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  • #6348
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Wong Sang

       

      Wong Sang was born in China in 1884. In October 1916 he married Alice Stokes in Oxford.

      Alice was the granddaughter of William Stokes of Churchill, Oxfordshire and William was the brother of Thomas Stokes the wheelwright (who was my 3X great grandfather). In other words Alice was my second cousin, three times removed, on my fathers paternal side.

      Wong Sang was an interpreter, according to the baptism registers of his children and the Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital admission registers in 1930.  The hospital register also notes that he was employed by the Blue Funnel Line, and that his address was 11, Limehouse Causeway, E 14. (London)

      “The Blue Funnel Line offered regular First-Class Passenger and Cargo Services From the UK to South Africa, Malaya, China, Japan, Australia, Java, and America.  Blue Funnel Line was Owned and Operated by Alfred Holt & Co., Liverpool.
      The Blue Funnel Line, so-called because its ships have a blue funnel with a black top, is more appropriately known as the Ocean Steamship Company.”

       

      Wong Sang and Alice’s daughter, Frances Eileen Sang, was born on the 14th July, 1916 and baptised in 1920 at St Stephen in Poplar, Tower Hamlets, London.  The birth date is noted in the 1920 baptism register and would predate their marriage by a few months, although on the death register in 1921 her age at death is four years old and her year of birth is recorded as 1917.

      Charles Ronald Sang was baptised on the same day in May 1920, but his birth is recorded as April of that year.  The family were living on Morant Street, Poplar.

      James William Sang’s birth is recorded on the 1939 census and on the death register in 2000 as being the 8th March 1913.  This definitely would predate the 1916 marriage in Oxford.

      William Norman Sang was born on the 17th October 1922 in Poplar.

      Alice and the three sons were living at 11, Limehouse Causeway on the 1939 census, the same address that Wong Sang was living at when he was admitted to Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital on the 15th January 1930. Wong Sang died in the hospital on the 8th March of that year at the age of 46.

      Alice married John Patterson in 1933 in Stepney. John was living with Alice and her three sons on Limehouse Causeway on the 1939 census and his occupation was chef.

      Via Old London Photographs:

      “Limehouse Causeway is a street in east London that was the home to the original Chinatown of London. A combination of bomb damage during the Second World War and later redevelopment means that almost nothing is left of the original buildings of the street.”

      Limehouse Causeway in 1925:

      Limehouse Causeway

       

      From The Story of Limehouse’s Lost Chinatown, poplarlondon website:

      “Limehouse was London’s first Chinatown, home to a tightly-knit community who were demonised in popular culture and eventually erased from the cityscape.

      As recounted in the BBC’s ‘Our Greatest Generation’ series, Connie was born to a Chinese father and an English mother in early 1920s Limehouse, where she used to play in the street with other British and British-Chinese children before running inside for teatime at one of their houses. 

      Limehouse was London’s first Chinatown between the 1880s and the 1960s, before the current Chinatown off Shaftesbury Avenue was established in the 1970s by an influx of immigrants from Hong Kong. 

      Connie’s memories of London’s first Chinatown as an “urban village” paint a very different picture to the seedy area portrayed in early twentieth century novels. 

      The pyramid in St Anne’s church marked the entrance to the opium den of Dr Fu Manchu, a criminal mastermind who threatened Western society by plotting world domination in a series of novels by Sax Rohmer. 

      Thomas Burke’s Limehouse Nights cemented stereotypes about prostitution, gambling and violence within the Chinese community, and whipped up anxiety about sexual relationships between Chinese men and white women. 

      Though neither novelist was familiar with the Chinese community, their depictions made Limehouse one of the most notorious areas of London. 

      Travel agent Thomas Cook even organised tours of the area for daring visitors, despite the rector of Limehouse warning that “those who look for the Limehouse of Mr Thomas Burke simply will not find it.”

      All that remains is a handful of Chinese street names, such as Ming Street, Pekin Street, and Canton Street — but what was Limehouse’s chinatown really like, and why did it get swept away?

      Chinese migration to Limehouse 

      Chinese sailors discharged from East India Company ships settled in the docklands from as early as the 1780s.

      By the late nineteenth century, men from Shanghai had settled around Pennyfields Lane, while a Cantonese community lived on Limehouse Causeway. 

      Chinese sailors were often paid less and discriminated against by dock hirers, and so began to diversify their incomes by setting up hand laundry services and restaurants. 

      Old photographs show shopfronts emblazoned with Chinese characters with horse-drawn carts idling outside or Chinese men in suits and hats standing proudly in the doorways. 

      In oral histories collected by Yat Ming Loo, Connie’s husband Leslie doesn’t recall seeing any Chinese women as a child, since male Chinese sailors settled in London alone and married working-class English women. 

      In the 1920s, newspapers fear-mongered about interracial marriages, crime and gambling, and described chinatown as an East End “colony.” 

      Ironically, Chinese opium-smoking was also demonised in the press, despite Britain waging war against China in the mid-nineteenth century for suppressing the opium trade to alleviate addiction amongst its people. 

      The number of Chinese people who settled in Limehouse was also greatly exaggerated, and in reality only totalled around 300. 

      The real Chinatown 

      Although the press sought to characterise Limehouse as a monolithic Chinese community in the East End, Connie remembers seeing people of all nationalities in the shops and community spaces in Limehouse.

      She doesn’t remember feeling discriminated against by other locals, though Connie does recall having her face measured and IQ tested by a member of the British Eugenics Society who was conducting research in the area. 

      Some of Connie’s happiest childhood memories were from her time at Chung-Hua Club, where she learned about Chinese culture and language.

      Why did Chinatown disappear? 

      The caricature of Limehouse’s Chinatown as a den of vice hastened its erasure. 

      Police raids and deportations fuelled by the alarmist media coverage threatened the Chinese population of Limehouse, and slum clearance schemes to redevelop low-income areas dispersed Chinese residents in the 1930s. 

      The Defence of the Realm Act imposed at the beginning of the First World War criminalised opium use, gave the authorities increased powers to deport Chinese people and restricted their ability to work on British ships.

      Dwindling maritime trade during World War II further stripped Chinese sailors of opportunities for employment, and any remnants of Chinatown were destroyed during the Blitz or erased by postwar development schemes.”

       

      Wong Sang 1884-1930

      The year 1918 was a troublesome one for Wong Sang, an interpreter and shipping agent for Blue Funnel Line.  The Sang family were living at 156, Chrisp Street.

      Chrisp Street, Poplar, in 1913 via Old London Photographs:

      Chrisp Street

       

      In February Wong Sang was discharged from a false accusation after defending his home from potential robbers.

      East End News and London Shipping Chronicle – Friday 15 February 1918:

      1918 Wong Sang

       

      In August of that year he was involved in an incident that left him unconscious.

      Faringdon Advertiser and Vale of the White Horse Gazette – Saturday 31 August 1918:

      1918 Wong Sang 2

       

      Wong Sang is mentioned in an 1922 article about “Oriental London”.

