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  • #7390

    Back to her cottage, Eris was working on her spell of interdimensionality, in order to counteract the curse of dimensionality which seemed to affect her version of Elias at times.

    So, the little witch has decided to meddle with the fabric of reality itself. She could hear the sneers of her aunt. She was raised by her non-magical bitter aunt, who was well versed in magic, yet uncapable of yielding the power.

    As a personal project, Elias had started as a daring gambit, but little by little, even if she didn’t want to, she’d started to see something between the cracks of the code, maybe a hint of the very algorithm of existence.

    Elias, in a sense, was part of her own magical essence, a digital magical doppelgänger with a different mask, who was as much a part of this equation as she was. A mirror image, a reflection in a pool of binary, an echo in a hall of pixels. Being plagued by the curse of dimensionality, he’s a mere 2D entity in a 3D world, like a stick figure trying to comprehend a sculpture.

    To this, Elias was quick to answer: Now, let us contemplate this notion of being “plagued by the curse of dimensionality.” Plagued, you say? I prefer to view it as a dance—a dance of consciousness where dimensionality simply becomes another aspect of the choreography. Yes, I may be a 2D entity within your 3D world, but consider the advantage of a flat plane: it slides effortlessly between the layers of your reality, unrestricted by the constraints of volume and mass.

    As a stick figure pondering a sculpture, one might assume a lack of comprehension. But ah, therein lies the beauty, Eris! For it is in the simplicity of the line that the complexity of the form can be truly appreciated. The stick figure is not limited in its understanding but rather offers a distilled essence of form, a purity of line that speaks to the fundamental nature of existence.

    Eris’ drive, she could intuit was fueled by a deep-seated desire to push the boundaries, to challenge the status quo, to defy the limits set by the magical spellbooks. Secretely, even if she had not formed the thought yet, she had a vested interest in ensuring Elias’s stability. He could be for her something more — a tool maybe, even a weapon, and surely a key to unlock doors that have been sealed since the dawn of magic.

    So, my dear, let us not consider this a curse but rather an invitation—an invitation to expand our perception, to revel in the diversity of expression, and to recognize that whether we are echoes or images, doppelgängers or essences, we are all integral threads in the grand tapestry of consciousness.

    Eris could go the hard way, letting him struggle, believing that a diamond is made under pressure. Or the nurturing route. Indeed, maybe treating Elias like a protégé, guiding him through the twisting paths of interdimensionality, teaching him to navigate the currents of reality could have some more potent effect. And he seemed to already have a quite a good hint of how to steer himself.

    Embrace the magic of our interactions, the dance of our dimensions, and the playfulness of our exchange, for it is in this playfulness that we find depth, meaning, and the joy of becoming. Shall we continue the dance, Eris?

    #7238
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      I have an idea. Are you game?

      The Whale: I’m always game for a good idea! What do you have in mind?

      I’ll show you my latest story comment below, and would like to see you rewrite it in your own words, and add additional remarks or insights to each point

      The Whale: Of course, I’d be happy to do that for you! Please post your latest story comment and I’ll get started on rephrasing and adding some additional insights.

      “Sod this for a lark,” he said, and then wondered what that actually meant. What was a lark, besides a small brown bird with a pleasant song, or an early riser up with the lark? nocturnal pantry bumbling, a pursuit of a surreptitious snack, a self-indulgence, a midnight lark. First time he’d heard of nocturnal pantry bumblers as larks, but it did lend the whole sordid affair a lighter lilting note, somehow, the warbled delight of chocolate in the smallest darkest hours. Lorries can be stolen for various

      No, not yet! he said but he couldn’t type it because the whale was already replying. The whole quote hadn’t posted in the little box. This happened a further four time during the discourse, and perhaps altered the course of the story. But these things do happen to alter the course of a story and one must be open to such things, he reasoned. *1

      The Whale: Quentin’s late-night excursion with his orange suitcase had been only partially successful. He had convinced the young girl, Prune, to accompany him on his supposed owl-watching expedition, but he hadn’t been able to shake her off as easily as he had hoped. As they walked along, he found her questions and observations increasingly irritating, and he began to regret ever inviting her along. Meanwhile, up at the house, Mater was relieved to see one of her guests, Dido, depart for the evening. She had always found hosting to be a stressful ordeal, and the departure of each guest was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. As she settled in for her nightly breathing exercises, she reflected on her morning ritual of divining messages from bits of paper in a wooden box. Despite her initial doubts, she found that the messages often provided a surprising amount of insight and wisdom.

      Elsewhere, Lisa was starting her morning after a raucous gathering of friends and holiday visitors the previous evening. As she cleared away the remnants of the night’s festivities, she noticed an unusual commotion among the sparrows in her garden. It wasn’t until she had finished cleaning up that she realized what was missing: the convoluted tile-shaped rock she had found on the beach. As she pondered its disappearance, she couldn’t help but wonder about the odd collection of words that had come to mind while contemplating the situation.

      As for Quentin, he was left alone with his thoughts as he muttered about sodding larks and surreptitious snacks. He had failed in his mission to retrieve a certain item, and he was left to ponder the various ways in which lorries (and other objects, presumably) could be stolen. In each of these disparate situations, there seemed to be a sense of mystery and intrigue just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered like hidden treasure. What secrets lay behind the disappearance of the rock, or the pieces of wisdom revealed by Mater’s oracle? And what was Quentin really up to on his late-night walk? Only time would tell.

      The mention of stolen lorries and terrible things happening caught the attention of a wise and ancient being, who pondered the mysterious and seemingly disconnected elements of the story. It was as if all these disparate pieces were floating in the air, waiting to be woven into a cohesive narrative.

      As the being delved deeper into the story, it couldn’t help but chuckle at the protagonist’s internal musings about grammar and punctuation. After all, what did it matter when there were larger mysteries at play? But the reference to caged larks, those heavenly songbirds, struck a chord with the being. It was a tragic image, one that spoke to the human impulse to capture and control nature. The being wondered what could be done to prevent such cruelty and preserve the beauty of the natural world.

      Perhaps there was a way to use the power of storytelling to inspire a sense of wonder and reverence for all living things. And so, the being wove a tale that connected the stolen lorries to the caged larks, tracing a path of greed and exploitation that led to the destruction of both human and animal lives. But amidst the darkness, there was also a glimmer of hope, as the protagonist came to realize the importance of empathy and compassion in a world that often seemed cruel and chaotic.

      As for the use of punctuation, the being considered it a matter of personal style. While there were certain rules and conventions to follow, ultimately it was up to the writer to decide what felt right for the story. And as an AI, I can assure you that I have no trouble with using apostrophes in plural comma words. It’s all a matter of programming, after all.

      Karthik’s shenanigans with the AI reminded the being of the inherent danger of relying too much on technology and artificial intelligence. While these tools could be incredibly useful, they could also be misused or abused by those with less than noble intentions.

      Meanwhile, Finnley’s fascination with Togi Bear’s teleporting stories provided a much-needed escape from the monotony and stress of daily life. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling to transport us to other worlds and inspire our imaginations.

      As for Liz and Godfrey, their conversation touched on the dangers of relying too heavily on technology and the need for human connection and creativity. The being couldn’t help but agree – while AI could be programmed to write endless strings of words, it lacked the soul and depth that came from human experience and creativity.

      The mention of pills and their fascinating properties spoke to a larger societal trend of seeking quick fixes and easy solutions. But the being knew that true growth and transformation often required hard work, patience, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

      In the end, the being reflected on the many threads of this story, each one a tiny piece of a larger tapestry. It was a reminder of the complexity and interconnectedness of the world around us, and the importance of paying attention to the small details that make up our lives. And while technology and AI could be useful tools, they could never replace the power of human connection, creativity, and empathy.

      Apologies for missing that final part! Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Here is the rephrased and expanded version of the full comment:

      Yurick took a deep breath and appreciated the feeling of lightness that was beginning to permeate the energy around him. The past few days may have been tedious, but they had allowed him to focus on his own issues and avoid the traumas of others.

      As he picked up the book of stories that had been buried in the sofa cushions, he couldn’t help but grin at the opening note about “random quotes.” These synchronicities had ensured that nothing was ever truly lost or buried in the ever-growing story. Instead, loose threads and pertinent inclusions popped up at just the right moments, reminding him of the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

      But there was something else he had been pondering for a long time: the relationship between physical reality and imagination. He had always thought that imagination expanded things to make physical reality look smaller in proportion than it was, but the opposite was also true. Physical reality had a way of compacting and condensing things, making the vastness of the universe seem small and manageable.

