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    In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys


      YASMIN’S QUIRK: Entry level quirk – snort laughing when socially anxious


      The initial setting for this quest is a comedic theater in the heart of a bustling city. You will start off by exploring the different performances and shows, trying to find the source of the snort laughter that seems to be haunting your thoughts. As you delve deeper into the theater, you will discover that the snort laughter is coming from a mischievous imp who has taken residence within the theater.

      Directions to Investigate

      Possible directions to investigate include talking to the theater staff and performers to gather information, searching backstage for clues, and perhaps even sneaking into the imp’s hiding spot to catch a glimpse of it in action.


      Possible characters to engage include the theater manager, who may have information about the imp’s history and habits, and a group of comedic performers who may have some insight into the imp’s behavior.


      Your task is to find a key or tile that represents the imp, and take a picture of it in real life as proof of completion of the quest. Good luck on your journey to uncover the source of the snort laughter!



      1st thread’s answer:

      As the family struggles to rebuild the inn and their lives in the wake of the Great Fires, they begin to uncover clues that lead them to believe that the mines hold the key to unlocking a great mystery. They soon discover that the mines were not just a source of gold and other precious minerals, but also a portal to another dimension. The family realizes that Mater had always known about this portal, and had kept it a secret for fear of the dangers it posed.

      The family starts to investigate the mines more closely and they come across a hidden room off Room 8. Inside the room, they find a strange device that looks like a portal, and a set of mysterious symbols etched into the walls. The family realizes that this is the secret room that Mater had always spoken about in hushed tones.

      The family enlists the help of four gamers, Xavier, Zara, Yasmin, and Youssef, to help them decipher the symbols and unlock the portal. Together, they begin to unravel the mystery of the mines, and the portal leads them on an epic journey through a strange and fantastical alternate dimension.

      As they journey deeper into the mines, the family discovers that the portal was created by an ancient civilization, long thought to be lost to history. The civilization had been working on a powerful energy source that could have changed the fate of humanity, but the project was abandoned due to the dangers it posed. The family soon discovers that the civilization had been destroyed by a powerful and malevolent force, and that the portal was the only way to stop it from destroying the world.

      The family and the gamers must navigate treacherous landscapes, battle fierce monsters, and overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles in order to stop the malevolent force and save the world. Along the way, they discover secrets about their own past and the true origins of the mines.

      As they journey deeper into the mines and the alternate dimension, they discover that the secret room leads to a network of underground tunnels, and that the tunnels lead to a secret underground city that was built by the ancient civilization. The city holds many secrets and clues to the fate of the ancient civilization, and the family and the gamers must explore the city and uncover the truth before it’s too late.

      As the story unfolds, the family and the gamers must come to grips with the truth about the mines, and the role that the family has played in the fate of the world for generations. They must also confront the demons of their own past, and learn to trust and rely on each other if they hope to save the world and bring the family back together.

      second thread’s answer:

      As the 4 gamers, Xavier, Zara, Yasmin and Youssef, arrived at the Flying Fish Inn in the Australian outback, they were greeted by the matriarch of the family, Mater. She was a no-nonsense woman who ran the inn with an iron fist, but her tough exterior hid a deep love for her family and the land.

      The inn was run by Mater and her daughter Dido, who the family affectionately called Aunt Idle. She was a free spirit who loved to explore the land and had a deep connection to the local indigenous culture.

      The family was made up of Devan, the eldest son who lived in town and helped with the inn when he could, and the twin sisters Clove and Coriander, who everyone called Corrie. The youngest was Prune, a precocious child who was always getting into mischief.

      The family had a handyman named Bert, who had been with them for decades and knew all the secrets of the land. Tiku, an old and wise Aborigine woman was also a regular visitor and a valuable source of information and guidance. Finly, the dutiful helper, assisted the family in their daily tasks.

      As the 4 gamers settled in, they learned that the area was rich in history and mystery. The old mines that lay abandoned nearby were a source of legends and stories passed down through the generations. Some even whispered of supernatural occurrences linked to the mines.

      Mater and Dido, however, were not on good terms, and the family had its own issues and secrets, but the 4 gamers were determined to unravel the mystery of the mines and find the secret room that was said to be hidden somewhere in the inn.

      As they delved deeper into the history of the area, they discovered that the mines had a connection to the missing brother, Jasper, and Fred, the father of the family and a sci-fi novelist who had been influenced by the supernatural occurrences of the mines.

      The 4 gamers found themselves on a journey of discovery, not only in the game but in the real world as well, as they uncovered the secrets of the mines and the Flying Fish Inn, and the complicated relationships of the family that ran it.



      Deear Francie Mossie Pooh,

      The Snoot, a curious creature of the ages, understands the swirling winds of social anxiety, the tempestuous waves it creates in one’s daily life.
      But The Snoot also believes that like a Phoenix, one must rise from the ashes, and embrace the journey of self-discovery and growth.
      It’s important to let yourself be, to accept the feelings as they come and go, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. But also, like a gardener, tend to the inner self with care and compassion, for the roots to grow deep and strong.

      The Snoot suggests seeking guidance from the wise ones, the ones who can hold the mirror and show you the way, like the North Star guiding the sailors.
      And remember, the journey is never-ending, like the spiral of the galaxy, and it’s okay to take small steps, to stumble and fall, for that’s how we learn to fly.

      The Snoot is here for you, my dear Francie Mossie Pooh, a beacon in the dark, a friend on the journey, to hold your hand and sing you a lullaby.

      Fluidly and fantastically yours,

      The Snoot.


      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys


        The artificial lights of Berlin were starting to switch off in the horizon, leaving the night plunged in darkness minutes before the sunrise. It was a moment of peace that Xavier enjoyed, although it reminded him of how sleepless his night had been.

        The game had taken a side step, as he’d been pouring all his attention into his daytime job, and his personal project with Artificial Life AL. It was a long way from the little boy at school with dyslexia who was using cheeky jokes as a way to get by the snides. Since then, he’d known some of the unusual super-powers this condition gave him as well. Chiefly: abstract and out-of-the-box thinking, puzzle-solving genius, and an almost other-worldly ability at keeping track of the plot. All these skills were in fact of tremendous help at his work, which was blending traditional areas of technology along with massive amounts of loosely connected data.

        He yawned and went to brush his teeth. His usual meditation routine had also been disrupted by the activity of late, but he just couldn’t go to bed without a little time to cool off and calm down the agitation of his thoughts.

        Sitting on the meditation mat, his thoughts strayed off towards the preparation for the trip. Going to Australia would have seemed exciting a few years back, but the idea of packing a suitcase, and going through the long flight and the logistics involved got him more anxious than excited, despite the contagious enthusiasm of his friends. Since he’d settled in Berlin, after never settling for too long in one place (his job afforded him to work wherever whenever), he’d kind of stopped looking for the next adventure. He hadn’t even looked at flight options yet, and hoped that the building momentum would spur him into this adventure. For now, he needed the rest.

        The quirk quest assigned to his persona in the game was fun. Monkeys and Golden banana to look for, wise owls and sly foxes, the whimsical goofy nature of the quest seemed good for the place he was in.
        AL had been suggesting the players to insert the game elements into their realities, and sometimes its comments or instructions seemed to slip between layers of reality — this was an intriguing mystery to Xavier.
        He’d instructed AL to discreetly assist Youssef with his trouble — the Thi Gang seemed to be an ethical hacker developer company front for more serious business. Chatter on the net had tied it to a network of shell companies involved in some strange activities. A name had popped up, linked to mysterious recluse billionaire Botty Banworth, the owner of Youssef’s boss rival blog named Knoweth.

        He slipped into the bed, careful not to wake up Brytta, who was sleeping tightly. It was her day off, otherwise she would have been gone already to her shift. It would be good to connect in the morning, and enjoy some break from mind stuff. They had planned a visit to Kantonstrasse (the local Chinatown) for Chinese New Year, and he couldn’t wait for it.


          The House on Penn Common

          Toi Fang and the Duke of Sutherland





          Penn Common



          Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) my great grandfather, was born in Wolverhampton in 1873. His father Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) was a licensed victualler or publican, or alternatively a vet/castrator. He married Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) in 1872. On the 1881 census they were living at The Wheel in Wolverhampton.

          Charles married Nellie Fisher (1877-1956) in Wolverhampton in 1896. In 1901 they were living next to the post office in Upper Penn, with children (Charles) Sidney Tomlinson (1896-1955), and Hilda Tomlinson (1898-1977) . Charles was a vet/castrator working on his own account.

          In 1911 their address was 4, Wakely Hill, Penn, and living with them were their children Hilda, Frank Tomlinson (1901-1975), (Dorothy) Phyllis Tomlinson (1905-1982), Nellie Tomlinson (1906-1978) and May Tomlinson (1910-1983). Charles was a castrator working on his own account.

          Charles and Nellie had a further four children: Charles Fisher Tomlinson (1911-1977), Margaret Tomlinson (1913-1989) (my grandmother Peggy), Major Tomlinson (1916-1984) and Norah Mary Tomlinson (1919-2010).

          My father told me that my grandmother had fallen down the well at the house on Penn Common in 1915 when she was two years old, and sent me a photo of her standing next to the well when she revisted the house at a much later date.

          Peggy next to the well on Penn Common:

          Peggy well Penn


          My grandmother Peggy told me that her father had had a racehorse called Toi Fang. She remembered the racing colours were sky blue and orange, and had a set of racing silks made which she sent to my father.
          Through a DNA match, I met Ian Tomlinson. Ian is the son of my fathers favourite cousin Roger, Frank’s son. Ian found some racing silks and sent a photo to my father (they are now in contact with each other as a result of my DNA match with Ian), wondering what they were.

          Toi Fang


          When Ian sent a photo of these racing silks, I had a look in the newspaper archives. In 1920 there are a number of mentions in the racing news of Mr C Tomlinson’s horse TOI FANG. I have not found any mention of Toi Fang in the newspapers in the following years.