      London and China Express – Thursday 09 February 1922:

      1922 Wong Sang

      A photograph of the Chee Kong Tong Chinese Freemason Society mentioned in the above article, via Old London Photographs:

      Chee Kong Tong

       

      Wong Sang was recommended by the London Metropolitan Police in 1928 to assist in a case in Wellingborough, Northampton.

      Difficulty of Getting an Interpreter: Northampton Mercury – Friday 16 March 1928:

      1928 Wong Sang

      1928 Wong Sang 2

      The difficulty was that “this man speaks the Cantonese language only…the Northeners and the Southerners in China have differing languages and the interpreter seemed to speak one that was in between these two.”

       

      In 1917, Alice Wong Sang was a witness at her sister Harriet Stokes marriage to James William Watts in Southwark, London.  Their father James Stokes occupation on the marriage register is foreman surveyor, but on the census he was a council roadman or labourer. (I initially rejected this as the correct marriage for Harriet because of the discrepancy with the occupations. Alice Wong Sang as a witness confirmed that it was indeed the correct one.)

      1917 Alice Wong Sang

       

       

      James William Sang 1913-2000 was a clock fitter and watch assembler (on the 1939 census). He married Ivy Laura Fenton in 1963 in Sidcup, Kent. James died in Southwark in 2000.

      Charles Ronald Sang 1920-1974  was a draughtsman (1939 census). He married Eileen Burgess in 1947 in Marylebone.  Charles and Eileen had two sons:  Keith born in 1951 and Roger born in 1952.  He died in 1974 in Hertfordshire.

      William Norman Sang 1922-2000 was a clerk and telephone operator (1939 census).  William enlisted in the Royal Artillery in 1942. He married Lily Mullins in 1949 in Bethnal Green, and they had three daughters: Marion born in 1950, Christine in 1953, and Frances in 1959.  He died in Redbridge in 2000.

       

      I then found another two births registered in Poplar by Alice Sang, both daughters.  Doris Winifred Sang was born in 1925, and Patricia Margaret Sang was born in 1933 ~ three years after Wong Sang’s death.  Neither of the these daughters were on the 1939 census with Alice, John Patterson and the three sons.  Margaret had presumably been evacuated because of the war to a family in Taunton, Somerset. Doris would have been fourteen and I have been unable to find her in 1939 (possibly because she died in 2017 and has not had the redaction removed  yet on the 1939 census as only deceased people are viewable).

      Doris Winifred Sang 1925-2017 was a nursing sister. She didn’t marry, and spent a year in USA between 1954 and 1955. She stayed in London, and died at the age of ninety two in 2017.

      Patricia Margaret Sang 1933-1998 was also a nurse. She married Patrick L Nicely in Stepney in 1957.  Patricia and Patrick had five children in London: Sharon born 1959, Donald in 1960, Malcolm was born and died in 1966, Alison was born in 1969 and David in 1971.

       

      I was unable to find a birth registered for Alice’s first son, James William Sang (as he appeared on the 1939 census).  I found Alice Stokes on the 1911 census as a 17 year old live in servant at a tobacconist on Pekin Street, Limehouse, living with Mr Sui Fong from Hong Kong and his wife Sarah Sui Fong from Berlin.  I looked for a birth registered for James William Fong instead of Sang, and found it ~ mothers maiden name Stokes, and his date of birth matched the 1939 census: 8th March, 1913.

      On the 1921 census, Wong Sang is not listed as living with them but it is mentioned that Mr Wong Sang was the person returning the census.  Also living with Alice and her sons James and Charles in 1921 are two visitors:  (Florence) May Stokes, 17 years old, born in Woodstock, and Charles Stokes, aged 14, also born in Woodstock. May and Charles were Alice’s sister and brother.

       

      I found Sharon Nicely on social media and she kindly shared photos of Wong Sang and Alice Stokes:

      Wong Sang

       

      Alice Stokes

      #6317

      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

      The sharp rat-a-tat on the door startled Olga Herringbonevsky. The initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance. It was 11am and she wasn’t expecting a knock on the door at 11am. At 10am she expected a knock. It would be Larysa with the lukewarm cup of tea and a stale biscuit. Sometimes Olga complained about it and Larysa would say, Well you’re on the third floor so what do you expect? And she’d look cross and pour the tea so some of it slopped into the saucer. So the biscuits go stale on the way up do they? Olga would mutter. At 10:30am Larysa would return to collect the cup and saucer. I can’t do this much longer, she’d say. I’m not young any more and all these damn stairs. She’d been saying that for as long as Olga could remember.

      For a moment, Olga contemplated ignoring the intrusion but the knocking started up again, this time accompanied by someone shouting her name.

      With a very loud sigh, she put her book on the side table, face down so she would not lose her place for it was a most enjoyable whodunit, and hauled herself up from the chair. Her ankle was not good since she’d gone over on it the other day and Olga was in a very poor mood by the time she reached the door.

      “Yes?” She glowered at Egbert.

      “Have you seen this?” Egbert was waving a piece of paper at her.

      “No,” Olga started to close the door.

      Olga stop!” Egbert’s face had reddened and Olga wondered if he might cry. Again, he waved the piece of paper in her face and then let his hand fall defeated to his side. “Olga, it’s bad news. You should have got a letter .”

      Olga glanced at the pile of unopened letters on her dresser. It was never good news. She couldn’t be bothered with letters any more.

      “Well, Egbert, I suppose you’d better come in”.

      “That Ursula has a heart of steel,” said Olga when she’d heard the news.

      “Pfft,” said Egbert. “She has no heart. This place has always been about money for her.”

      “It’s bad times, Egbert. Bad times.”

      Egbert nodded. “It is, Olga. But there must be something we can do.” He pursed his lips and Olga noticed that he would not meet her eyes.

      “What? Spit it out, Old Man.”

      He looked at her briefly before his eyes slid back to the dirty grey carpet. “I have heard stories, Olga. That you are … well connected. That you know people.”

      Olga noticed that it had become difficult to breathe. Seeing Egbert looking at her with concern, she made an effort to steady herself. She took an extra big gasp of air and pointed to the book face-down on the side table. “That is a very good book I am reading. You may borrow it when I have finished.”

      Egbert nodded. “Thank you.” he said and they both stared at the book.

      “It was a long time ago, Egbert. And no business of anyone else.” Olga  knew her voice was sharp but not sharp enough it seemed as Egbert was not done yet with all his prying words.

      Olga, you said it yourself. These are bad times. And desperate measures are needed or we will all perish.” Now he looked her in the eyes. “Old woman, swallow your pride. You must save yourself and all of us here.”