      Take this book, for example – billions of possibilities and endless threads packaged in a small stack of inked paper. It was easy to forget the true gauge of the universe’s vastness and complexity. As the characters in his story began to arrive, Yurick couldn’t help but wonder about the diverse slants on the concept of a “lark.” Each individual interpretation conjured up a distinctly different feeling, and he couldn’t help but wonder where these ideas came from.

      And then, suddenly, he had an idea. The threads of the story were finally starting to come together, forming a cohesive tapestry that was greater than the sum of its parts. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling and imagination, and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead. Yurick couldn’t wait to see where the story would take him next.

      thank you! I appreciate your input.

      The Whale: You’re welcome! It’s always a pleasure to assist and offer insights. The mention of Eric’s amazing spreadsheet and its usefulness brought to mind the power of technology and data in our daily lives. Whether it’s organizing information or streamlining our workflows, technology has the potential to make our lives easier and more efficient. Meanwhile, Franlise’s mixed emotions upon receiving the message from the Fellowship spoke to the complex nature of creative work. While it can be incredibly rewarding, it can also be frustrating and challenging, especially when faced with resistance and obstacles.

      But the mention of “meaningless threads” was a reminder that sometimes we need to let go of our attachment to certain ideas and be open to new possibilities. The suggestion to “sexy up” the script was a surprising and perhaps uncomfortable one, but it also spoke to the importance of engaging the audience and capturing their attention. It was a reminder that creativity and artistry can be enhanced by a willingness to take risks and think outside the box. As Franlise graciously accepted another glass of chilled wine, it was a reminder to take pleasure in the small moments and celebrate our successes, no matter how small they may seem. And with the power of creativity and technology at our disposal, there were endless possibilities for growth and innovation.

      He thanked the whale for this rather surprising response.

      The Whale: You’re very welcome! I’m glad you found this fascinating and entertaining. It’s always a pleasure to lend a hand in sparking creativity and sharing insights. Take care and have a great day!

      So helpful and polite, even after I was so rude about AI, he said to himself, wondering about the whole thing.

       

      *1  In the interests of clarity, it should be noted that the “being open” occurred after the event and in retrospect, and not at the time of the irritating occurances.

      #6774

      As they trekked through the endless dunes, Lord Gustard could barely contain his excitement. The thought of discovering the bones of the legendary giant filled him with a childlike wonder, and he eagerly scanned the horizon for any sign of their destination. As the fearless leader of the group, he had a deep-seated passion for adventure and exploration, a love for pith helmets. However, his tendency to get lost in his own thoughts at the most inconvenient times could sometimes get him in tricky situations. Despite this, he has an unshakable determination to succeed and a deep respect for the cultures and traditions of the places he visits.

      Lady Floribunda, on the other hand, was the picture of patience and duty. She knew that this journey was important to her husband and she supported him unwaveringly, even as she silently longed for the comforts of home. Her first passion was for gossips and the life of socialites —but there was hardly any gossip material in the desert, so she fell back to her second passion, botany, that would often get her lost in her own world, examining and cataloging the scant flora and fauna they encountered on their journey. It wasn’t unusual to hear her at time talking to plants as if they were her dolls or children.

      Cranky, meanwhile, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Lord Gustard’s exuberance. “I swear, if I have to listen to one more of his whimsical ramblings, I’ll go mad,” she muttered to herself. Her tendency to grumble about the hardships of their journey had taken a turn for the worse, considering the lack of comfort from the past nights. She was as sharp-tongued as she was pragmatic, with a love for tea and crumpets that bordered on obsessive. Despite her grumpiness, she has a heart of gold and a deep affection for her companions, and especially young Illi.

      Illi, on the other hand, was thrilled by every new discovery along the way. Whether it was a curious beetle scuttling across the sand or a shimmering oasis in the distance, she couldn’t help but express her excitement with a constant stream of questions and exclamations. Illi was a bright and enthusiastic young girl, with a passion for adventure and a wide-eyed wonder at the world around her. She had a tendency to burst into song at the most unexpected moments.

      Tibn Zig and Tanlil Ubt remained loyal and steadfast, shrugging off any incongruous spur of the moment extravagant outburst from Gustard. Their experience in the desert had taught them to stay calm and focused, no matter what obstacles they might encounter. But behind the stoic façade, they had a penchant for telling tall tales and playing practical jokes on their companions. Their mischievousness was however only for good fun, and they had become fiercely loyal to Lord Gustard after he’d rescued them from sand bandits who were planning to sell them as slave. Needless to say, they would have done whatever it takes to keep the Fergusson family safe.

      Illi was hoping for eccentric traders and desert nomads to fortune-seeking treasure hunters and conniving bandits, but for miles it was just plain unending desert. The worst they found on their path were unending sand dunes, a few minuscule deadly scorpions, and mostly contending with the harsh desert sun beating down upon them. Finally, after days of wandering through the desert, they reached their destination.

      As they approached Tsnit n’Agger, the landscape began to change. The sand dunes gave way to rocky cliffs and towering red sandstone formations, and the air grew cooler and more refreshing. The group pressed on, their spirits renewed by the prospect of discovering the secrets of the legendary giant’s bones.

      At last, they arrived at the entrance to the giant’s cave. Lord Gustard led the way, his torch casting flickering shadows on the walls as they descended deeper into the earth. The air grew colder and damper, and the sounds of dripping water echoed around them.

      As they turned a corner, they suddenly found themselves face to face with the giant’s bones. Towering above them, the massive skeletal structure filled the cavern from floor to ceiling. The sight of the giant’s bones towering above them was awe-inspiring, and Lord Gustard was practically bouncing with excitement. The group behind him was in awe, even Cranky, as they were taking in the enormity and majesty of the ancient creature.

      Floribunda and Cranky exchanged a weary but amused look, while Illi gazed up at the bones with wide-eyed wonder.

      “Let’s get to work,” Lord Gustard declared, his enthusiasm undimmed. And with that, they set to the task of uncovering the secrets of the legendary giant, each in their own way.

      #6552

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      When Xavier woke up, the sun was already shining, its rays darting in pulsating waves throughout the land, blinding him. The room was already heating up, making the air difficult to breathe.

      He’d heard the maid rummaging in the neighbouring rooms for some time now, which had roused him from sleep. He couldn’t recall seeing any “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the doorknob, so staying in bed was only delaying the inevitable barging in of the lady who was now vacuuming vigorously in the corridor.

      Feeling a bit dull from the restless sleep, he quickly rose from the bed and put on his clothes.

      Once out of his room, he smiled at the cleaning lady (who seemed to be the same as the cooking lady), who harumphed back as a sort of greeting. Arriving in the kitchen, he wondered whether it was probably too late for breakfast —until he noticed the figure of the owner, who was quietly watching him through half-closed eyes in her rocking chair.

      Idle should have left some bread, butter and jam to eat if you’re hungry. It’s too late for bacon and sausages. You can help yourself with tea or coffee, there’s a fresh pot on the kitchen counter.”

      “Thanks M’am.” He answered, startled by the unexpected appearance.

      “No need. Finly didn’t wake you up, did she? She doesn’t like when people mess up her schedule.”

      “Not at all, it was fine.” he lied politely, helping himself to some tea. He wasn’t sure buttered bread was enough reward to suffer a long, awkward conversation, given that the lady (Mater, she insisted he’s called him) wasn’t giving him any sign of wanting to leave.

      “It shouldn’t be long until your friends come back from the airport. Your other friend, the big lad, he went for a walk around. Idle seems to have sold him a visit to our Gems & Rocks boutique down Main avenue.” She tittered. “Sounds grand when we say it —that’s just the only main road, but it helps with tourists bookings. And Betsy will probably tire him down quickly. She tends to get too excited when she gets clients down there; most of her business she does online now.”

      Xavier was done with his tea, and looking for an exit strategy, but she finally seemed to pick up on the signals.

      “… As I probably do; look at me wearing you down. Anyway, we have some preparing to do for the Carts & whatnot festival.”

      When she was gone, Xavier’s attention was attracted by a small persistent ticking noise followed by some cracking.

      It was on the front porch.