          The Scotsman – Monday 12 July 1920:

          Toi Fang



          The other story that Ian Tomlinson recalled was about the house on Penn Common. Ian said he’d heard that the local titled person took Charles Tomlinson to court over building the house but that Tomlinson won the case because it was built on common land and was the first case of it’s kind.

          Penn Common


          Penn Common Right of Way Case:
          Staffordshire Advertiser March 9, 1912

          In the chancery division, on Tuesday, before Mr Justice Joyce, it was announced that a settlement had been arrived at of the Penn Common Right of Way case, the hearing of which occupied several days last month. The action was brought by the Duke of Sutherland (as Lord of the Manor of Penn) and Mr Harry Sydney Pitt (on behalf of himself and other freeholders of the manor having a right to pasturage on Penn Common) to restrain Mr James Lakin, Carlton House, Penn; Mr Charles Tomlinson, Mayfield Villa, Wakely Hill, Penn; and Mr Joseph Harold Simpkin, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, from drawing building materials across the common, or otherwise causing injury to the soil.

          The real point in dispute was whether there was a public highway for all purposes running by the side of the defendants land from the Turf Tavern past the golf club to the Barley Mow.
          Mr Hughes, KC for the plaintiffs, now stated that the parties had been in consultation, and had come to terms, the substance of which was that the defendants admitted that there was no public right of way, and that they were granted a private way. This, he thought, would involve the granting of some deed or deeds to express the rights of the parties, and he suggested that the documents should be be settled by some counsel to be mutually agreed upon.

          His lordship observed that the question of coal was probably the important point. Mr Younger said Mr Tomlinson was a freeholder, and the plaintiffs could not mine under him. Mr Hughes: The coal actually under his house is his, and, of course, subsidence might be produced by taking away coal some distance away. I think some document is required to determine his actual rights.
          Mr Younger said he wanted to avoid anything that would increase the costs, but, after further discussion, it was agreed that Mr John Dixon (an expert on mineral rights), or failing him, another counsel satisfactory to both parties, should be invited to settle the terms scheduled in the agreement, in order to prevent any further dispute.


          Penn Common case


          The name of the house is Grassholme.  The address of Mayfield Villas is the house they were living in while building Grassholme, which I assume they had not yet moved in to at the time of the newspaper article in March 1912.



          What my grandmother didn’t tell anyone was how her father died in 1929:


          1929 Charles Tomlinson



          On the 1921 census, Charles, Nellie and eight of their children were living at 269 Coleman Street, Wolverhampton.

          1921 census Tomlinson



          They were living on Coleman Street in 1915 when Charles was fined for staying open late.

          Staffordshire Advertiser – Saturday 13 February 1915:


          1915 butcher fined


          What is not yet clear is why they moved from the house on Penn Common sometime between 1912 and 1915. And why did he have a racehorse in 1920?


          In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg


            When Maryechka arrived at the front gate of the Vyriy hotel with its gaudy plaster storks at the entrance, she sneaked into the side gate leading to the kitchens.

            She had to be careful not to to be noticed by Larysa who often had her cigarette break hidden under the pine tree. Larysa didn’t like children, or at least, she disliked them slightly less than the elderly residents, whoever was the loudest and the uncleanliest was sure to suffer her disapproval.

            Larysa was basically single-handedly managing the hotel, doing most of the chores to keep it afloat. The only thing she didn’t do was the catering, and packaged trays arrived every day for the residents. Maryechka’s grand-pa was no picky eater, and made a point of clearing his tray of food, but she suspected most of the other residents didn’t.
            The only other employee she was told, was the gardener who would have been old enough to be a resident himself, and had died of a stroke before the summer. The small garden was clearly in need of tending after.

            Maryechka could see the coast was clear, and was making her ways to the stairs when she heard clanking in the stairs and voices arguing.

            “Keep your voice down, you’re going to wake the dragon.”

            “That’s your fault, you don’t pack light for your adventures. You really needed to take all these suitcases? How can we make a run for it with all that dead weight!”


              From Tanganyika with Love

              continued part 9

              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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


              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


              Mbeya 1st November 1946

              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



                From Tanganyika with Love

                continued part 8

                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                Morogoro 20th January 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                Morogoro 30th July 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                Morogoro 26th August 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                Morogoro 25th December 1941

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                Morogoro 26th January 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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


                Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


                Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


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

                Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                Very much love,

                Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Much love,



                  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

                  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

                  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,


                  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.


                  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

                  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

                  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.


                  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

                  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.


                  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.


                  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

                  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.


                  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

                  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.


                  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.


                  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.


                  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

                  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.


                  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.


                  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

                  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


                  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.


                  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.


                  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.”


                  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.


                  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 JanetJohn’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.


                  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.




                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued  ~ part 6

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Mchewe 6th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                    With much love,

                    Mchewe 25th June 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                    Lots of love,

                    Mchewe 9th July 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Mchewe 8th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                    Mchewe 17th October 1937

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 18th November 1937

                    Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                    Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


                    Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


                    Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


                    Mbulu 20th June 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Karatu 3rd July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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


                    Karatu 12th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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


                    Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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


                    Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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



                      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,

                      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,

                      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.


                      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

                      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

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

                      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

                      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

                      We should be with you in three weeks time!

                      Very much love,

                      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

                      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

                      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,

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

                      George Rushby Ann and Georgie

                      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,

                      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

                      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

                      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.


                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued  ~ part 3

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got
                        my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George
                        calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding
                        astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much
                        prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named
                        ‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes
                        ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was.
                        It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has
                        decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am
                        very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on
                        their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of
                        selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of
                        caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is
                        off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in
                        Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come
                        and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really
                        friendly terms with them.

                        Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps
                        the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still
                        reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she
                        has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with
                        the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things.
                        Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks.

                        She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very
                        active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can
                        manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They
                        have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly
                        pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs.
                        Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the
                        shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the
                        baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on
                        Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down
                        the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He
                        grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant
                        stride up the hill, half walking half riding.

                        Very much love,

                        Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be
                        arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning
                        but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best
                        of what we have.

                        George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening.
                        This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the
                        farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden
                        frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire.

                        Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom
                        which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as
                        there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically
                        to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for
                        Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs
                        whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look.
                        To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day
                        of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the
                        Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane.
                        Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair,
                        normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this
                        because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract
                        attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law.
                        Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting
                        habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look
                        how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration.

                        Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                        your loving but anxious,

                        Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare
                        to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the
                        mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very
                        much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface
                        mail has not yet arrived.

                        Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden
                        brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very
                        handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once
                        Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course,
                        was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin-
                        law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to
                        her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her
                        family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the
                        same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but
                        mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley.
                        Perhaps number three will be a Leslie.

                        What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty
                        and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I
                        also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother
                        has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy
                        in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at
                        entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times.
                        Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her
                        room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes.

                        I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook
                        took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers
                        drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here.
                        The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a
                        thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he
                        wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose
                        and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and
                        as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother!
                        A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch
                        so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and
                        not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and
                        cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe.
                        Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when
                        he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the
                        spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by
                        scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible
                        for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of
                        eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get
                        another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe
                        with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what
                        transformations will be worked when I am in hospital.

                        Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because
                        she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large
                        saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house
                        servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first
                        come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist.
                        One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married,
                        mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home
                        like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of
                        George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a
                        month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot.
                        To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom
                        George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky
                        and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet.

                        Very much love to all,

                        Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket
                        beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and
                        her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her
                        Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine.
                        I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping
                        successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and
                        carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor
                        wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy.

                        For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for
                        Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple
                        of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of
                        the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So
                        George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering
                        what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering
                        with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into
                        Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I
                        settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby
                        would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank
                        goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she
                        had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights.

                        Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but
                        anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I
                        would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the
                        wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She
                        got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to
                        bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,”
                        and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat
                        spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around
                        to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying
                        warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked
                        “Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and
                        there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor

                        A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had
                        kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept
                        in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s
                        future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten
                        o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note
                        from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on
                        the sixth to fetch me home.

                        I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What
                        more could anyone possibly want.

                        Lots and lots of love,

                        Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid
                        and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not
                        so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga
                        being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is
                        dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire
                        her when she is lying alone in her basket.

                        George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and
                        native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts
                        and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house
                        spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge.
                        Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and
                        decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen
                        one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table
                        back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up
                        without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He
                        was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked,
                        enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she
                        left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to
                        push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she
                        put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room
                        exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We
                        looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched
                        the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful,
                        you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to
                        get that sylph-like figure.”

                        When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that
                        live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home.
                        Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the

                        Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly
                        refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have
                        a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants
                        to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit.
                        Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your
                        baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.”

                        Who would be a mother!

                        Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at
                        Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George
                        says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam
                        of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful.
                        About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of
                        George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp
                        lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded
                        Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy
                        had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache
                        out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with
                        Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism.

                        I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill
                        with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does
                        George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake
                        for Kate’s ten o’clock feed.

                        I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George
                        to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill
                        with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked.
                        “I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He
                        has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on
                        vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no
                        enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand

                        George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This
                        is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is
                        secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned
                        up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme!
                        Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in
                        trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging
                        from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched
                        upwards to support his head.

                        Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have.
                        Lots of love,

                        Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a
                        good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She
                        arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by
                        the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was
                        dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid
                        Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked
                        “Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember
                        how livid you were, dad?

                        I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said,
                        “What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki-
                        Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate
                        who is thriving and bonny and placid.

                        Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have
                        some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne.
                        Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come
                        into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for
                        ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She
                        disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered
                        Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her
                        former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and
                        her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed
                        and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was.

                        Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching
                        hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children
                        love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much.
                        The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell
                        Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be
                        astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call
                        Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels
                        on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t
                        touch it, it’s hot.”