      #6306
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Looking for Robert Staley

         

        William Warren (1835-1880) of Newhall (Stapenhill) married Elizabeth Staley (1836-1907) in 1858. Elizabeth was born in Newhall, the daughter of John Staley (1795-1876) and Jane Brothers. John was born in Newhall, and Jane was born in Armagh, Ireland, and they were married in Armagh in 1820. Elizabeths older brothers were born in Ireland: William in 1826 and Thomas in Dublin in 1830. Francis was born in Liverpool in 1834, and then Elizabeth in Newhall in 1836; thereafter the children were born in Newhall.

        Marriage of John Staley and Jane Brothers in 1820:

        1820 marriage Armagh

         

         

        My grandmother related a story about an Elizabeth Staley who ran away from boarding school and eloped to Ireland, but later returned. The only Irish connection found so far is Jane Brothers, so perhaps she meant Elizabeth Staley’s mother. A boarding school seems unlikely, and it would seem that it was John Staley who went to Ireland.

        The 1841 census states Jane’s age as 33, which would make her just 12 at the time of her marriage. The 1851 census states her age as 44, making her 13 at the time of her 1820 marriage, and the 1861 census estimates her birth year as a more likely 1804. Birth records in Ireland for her have not been found. It’s possible, perhaps, that she was in service in the Newhall area as a teenager (more likely than boarding school), and that John and Jane ran off to get married in Ireland, although I haven’t found any record of a child born to them early in their marriage. John was an agricultural labourer, and later a coal miner.

        John Staley was the son of Joseph Staley (1756-1838) and Sarah Dumolo (1764-). Joseph and Sarah were married by licence in Newhall in 1782. Joseph was a carpenter on the marriage licence, but later a collier (although not necessarily a miner).

        The Derbyshire Record Office holds records of  an “Estimate of Joseph Staley of Newhall for the cost of continuing to work Pisternhill Colliery” dated 1820 and addresssed to Mr Bloud at Calke Abbey (presumably the owner of the mine)

        Josephs parents were Robert Staley and Elizabeth. I couldn’t find a baptism or birth record for Robert Staley. Other trees on an ancestry site had his birth in Elton, but with no supporting documents. Robert, as stated in his 1795 will, was a Yeoman.

        “Yeoman: A former class of small freeholders who farm their own land; a commoner of good standing.”
        “Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.”

        He left a number of properties in Newhall and Hartshorne (near Newhall) including dwellings, enclosures, orchards, various yards, barns and acreages. It seemed to me more likely that he had inherited them, rather than moving into the village and buying them.

        There is a mention of Robert Staley in a 1782 newpaper advertisement.

        “Fire Engine To Be Sold.  An exceedingly good fire engine, with the boiler, cylinder, etc in good condition. For particulars apply to Mr Burslem at Burton-upon-Trent, or Robert Staley at Newhall near Burton, where the engine may be seen.”

        fire engine

         

        Was the fire engine perhaps connected with a foundry or a coal mine?

        I noticed that Robert Staley was the witness at a 1755 marriage in Stapenhill between Barbara Burslem and Richard Daston the younger esquire. The other witness was signed Burslem Jnr.

         

        Looking for Robert Staley

         

        I assumed that once again, in the absence of the correct records, a similarly named and aged persons baptism had been added to the tree regardless of accuracy, so I looked through the Stapenhill/Newhall parish register images page by page. There were no Staleys in Newhall at all in the early 1700s, so it seemed that Robert did come from elsewhere and I expected to find the Staleys in a neighbouring parish. But I still didn’t find any Staleys.

        I spoke to a couple of Staley descendants that I’d met during the family research. I met Carole via a DNA match some months previously and contacted her to ask about the Staleys in Elton. She also had Robert Staley born in Elton (indeed, there were many Staleys in Elton) but she didn’t have any documentation for his birth, and we decided to collaborate and try and find out more.

        I couldn’t find the earlier Elton parish registers anywhere online, but eventually found the untranscribed microfiche images of the Bishops Transcripts for Elton.

        via familysearch:
        “In its most basic sense, a bishop’s transcript is a copy of a parish register. As bishop’s transcripts generally contain more or less the same information as parish registers, they are an invaluable resource when a parish register has been damaged, destroyed, or otherwise lost. Bishop’s transcripts are often of value even when parish registers exist, as priests often recorded either additional or different information in their transcripts than they did in the original registers.”

         

        Unfortunately there was a gap in the Bishops Transcripts between 1704 and 1711 ~ exactly where I needed to look. I subsequently found out that the Elton registers were incomplete as they had been damaged by fire.

        I estimated Robert Staleys date of birth between 1710 and 1715. He died in 1795, and his son Daniel died in 1805: both of these wills were found online. Daniel married Mary Moon in Stapenhill in 1762, making a likely birth date for Daniel around 1740.

        The marriage of Robert Staley (assuming this was Robert’s father) and Alice Maceland (or Marsland or Marsden, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it presumably) was in the Bishops Transcripts for Elton in 1704. They were married in Elton on 26th February. There followed the missing parish register pages and in all likelihood the records of the baptisms of their first children. No doubt Robert was one of them, probably the first male child.

        (Incidentally, my grandfather’s Marshalls also came from Elton, a small Derbyshire village near Matlock.  The Staley’s are on my grandmothers Warren side.)

        The parish register pages resume in 1711. One of the first entries was the baptism of Robert Staley in 1711, parents Thomas and Ann. This was surely the one we were looking for, and Roberts parents weren’t Robert and Alice.

        But then in 1735 a marriage was recorded between Robert son of Robert Staley (and this was unusual, the father of the groom isn’t usually recorded on the parish register) and Elizabeth Milner. They were married on the 9th March 1735. We know that the Robert we were looking for married an Elizabeth, as her name was on the Stapenhill baptisms of their later children, including Joseph Staleys.  The 1735 marriage also fit with the assumed birth date of Daniel, circa 1740. A baptism was found for a Robert Staley in 1738 in the Elton registers, parents Robert and Elizabeth, as well as the baptism in 1736 for Mary, presumably their first child. Her burial is recorded the following year.

        The marriage of Robert Staley and Elizabeth Milner in 1735:

        rbt staley marriage 1735

         

        There were several other Staley couples of a similar age in Elton, perhaps brothers and cousins. It seemed that Thomas and Ann’s son Robert was a different Robert, and that the one we were looking for was prior to that and on the missing pages.

        Even so, this doesn’t prove that it was Elizabeth Staleys great grandfather who was born in Elton, but no other birth or baptism for Robert Staley has been found. It doesn’t explain why the Staleys moved to Stapenhill either, although the Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution could have been factors.

        The 18th century saw the rise of the Industrial Revolution and many renowned Derbyshire Industrialists emerged. They created the turning point from what was until then a largely rural economy, to the development of townships based on factory production methods.

        The Marsden Connection

        There are some possible clues in the records of the Marsden family.  Robert Staley married Alice Marsden (or Maceland or Marsland) in Elton in 1704.  Robert Staley is mentioned in the 1730 will of John Marsden senior,  of Baslow, Innkeeper (Peacock Inne & Whitlands Farm). He mentions his daughter Alice, wife of Robert Staley.