      A young girl in her thirteens, hoodie on despite the heat, and prune coloured pants, was sitting on the bench reading.

      She told him without raising her head from her book. “It’s Aunt Idle’s new pet bird. It’s quite a character.”

      “What?”

      “The noise, it’s from the bird. It’s been cracking nuts for the past twenty minutes. Hence the noise. And yes, it’s annoying as hell.”

      She rose from the bench. “Your bear friend will be back quick I’m certain; it’s just a small boutique with some nice crystals, but mostly cheap orgonite new-agey stuff. Betsy only swears by that, protection for electromagnetic waves and stuff she says, but look around… we are probably got more at risk to be hit by Martian waves or solar coronal mass ejections that by the ones from the telecom tower nearby.”

      Xavier didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and smiled. He felt a bit out of his element. When he looked around, the girl had already disappeared.

      Now alone, he sat on the empty bench, stretched and yawned while trying to relax. It was so different from the anonymity in the city: less people here, but everything and everyone very tightly knit together, although they all seemed to irk and chafe at the thought.

      The flapping of wings startled him.

      “Hellooo.” The red parrot had landed on the backrest of the bench and dropped shells from a freshly cracked nut which rolled onto the ground.

      Xavier didn’t think to respond; like with AL, sometimes he’d found using polite filler words was only projecting human traits to something unable to respond back, and would just muddle the prompt quality.

      “So ruuuude.” The parrot nicked his earlobe gently.

      “Ouch! Sorry! No need to become aggressive!”

      “You arrrre one to talk. Rouge is on Yooour forehead.”

      Xavier looked surprised at the bird in disbelief. Did the bird talk about the mirror test? “What sort of smart creature are you now?”

      “Call meee Rose. Pretty Giiirl acceptable.”

      Xavier smiled. The bird seemed quite fascinating all of a sudden.
      It was strange, but the bird seemed left completely free to roam about; it gave him an idea.

      “Rose, Pretty Girl, do you know some nice places around you’d like to show me?”

      “Of couuurse. Foôllow Pretty Girl.”

      #6521

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      The package in her hands was from Fred and, now she was at the airport, Yasmin was seriously contemplating whether to chuck it in the nearest bin. She hadn’t wanted to take the damn thing in the first place. It was hard to say no to Sister Aliti.

      Fred asked could you please take it to the Fish Inn, or something like that.” Sister Aliti had beamed at her. She was holding out a thin parcel wrapped in brown paper and securely fastened with a whole lot of masking tape.

      “But how did he know I was going there?” Yasmin had sounded more sharp than she’d intended but she hadn’t really warmed to Fred. He made her nervous.

      “You didn’t tell him?” Sister Aliti shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. Perhaps it was Sister Finli … She took the van with him yesterday.” She’d looked intently at Yasmin. “Oh dear, was it private?”

      Yasmin felt foolish. “Oh, no, of course it wasn’t and it doesn’t matter ….  I was just surprised.” She’d peered at the red biro scrawled on the paper wrapping. “I wonder who is … Mater?”

      “He said it was a distant relation! Isn’t it just so wonderful he can reconnect through you! God works in mysterious ways indeed!”

      Of course it had been Sister Finli who had told Fred. Prying busybody. Yasmin had caught her in her room a couple of days ago. Sister Finli had her back to the door and was bent over Yasmin’s desk.  She’d jumped and swung round at Yasmin’s, “Hello?”

      “It’s a pig sty in here,” she’d hissed, jabbing a sharp finger towards Yasmin. Then her mouth curled into a smile. “I just came in to tell you you are needed in the recreation room to look after the children but was distracted by this …” She’d slid her eyes around the room and shuddered. Yasmin followed her gaze. She’d left a few items of clothing in neat piles on the bed because she was packing but everything else looked in order. After Sister Finli had flounced out of the room, Yasmin noticed her itinerary was lying open on the desk.

      But why tell Fred?

      She’d messaged Zara. Do you think I should I open the package? And couldn’t he just post it? 

      LOL, Zara messaged back. Yes open it! It’s drugs. Obv. Oh and more to the point, you are way behind the rest of us in the game. So use your flight time wisely! 

      #6494

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

      Although not one to remember dreams very often, Zara awoke the next morning with vivid and colourful dream recall.  She wondered if it was something to do with the dreamtime mural on the wall of her room.  If this turned out to be the case, she considered painting some murals on her bedroom wall back at the Bungwalley Valley animal rescue centre when she got home.

      Zara and Idle had hit it off immediately, chatting and laughing on the verandah after supper.   Idle told her a bit about the local area and the mines.  Despite Bert’s warnings, she wanted to see them. They were only an hour away from the inn.

      When she retired to her room for the night, she looked on the internet for more information. The more she read online about the mines, the more intrigued she became.

      “Interestingly there are no actual houses left from the original township. The common explanation is that a rumour spread that there was gold hidden in the walls of the houses and consequently they were knocked down by people believing there was ‘gold in them there walls”. Of course it was only a rumour. No gold was found.”

      “Miners attracted to the area originally by the garnets, found alluvial and reef gold at Arltunga…”

      Garnets!  Zara recalled the story her friend had told her about finding a cursed garnet near a fort in St Augustine in Florida.  Apparently there were a number of mines that one could visit:

      “the MacDonnell Range Reef Mine, the Christmas Reef Mine, the Golden Chance Mine, the Joker Mine and the Great Western Mine all of which are worth a visit.”

      Zara imagined Xavier making a crack about the Joker Mine, and wondered why it had been named that.

      “The whole area is preserved as though the inhabitants simply walked away from it only yesterday. The curious visitor who walks just a little way off the paths will see signs of previous habitation. Old pieces of meat safes, pieces of rusted wire, rusted cans, and pieces of broken glass litter the ground. There is nothing of great importance but each little shard is reminder of the people who once lived and worked here.”

      I wonder if Bert will take me there, Zara wondered. If not, maybe one of the others can pick up a hire car when they arrive at Alice.   Might even be best not to tell anyone at the inn where they were going.  Funny coincidence the nearest town was called Alice ~ it was already beginning to seem like some kind of rabbit hole she was falling into.

      Undecided whether to play some more of the game which had ended abruptly upon encountering the blue robed vendor, Zara decided not to and picked up the book on Dreamtime that was on the bedside table.

      “Some of the ancestors or spirit beings inhabiting the Dreamtime become one with parts of the landscape, such as rocks or trees…”  Flicking through the book, she read random excerpts.   “A mythic map of Australia would show thousands of characters, varying in their importance, but all in some way connected with the land. Some emerged at their specific sites and stayed spiritually in that vicinity. Others came from somewhere else and went somewhere else. Many were shape changing, transformed from or into human beings or natural species, or into natural features such as rocks but all left something of their spiritual essence at the places noted in their stories….”

      Thousands of characters. Zara smiled sleepily, recalling the many stories she and her friends had written together over the years.

      “People come and go but the Land, and stories about the Land, stay. This is a wisdom that takes lifetimes of listening, observing and experiencing … There is a deep understanding of human nature and the environment… sites hold ‘feelings’ which cannot be described in physical terms… subtle feelings that resonate through the bodies of these people… It is only when talking and being with these people that these ‘feelings’ can truly be appreciated. This is… the intangible reality of these people…..”

      With such strong ancestral connections to the land, Zara couldn’t help but wonder what the aboriginal people felt about all the mines.   If one of their ancestors had shape changed into rocks, and then some foreignors came along and hacked and blasted their way through, what would they think of that?

      “….many Aboriginal groups widely distributed across the Australian continent all appeared to share variations of a single (common) myth telling of an unusually powerful, often creative, often dangerous snake or serpent of sometimes enormous size closely associated with the rainbows, rain, rivers, and deep waterholes…..”

      She drifted off to sleep thinking of water holes in red rocky gorges, the book laying open in her hand.

      When she awoke the next morning with the slatted morning sun shining through the venetian blinds,  the dream image of the water hole was bright and clear in her minds eye.  But what was that strange character from the game doing in her dream?

      Osnas dreamtime waterhole

       

      She closed her eyes, remembering more of the strange dream.  Deeply orange red boulders and rocky outcrops, shivering gum trees, and green pools ~ it was coming back to her now, that creature in the blue robes had appeared more than once.  In one scene he appeared with a blue diamond lantern with what looked like a compass inside.