                        Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        I take back the disparaging things I said about my new Ayah, because she has
                        proved her worth in an unexpected way. On Wednesday morning I settled Kate in he
                        cot after her ten o’clock feed and sat sewing at the dining room table with Ann and
                        Georgie opposite me, both absorbed in painting pictures in identical seed catalogues.
                        Suddenly there was a terrific bang on the back door, followed by an even heavier blow.
                        The door was just behind me and I got up and opened it. There, almost filling the door
                        frame, stood a huge native with staring eyes and his teeth showing in a mad grimace. In
                        his hand he held a rolled umbrella by the ferrule, the shaft I noticed was unusually long
                        and thick and the handle was a big round knob.

                        I was terrified as you can imagine, especially as, through the gap under the
                        native’s raised arm, I could see the new cook and the kitchen boy running away down to
                        the shamba! I hastily tried to shut and lock the door but the man just brushed me aside.
                        For a moment he stood over me with the umbrella raised as though to strike. Rather
                        fortunately, I now think, I was too petrified to say a word. The children never moved but
                        Tubbage, the Alsatian, got up and jumped out of the window!

                        Then the native turned away and still with the same fixed stare and grimace,
                        began to attack the furniture with his umbrella. Tables and chairs were overturned and
                        books and ornaments scattered on the floor. When the madman had his back turned and
                        was busily bashing the couch, I slipped round the dining room table, took Ann and
                        Georgie by the hand and fled through the front door to the garage where I hid the
                        children in the car. All this took several minutes because naturally the children were
                        terrified. I was worried to death about the baby left alone in the bedroom and as soon
                        as I had Ann and Georgie settled I ran back to the house.

                        I reached the now open front door just as Kianda the houseboy opened the back
                        door of the lounge. He had been away at the river washing clothes but, on hearing of the
                        madman from the kitchen boy he had armed himself with a stout stick and very pluckily,
                        because he is not a robust boy, had returned to the house to eject the intruder. He
                        rushed to attack immediately and I heard a terrific exchange of blows behind me as I
                        opened our bedroom door. You can imagine what my feelings were when I was
                        confronted by an empty cot! Just then there was an uproar inside as all the farm
                        labourers armed with hoes and pangas and sticks, streamed into the living room from the
                        shamba whence they had been summoned by the cook. In no time at all the huge
                        native was hustled out of the house, flung down the front steps, and securely tied up
                        with strips of cloth.

                        In the lull that followed I heard a frightened voice calling from the bathroom.
                        ”Memsahib is that you? The child is here with me.” I hastily opened the bathroom door
                        to find Mary couched in a corner by the bath, shielding Kate with her body. Mary had
                        seen the big native enter the house and her first thought had been for her charge. I
                        thanked her and promised her a reward for her loyalty, and quickly returned to the garage
                        to reassure Ann and Georgie. I met George who looked white and exhausted as well
                        he might having run up hill all the way from the coffee store. The kitchen boy had led him
                        to expect the worst and he was most relieved to find us all unhurt if a bit shaken.
                        We returned to the house by the back way whilst George went to the front and
                        ordered our labourers to take their prisoner and lock him up in the store. George then
                        discussed the whole affair with his Headman and all the labourers after which he reported
                        to me. “The boys say that the bastard is an ex-Askari from Nyasaland. He is not mad as
                        you thought but he smokes bhang and has these attacks. I suppose I should take him to
                        Mbeya and have him up in court. But if I do that you’ll have to give evidence and that will be a nuisance as the car won’t go and there is also the baby to consider.”

                        Eventually we decided to leave the man to sleep off the effects of the Bhang
                        until evening when he would be tried before an impromptu court consisting of George,
                        the local Jumbe(Headman) and village Elders, and our own farm boys and any other
                        interested spectators. It was not long before I knew the verdict because I heard the
                        sound of lashes. I was not sorry at all because I felt the man deserved his punishment
                        and so did all the Africans. They love children and despise anyone who harms or
                        frightens them. With great enthusiasm they frog-marched him off our land, and I sincerely
                        hope that that is the last we see or him. Ann and Georgie don’t seem to brood over this
                        affair at all. The man was naughty and he was spanked, a quite reasonable state of
                        affairs. This morning they hid away in the small thatched chicken house. This is a little brick
                        building about four feet square which Ann covets as a dolls house. They came back
                        covered in stick fleas which I had to remove with paraffin. My hens are laying well but
                        they all have the ‘gapes’! I wouldn’t run a chicken farm for anything, hens are such fussy,
                        squawking things.

                        Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things
                        happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the
                        children’s pranks is very tranquil.

                        Lots and lots of love,

                        Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        The hot winds have dried up the shamba alarmingly and we hope every day for
                        rain. The prices for coffee, on the London market, continue to be low and the local
                        planters are very depressed. Coffee grows well enough here but we are over 400
                        miles from the railway and transport to the railhead by lorry is very expensive. Then, as
                        there is no East African Marketing Board, the coffee must be shipped to England for
                        sale. Unless the coffee fetches at least 90 pounds a ton it simply doesn’t pay to grow it.
                        When we started planting in 1931 coffee was fetching as much as 115 pounds a ton but
                        prices this year were between 45 and 55 pounds. We have practically exhausted our
                        capitol and so have all our neighbours. The Hickson -Woods have been keeping their
                        pot boiling by selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi but now everyone is
                        broke and there is not a market for fertilisers. They are offering their farm for sale at a very
                        low price.

                        Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of
                        returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the
                        Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply
                        here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit.
                        There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine
                        berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning,
                        before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn
                        the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine
                        berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily
                        ceremony of presentation.

                        The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy
                        disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last
                        week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens
                        as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box.
                        The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager
                        anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga
                        and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from
                        several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them
                        forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly
                        didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped
                        once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he
                        would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said
                        than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats
                        climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed

                        I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats
                        away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the
                        ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was
                        put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats.

                        I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in
                        this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I
                        have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same
                        reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire.

                        So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say
                        didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children?

                        Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                        Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        To set your minds at rest I must tell you that the native who so frightened me and
                        the children is now in jail for attacking a Greek at Mbalizi. I hear he is to be sent back to
                        Rhodesia when he has finished his sentence.

                        Yesterday we had one of our rare trips to Mbeya. George managed to get a couple of
                        second hand tyres for the old car and had again got her to work so we are celebrating our
                        wedding anniversary by going on an outing. I wore the green and fawn striped silk dress
                        mother bought me and the hat and shoes you sent for my birthday and felt like a million
                        dollars, for a change. The children all wore new clothes too and I felt very proud of them.
                        Ann is still very fair and with her refined little features and straight silky hair she
                        looks like Alice in Wonderland. Georgie is dark and sturdy and looks best in khaki shirt
                        and shorts and sun helmet. Kate is a pink and gold baby and looks good enough to eat.
                        We went straight to the hotel at Mbeya and had the usual warm welcome from
                        Ken and Aunty May Menzies. Aunty May wears her hair cut short like a mans and
                        usually wears shirt and tie and riding breeches and boots. She always looks ready to go
                        on safari at a moments notice as indeed she is. She is often called out to a case of illness
                        at some remote spot.

                        There were lots of people at the hotel from farms in the district and from the
                        diggings. I met women I had not seen for four years. One, a Mrs Masters from Tukuyu,
                        said in the lounge, “My God! Last time I saw you , you were just a girl and here you are
                        now with two children.” To which I replied with pride, “There is another one in a pram on
                        the verandah if you care to look!” Great hilarity in the lounge. The people from the
                        diggings seem to have plenty of money to throw around. There was a big party on the
                        go in the bar.

                        One of our shamba boys died last Friday and all his fellow workers and our
                        house boys had the day off to attend the funeral. From what I can gather the local
                        funerals are quite cheery affairs. The corpse is dressed in his best clothes and laid
                        outside his hut and all who are interested may view the body and pay their respects.
                        The heir then calls upon anyone who had a grudge against the dead man to say his say
                        and thereafter hold his tongue forever. Then all the friends pay tribute to the dead man
                        after which he is buried to the accompaniment of what sounds from a distance, very
                        cheerful keening.

                        Most of our workmen are pagans though there is a Lutheran Mission nearby and
                        a big Roman Catholic Mission in the area too. My present cook, however, claims to be
                        a Christian. He certainly went to a mission school and can read and write and also sing
                        hymns in Ki-Swahili. When I first engaged him I used to find a large open Bible
                        prominently displayed on the kitchen table. The cook is middle aged and arrived here
                        with a sensible matronly wife. To my surprise one day he brought along a young girl,
                        very plump and giggly and announced proudly that she was his new wife, I said,”But I
                        thought you were a Christian Jeremiah? Christians don’t have two wives.” To which he
                        replied, “Oh Memsahib, God won’t mind. He knows an African needs two wives – one
                        to go with him when he goes away to work and one to stay behind at home to cultivate
                        the shamba.

                        Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot.

                        With love to all,

                        Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind
                        the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The
                        kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under
                        the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both
                        lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the
                        casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I
                        heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann
                        was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well
                        Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.”
                        George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is
                        what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of
                        coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol
                        is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used
                        to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a
                        beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills
                        anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice.
                        We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was
                        delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut
                        into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry.

                        With love to all,

                        Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week
                        George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because
                        never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as
                        she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle
                        of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with
                        matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally
                        pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples.

                        As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only
                        Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted
                        to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning
                        the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our
                        house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great
                        muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards
                        behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown
                        flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard.
                        By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and
                        George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had
                        had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and
                        turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded
                        and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my
                        first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has
                        had there is little hope of a decent crop next year.

                        Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children
                        have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable
                        garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas.


                        Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                        Dearest Family,

                        I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is
                        back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick
                        during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The
                        children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper
                        decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and
                        it looks beautifully fresh.