        In a 1715 Marsden will there is an intriguing mention of an alias, which might explain the different spellings on various records for the name Marsden:  “MARSDEN alias MASLAND, Christopher – of Baslow, husbandman, 28 Dec 1714. son Robert MARSDEN alias MASLAND….” etc.

        Some potential reasons for a move from one parish to another are explained in this history of the Marsden family, and indeed this could relate to Robert Staley as he married into the Marsden family and his wife was a beneficiary of a Marsden will.  The Chatsworth Estate, at various times, bought a number of farms in order to extend the park.

        THE MARSDEN FAMILY
        OXCLOSE AND PARKGATE
        In the Parishes of
        Baslow and Chatsworth

        by
        David Dalrymple-Smith

        John Marsden (b1653) another son of Edmund (b1611) faired well. By the time he died in
        1730 he was publican of the Peacock, the Inn on Church Lane now called the Cavendish
        Hotel, and the farmer at “Whitlands”, almost certainly Bubnell Cliff Farm.”

        “Coal mining was well known in the Chesterfield area. The coalfield extends as far as the
        Gritstone edges, where thin seams outcrop especially in the Baslow area.”

        “…the occupants were evicted from the farmland below Dobb Edge and
        the ground carefully cleared of all traces of occupation and farming. Shelter belts were
        planted especially along the Heathy Lea Brook. An imposing new drive was laid to the
        Chatsworth House with the Lodges and “The Golden Gates” at its northern end….”

        Although this particular event was later than any events relating to Robert Staley, it’s an indication of how farms and farmland disappeared, and a reason for families to move to another area:

        “The Dukes of Devonshire (of Chatsworth)  were major figures in the aristocracy and the government of the
        time. Such a position demanded a display of wealth and ostentation. The 6th Duke of
        Devonshire, the Bachelor Duke, was not content with the Chatsworth he inherited in 1811,
        and immediately started improvements. After major changes around Edensor, he turned his
        attention at the north end of the Park. In 1820 plans were made extend the Park up to the
        Baslow parish boundary. As this would involve the destruction of most of the Farm at
        Oxclose, the farmer at the Higher House Samuel Marsden (b1755) was given the tenancy of
        Ewe Close a large farm near Bakewell.
        Plans were revised in 1824 when the Dukes of Devonshire and Rutland “Exchanged Lands”,
        reputedly during a game of dice. Over 3300 acres were involved in several local parishes, of
        which 1000 acres were in Baslow. In the deal Devonshire acquired the southeast corner of
        Baslow Parish.
        Part of the deal was Gibbet Moor, which was developed for “Sport”. The shelf of land
        between Parkgate and Robin Hood and a few extra fields was left untouched. The rest,
        between Dobb Edge and Baslow, was agricultural land with farms, fields and houses. It was
        this last part that gave the Duke the opportunity to improve the Park beyond his earlier
        expectations.”

         

        The 1795 will of Robert Staley.

        Inriguingly, Robert included the children of his son Daniel Staley in his will, but omitted to leave anything to Daniel.  A perusal of Daniels 1808 will sheds some light on this:  Daniel left his property to his six reputed children with Elizabeth Moon, and his reputed daughter Mary Brearly. Daniels wife was Mary Moon, Elizabeths husband William Moons daughter.

        The will of Robert Staley, 1795:

        1795 will 2

        1795 Rbt Staley will

         

        The 1805 will of Daniel Staley, Robert’s son:

        This is the last will and testament of me Daniel Staley of the Township of Newhall in the parish of Stapenhill in the County of Derby, Farmer. I will and order all of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses to be fully paid and satisfied by my executors hereinafter named by and out of my personal estate as soon as conveniently may be after my decease.

        I give, devise and bequeath to Humphrey Trafford Nadin of Church Gresely in the said County of Derby Esquire and John Wilkinson of Newhall aforesaid yeoman all my messuages, lands, tenements, hereditaments and real and personal estates to hold to them, their heirs, executors, administrators and assigns until Richard Moon the youngest of my reputed sons by Elizabeth Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years upon trust that they, my said trustees, (or the survivor of them, his heirs, executors, administrators or assigns), shall and do manage and carry on my farm at Newhall aforesaid and pay and apply the rents, issues and profits of all and every of my said real and personal estates in for and towards the support, maintenance and education of all my reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon until the said Richard Moon my youngest reputed son shall attain his said age of twenty one years and equally share and share and share alike.

        And it is my will and desire that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall recruit and keep up the stock upon my farm as they in their discretion shall see occasion or think proper and that the same shall not be diminished. And in case any of my said reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon shall be married before my said reputed youngest son shall attain his age of twenty one years that then it is my will and desire that non of their husbands or wives shall come to my farm or be maintained there or have their abode there. That it is also my will and desire in case my reputed children or any of them shall not be steady to business but instead shall be wild and diminish the stock that then my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority in their discretion to sell and dispose of all or any part of my said personal estate and to put out the money arising from the sale thereof to interest and to pay and apply the interest thereof and also thereunto of the said real estate in for and towards the maintenance, education and support of all my said reputed children by the said
        Elizabeth Moon as they my said trustees in their discretion that think proper until the said Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years.

        Then I give to my grandson Daniel Staley the sum of ten pounds and to each and every of my sons and daughters namely Daniel Staley, Benjamin Staley, John Staley, William Staley, Elizabeth Dent and Sarah Orme and to my niece Ann Brearly the sum of five pounds apiece.

        I give to my youngest reputed son Richard Moon one share in the Ashby Canal Navigation and I direct that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority to pay and apply all or any part of the fortune or legacy hereby intended for my youngest reputed son Richard Moon in placing him out to any trade, business or profession as they in their discretion shall think proper.
        And I direct that to my said sons and daughters by my late wife and my said niece shall by wholly paid by my said reputed son Richard Moon out of the fortune herby given him. And it is my will and desire that my said reputed children shall deliver into the hands of my executors all the monies that shall arise from the carrying on of my business that is not wanted to carry on the same unto my acting executor and shall keep a just and true account of all disbursements and receipts of the said business and deliver up the same to my acting executor in order that there may not be any embezzlement or defraud amongst them and from and immediately after my said reputed youngest son Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years then I give, devise and bequeath all my real estate and all the residue and remainder of my personal estate of what nature and kind whatsoever and wheresoever unto and amongst all and every my said reputed sons and daughters namely William Moon, Thomas Moon, Joseph Moon, Richard Moon, Ann Moon, Margaret Moon and to my reputed daughter Mary Brearly to hold to them and their respective heirs, executors, administrator and assigns for ever according to the nature and tenure of the same estates respectively to take the same as tenants in common and not as joint tenants.

        And lastly I nominate and appoint the said Humphrey Trafford Nadin and John Wilkinson executors of this my last will and testament and guardians of all my reputed children who are under age during their respective minorities hereby revoking all former and other wills by me heretofore made and declaring this only to be my last will.