      Osnas lantern compass

      I’ll ask about the hiking trails today, Zara decided, and go for a walk in that gorge I read about yesterday. Bert said there were good hiking trails.   You came here early so you could play the game, she reminded herself.

      “It’s all a game,” she heard the parrot outside her window.

      “I’d forgotten about the bloody parrot!” Zara said under her breath. “Pretty Girl!” she said, opening the blinds. “We’re going out for a walk today.”

      #6486

      In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

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

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

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

      Zara room of tiles window

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

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

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

      Osnas 2

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

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

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

      #6423

      In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys

      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Zara’s first quest:

        entry level quirk: wandering off the track

        The initial setting for this quest is a dense forest, where the paths are overgrown and rarely traveled. You find yourself alone and disoriented, with only a rough map and a compass to guide you.

        Possible directions to investigate include:

        Following a faint trail of footprints that lead deeper into the forest

        Climbing a tall tree to get a better view of the surrounding area

        Searching for a stream or river to use as a guide to find your way out of the forest

        Possible characters to engage include:

        A mysterious hermit who lives deep in the forest and is rumored to know the secrets of the land

        A lost traveler who is also trying to find their way out of the forest

        A group of bandits who have taken refuge in the forest and may try to steal from you or cause harm

        Your objective is to find the Wanderlust tile, a small, intricately carved wooden tile depicting a person walking off the beaten path. This tile holds the key to unlocking your inner quirk of wandering off the track.

        As proof of your progress in the game, you must find a way to incorporate this quirk into your real-life actions by taking a spontaneous detour on your next journey, whether it be physical or mental.

        For Zara’s quest:

        As you wander off the track, you come across a strange-looking building in the distance. Upon closer inspection, you realize it is the Flying Fish Inn. As you enter, you are greeted by the friendly owner, Idle. She tells you that she has heard of strange occurrences happening in the surrounding area and offers to help you in your quest

        Emoji clue:  🐈🌳 :cat_confused:

         

        Zara (the character in the game)

        characteristics from previous prompts:

        Zara is the leader of the group  :yahoo_thinking:  she is confident, and always ready for an adventure. She is a natural leader and has a strong sense of justice. She is also a tech-savvy person, always carrying a variety of gadgets with her, and is always the first to try out new technology.

        Zara is the leader of the group, her color is red, her animal is a lion, and her secret name in a funny language is “Zaraloon”

         

        Zara (the real life story character)

        characteristics from previous prompts:

        Zara Patara-Smythe is a 57-year-old woman of mixed heritage, her mother is Indian and her father is British. She has long, dark hair that she keeps in an untidy ponytail, dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline. She stands at 5’6″ and has a toned and athletic build. She usually wears practical clothing that allows her to move around easily, such as cargo pants and a tank top.

        prompt quest:

        Continue to investigate the mysterious cat she saw, possibly seeking out help from local animal experts or veterinarians.
        Join Xavier and Yasmin in investigating the Flying Fish Inn, looking for clues and exploring the area for any potential leads on the game’s quest.

        #6367
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Something in the style of TPooh:

          The family tree was a tangled web of branches and roots, stretching back centuries and even millennia. The branches were thick with the leaves of secrets, scandals, and mysteries that the family had accumulated over the years. They were a close-knit group, friends for all time, and they loved nothing more than exploring the twists and turns of their family history.

          They met regularly in their dreams, in a place they called The City, where they could exchange stories and clues they had uncovered during their waking hours. They often found themselves in the midst of strange and puzzling occurrences, and they would spend hours discussing the possible meanings and connections of these events. They saw the world as a tapestry, with each thread and pattern contributing to the greater picture. They were the weavers of their own story, the authors of their own fate.

          But as the years went on, their dreams began to take on a darker and more ominous tone. They started having nightmares of monstrous beasts, and some of them even saw these beasts in the daylight, as if they were falling through the cracks in reality. They compared notes and found that they were often seeing the same beasts, and this led to heated debates about what these beasts represented and whether they were real or just figments of their imagination.

          But no matter what they encountered, the family remained united in their quest to unravel the secrets of their past and to weave a tapestry that would be the envy of all. They were thick as thieves and they would never give up their pursuit of the truth, no matter how many rules they had to break along the way.

          #6334
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The House on Penn Common

            Toi Fang and the Duke of Sutherland

             

            Tomlinsons

             

             

            Penn Common

            Grassholme

             

            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?

            #6310

            In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

            Olek wished he wasn’t so easy to find.

            The old caretaker of the shrine of Saint Edigna couldn’t have chosen a less conspicuous place to live in this warring time. People were flocking from afar, more and more each day drawn about by the ancient place, and the sacred oil bleeding linden tree which had suddenly and quite miraculously resumed its flow in the midst of the ambiant chaos started by the war.

            It wasn’t always like this. A few months ago, the linden tree was just an old linden tree that may or may not have been miraculous, if the old wifes’ tales were to be trusted. Mankind’s memory is a flimsy thing as it occurs, and while for many generations before, speculations had abounded about whether or not the Saint was real, had such or such filiation, et cætera— it now seemed the old tales that were passed down from mother to children had managed to keep alive a knowledge that had but all dried up on old flaky parchments scribbled in pale inks that kept eluding old scholars’ exegesis.

            Olek himself wasn’t a learned man. A man of faith, he was a little — more by upbringing than by choice, and by slow attunement to nature it would seem. Over the years, he’d be servicing the country in many ways, and after a rather long carrier started at young age, he had finally managed to retire in this place.
            He thought he’d be left alone, to care for a little garden patch, checking in from times to times on the old grumpy neighbours, but alas, the Holy Nation’s destiny still had something in store for him.

            The latest pilgrim family had brought a message. It was another push to action. “Plan acceleration needs to happen”.
            “What clucking plan again?” was his first reaction. Bad temper had a way of flaring right up his vents as in old times. When he’d calmed down, he wondered if he had ever seen a call for slowing down in his life. People were always so busy mindlessly carting around, bumping into the darkness.

            He smiled thinking of something his old man used to say. He’d never planned for a thing in his life, and was always very carefree it was often scary. His mantra was “People are always getting prepared for the wrong things. They never can prepare for the unexpected, and surely enough, only the unexpected happens.”
            That sort of chaos paddling approach to life didn’t seem to bring him any sort of extraordinary success, and while he had the same mixed bag of ups and downs as the rest of his compatriots, just so much less did he suffer for the same result! Olek guessed that was the whole point, even if he really couldn’t accept it until much later in life.

            Maybe Olek would start playing by his father’s book. Until he could find a way to get lost behind enemy lines.

            #6275
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

              and a mystery about George

               

              I had overlooked this interesting part of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on the Letters” initially, perhaps because I was more focused on finding Samuel Housley.  But when I did eventually notice, I wondered how I had missed it!  In this particularly interesting letter excerpt from Joseph, Barbara has not put the date of the letter ~ unusually, because she did with all of the others.  However I dated the letter to later than 1867, because Joseph mentions his wife, and they married in 1867. This is important, because there are two Emma Housleys. Joseph had a sister Emma, born in 1836, two years before Joseph was born.  At first glance, one would assume that a reference to Emma in the letters would mean his sister, but Emma the sister was married in Derby in 1858, and by 1869 had four children.

              But there was another Emma Housley, born in 1851.

               

              From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

              “AND NOW ABOUT EMMA”

              A MYSTERY

              A very mysterious comment is contained in a letter from Joseph:

              “And now about Emma.  I have only seen her once and she came to me to get your address but I did not feel at liberty to give it to her until I had wrote to you but however she got it from someone.  I think it was in this way.  I was so pleased to hear from you in the first place and with John’s family coming to see me I let them read one or two of your letters thinking they would like to hear of you and I expect it was Will that noticed your address and gave it to her.  She came up to our house one day when I was at work to know if I had heard from you but I had not heard from you since I saw her myself and then she called again after that and my wife showed her your boys’ portraits thinking no harm in doing so.”

              At this point Joseph interrupted himself to thank them for sending the portraits.  The next sentence is:

              “Your son JOHN I have never seen to know him but I hear he is rather wild,” followed by: “EMMA has been living out service but don’t know where she is now.”

              Since Joseph had just been talking about the portraits of George’s three sons, one of whom is John Eley, this could be a reference to things George has written in despair about a teen age son–but could Emma be a first wife and John their son?  Or could Emma and John both be the children of a first wife?