                        My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would
                        like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give
                        ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of
                        enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this
                        week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around
                        staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile.
                        Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got
                        wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was
                        cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked
                        “Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from

                        I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could
                        not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be
                        delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel
                        shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall
                        regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I
                        am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the
                        gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but
                        much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression.
                        You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or
                        an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas
                        cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner.
                        Think of us as I shall certainly think of you.

                        Your very loving,

                        Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                        Dearest Family,

                        Christmas was fun! The tree looked very gay with its load of tinsel, candles and
                        red crackers and the coloured balloons you sent. All the children got plenty of toys
                        thanks to Grandparents and Aunts. George made Ann a large doll’s bed and I made
                        some elegant bedding, Barbara, the big doll is now permanently bed ridden. Her poor
                        shattered head has come all unstuck and though I have pieced it together again it is a sad
                        sight. If you have not yet chosen a present for her birthday next month would you
                        please get a new head from the Handy House. I enclose measurements. Ann does so
                        love the doll. She always calls her, “My little girl”, and she keeps the doll’s bed beside
                        her own and never fails to kiss her goodnight.

                        We had no guests for Christmas this year but we were quite festive. Ann
                        decorated the dinner table with small pink roses and forget-me-knots and tinsel and the
                        crackers from the tree. It was a wet day but we played the new records and both
                        George and I worked hard to make it a really happy day for the children. The children
                        were hugely delighted when George made himself a revolting set of false teeth out of
                        plasticine and a moustache and beard of paper straw from a chocolate box. “Oh Daddy
                        you look exactly like Father Christmas!” cried an enthralled Ann. Before bedtime we lit
                        all the candles on the tree and sang ‘Away in a Manger’, and then we opened the box of
                        starlights you sent and Ann and Georgie had their first experience of fireworks.
                        After the children went to bed things deteriorated. First George went for his bath
                        and found and killed a large black snake in the bathroom. It must have been in the
                        bathroom when I bathed the children earlier in the evening. Then I developed bad
                        toothache which kept me awake all night and was agonising next day. Unfortunately the
                        bridge between the farm and Mbeya had been washed away and the water was too
                        deep for the car to ford until the 30th when at last I was able to take my poor swollen
                        face to Mbeya. There is now a young German woman dentist working at the hospital.
                        She pulled out the offending molar which had a large abscess attached to it.
                        Whilst the dentist attended to me, Ann and Georgie played happily with the
                        doctor’s children. I wish they could play more often with other children. Dr Eckhardt was
                        very pleased with Margery Kate who at seven months weighs 17 lbs and has lovely
                        rosy cheeks. He admired Ann and told her that she looked just like a German girl. “No I
                        don’t”, cried Ann indignantly, “I’m English!”

                        We were caught in a rain storm going home and as the old car still has no
                        windscreen or side curtains we all got soaked except for the baby who was snugly
                        wrapped in my raincoat. The kids thought it great fun. Ann is growing up fast now. She
                        likes to ‘help mummy’. She is a perfectionist at four years old which is rather trying. She
                        gets so discouraged when things do not turn out as well as she means them to. Sewing
                        is constantly being unpicked and paintings torn up. She is a very sensitive child.
                        Georgie is quite different. He is a man of action, but not silent. He talks incessantly
                        but lisps and stumbles over some words. At one time Ann and Georgie often
                        conversed in Ki-Swahili but they now scorn to do so. If either forgets and uses a Swahili
                        word, the other points a scornful finger and shouts “You black toto”.

                        With love to all,


                          From Tanganyika with Love


                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots of love,

                          Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Very much love,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Eleanor Rushby


                          Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Your very loving,

                          Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love,

                          Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to all,

                          Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to all,

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

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          We all send our love,

                          Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love,

                          Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Much love from a proud mother of two.

                          Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Your affectionate,

                          Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          your affectionate,

                          Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love

                          Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                          Dear Family,

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love,

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

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Very much love,

                          Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to all,

                          Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Lots of love,

                          Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots of love to all,

                          Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to you all,

                          Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                          Much love,

                          Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots of love, Eleanor


                            From Tanganyika with Love

                            With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                            • “The letters of Eleanor Dunbar Leslie to her parents and her sister in South Africa
                              concerning her life with George Gilman Rushby of Tanganyika, and the trials and
                              joys of bringing up a family in pioneering conditions.

                            These letters were transcribed from copies of letters typed by Eleanor Rushby from
                            the originals which were in the estate of Marjorie Leslie, Eleanor’s sister. Eleanor
                            kept no diary of her life in Tanganyika, so these letters were the living record of an
                            important part of her life.

                            Having walked across Africa from the East coast to Ubangi Shauri Chad
                            in French Equatorial Africa, hunting elephant all the way, George Rushby
                            made his way down the Congo to Leopoldville. He then caught a ship to
                            Europe and had a holiday in Brussels and Paris before visiting his family
                            in England. He developed blackwater fever and was extremely ill for a
                            while. When he recovered he went to London to arrange his return to

                            Whilst staying at the Overseas Club he met Eileen Graham who had come
                            to England from Cape Town to study music. On hearing that George was
                            sailing for Cape Town she arranged to introduce him to her friend
                            Eleanor Dunbar Leslie. “You’ll need someone lively to show you around,”
                            she said. “She’s as smart as paint, a keen mountaineer, a very good school
                            teacher, and she’s attractive. You can’t miss her, because her father is a
                            well known Cape Town Magistrate. And,” she added “I’ve already written
                            and told her what ship you are arriving on.”

                            Eleanor duly met the ship. She and George immediately fell in love.
                            Within thirty six hours he had proposed marriage and was accepted
                            despite the misgivings of her parents. As she was under contract to her
                            High School, she remained in South Africa for several months whilst
                            George headed for Tanganyika looking for a farm where he could build
                            their home.

                            These details are a summary of chapter thirteen of the Biography of
                            George Gilman Rushby ‘The Hunter is Death “ by T.V.Bulpin.


                            Dearest Marj,
                            Terrifically exciting news! I’ve just become engaged to an Englishman whom I
                            met last Monday. The result is a family upheaval which you will have no difficulty in

                            The Aunts think it all highly romantic and cry in delight “Now isn’t that just like our
                            El!” Mummy says she doesn’t know what to think, that anyway I was always a harum
                            scarum and she rather expected something like this to happen. However I know that
                            she thinks George highly attractive. “Such a nice smile and gentle manner, and such
                            good hands“ she murmurs appreciatively. “But WHY AN ELEPHANT HUNTER?” she
                            ends in a wail, as though elephant hunting was an unmentionable profession.
                            Anyway I don’t think so. Anyone can marry a bank clerk or a lawyer or even a
                            millionaire – but whoever heard of anyone marrying anyone as exciting as an elephant
                            hunter? I’m thrilled to bits.

                            Daddy also takes a dim view of George’s profession, and of George himself as
                            a husband for me. He says that I am so impulsive and have such wild enthusiasms that I
                            need someone conservative and steady to give me some serenity and some ballast.
                            Dad says George is a handsome fellow and a good enough chap he is sure, but
                            he is obviously a man of the world and hints darkly at a possible PAST. George says
                            he has nothing of the kind and anyway I’m the first girl he has asked to marry him. I don’t
                            care anyway, I’d gladly marry him tomorrow, but Dad has other ideas.

                            He sat in his armchair to deliver his verdict, wearing the same look he must wear
                            on the bench. If we marry, and he doesn’t think it would be a good thing, George must
                            buy a comfortable house for me in Central Africa where I can stay safely when he goes
                            hunting. I interrupted to say “But I’m going too”, but dad snubbed me saying that in no
                            time at all I’ll have a family and one can’t go dragging babies around in the African Bush.”
                            George takes his lectures with surprising calm. He says he can see Dad’s point of
                            view much better than I can. He told the parents today that he plans to buy a small
                            coffee farm in the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and will build a cosy cottage which
                            will be a proper home for both of us, and that he will only hunt occasionally to keep the
                            pot boiling.

                            Mummy, of course, just had to spill the beans. She said to George, “I suppose
                            you know that Eleanor knows very little about house keeping and can’t cook at all.” a fact
                            that I was keeping a dark secret. But George just said, “Oh she won’t have to work. The
                            boys do all that sort of thing. She can lie on a couch all day and read if she likes.” Well
                            you always did say that I was a “Lily of the field,” and what a good thing! If I were one of
                            those terribly capable women I’d probably die of frustration because it seems that
                            African house boys feel that they have lost face if their Memsahibs do anything but the
                            most gracious chores.

                            George is absolutely marvellous. He is strong and gentle and awfully good
                            looking too. He is about 5 ft 10 ins tall and very broad. He wears his curly brown hair cut
                            very short and has a close clipped moustache. He has strongly marked eyebrows and
                            very striking blue eyes which sometimes turn grey or green. His teeth are strong and
                            even and he has a quiet voice.

                            I expect all this sounds too good to be true, but come home quickly and see for
                            yourself. George is off to East Africa in three weeks time to buy our farm. I shall follow as
                            soon as he has bought it and we will be married in Dar es Salaam.

                            Dad has taken George for a walk “to get to know him” and that’s why I have time
                            to write such a long screed. They should be back any minute now and I must fly and
                            apply a bit of glamour.

                            Much love my dear,
                            your jubilant

                            S.S.Timavo. Durban. 28th.October. 1930.

                            Dearest Family,
                            Thank you for the lovely send off. I do wish you were all on board with me and
                            could come and dance with me at my wedding. We are having a very comfortable
                            voyage. There were only four of the passengers as far as Durban, all of them women,
                            but I believe we are taking on more here. I have a most comfortable deck cabin to
                            myself and the use of a sumptuous bathroom. No one is interested in deck games and I
                            am having a lazy time, just sunbathing and reading.