        In witness whereof I the said Daniel Staley the testator have to this my last will and testament set my hand and seal the eleventh day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five.

         

        #6286
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Matthew Orgill and His Family

           

          Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 was the Orgill brother who went to Australia, but returned to Measham.  Matthew married Mary Orgill in Measham in October 1856, having returned from Victoria, Australia in May of that year.

          Although Matthew was the first Orgill brother to go to Australia, he was the last one I found, and that was somewhat by accident, while perusing “Orgill” and “Measham” in a newspaper archives search.  I chanced on Matthew’s obituary in the Nuneaton Observer, Friday 14 June 1907:

          LATE MATTHEW ORGILL PEACEFUL END TO A BLAMELESS LIFE.

          ‘Sunset and Evening Star And one clear call for me.”

          It is with very deep regret that we have to announce the death of Mr. Matthew Orgill, late of Measham, who passed peacefully away at his residence in Manor Court Road, Nuneaton, in the early hours of yesterday morning. Mr. Orgill, who was in his eightieth year, was a man with a striking history, and was a very fine specimen of our best English manhood. In early life be emigrated to South Africa—sailing in the “Hebrides” on 4th February. 1850—and was one of the first settlers at the Cape; afterwards he went on to Australia at the time of the Gold Rush, and ultimately came home to his native England and settled down in Measham, in Leicestershire, where he carried on a successful business for the long period of half-a-century.

          He was full of reminiscences of life in the Colonies in the early days, and an hour or two in his company was an education itself. On the occasion of the recall of Sir Harry Smith from the Governorship of Natal (for refusing to be a party to the slaying of the wives and children in connection with the Kaffir War), Mr. Orgill was appointed to superintend the arrangements for the farewell demonstration. It was one of his boasts that he made the first missionary cart used in South Africa, which is in use to this day—a monument to the character of his work; while it is an interesting fact to note that among Mr. Orgill’s papers there is the original ground-plan of the city of Durban before a single house was built.

          In Africa Mr. Orgill came in contact with the great missionary, David Livingstone, and between the two men there was a striking resemblance in character and a deep and lasting friendship. Mr. Orgill could give a most graphic description of the wreck of the “Birkenhead,” having been in the vicinity at the time when the ill-fated vessel went down. He played a most prominent part on the occasion of the famous wreck of the emigrant ship, “Minerva.” when, in conjunction with some half-a-dozen others, and at the eminent risk of their own lives, they rescued more than 100 of the unfortunate passengers. He was afterwards presented with an interesting relic as a memento of that thrilling experience, being a copper bolt from the vessel on which was inscribed the following words: “Relic of the ship Minerva, wrecked off Bluff Point, Port Natal. 8.A.. about 2 a.m.. Friday, July 5, 1850.”

          Mr. Orgill was followed to the Colonies by no fewer than six of his brothers, all of whom did well, and one of whom married a niece (brother’s daughter) of the late Mr. William Ewart Gladstone.

          On settling down in Measham his kindly and considerate disposition soon won for him a unique place in the hearts of all the people, by whom he was greatly beloved. He was a man of sterling worth and integrity. Upright and honourable in all his dealings, he led a Christian life that was a pattern to all with whom he came in contact, and of him it could truly he said that he wore the white flower of a blameless life.

          He was a member of the Baptist Church, and although beyond much active service since settling down in Nuneaton less than two years ago he leaves behind him a record in Christian service attained by few. In politics he was a Radical of the old school. A great reader, he studied all the questions of the day, and could back up every belief he held by sound and fearless argument. The South African – war was a great grief to him. He knew the Boers from personal experience, and although he suffered at the time of the war for his outspoken condemnation, he had the satisfaction of living to see the people of England fully recognising their awful blunder. To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before; suffice it to say that it was strenuous, interesting, and eventful, and yet all through his hands remained unspotted and his heart was pure.

          He is survived by three daughters, and was father-in-law to Mr. J. S. Massey. St Kilda. Manor Court Road, to whom deep and loving sympathy is extended in their sore bereavement by a wide circle of friends. The funeral is arranged to leave for Measham on Monday at twelve noon.

           

          “To give anything like an adequate idea of Mr. Orgill’s history would take up a great amount of space, and besides much of it has been written and commented on before…”

          I had another look in the newspaper archives and found a number of articles mentioning him, including an intriguing excerpt in an article about local history published in the Burton Observer and Chronicle 8 August 1963:

          on an upstairs window pane he scratched with his diamond ring “Matthew Orgill, 1st July, 1858”

          Matthew Orgill window

          Matthew orgill window 2

           

          I asked on a Measham facebook group if anyone knew the location of the house mentioned in the article and someone kindly responded. This is the same building, seen from either side:

          Measham Wharf

           

          Coincidentally, I had already found this wonderful photograph of the same building, taken in 1910 ~ three years after Matthew’s death.

          Old Measham wharf

           

          But what to make of the inscription in the window?

          Matthew and Mary married in October 1856, and their first child (according to the records I’d found thus far) was a daughter Mary born in 1860.  I had a look for a Matthew Orgill birth registered in 1858, the date Matthew had etched on the window, and found a death for a Matthew Orgill in 1859.  Assuming I would find the birth of Matthew Orgill registered on the first of July 1958, to match the etching in the window, the corresponding birth was in July 1857!

          Matthew and Mary had four children. Matthew, Mary, Clara and Hannah.  Hannah Proudman Orgill married Joseph Stanton Massey.  The Orgill name continues with their son Stanley Orgill Massey 1900-1979, who was a doctor and surgeon.  Two of Stanley’s four sons were doctors, Paul Mackintosh Orgill Massey 1929-2009, and Michael Joseph Orgill Massey 1932-1989.

           

          Mary Orgill 1827-1894, Matthews wife, was an Orgill too.

          And this is where the Orgill branch of the tree gets complicated.

          Mary’s father was Henry Orgill born in 1805 and her mother was Hannah Proudman born in 1805.
          Henry Orgill’s father was Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and his mother was Frances Finch born in 1771.

          Mary’s husband Matthews parents are Matthew Orgill born in 1798 and Elizabeth Orgill born in 1803.

          Another Orgill Orgill marriage!

          Matthews parents,  Matthew and Elizabeth, have the same grandparents as each other, Matthew Orgill born in 1736 and Ann Proudman born in 1735.

          But Matthews grandparents are none other than Matthew Orgill born in 1769 and Frances Finch born in 1771 ~ the same grandparents as his wife Mary!

          #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

              #6243
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                William Housley’s Will and the Court Case

                William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872.  The court case was in 1873.  Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew,  in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far.  However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.

                William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813.  They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne.  Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal.  This point is mentioned in one of the letters.

                One of the pages of William Housley’s will:

                William Housleys Will

                 

                An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:

                A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.

                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.”

                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 still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”

                In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter)
                In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”

                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 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.”

                Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth.
                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”

                However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.

                Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:

                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.”

                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.”