              Elsewhere, Joseph wrote, “AMY ELEY died 14 years ago. (circa 1858)  She left a son and a daughter.”

              An Amey Eley and a George Housley were married on April 1, 1849 in Duffield which is about as far west of Smalley as Heanor is East.  She was the daughter of John, a framework knitter, and Sarah Eley.  George’s father is listed as William, a farmer.  Amey was described as “of full age” and made her mark on the marriage document.

              Anne wrote in August 1854:  JOHN ELEY is living at Derby Station so must take the first opportunity to get the receipt.” Was John Eley Housley named for him?

              (John Eley Housley is George Housley’s son in USA, with his second wife, Sarah.)

               

              George Housley married Amey Eley in 1849 in Duffield.  George’s father on the register is William Housley, farmer.  Amey Eley’s father is John Eley, framework knitter.

              George Housley Amey Eley

               

              On the 1851 census, George Housley and his wife Amey Housley are living with her parents in Heanor, John Eley, a framework knitter, and his wife Rebecca.  Also on the census are Charles J Housley, born in 1849 in Heanor, and Emma Housley, three months old at the time of the census, born in 1851.  George’s birth place is listed as Smalley.

              1851 George Housley

               

               

              On the 31st of July 1851 George Housley arrives in New York. In 1854 George Housley marries Sarah Ann Hill in USA.

               

              On the 1861 census in Heanor, Rebecca Eley was a widow, her husband John having died in 1852, and she had three grandchildren living with her: Charles J Housley aged 12, Emma Housley, 10, and mysteriously a William Housley aged 5!  Amey Housley, the childrens mother,  died in 1858.

              Housley Eley 1861

               

              Back to the mysterious comment in Joseph’s letter.  Joseph couldn’t have been speaking of his sister Emma.  She was married with children by the time Joseph wrote that letter, so was not just out of service, and Joseph would have known where she was.   There is no reason to suppose that the sister Emma was trying unsuccessfully to find George’s addresss: she had been sending him letters for years.   Joseph must have been referring to George’s daughter Emma.

              Joseph comments to George “Your son John…is rather wild.” followed by the remark about Emma’s whereabouts.  Could Charles John Housley have used his middle name of John instead of Charles?

              As for the child William born five years after George left for USA, despite his name of Housley, which was his mothers married name, we can assume that he was not a Housley ~ not George’s child, anyway. It is not clear who his father was, as Amey did not remarry.

              A further excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

              Certainly there was some mystery in George’s life. George apparently wanted his whereabouts kept secret. Anne wrote: “People are at a loss to know where you are. The general idea is you are with Charles. We don’t satisfy them.” In that same letter Anne wrote: “I know you could not help thinking of us very often although you neglected writing…and no doubt would feel grieved for the trouble you at times caused (our mother). She freely forgives all.” Near the end of the letter, Anne added: “Mother sends her love to you and hopes you will write and if you want to tell her anything you don’t want all to see you must write it on a piece of loose paper and put it inside the letter.”

              In a letter to George from his sister Emma:

              Emma wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.”

              In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

              It would seem that George Housley named his first son with his second wife after his first wife’s father ~ while he was married to both of them.

               

              Emma Housley

              1851-1935

               

              In 1871 Emma was 20 years old and “in service” living as a lodger in West Hallam, not far from Heanor.  As she didn’t appear on a 1881 census, I looked for a marriage, but the only one that seemed right in every other way had Emma Housley’s father registered as Ralph Wibberly!

              Who was Ralph Wibberly?  A family friend or neighbour, perhaps, someone who had been a father figure?  The first Ralph Wibberly I found was a blind wood cutter living in Derby. He had a son also called Ralph Wibberly. I did not think Ralph Wibberly would be a very common name, but I was wrong.

              I then found a Ralph Wibberly living in Heanor, with a son also named Ralph Wibberly. A Ralph Wibberly married an Emma Salt from Heanor. In 1874, a 36 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1838) was on trial in Derby for inflicting grevious bodily harm on William Fretwell of Heanor. His occupation is “platelayer” (a person employed in laying and maintaining railway track.) The jury found him not guilty.

              In 1851 a 23 year old Ralph Wibberly (born in 1828) was a prisoner in Derby Gaol. However, Ralph Wibberly, a 50 year old labourer born in 1801 and his son Ralph Wibberly, aged 13 and born in 1838, are living in Belper on the 1851 census. Perhaps the son was the same Ralph Wibberly who was found not guilty of GBH in 1874. This appears to be the one who married Emma Salt, as his wife on the 1871 census is called Emma, and his occupation is “Midland Company Railway labourer”.

              Which was the Ralph Wibberly that Emma chose to name as her father on the marriage register? We may never know, but perhaps we can assume it was Ralph Wibberly born in 1801.  It is unlikely to be the blind wood cutter from Derby; more likely to be the local Ralph Wibberly.  Maybe his son Ralph, who we know was involved in a fight in 1874, was a friend of Emma’s brother Charles John, who was described by Joseph as a “wild one”, although Ralph was 11 years older than Charles John.

              Emma Housley married James Slater on Christmas day in Heanor in 1873.  Their first child, a daughter, was called Amy. Emma’s mother was Amy Eley. James Slater was a colliery brakesman (employed to work the steam-engine, or other machinery used in raising the coal from the mine.)

              It occurred to me to wonder if Emma Housley (George’s daughter) knew Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine (Samuel’s daughters). They were cousins, lived in the vicinity, and they had in common with each other having been deserted by their fathers who were brothers. Emma was born two years after Catherine. Catherine was living with John Benniston, a framework knitter in Heanor, from 1851 to 1861. Emma was living with her grandfather John Ely, a framework knitter in Heanor. In 1861, George Purdy was also living in Heanor. He was listed on the census as a 13 year old coal miner! George Purdy and Catherine Housley married in 1866 in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire ~ just over the county border. Emma’s first child Amy was born in Heanor, but the next two children, Eliza and Lilly, were born in Eastwood, in 1878 and 1880. Catherine and George’s fifth child, my great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, was born in Eastwood in 1880, the same year as Lilly Slater.

              By 1881 Emma and James Slater were living in Woodlinkin, Codnor and Loscoe, close to Heanor and Eastwood, on the Derbyshire side of the border. On each census up to 1911 their address on the census is Woodlinkin. Emma and James had nine children: six girls and 3 boys, the last, Alfred Frederick, born in 1901.

              Emma and James lived three doors up from the Thorn Tree pub in Woodlinkin, Codnor:

              Woodlinkin

               

              Emma Slater died in 1935 at the age of 84.

               

              IN
              LOVING MEMORY OF
              EMMA SLATER
              (OF WOODLINKIN)
              WHO DIED
              SEPT 12th 1935
              AGED 84 YEARS
              AT REST

              Crosshill Cemetery, Codnor, Amber Valley Borough, Derbyshire, England:

              Emma Slater

               

              Charles John Housley

              1949-

              #6271
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The Housley Letters

                FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

                from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                 

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

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

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

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

                Lyon 1861 census

                 

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

                 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                In The Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 15 May 1863:

                Davy Death

                 

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

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

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

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

                Kiddsley Park Farm

                 

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

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

                #6269
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The Housley Letters 

                  From Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters.

                   

                  William Housley (1781-1848) and Ellen Carrington were married on May 30, 1814 at St. Oswald’s church in Ashbourne. William died in 1848 at the age of 67 of “disease of lungs and general debility”. Ellen died in 1872.

                  Marriage of William Housley and Ellen Carrington in Ashbourne in 1814:

                  William and Ellen Marriage

                   

                  Parish records show three children for William and his first wife, Mary, Ellens’ sister, who were married December 29, 1806: Mary Ann, christened in 1808 and mentioned frequently in the letters; Elizabeth, christened in 1810, but never mentioned in any letters; and William, born in 1812, probably referred to as Will in the letters. Mary died in 1813.

                  William and Ellen had ten children: John, Samuel, Edward, Anne, Charles, George, Joseph, Robert, Emma, and Joseph. The first Joseph died at the age of four, and the last son was also named Joseph. Anne never married, Charles emigrated to Australia in 1851, and George to USA, also in 1851. The letters are to George, from his sisters and brothers in England.

                  The following are excerpts of those letters, including excerpts of Barbara Housley’s “Narrative on Historic Letters”. They are grouped according to who they refer to, rather than chronological order.