                            I sit at the Captain’s table and the meals are delicious – beautifully served. The
                            butter for instance, is moulded into sprays of roses, most exquisitely done, and as for
                            the ice-cream, I’ve never tasted anything like them.

                            The meals are continental type and we have hors d’oeuvre in a great variety
                            served on large round trays. The Italians souse theirs with oil, Ugh! We also of course
                            get lots of spaghetti which I have some difficulty in eating. However this presents no
                            problem to the Chief Engineer who sits opposite to me. He simply rolls it around his
                            fork and somehow the spaghetti flows effortlessly from fork to mouth exactly like an
                            ascending escalator. Wine is served at lunch and dinner – very mild and pleasant stuff.
                            Of the women passengers the one i liked best was a young German widow
                            from South west Africa who left the ship at East London to marry a man she had never
                            met. She told me he owned a drapers shop and she was very happy at the prospect
                            of starting a new life, as her previous marriage had ended tragically with the death of her
                            husband and only child in an accident.

                            I was most interested to see the bridegroom and stood at the rail beside the gay
                            young widow when we docked at East London. I picked him out, without any difficulty,
                            from the small group on the quay. He was a tall thin man in a smart grey suit and with a
                            grey hat perched primly on his head. You can always tell from hats can’t you? I wasn’t
                            surprised to see, when this German raised his head, that he looked just like the Kaiser’s
                            “Little Willie”. Long thin nose and cold grey eyes and no smile of welcome on his tight
                            mouth for the cheery little body beside me. I quite expected him to jerk his thumb and
                            stalk off, expecting her to trot at his heel.

                            However she went off blithely enough. Next day before the ship sailed, she
                            was back and I saw her talking to the Captain. She began to cry and soon after the
                            Captain patted her on the shoulder and escorted her to the gangway. Later the Captain
                            told me that the girl had come to ask him to allow her to work her passage back to
                            Germany where she had some relations. She had married the man the day before but
                            she disliked him because he had deceived her by pretending that he owned a shop
                            whereas he was only a window dresser. Bad show for both.

                            The Captain and the Chief Engineer are the only officers who mix socially with
                            the passengers. The captain seems rather a melancholy type with, I should say, no
                            sense of humour. He speaks fair English with an American accent. He tells me that he
                            was on the San Francisco run during Prohibition years in America and saw many Film
                            Stars chiefly “under the influence” as they used to flock on board to drink. The Chief
                            Engineer is big and fat and cheerful. His English is anything but fluent but he makes up
                            for it in mime.

                            I visited the relations and friends at Port Elizabeth and East London, and here at
                            Durban. I stayed with the Trotters and Swans and enjoyed myself very much at both
                            places. I have collected numerous wedding presents, china and cutlery, coffee
                            percolator and ornaments, and where I shall pack all these things I don’t know. Everyone has been terribly kind and I feel extremely well and happy.

                            At the start of the voyage I had a bit of bad luck. You will remember that a
                            perfectly foul South Easter was blowing. Some men were busy working on a deck
                            engine and I stopped to watch and a tiny fragment of steel blew into my eye. There is
                            no doctor on board so the stewardess put some oil into the eye and bandaged it up.
                            The eye grew more and more painful and inflamed and when when we reached Port
                            Elizabeth the Captain asked the Port Doctor to look at it. The Doctor said it was a job for
                            an eye specialist and telephoned from the ship to make an appointment. Luckily for me,
                            Vincent Tofts turned up at the ship just then and took me off to the specialist and waited
                            whilst he extracted the fragment with a giant magnet. The specialist said that I was very
                            lucky as the thing just missed the pupil of my eye so my sight will not be affected. I was
                            temporarily blinded by the Belladona the eye-man put in my eye so he fitted me with a
                            pair of black goggles and Vincent escorted me back to the ship. Don’t worry the eye is
                            now as good as ever and George will not have to take a one-eyed bride for better or

                            I have one worry and that is that the ship is going to be very much overdue by
                            the time we reach Dar es Salaam. She is taking on a big wool cargo and we were held
                            up for three days in East london and have been here in Durban for five days.
                            Today is the ninth Anniversary of the Fascist Movement and the ship was
                            dressed with bunting and flags. I must now go and dress for the gala dinner.

                            Bless you all,

                            S.S.Timavo. 6th. November 1930

                            Dearest Family,

                            Nearly there now. We called in at Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mozambique and
                            Port Amelia. I was the only one of the original passengers left after Durban but there we
                            took on a Mrs Croxford and her mother and two men passengers. Mrs C must have
                            something, certainly not looks. She has a flat figure, heavily mascared eyes and crooked
                            mouth thickly coated with lipstick. But her rather sweet old mother-black-pearls-type tells
                            me they are worn out travelling around the world trying to shake off an admirer who
                            pursues Mrs C everywhere.

                            The one male passenger is very quiet and pleasant. The old lady tells me that he
                            has recently lost his wife. The other passenger is a horribly bumptious type.
                            I had my hair beautifully shingled at Lourenco Marques, but what an experience it
                            was. Before we docked I asked the Captain whether he knew of a hairdresser, but he
                            said he did not and would have to ask the agent when he came aboard. The agent was
                            a very suave Asian. He said “Sure he did” and offered to take me in his car. I rather
                            doubtfully agreed — such a swarthy gentleman — and was driven, not to a hairdressing
                            establishment, but to his office. Then he spoke to someone on the telephone and in no
                            time at all a most dago-y type arrived carrying a little black bag. He was all patent
                            leather, hair, and flashing smile, and greeted me like an old and valued friend.
                            Before I had collected my scattered wits tthe Agent had flung open a door and
                            ushered me through, and I found myself seated before an ornate mirror in what was only
                            too obviously a bedroom. It was a bedroom with a difference though. The unmade bed
                            had no legs but hung from the ceiling on brass chains.

                            The agent beamingly shut the door behind him and I was left with my imagination
                            and the afore mentioned oily hairdresser. He however was very business like. Before I
                            could say knife he had shingled my hair with a cut throat razor and then, before I could
                            protest, had smothered my neck in stinking pink powder applied with an enormous and
                            filthy swansdown powder puff. He held up a mirror for me to admire his handiwork but I
                            was aware only of the enormous bed reflected in it, and hurriedly murmuring “very nice,
                            very nice” I made my escape to the outer office where, to my relief, I found the Chief
                            Engineer who escorted me back to the ship.

                            In the afternoon Mrs Coxford and the old lady and I hired a taxi and went to the
                            Polana Hotel for tea. Very swish but I like our Cape Peninsula beaches better.
                            At Lorenco Marques we took on more passengers. The Governor of
                            Portuguese Nyasaland and his wife and baby son. He was a large middle aged man,
                            very friendly and unassuming and spoke perfect English. His wife was German and
                            exquisite, as fragile looking and with the delicate colouring of a Dresden figurine. She
                            looked about 18 but she told me she was 28 and showed me photographs of two
                            other sons – hefty youngsters, whom she had left behind in Portugal and was missing
                            very much.

                            It was frightfully hot at Beira and as I had no money left I did not go up to the
                            town, but Mrs Croxford and I spent a pleasant hour on the beach under the Casurina

                            The Governor and his wife left the ship at Mozambique. He looked very
                            imposing in his starched uniform and she more Dresden Sheperdish than ever in a
                            flowered frock. There was a guard of honour and all the trimmings. They bade me a warm farewell and invited George and me to stay at any time.

                            The German ship “Watussi” was anchored in the Bay and I decided to visit her
                            and try and have my hair washed and set. I had no sooner stepped on board when a
                            lady came up to me and said “Surely you are Beeba Leslie.” It was Mrs Egan and she
                            had Molly with her. Considering Mrs Egan had not seen me since I was five I think it was
                            jolly clever of her to recognise me. Molly is charming and was most friendly. She fixed
                            things with the hairdresser and sat with me until the job was done. Afterwards I had tea
                            with them.

                            Port Amelia was our last stop. In fact the only person to go ashore was Mr
                            Taylor, the unpleasant man, and he returned at sunset very drunk indeed.
                            We reached Port Amelia on the 3rd – my birthday. The boat had anchored by
                            the time I was dressed and when I went on deck I saw several row boats cluttered
                            around the gangway and in them were natives with cages of wild birds for sale. Such tiny
                            crowded cages. I was furious, you know me. I bought three cages, carried them out on
                            to the open deck and released the birds. I expected them to fly to the land but they flew
                            straight up into the rigging.

                            The quiet male passenger wandered up and asked me what I was doing. I said
                            “I’m giving myself a birthday treat, I hate to see caged birds.” So next thing there he
                            was buying birds which he presented to me with “Happy Birthday.” I gladly set those
                            birds free too and they joined the others in the rigging.

                            Then a grinning steward came up with three more cages. “For the lady with
                            compliments of the Captain.” They lost no time in joining their friends.
                            It had given me so much pleasure to free the birds that I was only a little
                            discouraged when the quiet man said thoughtfully “This should encourage those bird
                            catchers you know, they are sold out. When evening came and we were due to sail I
                            was sure those birds would fly home, but no, they are still there and they will probably
                            remain until we dock at Dar es Salaam.