                In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875

                HOUSLEY – wanted information
                as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and
                Children of Charles Housley, formerly of
                Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at
                Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria
                August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with
                Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England.
                June 16,1875.

                The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:

                Victoria Diggings, Australie

                 

                The court case:

                 Kerry v Housley.
                Documents: Bill, demurrer.
                Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley.
                Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted).
                Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire.
                Date: 1873

                From the Narrative on the Letters:

                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.”

                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.”

                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.”

                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’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”

                In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”

                On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”

                Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father.
                But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.”
                Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”

                The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?”
                After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything.
                In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.

                George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.”
                In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.

                On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.

                January 14, 1876:  “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
                Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
                Abram J. Flint”

                September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
                “I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”

                1874 in chancery:

                Housley Estate Sale

                #6219
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The following stories started with a single question.

                  Who was Catherine Housley’s mother?

                  But one question leads to another, and another, and so this book will never be finished.  This is the first in a collection of stories of a family history research project, not a complete family history.  There will always be more questions and more searches, and each new find presents more questions.

                  A list of names and dates is only moderately interesting, and doesn’t mean much unless you get to know the characters along the way.   For example, a cousin on my fathers side has already done a great deal of thorough and accurate family research. I copied one branch of the family onto my tree, going back to the 1500’s, but lost interest in it after about an hour or so, because I didn’t feel I knew any of the individuals.

                  Parish registers, the census every ten years, birth, death and marriage certificates can tell you so much, but they can’t tell you why.  They don’t tell you why parents chose the names they did for their children, or why they moved, or why they married in another town.  They don’t tell you why a person lived in another household, or for how long. The census every ten years doesn’t tell you what people were doing in the intervening years, and in the case of the UK and the hundred year privacy rule, we can’t even use those for the past century.  The first census was in 1831 in England, prior to that all we have are parish registers. An astonishing amount of them have survived and have been transcribed and are one way or another available to see, both transcriptions and microfiche images.  Not all of them survived, however. Sometimes the writing has faded to white, sometimes pages are missing, and in some case the entire register is lost or damaged.

                  Sometimes if you are lucky, you may find mention of an ancestor in an obscure little local history book or a journal or diary.  Wills, court cases, and newspaper archives often provide interesting information. Town memories and history groups on social media are another excellent source of information, from old photographs of the area, old maps, local history, and of course, distantly related relatives still living in the area.  Local history societies can be useful, and some if not all are very helpful.

                  If you’re very lucky indeed, you might find a distant relative in another country whose grandparents saved and transcribed bundles of old letters found in the attic, from the family in England to the brother who emigrated, written in the 1800s.  More on this later, as it merits its own chapter as the most exciting find so far.

                  The social history of the time and place is important and provides many clues as to why people moved and why the family professions and occupations changed over generations.  The Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution in England created difficulties for rural farmers, factories replaced cottage industries, and the sons of land owning farmers became shop keepers and miners in the local towns.  For the most part (at least in my own research) people didn’t move around much unless there was a reason.  There are no reasons mentioned in the various registers, records and documents, but with a little reading of social history you can sometimes make a good guess.  Samuel Housley, for example, a plumber, probably moved from rural Derbyshire to urban Wolverhampton, when there was a big project to install indoor plumbing to areas of the city in the early 1800s.  Derbyshire nailmakers were offered a job and a house if they moved to Wolverhampton a generation earlier.

                  Occasionally a couple would marry in another parish, although usually they married in their own. Again, there was often a reason.  William Housley and Ellen Carrington married in Ashbourne, not in Smalley.  In this case, William’s first wife was Mary Carrington, Ellen’s sister.  It was not uncommon for a man to marry a deceased wife’s sister, but it wasn’t strictly speaking legal.  This caused some problems later when William died, as the children of the first wife contested the will, on the grounds of the second marriage being illegal.

                  Needless to say, there are always questions remaining, and often a fresh pair of eyes can help find a vital piece of information that has escaped you.  In one case, I’d been looking for the death of a widow, Mary Anne Gilman, and had failed to notice that she remarried at a late age. Her death was easy to find, once I searched for it with her second husbands name.

                  This brings me to the topic of maternal family lines. One tends to think of their lineage with the focus on paternal surnames, but very quickly the number of surnames increases, and all of the maternal lines are directly related as much as the paternal name.  This is of course obvious, if you start from the beginning with yourself and work back.  In other words, there is not much point in simply looking for your fathers name hundreds of years ago because there are hundreds of other names that are equally your own family ancestors. And in my case, although not intentionally, I’ve investigated far more maternal lines than paternal.

                  This book, which I hope will be the first of several, will concentrate on my mothers family: The story so far that started with the portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother.

                  Elizabeth Brookes

                   

                  This painting, now in my mothers house, used to hang over the piano in the home of her grandparents.   It says on the back “Catherine Housley’s mother, Smalley”.

                  The portrait of Catherine Housley’s mother can be seen above the piano. Back row Ronald Marshall, my grandfathers brother, William Marshall, my great grandfather, Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall in the middle, my great grandmother, with her daughters Dorothy on the left and Phyllis on the right, at the Marshall’s house on Love Lane in Stourbridge.

                  Marshalls

                   

                   

                  The Search for Samuel Housley

                  As soon as the search for Catherine Housley’s mother was resolved, achieved by ordering a paper copy of her birth certificate, the search for Catherine Housley’s father commenced. We know he was born in Smalley in 1816, son of William Housley and Ellen Carrington, and that he married Elizabeth Brookes in Wolverhampton in 1844. He was a plumber and glazier. His three daughters born between 1845 and 1849 were born in Smalley. Elizabeth died in 1849 of consumption, but Samuel didn’t register her death. A 20 year old neighbour called Aaron Wadkinson did.

                  Elizabeth death

                   

                  Where was Samuel?

                  On the 1851 census, two of Samuel’s daughters were listed as inmates in the Belper Workhouse, and the third, 2 year old Catherine, was listed as living with John Benniston and his family in nearby Heanor.  Benniston was a framework knitter.

                  Where was Samuel?

                  A long search through the microfiche workhouse registers provided an answer. The reason for Elizabeth and Mary Anne’s admission in June 1850 was given as “father in prison”. In May 1850, Samuel Housley was sentenced to one month hard labour at Derby Gaol for failing to maintain his three children. What happened to those little girls in the year after their mothers death, before their father was sentenced, and they entered the workhouse? Where did Catherine go, a six week old baby? We have yet to find out.

                  Samuel Housley 1850

                   

                  And where was Samuel Housley in 1851? He hasn’t appeared on any census.

                  According to the Belper workhouse registers, Mary Anne was discharged on trial as a servant February 1860. She was readmitted a month later in March 1860, the reason given: unwell.

                  Belper Workhouse:

                  Belper Workhouse

                  Eventually, Mary Anne and Elizabeth were discharged, in April 1860, with an aunt and uncle. The workhouse register doesn’t name the aunt and uncle. One can only wonder why it took them so long.
                  On the 1861 census, Elizabeth, 16 years old, is a servant in St Peters, Derby, and Mary Anne, 15 years old, is a servant in St Werburghs, Derby.