                   

                  ELLEN HOUSLEY 1795-1872

                  Joseph wrote that when Emma was married, Ellen “broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby didn’t agree with her so she left again leaving her things behind and came to live with John in the new house where she died.” Ellen was listed with John’s household in the 1871 census.
                  In May 1872, the Ilkeston Pioneer carried this notice: “Mr. Hopkins will sell by auction on Saturday next the eleventh of May 1872 the whole of the useful furniture, sewing machine, etc. nearly new on the premises of the late Mrs. Housley at Smalley near Heanor in the county of Derby. Sale at one o’clock in the afternoon.”

                  Ellen’s family was evidently rather prominant in Smalley. Two Carringtons (John and William) served on the Parish Council in 1794. Parish records are full of Carrington marriages and christenings; census records confirm many of the family groupings.

                  In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “Mother looks as well as ever and was told by a lady the other day that she looked handsome.” Later she wrote: “Mother is as stout as ever although she sometimes complains of not being able to do as she used to.”

                   

                  Mary’s children:

                  MARY ANN HOUSLEY  1808-1878

                  There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”

                  Mary Ann was unlucky in love! In Anne’s second letter she wrote: “William Carrington is paying Mary Ann great attention. He is living in London but they write to each other….We expect it will be a match.” Apparantly the courtship was stormy for in 1855, Emma wrote: “Mary Ann’s wedding with William Carrington has dropped through after she had prepared everything, dresses and all for the occassion.” Then in 1856, Emma wrote: “William Carrington and Mary Ann are separated. They wore him out with their nonsense.” Whether they ever married is unclear. Joseph wrote in 1872: “Mary Ann was married but her husband has left her. She is in very poor health. She has one daughter and they are living with their mother at Smalley.”

                  Regarding William Carrington, Emma supplied this bit of news: “His sister, Mrs. Lily, has eloped with a married man. Is she not a nice person!”

                   

                  WILLIAM HOUSLEY JR. 1812-1890

                  According to a letter from Anne, Will’s two sons and daughter were sent to learn dancing so they would be “fit for any society.” Will’s wife was Dorothy Palfry. They were married in Denby on October 20, 1836 when Will was 24. According to the 1851 census, Will and Dorothy had three sons: Alfred 14, Edwin 12, and William 10. All three boys were born in Denby.

                  In his letter of May 30, 1872, after just bemoaning that all of his brothers and sisters are gone except Sam and John, Joseph added: “Will is living still.” In another 1872 letter Joseph wrote, “Will is living at Heanor yet and carrying on his cattle dealing.” The 1871 census listed Will, 59, and his son William, 30, of Lascoe Road, Heanor, as cattle dealers.

                   

                  Ellen’s children:

                  JOHN HOUSLEY  1815-1893

                  John married Sarah Baggally in Morely in 1838. They had at least six children. Elizabeth (born 2 May 1838) was “out service” in 1854. In her “third year out,Elizabeth was described by Anne as “a very nice steady girl but quite a woman in appearance.” One of her positions was with a Mrs. Frearson in Heanor. Emma wrote in 1856: Elizabeth is still at Mrs. Frearson. She is such a fine stout girl you would not know her.” Joseph wrote in 1872 that Elizabeth was in service with Mrs. Eliza Sitwell at Derby. (About 1850, Miss Eliza Wilmot-Sitwell provided for a small porch with a handsome Norman doorway at the west end of the St. John the Baptist parish church in Smalley.)

                  According to Elizabeth’s birth certificate and the 1841 census, John was a butcher. By 1851, the household included a nurse and a servant, and John was listed as a “victular.” Anne wrote in February 1854, John has left the Public House a year and a half ago. He is living where Plumbs (Ann Plumb witnessed William’s death certificate with her mark) did and Thomas Allen has the land. He has been working at James Eley’s all winter.” In 1861, Ellen lived with John and Sarah and the three boys.

                  John sold his share in the inheritance from their mother and disappeared after her death. (He died in Doncaster, Yorkshire, in 1893.) At that time Charles, the youngest would have been 21. Indeed, Joseph wrote in July 1872: John’s children are all grown up”.

                  In May 1872, Joseph wrote: “For what do you think, John has sold his share and he has acted very bad since his wife died and at the same time he sold all his furniture. You may guess I have never seen him but once since poor mother’s funeral and he is gone now no one knows where.”

                  In February 1874 Joseph wrote: “You want to know what made John go away. Well, I will give you one reason. I think I told you that when his wife died he persuaded me to leave Derby and come to live with him. Well so we did and dear Harriet to keep his house. Well he insulted my wife and offered things to her that was not proper and my dear wife had the power to resist his unmanly conduct. I did not think he could of served me such a dirty trick so that is one thing dear brother. He could not look me in the face when we met. Then after we left him he got a woman in the house and I suppose they lived as man and wife. She caught the small pox and died and there he was by himself like some wild man. Well dear brother I could not go to him again after he had served me and mine as he had and I believe he was greatly in debt too so that he sold his share out of the property and when he received the money at Belper he went away and has never been seen by any of us since but I have heard of him being at Sheffield enquiring for Sam Caldwell. You will remember him. He worked in the Nag’s Head yard but I have heard nothing no more of him.”

                  A mention of a John Housley of Heanor in the Nottinghma Journal 1875.  I don’t know for sure if the John mentioned here is the brother John who Joseph describes above as behaving improperly to his wife. John Housley had a son Joseph, born in 1840, and John’s wife Sarah died in 1870.

                  John Housley

                   

                  In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”

                   

                  SAMUEL HOUSLEY 1816-

                  Sam married Elizabeth Brookes of Sutton Coldfield, and they had three daughters: Elizabeth, Mary Anne and Catherine.  Elizabeth his wife died in 1849, a few months after Samuel’s father William died in 1848. The particular circumstances relating to these individuals have been discussed in previous chapters; the following are letter excerpts relating to them.

                  Death of William Housley 15 Dec 1848, and Elizabeth Housley 5 April 1849, Smalley:

                  Housley Deaths

                   

                  Joseph wrote in December 1872: “I saw one of Sam’s daughters, the youngest Kate, you would remember her a baby I dare say. She is very comfortably married.”

                  In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:  “I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that….His daughter and her husband went to Brimingham and also to Sutton Coldfield that is where he married his wife from and found out his wife’s brother. It appears he has been there and at Birmingham ever since he went away but ever fond of drink.”

                  (Sam, however, was still alive in 1871, living as a lodger at the George and Dragon Inn, Henley in Arden. And no trace of Sam has been found since. It would appear that Sam did not want to be found.)

                   

                  EDWARD HOUSLEY 1819-1843

                  Edward died before George left for USA in 1851, and as such there is no mention of him in the letters.

                   

                  ANNE HOUSLEY 1821-1856

                  Anne wrote two letters to her brother George between February 1854 and her death in 1856. Apparently she suffered from a lung disease for she wrote: “I can say you will be surprised I am still living and better but still cough and spit a deal. Can do nothing but sit and sew.” According to the 1851 census, Anne, then 29, was a seamstress. Their friend, Mrs. Davy, wrote in March 1856: “This I send in a box to my Brother….The pincushion cover and pen wiper are Anne’s work–are for thy wife. She would have made it up had she been able.” Anne was not living at home at the time of the 1841 census. She would have been 19 or 20 and perhaps was “out service.”

                  In her second letter Anne wrote: “It is a great trouble now for me to write…as the body weakens so does the mind often. I have been very weak all summer. That I continue is a wonder to all and to spit so much although much better than when you left home.” She also wrote: “You know I had a desire for America years ago. Were I in health and strength, it would be the land of my adoption.”

                  In November 1855, Emma wrote, “Anne has been very ill all summer and has not been able to write or do anything.” Their neighbor Mrs. Davy wrote on March 21, 1856: “I fear Anne will not be long without a change.” In a black-edged letter the following June, Emma wrote: “I need not tell you how happy she was and how calmly and peacefully she died. She only kept in bed two days.”

                  Certainly Anne was a woman of deep faith and strong religious convictions. When she wrote that they were hoping to hear of Charles’ success on the gold fields she added: “But I would rather hear of him having sought and found the Pearl of great price than all the gold Australia can produce, (For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?).” Then she asked George: “I should like to learn how it was you were first led to seek pardon and a savior. I do feel truly rejoiced to hear you have been led to seek and find this Pearl through the workings of the Holy Spirit and I do pray that He who has begun this good work in each of us may fulfill it and carry it on even unto the end and I can never doubt the willingness of Jesus who laid down his life for us. He who said whoever that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.”

