to detach the workings of his mind from the contraptions he could assemble himself to control the natural states, and welcomed the interruption. If only Yorath would get to the point, he’d thought impatiently, then I could prepare to devise a solution ~ thereby entirely missing the point, although he didn’t realize it.

                But here was Lobbocks, announcing a problem that required a solution, which was much more in line with Leroway’s thinking. As he listened to the tale of the stone statue now animated and angry, he immediately started to plan a device to capture, restrain and subdue it, to keep it from harming any of the citizenry.

                Eleri, however, revealing herself from her eavesdropping position behind the door, had other ideas.

                “I must speak to him!” she said. “I must know how he animated himself, without the aid of any of my ingredients.”

                “Not to mention his vengeful attitude,” added Yorath. “Imagine if this happens again, to other stone statues and creatures.”

                “Indeed we do, Yorath! I had considered the animation, purely from a physical capacity for movement standpoint, but I had not given much thought to the emotional condition in a reanimation process after a prolonged inanimate state. Oh hello, Leroway,” she added, noticing his look of surprise.

                “Should I get a posse together to follow him then,” interjected Lobbocks, as Leroway and Eleri exchanged banal pleasantries about how long it had been since they’d met, “Because I think he’s looking for your workshop in the valley.”

                Eleri ignored Leroway’s suggestion that she stay in the village while he conducted the mission to capture the statue, stating that she was leaving for home immediately, gratefully accepting Yorath’s announcement that he would accompany her. She went back up to attic to fetch her things, and stood at the window for a moment, looking up at the castle walls.

                Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk in the other direction, and not look back? The temptation hovered, almost as tangible as the scent of orange blossom in the air. What was it that was keeping her here all these years? She was a wanderer by nature, or at least she had been. Were those days really gone? While everyone around her had been lightening their loads, ridding themselves of unnecessary baggage, loosening their ties, she’d done the opposite.

                Sighing, she picked up her bag. She would return home.

                #4124
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Corrie’s findings from elsewhere:

                  “Then she collapse, her body rigid like stone. Actually her skin began to take on a shade of grey, and several colonies of moss found their way into the wrinkles and meanders of the granite like hair.
                  Mater arrived at that moment.
                  “Oh! my! Dido, what did you do ?”
                  The old lady looked at the table, saw the empty jar, the lines of ants already pillaging the sweet spots on the table and on Idle’s fingers. Some of them had already turned into stone. Mater tried to forage into the jar to find the small package. It contained the mantra to release the hungry ghost from the stone trap of the termite honey.
                  The jar was meant for rats, Mater would feed them with termite honey to change them into stone and sell them on the market. A little hobby. She would never have thought Idle would eat that stuff. It smelled quite awful.”

                  ~~~

                  ““Well thank goodness for that!” exclaimed Liz, heaving a sigh of relief. “The teleport thread jump was a success, and Aunt Idle is safe.”

                  “What are you doing here?” said Mater, aghast.

                  “I might ask you what YOU are doing here, Mater, I left you under a sapling in the woods not a moment ago!” retorted Liz.”

                  ~~~

                  ““Are you following me, cousin ?” added Liz with a snort. “I never understood why you chose to hide yourself in that stinky town with your dead fishes. Maybe you are looking for a way out. There is nothing for you where I come from. I’ll never give you the teleportation ab-original codes.”
                  “Oh you never understood anything about me, or did you ?” said Mater, “You were too preoccupied by your followers. Is Big G still with you ? And that suspicious maid of yours. Is she still moulding dust critters ?”
                  “Dust critters ? What are you talking about?”
                  “What codes ?” asked Mater, squinting her eyes.
                  “Nothing,” said Liz, realizing she might have talked too much. But she couldn’t help it, her body was unable to contain all the words in her mind, they had to get out. She tightened her lips, trying to resist the outburst.
                  “What was that ?” asked Mater looking around, “did you hear that noise ?”
                  “Nope”, said Liz, “maybe an earthquake, or a storm approaching.” It had to get out one way or another she thought.
                  “Don’t talk nonsense with me, I tell you I heard something.”
                  Devan interrupted them. Liz looked at the young man, her cougar senses on alert.
                  “I got the paper”, he said.
                  Paper, with words.
                  “May I ?” she asked, showing the paper.
                  “Don’t try to seduce my boy”, said Mater, “I know you.””

                  ~~~

                  Corries further findings from elsewhere continued HERE

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