                  But where was Samuel?

                  After some considerable searching, we found him, despite a mistranscription of his name, on the 1861 census, living as a lodger and plumber in Darlaston, Walsall.
                  Eventually we found him on a 1871 census living as a lodger at the George and Dragon in Henley in Arden. The age is not exactly right, but close enough, he is listed as an unmarried painter, also close enough, and his birth is listed as Kidsley, Derbyshire. He was born at Kidsley Grange Farm. We can assume that he was probably alive in 1872, the year his mother died, and the following year, 1873, during the Kerry vs Housley court case.

                  Samuel Housley 1871

                   

                  I found some living Housley descendants in USA. Samuel Housley’s brother George emigrated there in 1851. The Housley’s in USA found letters in the attic, from the family in Smalley ~ written between 1851 and 1870s. They sent me a “Narrative on the Letters” with many letter excerpts.

                  The Housley family were embroiled in a complicated will and court case in the early 1870s. In December 15, 1872, Joseph (Samuel’s brother) wrote to George:

                  “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 Birmingham 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.”

                  No record of Samuel Housley’s death can be found for the Birmingham Union in 1869 or thereabouts.

                  But if he was alive in 1871 in Henley In Arden…..
                  Did Samuel tell his wife’s brother to tell them he was dead? Or did the brothers say he was dead so they could have his share?

                  We still haven’t found a death for Samuel Housley.

                   

                   

                  #6214
                  Jib
                  Participant

                    When Finnley got out of her full body bathing suit, Liz gaped at her.

                    “It appears your suit wasn’t that waterproof after all. You should have kept the receipt. Now you can’t ask for a refund.”

                    Finnley rolled her eyes while sending daggers. Liz caught them in extremis with her pen and put them down in writing at the end of her pink notebook for later reference. She thought maybe they could be an appropriate prop for the family betrayal she planned to write about in her next chapter. Daggers between the shoulder blades were always a nice effect.

                    “I don’t need a receipt, I ordered them online.”

                    “What do you mean? What does she mean Gordon? She looks so mad, she won’t answer me… and stop eating those bloody nuts. That’s not good for your cholesterol.”

                    “Actually that’s the reverse,” said Gordon.

                    “Stop eating them! I find the crunching noise and the movement of your tongue on your teeth disturbing.”

                    “She means she kept the email with the e-receipt. Knowing her she’s probably kept it in the trash for safekeeping.”

                    Finnley threw another pair of daggers.

                    “Ouch!” Gordon said.

                    “You deserved that,” said Liz. “You were mean. Now I need to talk to Godfrey. He’ll know the answers, he always know. Where is he?”

                    “Just behind you. I’m always behind you.”

                    “Don’t say that, it can be misinterpreted. Anyway, can you answer the question?”

                    “She kept the email with the e-receipt in her trash can. You know, it’s an internet thing. Like the writing workshop you asked me to help you organise.”

                    “Oh! I totally forgot about that.”

                    “You have 57 inscriptions. The chat session starts in 5, no 7 minutes. Should I be worried?”

                    “No you shouldn’t. Just do the typing for me please. You type faster than me, I’m still doing it with one finger, well two actually, now I can use both hands.”

                    “Okay, you’ll speak to me as if you were speaking to them and I shall write down your words faithfully.”

                    “You can do the speaking too, dear. Godfrey, you’ve known me for so long, you know better than me what I’m going to say.”

                    Liz looked at Finnley’s blue hands and turned back to Godfrey. “Oh, and before you do that, prepare some cucumbers slice, I need a power nap.”

                    #6198
                    F LoveF Love
                    Participant

                      “You were listening, Finnley!” said Liz barely able to hide her surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had listened to her. Godfrey said it was because she mostly talked nonsense. He’d smiled kindly and handed her a doughnut to soften the harsh words, but it had stung nonetheless.

                      Finnley rolled her eyes. “I told you already, I’ve turned over a new leaf. Since my brush with … ” She lowered her voice dramatically as her eyes slid around the room. “… death.”

                      “Death! Oh, you really are ridiculous and very dramatic, Finnley. And why are you squinting like that? It’s most unattractive.” Liz paused. Should she mention the hair? Finnley could be so sensitive about her appearance. Oh dear lord, now the silly girl is crying!

                      “I’m sorry, Madam. I’m sorry for all the times I haven’t listened to you in your numerous times of need.” Finnley gasped for air through her sobs as Liz flung a philodendron leaf at her.

                      “Speaking of leaves, you can wipe your nose with that. Now, Finnley, I always say, it does no good to cry over milk which has been spilled. The question is, where to from here?”

                      #6176
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        Godfrey was getting itchy. The hazmat suit with built-in peanut dispenser was getting stickier by the minute, but he needed it to stay in the room, and provide the moral support Liz’ needed during her bout of glowid.

                        She’d caught a mean streak, some said a Tartessian variant, which like all version caused the subject to gradually lose sense of inhibition (which in the case of Liz’ made the changes in her normal behaviour so subtle, it could have explain why it wasn’t detected until much later). After that, the usual symptoms of glowing started to display themselves. At first, Liz’ had dismissed them as hot flashes, but when she started to faintly glow in the dark, there was no longer room for hesitation. She had to be put in solitary confinement and monitored to keep her from sparkling, which was the severe form of the malady.

                        Bronkel has called” Godfrey said in between mouthfuls. “Actually his secretary did. He sent a list of words to inspire you back into writing.”

                        “Trend surfing keywords now?” Liz’ was inflamed and started to blink like a police siren. “I AM setting the future trends, so he’d rather let me do my job, or I’ll publish elsewhere.”

                        “And…” Godfrey ventured softly “… care to share what new trends you’ve been blazing lately?”

                        Finnley chuckled at the inappropriate choice of words.

                        #6165

                        “Knock, knock! Dinner’s ready!” Clara popped her head around the door to Bob’s room. “What are you doing?” she asked as Bob started and hurriedly put his hand over a small piece of paper.

                        “Er, nothing, just …” His words trailed off. He smiled brightly at her. “Dinner eh. Smells good. I’ll be right with you.”

                        Clara’s gaze travelled from Bob’s face to the cardboard box on the bed. “Are you okay? You look strange. What’s in that box?”

                        “Odds and ends. Just doing a bit of sorting.” He put the piece of paper in the box and placed the lid back on. “Nothing that won’t keep till after dinner.”

                        “If there are any old photos in the box I’d love to see them.”

                        “Tell her,” said Jane. There she was, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed near the box. “Go on, tell her about the number.”

                        Bob shook his head vigorously and Clara regarded him strangely. “Not to worry about photos then,” she said

                        “You were wishing I was here and now here I am and you aren’t even going to listen to me?” Now Jane was whispering into his ear and he imagined he could almost feel her breath like a feather tickling his cheek—it was all he could do not to laugh. “Tell her or I will.”