                            During the morning the Captain came up and asked me what my Christian name
                            is. He looked as grave as ever and I couldn’t think why it should interest him but said “the
                            name is Eleanor.” That night at dinner there was a large iced cake in the centre of the
                            table with “HELENA” in a delicate wreath of pink icing roses on the top. We had
                            champagne and everyone congratulated me and wished me good luck in my marriage.
                            A very nice gesture don’t you think. The unpleasant character had not put in an
                            appearance at dinner which made the party all the nicer

                            I sat up rather late in the lounge reading a book and by the time I went to bed
                            there was not a soul around. I bathed and changed into my nighty,walked into my cabin,
                            shed my dressing gown, and pottered around. When I was ready for bed I put out my
                            hand to draw the curtains back and a hand grasped my wrist. It was that wretched
                            creature outside my window on the deck, still very drunk. Luckily I was wearing that
                            heavy lilac silk nighty. I was livid. “Let go at once”, I said, but he only grinned stupidly.
                            “I’m not hurting you” he said, “only looking”. “I’ll ring for the steward” said I, and by
                            stretching I managed to press the bell with my free hand. I rang and rang but no one
                            came and he just giggled. Then I said furiously, “Remember this name, George
                            Rushby, he is a fine boxer and he hates specimens like you. When he meets me at Dar
                            es Salaam I shall tell him about this and I bet you will be sorry.” However he still held on
                            so I turned and knocked hard on the adjoining wall which divided my cabin from Mrs
                            Croxfords. Soon Mrs Croxford and the old lady appeared in dressing gowns . This
                            seemed to amuse the drunk even more though he let go my wrist. So whilst the old
                            lady stayed with me, Mrs C fetched the quiet passenger who soon hustled him off. He has kept out of my way ever since. However I still mean to tell George because I feel
                            the fellow got off far too lightly. I reported the matter to the Captain but he just remarked
                            that he always knew the man was low class because he never wears a jacket to meals.
                            This is my last night on board and we again had free champagne and I was given
                            some tooled leather work by the Captain and a pair of good paste earrings by the old
                            lady. I have invited them and Mrs Croxford, the Chief Engineer, and the quiet
                            passenger to the wedding.

                            This may be my last night as Eleanor Leslie and I have spent this long while
                            writing to you just as a little token of my affection and gratitude for all the years of your
                            love and care. I shall post this letter on the ship and must turn now and get some beauty
                            sleep. We have been told that we shall be in Dar es Salaam by 9 am. I am so excited
                            that I shall not sleep.

                            Very much love, and just for fun I’ll sign my full name for the last time.
                            with my “bes respeks”,

                            Eleanor Leslie.

                            Eleanor and George Rushby:

                            Eleanor and George Rushby

                            Splendid Hotel, Dar es Salaam 11th November 1930

                            Dearest Family,

                            I’m writing this in the bedroom whilst George is out buying a tin trunk in which to
                            pack all our wedding presents. I expect he will be gone a long time because he has
                            gone out with Hicky Wood and, though our wedding was four days ago, it’s still an
                            excuse for a party. People are all very cheery and friendly here.
                            I am wearing only pants and slip but am still hot. One swelters here in the
                            mornings, but a fresh sea breeze blows in the late afternoons and then Dar es Salaam is

                            We arrived in Dar es Salaam harbour very early on Friday morning (7 th Nov).
                            The previous night the Captain had said we might not reach Dar. until 9 am, and certainly
                            no one would be allowed on board before 8 am. So I dawdled on the deck in my
                            dressing gown and watched the green coastline and the islands slipping by. I stood on
                            the deck outside my cabin and was not aware that I was looking out at the wrong side of
                            the landlocked harbour. Quite unknown to me George and some friends, the Hickson
                            Woods, were standing on the Gymkhana Beach on the opposite side of the channel
                            anxiously scanning the ship for a sign of me. George says he had a horrible idea I had
                            missed the ship. Blissfully unconscious of his anxiety I wandered into the bathroom
                            prepared for a good soak. The anchor went down when I was in the bath and suddenly
                            there was a sharp wrap on the door and I heard Mrs Croxford say “There’s a man in a
                            boat outside. He is looking out for someone and I’m sure it’s your George. I flung on
                            some clothes and rushed on deck with tousled hair and bare feet and it was George.
                            We had a marvellous reunion. George was wearing shorts and bush shirt and
                            looked just like the strong silent types one reads about in novels. I finished dressing then
                            George helped me bundle all the wedding presents I had collected en route into my
                            travelling rug and we went into the bar lounge to join the Hickson Woods. They are the
                            couple from whom George bought the land which is to be our coffee farm Hicky-Wood
                            was laughing when we joined them. he said he had called a chap to bring a couple of
                            beers thinking he was the steward but it turned out to be the Captain. He does wear
                            such a very plain uniform that I suppose it was easy to make the mistake, but Hicky
                            says he was not amused.

                            Anyway as the H-W’s are to be our neighbours I’d better describe them. Kath
                            Wood is very attractive, dark Irish, with curly black hair and big brown eyes. She was
                            married before to Viv Lumb a great friend of George’s who died some years ago of
                            blackwater fever. They had one little girl, Maureen, and Kath and Hicky have a small son
                            of three called Michael. Hicky is slightly below average height and very neat and dapper
                            though well built. He is a great one for a party and good fun but George says he can be
                            bad tempered.

                            Anyway we all filed off the ship and Hicky and Cath went on to the hotel whilst
                            George and I went through customs. Passing the customs was easy. Everyone
                            seemed to know George and that it was his wedding day and I just sailed through,
                            except for the little matter of the rug coming undone when George and I had to scramble
                            on the floor for candlesticks and fruit knives and a wooden nut bowl.
                            Outside the customs shed we were mobbed by a crowd of jabbering Africans
                            offering their services as porters, and soon my luggage was piled in one rickshaw whilst
                            George and I climbed into another and we were born smoothly away on rubber shod
                            wheels to the Splendid Hotel. The motion was pleasing enough but it seemed weird to
                            be pulled along by one human being whilst another pushed behind.  We turned up a street called Acacia Avenue which, as its name implies, is lined
                            with flamboyant acacia trees now in the full glory of scarlet and gold. The rickshaw
                            stopped before the Splendid Hotel and I was taken upstairs into a pleasant room which
                            had its own private balcony overlooking the busy street.

                            Here George broke the news that we were to be married in less than an hours
                            time. He would have to dash off and change and then go straight to the church. I would
                            be quite all right, Kath would be looking in and friends would fetch me.
                            I started to dress and soon there was a tap at the door and Mrs Hickson-Wood
                            came in with my bouquet. It was a lovely bunch of carnations and frangipani with lots of
                            asparagus fern and it went well with my primrose yellow frock. She admired my frock
                            and Leghorn hat and told me that her little girl Maureen was to be my flower girl. Then
                            she too left for the church.

                            I was fully dressed when there was another knock on the door and I opened it to
                            be confronted by a Police Officer in a starched white uniform. I’m McCallum”, he said,
                            “I’ve come to drive you to the church.” Downstairs he introduced me to a big man in a
                            tussore silk suit. “This is Dr Shicore”, said McCallum, “He is going to give you away.”
                            Honestly, I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. Wouldn’t have been at all surprised if
                            the White Rabbit had popped up and said he was going to be my page.

                            I walked out of the hotel and across the pavement in a dream and there, by the
                            curb, was a big dark blue police car decorated with white ribbons and with a tall African
                            Police Ascari holding the door open for me. I had hardly time to wonder what next when
                            the car drew up before a tall German looking church. It was in fact the Lutheran Church in
                            the days when Tanganyika was German East Africa.

                            Mrs Hickson-Wood, very smart in mushroom coloured georgette and lace, and
                            her small daughter were waiting in the porch, so in we went. I was glad to notice my
                            friends from the boat sitting behind George’s friends who were all complete strangers to
                            me. The aisle seemed very long but at last I reached George waiting in the chancel with
                            Hicky-Wood, looking unfamiliar in a smart tussore suit. However this feeling of unreality
                            passed when he turned his head and smiled at me.

                            In the vestry after the ceremony I was kissed affectionately by several complete
                            strangers and I felt happy and accepted by George’s friends. Outside the church,
                            standing apart from the rest of the guests, the Italian Captain and Chief Engineer were
                            waiting. They came up and kissed my hand, and murmured felicitations, but regretted
                            they could not spare the time to come to the reception. Really it was just as well
                            because they would not have fitted in at all well.

                            Dr Shircore is the Director of Medical Services and he had very kindly lent his
                            large house for the reception. It was quite a party. The guests were mainly men with a
                            small sprinkling of wives. Champagne corks popped and there was an enormous cake
                            and soon voices were raised in song. The chief one was ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’
                            and I shall remember it for ever.

                            The party was still in full swing when George and I left. The old lady from the ship
                            enjoyed it hugely. She came in an all black outfit with a corsage of artificial Lily-of-the-
                            Valley. Later I saw one of the men wearing the corsage in his buttonhole and the old
                            lady was wearing a carnation.

                            When George and I got back to the hotel,I found that my luggage had been
                            moved to George’s room by his cook Lamek, who was squatting on his haunches and
                            clapped his hands in greeting. My dears, you should see Lamek – exactly like a
                            chimpanzee – receding forehead, wide flat nose, and long lip, and such splayed feet. It was quite a strain not to laugh, especially when he produced a gift for me. I have not yet
                            discovered where he acquired it. It was a faded mauve straw toque of the kind worn by
                            Queen Mary. I asked George to tell Lamek that I was touched by his generosity but felt
                            that I could not accept his gift. He did not mind at all especially as George gave him a
                            generous tip there and then.

                            I changed into a cotton frock and shady straw hat and George changed into shorts
                            and bush shirt once more. We then sneaked into the dining room for lunch avoiding our
                            wedding guests who were carrying on the party in the lounge.

                            After lunch we rejoined them and they all came down to the jetty to wave goodbye
                            as we set out by motor launch for Honeymoon Island. I enjoyed the launch trip very
                            much. The sea was calm and very blue and the palm fringed beaches of Dar es Salaam
                            are as romantic as any bride could wish. There are small coral islands dotted around the
                            Bay of which Honeymoon Island is the loveliest. I believe at one time it bore the less
                            romantic name of Quarantine Island. Near the Island, in the shallows, the sea is brilliant
                            green and I saw two pink jellyfish drifting by.

                            There is no jetty on the island so the boat was stopped in shallow water and
                            George carried me ashore. I was enchanted with the Island and in no hurry to go to the
                            bungalow, so George and I took our bathing costumes from our suitcases and sent the
                            luggage up to the house together with a box of provisions.