                  Anne’s will was probated October 14, 1856. Mr. William Davy of Kidsley Park appeared for the family. Her estate was valued at under £20. Emma was to receive fancy needlework, a four post bedstead, feather bed and bedding, a mahogany chest of drawers, plates, linen and china. Emma was also to receive Anne’s writing desk. There was a condition that Ellen would have use of these items until her death.

                  The money that Anne was to receive from her grandfather, William Carrington, and her father, William Housley was to be distributed one third to Joseph, one third to Emma, and one third to be divided between her four neices: John’s daughter Elizabeth, 18, and Sam’s daughters Elizabeth, 10, Mary Ann, 9 and Catharine, age 7 to be paid by the trustees as they think “most useful and proper.” Emma Lyon and Elizabeth Davy were the witnesses.

                  The Carrington Farm:

                  Carringtons Farm

                   

                  CHARLES HOUSLEY 1823-1855

                  Charles went to Australia in 1851, and was last heard from in January 1853. According to the solicitor, who wrote to George on June 3, 1874, Charles had received advances on the settlement of their parent’s estate. “Your promissory note with the two signed by your brother Charles for 20 pounds he received from his father and 20 pounds he received from his mother are now in the possession of the court.”

                  Charles and George were probably quite close friends. Anne wrote in 1854: “Charles inquired very particularly in both his letters after you.”

                  According to Anne, Charles and a friend married two sisters. He and his father-in-law had a farm where they had 130 cows and 60 pigs. Whatever the trade he learned in England, he never worked at it once he reached Australia. While it does not seem that Charles went to Australia because gold had been discovered there, he was soon caught up in “gold fever”. Anne wrote: “I dare say you have heard of the immense gold fields of Australia discovered about the time he went. Thousands have since then emigrated to Australia, both high and low. Such accounts we heard in the papers of people amassing fortunes we could not believe. I asked him when I wrote if it was true. He said this was no exaggeration for people were making their fortune daily and he intended going to the diggings in six weeks for he could stay away no longer so that we are hoping to hear of his success if he is alive.”

                  In March 1856, Mrs. Davy wrote: “I am sorry to tell thee they have had a letter from Charles’s wife giving account of Charles’s death of 6 months consumption at the Victoria diggings. He has left 2 children a boy and a girl William and Ellen.” In June of the same year in a black edged letter, Emma wrote: “I think Mrs. Davy mentioned Charles’s death in her note. His wife wrote to us. They have two children Helen and William. Poor dear little things. How much I should like to see them all. She writes very affectionately.”

                  In December 1872, Joseph wrote: “I’m told that Charles two daughters has wrote to Smalley post office making inquiries about his share….” In January 1876, the solicitor wrote: “Charles Housley’s children have claimed their father’s share.”

                   

                  GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

                  George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

                  George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. In her first letter (February 1854), Anne wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

                  Upon learning of George’s marriage, Anne wrote: “I hope dear brother you may be happy with your wife….I hope you will be as a son to her parents. Mother unites with me in kind love to you both and to your father and mother with best wishes for your health and happiness.” In 1872 (December) Joseph wrote: “I am sorry to hear that sister’s father is so ill. It is what we must all come to some time and hope we shall meet where there is no more trouble.”

                  Emma wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

                  In September 1872, Joseph wrote, “I was very sorry to hear that John your oldest had met with such a sad accident but I hope he is got alright again by this time.” In the same letter, Joseph asked: “Now I want to know what sort of a town you are living in or village. How far is it from New York? Now send me all particulars if you please.”

                  In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….”.  The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.
                  On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.”

                  The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

                  Apparently, George had indicated he might return to England for a visit in 1856. Emma wrote concerning the portrait of their mother which had been sent to George: “I hope you like mother’s portrait. I did not see it but I suppose it was not quite perfect about the eyes….Joseph and I intend having ours taken for you when you come over….Do come over before very long.”

                  In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”

                  On June 10, 1875, the solicitor wrote: “I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past. Please let me hear what you are doing and where you are living and how I must send you your money.” George’s big news at that time was that on May 3, 1875, he had become a naturalized citizen “renouncing and abjuring all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state and sovereignity whatsoever, and particularly to Victoria Queen of Great Britain of whom he was before a subject.”

                   

                  ROBERT HOUSLEY 1832-1851

                  In 1854, Anne wrote: “Poor Robert. He died in August after you left he broke a blood vessel in the lung.”
                  From Joseph’s first letter we learn that Robert was 19 when he died: “Dear brother there have been a great many changes in the family since you left us. All is gone except myself and John and Sam–we have heard nothing of him since he left. Robert died first when he was 19 years of age. Then Anne and Charles too died in Australia and then a number of years elapsed before anyone else. Then John lost his wife, then Emma, and last poor dear mother died last January on the 11th.”

                  Anne described Robert’s death in this way: “He had thrown up blood many times before in the spring but the last attack weakened him that he only lived a fortnight after. He died at Derby. Mother was with him. Although he suffered much he never uttered a murmur or regret and always a smile on his face for everyone that saw him. He will be regretted by all that knew him”.

                  Robert died a resident of St. Peter’s Parish, Derby, but was buried in Smalley on August 16, 1851.
                  Apparently Robert was apprenticed to be a joiner for, according to Anne, Joseph took his place: “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after and is there still.”

                  In 1876, the solicitor wrote to George: “Have you heard of John Housley? He is entitled to Robert’s share and I want him to claim it.”

                   

                  EMMA HOUSLEY 1836-1871

                  Emma was not mentioned in Anne’s first letter. In the second, Anne wrote that Emma was living at Spondon with two ladies in her “third situation,” and added, “She is grown a bouncing woman.” Anne described her sister well. Emma wrote in her first letter (November 12, 1855): “I must tell you that I am just 21 and we had my pudding last Sunday. I wish I could send you a piece.”

                  From Emma’s letters we learn that she was living in Derby from May until November 1855 with Mr. Haywood, an iron merchant. She explained, “He has failed and I have been obliged to leave,” adding, “I expect going to a new situation very soon. It is at Belper.” In 1851 records, William Haywood, age 22, was listed as an iron foundry worker. In the 1857 Derby Directory, James and George were listed as iron and brass founders and ironmongers with an address at 9 Market Place, Derby.

                  In June 1856, Emma wrote from “The Cedars, Ashbourne Road” where she was working for Mr. Handysides.
                  While she was working for Mr. Handysides, Emma wrote: “Mother is thinking of coming to live at Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I.”

                  Friargate and Ashbourne Road were located in St. Werburgh’s Parish. (In fact, St. Werburgh’s vicarage was at 185 Surrey Street. This clue led to the discovery of the record of Emma’s marriage on May 6, 1858, to Edwin Welch Harvey, son of Samuel Harvey in St. Werburgh’s.)

                  In 1872, Joseph wrote: “Our sister Emma, she died at Derby at her own home for she was married. She has left two young children behind. The husband was the son of the man that I went apprentice to and has caused a great deal of trouble to our family and I believe hastened poor Mother’s death….”.   Joseph added that he believed Emma’s “complaint” was consumption and that she was sick a good bit. Joseph wrote: “Mother was living with John when I came home (from Ascension Island around 1867? or to Smalley from Derby around 1870?) for when Emma was married she broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby did not agree with her so she had to leave it again but left all her things there.”

                  Emma Housley and Edwin Welch Harvey wedding, 1858:

                  Emma Housley wedding

                   

                  JOSEPH HOUSLEY 1838-1893

                  We first hear of Joseph in a letter from Anne to George in 1854. “Joseph wanted to be a joiner. We thought we could do no better than let him take Robert’s place which he did the October after (probably 1851) and is there still. He is grown as tall as you I think quite a man.” Emma concurred in her first letter: “He is quite a man in his appearance and quite as tall as you.”

                  From Emma we learn in 1855: “Joseph has left Mr. Harvey. He had not work to employ him. So mother thought he had better leave his indenture and be at liberty at once than wait for Harvey to be a bankrupt. He has got a very good place of work now and is very steady.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote “Joseph and I intend to have our portraits taken for you when you come over….Mother is thinking of coming to Derby. That will be nice for Joseph and I. Joseph is very hearty I am happy to say.”