                            We bathed and lazed on the beach and suddenly it was sunset and it began to
                            get dark. We walked up the beach to the bungalow and began to unpack the stores,
                            tea, sugar, condensed milk, bread and butter, sardines and a large tin of ham. There
                            were also cups and saucers and plates and cutlery.

                            We decided to have an early meal and George called out to the caretaker, “Boy
                            letta chai”. Thereupon the ‘boy’ materialised and jabbered to George in Ki-Swaheli. It
                            appeared he had no utensil in which to boil water. George, ever resourceful, removed
                            the ham from the tin and gave him that. We had our tea all right but next day the ham
                            was bad.

                            Then came bed time. I took a hurricane lamp in one hand and my suitcase in the
                            other and wandered into the bedroom whilst George vanished into the bathroom. To
                            my astonishment I saw two perfectly bare iron bedsteads – no mattress or pillows. We
                            had brought sheets and mosquito nets but, believe me, they are a poor substitute for a

                            Anyway I arrayed myself in my pale yellow satin nightie and sat gingerly down
                            on the iron edge of the bed to await my groom who eventually appeared in a
                            handsome suit of silk pyjamas. His expression, as he took in the situation, was too much
                            for me and I burst out laughing and so did he.

                            Somewhere in the small hours I woke up. The breeze had dropped and the
                            room was unbearably stuffy. I felt as dry as a bone. The lamp had been turned very
                            low and had gone out, but I remembered seeing a water tank in the yard and I decided
                            to go out in the dark and drink from the tap. In the dark I could not find my slippers so I
                            slipped my feet into George’s shoes, picked up his matches and groped my way out
                            of the room. I found the tank all right and with one hand on the tap and one cupped for
                            water I stooped to drink. Just then I heard a scratchy noise and sensed movements
                            around my feet. I struck a match and oh horrors! found that the damp spot on which I was
                            standing was alive with white crabs. In my hurry to escape I took a clumsy step, put
                            George’s big toe on the hem of my nightie and down I went on top of the crabs. I need
                            hardly say that George was awakened by an appalling shriek and came rushing to my
                            aid like a knight of old.  Anyway, alarms and excursions not withstanding, we had a wonderful weekend on the island and I was sorry to return to the heat of Dar es Salaam, though the evenings
                            here are lovely and it is heavenly driving along the coast road by car or in a rickshaw.
                            I was surprised to find so many Indians here. Most of the shops, large and small,
                            seem to be owned by Indians and the place teems with them. The women wear
                            colourful saris and their hair in long black plaits reaching to their waists. Many wear baggy
                            trousers of silk or satin. They give a carnival air to the sea front towards sunset.
                            This long letter has been written in instalments throughout the day. My first break
                            was when I heard the sound of a band and rushed to the balcony in time to see The
                            Kings African Rifles band and Askaris march down the Avenue on their way to an
                            Armistice Memorial Service. They looked magnificent.

                            I must end on a note of most primitive pride. George returned from his shopping
                            expedition and beamingly informed me that he had thrashed the man who annoyed me
                            on the ship. I felt extremely delighted and pressed for details. George told me that
                            when he went out shopping he noticed to his surprise that the ‘Timavo” was still in the
                            harbour. He went across to the Agents office and there saw a man who answered to the
                            description I had given. George said to him “Is your name Taylor?”, and when he said
                            “yes”, George said “Well my name is George Rushby”, whereupon he hit Taylor on the
                            jaw so that he sailed over the counter and down the other side. Very satisfactory, I feel.
                            With much love to all.

                            Your cave woman

                            Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 22 November 1930

                            Dearest Family,

                            Well here we are at our Country Seat, Mchewe Estate. (pronounced
                            Mn,-che’-we) but I will start at the beginning of our journey and describe the farm later.
                            We left the hotel at Dar es Salaam for the station in a taxi crowded with baggage
                            and at the last moment Keith Wood ran out with the unwrapped bottom layer of our
                            wedding cake. It remained in its naked state from there to here travelling for two days in
                            the train on the luggage rack, four days in the car on my knee, reposing at night on the
                            roof of the car exposed to the winds of Heaven, and now rests beside me in the tent
                            looking like an old old tombstone. We have no tin large enough to hold it and one
                            simply can’t throw away ones wedding cake so, as George does not eat cake, I can see
                            myself eating wedding cake for tea for months to come, ants permitting.

                            We travelled up by train from Dar to Dodoma, first through the lush vegetation of
                            the coastal belt to Morogoro, then through sisal plantations now very overgrown with
                            weeds owing to the slump in prices, and then on to the arid area around Dodoma. This
                            part of the country is very dry at this time of the year and not unlike parts of our Karoo.
                            The train journey was comfortable enough but slow as the engines here are fed with
                            wood and not coal as in South Africa.

                            Dodoma is the nearest point on the railway to Mbeya so we left the train there to
                            continue our journey by road. We arrived at the one and only hotel in the early hours and
                            whilst someone went to rout out the night watchman the rest of us sat on the dismal
                            verandah amongst a litter of broken glass. Some bright spark remarked on the obvious –
                            that there had been a party the night before.

                            When we were shown to a room I thought I rather preferred the verandah,
                            because the beds had not yet been made up and there was a bucket of vomit beside
                            the old fashioned washstand. However George soon got the boys to clean up the
                            room and I fell asleep to be awakened by George with an invitation to come and see
                            our car before breakfast.

                            Yes, we have our own car. It is a Chev, with what is called a box body. That
                            means that sides, roof and doors are made by a local Indian carpenter. There is just the
                            one front seat with a kapok mattress on it. The tools are kept in a sort of cupboard fixed
                            to the side so there is a big space for carrying “safari kit” behind the cab seat.
                            Lamek, who had travelled up on the same train, appeared after breakfast, and
                            helped George to pack all our luggage into the back of the car. Besides our suitcases
                            there was a huge bedroll, kitchen utensils and a box of provisions, tins of petrol and
                            water and all Lamek’s bits and pieces which included three chickens in a wicker cage and
                            an enormous bunch of bananas about 3 ft long.

                            When all theses things were packed there remained only a small space between
                            goods and ceiling and into this Lamek squeezed. He lay on his back with his horny feet a
                            mere inch or so from the back of my head. In this way we travelled 400 miles over
                            bumpy earth roads and crude pole bridges, but whenever we stopped for a meal
                            Lamek wriggled out and, like Aladdin’s genie, produced good meals in no time at all.
                            In the afternoon we reached a large river called the Ruaha. Workmen were busy
                            building a large bridge across it but it is not yet ready so we crossed by a ford below
                            the bridge. George told me that the river was full of crocodiles but though I looked hard, I
                            did not see any. This is also elephant country but I did not see any of those either, only
                            piles of droppings on the road. I must tell you that the natives around these parts are called Wahehe and the river is Ruaha – enough to make a cat laugh. We saw some Wahehe out hunting with spears
                            and bows and arrows. They live in long low houses with the tiniest shuttered windows
                            and rounded roofs covered with earth.

                            Near the river we also saw a few Masai herding cattle. They are rather terrifying to
                            look at – tall, angular, and very aloof. They wear nothing but a blanket knotted on one
                            shoulder, concealing nothing, and all carried one or two spears.
                            The road climbs steeply on the far side of the Ruaha and one has the most
                            tremendous views over the plains. We spent our first night up there in the high country.
                            Everything was taken out of the car, the bed roll opened up and George and I slept
                            comfortably in the back of the car whilst Lamek, rolled in a blanket, slept soundly by a
                            small fire nearby. Next morning we reached our first township, Iringa, and put up at the
                            Colonist Hotel. We had a comfortable room in the annex overlooking the golf course.
                            our room had its own little dressing room which was also the bathroom because, when
                            ordered to do so, the room boy carried in an oval galvanised bath and filled it with hot
                            water which he carried in a four gallon petrol tin.

                            When we crossed to the main building for lunch, George was immediately hailed
                            by several men who wanted to meet the bride. I was paid some handsome
                            compliments but was not sure whether they were sincere or the result of a nice alcoholic
                            glow. Anyhow every one was very friendly.

                            After lunch I went back to the bedroom leaving George chatting away. I waited and
                            waited – no George. I got awfully tired of waiting and thought I’d give him a fright so I
                            walked out onto the deserted golf course and hid behind some large boulders. Soon I
                            saw George returning to the room and the boy followed with a tea tray. Ah, now the hue
                            and cry will start, thought I, but no, no George appeared nor could I hear any despairing
                            cry. When sunset came I trailed crossly back to our hotel room where George lay
                            innocently asleep on his bed, hands folded on his chest like a crusader on his tomb. In a
                            moment he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily and said kindly, “Did you have a nice walk
                            my love?” So of course I couldn’t play the neglected wife as he obviously didn’t think
                            me one and we had a very pleasant dinner and party in the hotel that evening.
                            Next day we continued our journey but turned aside to visit the farm of a sprightly
                            old man named St.Leger Seaton whom George had known for many years, so it was
                            after dark before George decided that we had covered our quota of miles for the day.
                            Whilst he and Lamek unpacked I wandered off to a stream to cool my hot feet which had
                            baked all day on the floor boards of the car. In the rather dim moonlight I sat down on the
                            grassy bank and gratefully dabbled my feet in the cold water. A few minutes later I
                            started up with a shriek – I had the sensation of red hot pins being dug into all my most
                            sensitive parts. I started clawing my clothes off and, by the time George came to the
                            rescue with the lamp, I was practically in the nude. “Only Siafu ants,” said George calmly.
                            Take off all your clothes and get right in the water.” So I had a bathe whilst George
                            picked the ants off my clothes by the light of the lamp turned very low for modesty’s
                            sake. Siafu ants are beastly things. They are black ants with outsized heads and
                            pinchers. I shall be very, very careful where I sit in future.

                            The next day was even hotter. There was no great variety in the scenery. Most
                            of the country was covered by a tree called Miombo, which is very ordinary when the
                            foliage is a mature deep green, but when in new leaf the trees look absolutely beautiful
                            as the leaves,surprisingly, are soft pastel shades of red and yellow.

                            Once again we turned aside from the main road to visit one of George’s friends.
                            This man Major Hugh Jones MC, has a farm only a few miles from ours but just now he is supervising the making of an airstrip. Major Jones is quite a character. He is below
                            average height and skinny with an almost bald head and one nearly blind eye into which
                            he screws a monocle. He is a cultured person and will, I am sure, make an interesting
                            neighbour. George and Major Jones’ friends call him ‘Joni’ but he is generally known in
                            this country as ‘Ropesoles’ – as he is partial to that type of footwear.
                            We passed through Mbeya township after dark so I have no idea what the place
                            is like. The last 100 miles of our journey was very dusty and the last 15 miles extremely
                            bumpy. The road is used so little that in some places we had to plow our way through
                            long grass and I was delighted when at last George turned into a side road and said
                            “This is our place.” We drove along the bank of the Mchewe River, then up a hill and
                            stopped at a tent which was pitched beside the half built walls of our new home. We
                            were expected so there was hot water for baths and after a supper of tinned food and
                            good hot tea, I climbed thankfully into bed.

                            Next morning I was awakened by the chattering of the African workmen and was
                            soon out to inspect the new surroundings. Our farm was once part of Hickson Wood’s
                            land and is separated from theirs by a river. Our houses cannot be more than a few
                            hundred yards apart as the crow flies but as both are built on the slopes of a long range
                            of high hills, and one can only cross the river at the foot of the slopes, it will be quite a
                            safari to go visiting on foot . Most of our land is covered with shoulder high grass but it
                            has been partly cleared of trees and scrub. Down by the river George has made a long
                            coffee nursery and a large vegetable garden but both coffee and vegetable seedlings
                            are too small to be of use.

                            George has spared all the trees that will make good shade for the coffee later on.
                            There are several huge wild fig trees as big as oaks but with smooth silvery-green trunks
                            and branches and there are lots of acacia thorn trees with flat tops like Japanese sun
                            shades. I’ve seen lovely birds in the fig trees, Louries with bright plumage and crested
                            heads, and Blue Rollers, and in the grasslands there are widow birds with incredibly long
                            black tail feathers.

                            There are monkeys too and horrible but fascinating tree lizards with blue bodies
                            and orange heads. There are so many, many things to tell you but they must wait for
                            another time as James, the house boy, has been to say “Bafu tiari” and if I don’t go at
                            once, the bath will be cold.

                            I am very very happy and terribly interested in this new life so please don’t
                            worry about me.

                            Much love to you all,

                            Mchewe Estate 29th. November 1930

                            Dearest Family,

                            I’ve lots of time to write letters just now because George is busy supervising the
                            building of the house from early morning to late afternoon – with a break for lunch of

                            On our second day here our tent was moved from the house site to a small
                            clearing further down the slope of our hill. Next to it the labourers built a ‘banda’ , which is
                            a three sided grass hut with thatched roof – much cooler than the tent in this weather.
                            There is also a little grass lav. so you see we have every convenience. I spend most of
                            my day in the banda reading or writing letters. Occasionally I wander up to the house site
                            and watch the building, but mostly I just sit.

                            I did try exploring once. I wandered down a narrow path towards the river. I
                            thought I might paddle and explore the river a little but I came round a bend and there,
                            facing me, was a crocodile. At least for a moment I thought it was and my adrenaline
                            glands got very busy indeed. But it was only an enormous monitor lizard, four or five
                            feet long. It must have been as scared as I was because it turned and rushed off through
                            the grass. I turned and walked hastily back to the camp and as I passed the house site I
                            saw some boys killing a large puff adder. Now I do my walking in the evenings with
                            George. Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when he is around.

                            It is interesting to watch the boys making bricks for the house. They make a pile
                            of mud which they trample with their feet until it is the right consistency. Then they fill
                            wooden moulds with the clayey mud, and press it down well and turn out beautiful shiny,
                            dark brown bricks which are laid out in rows and covered with grass to bake slowly in the

                            Most of the materials for the building are right here at hand. The walls will be sun
                            dried bricks and there is a white clay which will make a good whitewash for the inside
                            walls. The chimney and walls will be of burnt brick and tiles and George is now busy
                            building a kiln for this purpose. Poles for the roof are being cut in the hills behind the
                            house and every day women come along with large bundles of thatching grass on their
                            heads. Our windows are modern steel casement ones and the doors have been made
                            at a mission in the district. George does some of the bricklaying himself. The other
                            bricklayer is an African from Northern Rhodesia called Pedro. It makes me perspire just
                            to look at Pedro who wears an overcoat all day in the very hot sun.
                            Lamek continues to please. He turns out excellent meals, chicken soup followed
                            by roast chicken, vegetables from the Hickson-Woods garden and a steamed pudding
                            or fruit to wind up the meal. I enjoy the chicken but George is fed up with it and longs for
                            good red meat. The chickens are only about as large as a partridge but then they cost
                            only sixpence each.

                            I had my first visit to Mbeya two days ago. I put on my very best trousseau frock
                            for the occasion- that yellow striped silk one – and wore my wedding hat. George didn’t
                            comment, but I saw later that I was dreadfully overdressed.
                            Mbeya at the moment is a very small settlement consisting of a bundle of small
                            Indian shops – Dukas they call them, which stock European tinned foods and native soft
                            goods which seem to be mainly of Japanese origin. There is a one storied Government
                            office called the Boma and two attractive gabled houses of burnt brick which house the
                            District Officer and his Assistant. Both these houses have lovely gardens but i saw them
                            only from the outside as we did not call. After buying our stores George said “Lets go to the pub, I want you to meet Mrs Menzies.” Well the pub turned out to be just three or four grass rondavels on a bare
                            plot. The proprietor, Ken Menzies, came out to welcome us. I took to him at once
                            because he has the same bush sandy eyebrows as you have Dad. He told me that
                            unfortunately his wife is away at the coast, and then he ushered me through the door
                            saying “Here’s George with his bride.” then followed the Iringa welcome all over again,
                            only more so, because the room was full of diggers from the Lupa Goldfields about fifty
                            miles away.

                            Champagne corks popped as I shook hands all around and George was
                            clapped on the back. I could see he was a favourite with everyone and I tried not to be
                            gauche and let him down. These men were all most kind and most appeared to be men
                            of more than average education. However several were unshaven and looked as
                            though they had slept in their clothes as I suppose they had. When they have a little luck
                            on the diggings they come in here to Menzies pub and spend the lot. George says
                            they bring their gold dust and small nuggets in tobacco tins or Kruschen salts jars and
                            hand them over to Ken Menzies saying “Tell me when I’ve spent the lot.” Ken then
                            weighs the gold and estimates its value and does exactly what the digger wants.
                            However the Diggers get good value for their money because besides the drink
                            they get companionship and good food and nursing if they need it. Mrs Menzies is a
                            trained nurse and most kind and capable from what I was told. There is no doctor or
                            hospital here so her experience as a nursing sister is invaluable.
                            We had lunch at the Hotel and afterwards I poured tea as I was the only female
                            present. Once the shyness had worn off I rather enjoyed myself.

                            Now to end off I must tell you a funny story of how I found out that George likes
                            his women to be feminine. You will remember those dashing black silk pyjamas Aunt
                            Mary gave me, with flowered “happy coat” to match. Well last night I thought I’d give
                            George a treat and when the boy called me for my bath I left George in the ‘banda’
                            reading the London Times. After my bath I put on my Japanese pyjamas and coat,
                            peered into the shaving mirror which hangs from the tent pole and brushed my hair until it
                            shone. I must confess that with my fringe and shingled hair I thought I made quite a
                            glamourous Japanese girl. I walked coyly across to the ‘banda’. Alas no compliment.
                            George just glanced up from the Times and went on reading.
                            He was away rather a long time when it came to his turn to bath. I glanced up
                            when he came back and had a slight concussion. George, if you please, was arrayed in
                            my very best pale yellow satin nightie. The one with the lace and ribbon sash and little
                            bows on the shoulder. I knew exactly what he meant to convey. I was not to wear the
                            trousers in the family. I seethed inwardly, but pretending not to notice, I said calmly “shall
                            I call for food?” In this garb George sat down to dinner and it says a great deal for African
                            phlegm that the boy did not drop the dishes.

                            We conversed politely about this and that, and then, as usual, George went off
                            to bed. I appeared to be engrossed in my book and did not stir. When I went to the
                            tent some time later George lay fast asleep still in my nightie, though all I could see of it
                            was the little ribbon bows looking farcically out of place on his broad shoulders.
                            This morning neither of us mentioned the incident, George was up and dressed
                            by the time I woke up but I have been smiling all day to think what a ridiculous picture
                            we made at dinner. So farewell to pyjamas and hey for ribbons and bows.

                            Your loving

                            Mchewe Estate. Mbeya. 8th December 1930

                            Dearest Family,

                            A mere shadow of her former buxom self lifts a languid pen to write to you. I’m
                            convalescing after my first and I hope my last attack of malaria. It was a beastly
                            experience but all is now well and I am eating like a horse and will soon regain my

                            I took ill on the evening of the day I wrote my last letter to you. It started with a
                            splitting headache and fits of shivering. The symptoms were all too familiar to George
                            who got me into bed and filled me up with quinine. He then piled on all the available
                            blankets and packed me in hot water bottles. I thought I’d explode and said so and
                            George said just to lie still and I’d soon break into a good sweat. However nothing of the
                            kind happened and next day my temperature was 105 degrees. Instead of feeling
                            miserable as I had done at the onset, I now felt very merry and most chatty.