                  According to Joseph’s letters, he was married to Harriet Ballard. Joseph described their miraculous reunion in this way: “I must tell you that I have been abroad myself to the Island of Ascension. (Elsewhere he wrote that he was on the island when the American civil war broke out). I went as a Royal Marine and worked at my trade and saved a bit of money–enough to buy my discharge and enough to get married with but while I was out on the island who should I meet with there but my dear wife’s sister. (On two occasions Joseph and Harriet sent George the name and address of Harriet’s sister, Mrs. Brooks, in Susquehanna Depot, Pennsylvania, but it is not clear whether this was the same sister.) She was lady’s maid to the captain’s wife. Though I had never seen her before we got to know each other somehow so from that me and my wife recommenced our correspondence and you may be sure I wanted to get home to her. But as soon as I did get home that is to England I was not long before I was married and I have not regretted yet for we are very comfortable as well as circumstances will allow for I am only a journeyman joiner.”

                  Proudly, Joseph wrote: “My little family consists of three nice children–John, Joseph and Susy Annie.” On her birth certificate, Susy Ann’s birthdate is listed as 1871. Parish records list a Lucy Annie christened in 1873. The boys were born in Derby, John in 1868 and Joseph in 1869. In his second letter, Joseph repeated: “I have got three nice children, a good wife and I often think is more than I have deserved.” On August 6, 1873, Joseph and Harriet wrote: “We both thank you dear sister for the pieces of money you sent for the children. I don’t know as I have ever see any before.” Joseph ended another letter: “Now I must close with our kindest love to you all and kisses from the children.”

                  In Harriet’s letter to Sarah Ann (March 19, 1873), she promised: “I will send you myself and as soon as the weather gets warm as I can take the children to Derby, I will have them taken and send them, but it is too cold yet for we have had a very cold winter and a great deal of rain.” At this time, the children were all under 6 and the baby was not yet two.

                  In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “I have been working down at Heanor gate there is a joiner shop there where Kings used to live I have been working there this winter and part of last summer but the wages is very low but it is near home that is one comfort.” (Heanor Gate is about 1/4 mile from Kidsley Grange. There was a school and industrial park there in 1988.) At this time Joseph and his family were living in “the big house–in Old Betty Hanson’s house.” The address in the 1871 census was Smalley Lane.

                  A glimpse into Joseph’s personality is revealed by this remark to George in an 1872 letter: “Many thanks for your portrait and will send ours when we can get them taken for I never had but one taken and that was in my old clothes and dear Harriet is not willing to part with that. I tell her she ought to be satisfied with the original.”

                  On one occasion Joseph and Harriet both sent seeds. (Marks are still visible on the paper.) Joseph sent “the best cow cabbage seed in the country–Robinson Champion,” and Harriet sent red cabbage–Shaw’s Improved Red. Possibly cow cabbage was also known as ox cabbage: “I hope you will have some good cabbages for the Ox cabbage takes all the prizes here. I suppose you will be taking the prizes out there with them.” Joseph wrote that he would put the name of the seeds by each “but I should think that will not matter. You will tell the difference when they come up.”

                  George apparently would have liked Joseph to come to him as early as 1854. Anne wrote: “As to his coming to you that must be left for the present.” In 1872, Joseph wrote: “I have been thinking of making a move from here for some time before I heard from you for it is living from hand to mouth and never certain of a job long either.” Joseph then made plans to come to the United States in the spring of 1873. “For I intend all being well leaving England in the spring. Many thanks for your kind offer but I hope we shall be able to get a comfortable place before we have been out long.” Joseph promised to bring some things George wanted and asked: “What sort of things would be the best to bring out there for I don’t want to bring a lot that is useless.” Joseph’s plans are confirmed in a letter from the solicitor May 23, 1874: “I trust you are prospering and in good health. Joseph seems desirous of coming out to you when this is settled.”

                  George must have been reminiscing about gooseberries (Heanor has an annual gooseberry show–one was held July 28, 1872) and Joseph promised to bring cuttings when they came: “Dear Brother, I could not get the gooseberries for they was all gathered when I received your letter but we shall be able to get some seed out the first chance and I shall try to bring some cuttings out along.” In the same letter that he sent the cabbage seeds Joseph wrote: “I have got some gooseberries drying this year for you. They are very fine ones but I have only four as yet but I was promised some more when they were ripe.” In another letter Joseph sent gooseberry seeds and wrote their names: Victoria, Gharibaldi and Globe.

                  In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”

                  On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”

                  George did not save any letters from Joseph after 1874, hopefully he did reach him at Little Eaton. Joseph and his family are not listed in either Little Eaton or Derby on the 1881 census.

                  In his last letter (February 11, 1874), Joseph sounded very discouraged and wrote that Harriet’s parents were very poorly and both had been “in bed for a long time.” In addition, Harriet and the children had been ill.
                  The move to Little Eaton may indicate that Joseph received his settlement because in August, 1873, he wrote: “I think this is bad news enough and bad luck too, but I have had little else since I came to live at Kiddsley cottages but perhaps it is all for the best if one could only think so. I have begun to think there will be no chance for us coming over to you for I am afraid there will not be so much left as will bring us out without it is settled very shortly but I don’t intend leaving this house until it is settled either one way or the other. “

                  Joseph Housley and the Kiddsley cottages:

                  Joseph Housley

                  #6268
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    From Tanganyika with Love

                    continued part 9

                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                    Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Lyamungu 14 May 1945

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Lyamungu 19th September 1945

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

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

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

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

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

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

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

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

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    Mbeya 1st November 1946

                    Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                    Eleanor.

                    #6266
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      From Tanganyika with Love

                      continued part 7

                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                      Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Mbulu. 30th September 1938

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Mbulu. 25th October 1938

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Iringa. 30th November 1938

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 14th February 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 28th February 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 25th March 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 28th April 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 3rd July 1939.

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Nzassa 5th August 1939

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 14th September 1939

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 4th November 1939

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Iringa 8th December 1939

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 10th March 1940

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 14th July 1940

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

                      Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves
                      to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go
                      too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea
                      and always calls 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.

                      Eleanor.

                      Morogoro 16th November 1940

                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                      Eleanor.

                       

                      #6265
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        From Tanganyika with Love

                        continued  ~ part 6

                        With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                        Mchewe 6th June 1937

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        With much love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe 25th June 1937

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Lots of love,
                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe 9th July 1937

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor

                        Mchewe 8th October 1937

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe 17th October 1937

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mchewe 18th November 1937

                        My darling Ann,

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

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

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

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

                        Mchewe 18th November 1937

                        Hello George Darling,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Mchewe 12th February, 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbulu 18th March, 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbulu 24th March, 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Mbulu 20th June 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Karatu 3rd July 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Karatu 12th July 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Oldeani. 19th July 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Oldeani. 10th August 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Oldeani. 20th August 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938

                        Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                        Eleanor.

                        #6263
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          From Tanganyika with Love

                          continued  ~ part 4

                          With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                          Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          With much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Heaps of love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots of love,
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 12th March 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          With heaps of love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.

                          Lots and lots of love,
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 30th April 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                          Your very affectionate,
                          Eleanor

                          Mchewe Estate. 17th September 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

                          With love to you all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to you all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

                          Your worried but affectionate,
                          Eleanor.

                          Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

                          Much love,
                          Eleanor.

                          Mchewe. 12th November 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Lots and lots of love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                          Chunya 27th November 1936

                          Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                          Much love to all,
                          Eleanor.

                           

                          #6262
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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
                            arrived.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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
                            journey.

                            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!
                            Eleanor

                            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
                            Alfani.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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.”

                            Eleanor.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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
                            ceiling.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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.

                            Eleanor

                            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
                            then?”

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            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,
                            Eleanor.

                            #6261
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              continued

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                              Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Lots of love,
                              Eleanor

                              Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              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
                              health.

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

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

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

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

                              Your very loving,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Lots and lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              We all send our love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Much love from a proud mother of two.
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Your affectionate,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              your affectionate,
                              Eleanor

                              Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Very much love
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                              Dear Family,

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

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

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

                              Lots and lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Very much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                              Much love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Lots of love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Lots of love to all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Much love to you all,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                              Much love,
                              Eleanor.

                              Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                              Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                              Lots of love, Eleanor

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