                        #6160

                        The message was scrawled in pencil on a roughly torn off piece of note paper. Bob had to squint to make out some of the words.

                        Hopefully you won’t need this but put this somewhere safe, just in case. The  man i introduced you to today will know what to do. 

                        And then there was a phone number. Bob wondered if the man would still be there. It was nearly 15 years ago and Bob’s memory was sketchy. He frowned, trying to remember. When the receptacle had been unearthed in the bad flooding of that year, he had contacted someone … how he got onto him he can no longer recall … some number from the archeological thingamajigs maybe. The person he spoke to came round, him and another fellow, said he shouldn’t tell anyone about the receptacle. Said it should be put back in the ground. Said it was important. The other fellow, the one he is supposed to call, made sculptures—Bob remembered that because there had been some sitting on the back of his truck.

                        Bob sat on the side of the bed and rubbed his head. He couldn’t really be bothered with all this carry on. It all seemed a bit crazy now, having to keep the damn thing buried. What’s all that about? And Clara was so excited, contacting her archeological friend and whatnot. Strange girl though, that Nora. He wished Jane were still here. She’d know what to do.

                        #6151

                        Grandpa Bob loved the sound of the kettle whistling. Cheery, he thought as he turned the flame off. Companionable.
                        He shuffled to the kitchen door. “Clara, cuppa?” he shouted down the hallway but there was no reply. Maybe she wasn’t up yet—it had been a long trip for her yesterday. Perhaps he could make her up a tray, although she’d probably say he was fussing.
                        Just then he heard VanGogh barking from the garden. He drew back the curtain and peered out the kitchen window. There she was! Way down the back digging in the vegetable garden. Bless her soul. Must have got started early on that weeding. She was saying she would last night. Grandpa, you really need to get some help around the place! she’d scolded.
                        “Clara, love!” he shouted. Damn dog was making such a racket she didn’t hear him. Nothing for it but to go out there. He chuckled, thinking how she’d probably scold him again for wandering around outside in his pyjamas. Bossy little thing she could be. But a good girl coming all this way to visit him.
                        He slipped on his outdoor shoes and slowly made his way down the path to the vegetable garden. VanGogh bounded over to him and Grandpa Bob gave him a pat. “What are you two up to out here, eh VanGogh?” But Clara was so engrossed on her phone she didn’t even glance up. He was about to call out to her again when he saw what she’d dug up and the words stuck in his throat. He let out a small cry.

                        #6098
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Liz usually rolled her eyes when anyone said “Do the math!” partly because the correct word was maths, not math, but mainly because, well,  she just wasn’t a maths sort of person.  But when the whale said this, she felt fortified and vindicated:

                          “On the 46,741 words which were written here, you have provided 19,821.
                          In other words, you have contributed towards 42.4 % of all words spoken on this thread.”

                          It remained to be seen what the results of her experimental shift in duties with Finnley would result in.  While surreptitiously dusting Finnley’s desk, Liz had noted the catalogues of holiday cottages prominently placed, and evidence of actual writing nowhere to be found.

                          Time would tell.

                          #6096
                          F LoveF Love
                          Participant

                            Liz!” shouted Finnley, without pausing from her writing. “Liz, be a love and make me a cup of tea. The organic green tea in the second drawer down.” There was a crash and some unintelligible screaming from the next room. Fortunately, Finnley was used to unintelligible noises coming from Liz’s mouth. “Oh for the … what do you mean you don’t know where the kitchen is?”

                            Finnley took a deep breath. She recalled the words of Lemon Tzu:

                            Tension is who you think you are, relaxation is who you are.

                            “Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I will interrupt my important writing for a few minutes to elucidate you on the mysteries of the kitchen.”

                            A duster came flying into the room, closely followed by a red-faced Liz. “There is really no need for sarcasm, Finnley. I trust you remember it is all down to MY goodness that you have this opportunity.”

                            #6089
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              “What’s with the lucha libre mask, Bronkel?” Godfrey asked as he ushered the short tense man in the living room. “I’m not sure that’s very sanitary… Protects everything but the mouth…”

                              Bronkel didn’t feel like answering and at once asked for Elizabeth Tattler.

                              “… and don’t tell me she’s got another pitiful excuse for not delivering! Listen, she’s just the worst! And let me tell you that I’m not exaggerating. I’m also managing GRRAOU —yes, George fucking R.R.A.O. Urtin, and this guy’s been at his pentalogy since 25 years. So, I got my fill about lame excuses.”

                              “Her readers are devotees, you know. They know hers is a difficult craft. Warping and woofing words around like she does, so gloriously. Everybody but you Bronkel seem to understand that it’s not commonplace, it’s a treasure earned with patience and devotion.”

                              “Devotees for sure. They have a saint’s patience I can grant you that, and luckily for her!” Bronkel drank the inch of gin bottoms up. “And where is she, by the way? Will she not deign face me?”

                              “Oh, I think she’s err… busy at the moment. She’s rehearsing a scene from her last book for accuracy… with the gardener.”

                              #6073

                              In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                              The words of the Great Leader Undisputed Gabe were still resonating in the back of Gavin’s mind. The promotion to Operating Tomathetan seemed a great honour on the surface, but it certainly brought its lot of responsibilities with it. And from what he had seen before, it would only add to his current ones.

                              Gavin descended the Pealgrim path to the Dark Room where all the sorting happened. Many trails from the many carrot fields combined into one and all led to that central building all painted in black, hence its name.

                              A zealous Seed level had recently been put in charge of the re-painting. As there was only black paint in the warehouse he had the genius idea to save the order some money by using only what they already had, and as there was enough paint he covered all the windows, certainly thinking light could damage the crops. Repainting everything was out of the question so they had kept it like that and just added some artificial light to help the workers. Great Leader Undisputed Gabe, had thought it was a nice initiative as now workers could work any hour of the day.

                              When Gavin entered the Dark Room, it reeked of carrot and sweat. Members of the cult of all ages were sorting the divine roots by shapes, sizes and thickness. Most of them didn’t know what was the final purpose, innocent minds. All they had was the Sorting Song written by Britta the one legged vestal to help her fellow cultshipers in their work.

                              If a carrot is short, not worth the effort
                              As a long stalactites, like ice on your tits
                              A bar thick as a fist, you’ve just been blissed

                              Each verse gave advices about what they were looking for, where to put them after sorting and each team had their own songs that they sang while doing their work with the enthusiasm of cultshipers. Even though the song had been crafted to answer most of the situations in terms of carrot shapes, sizes and thickness, it happened that some would not fit into any categories. And recently, those seem to happen more often than once and the pile of misshapen carrots threaten to exceed that of the others combined.

                              “Eugene, Have you found what is the problem?” asked Gavin to their agronomist. His surname was Carrot and he came from noble Irish descent, quite appropriate for his work, thought Gavin. Eugene was skinny with a long neck and he often seemed to abuse the ritual fasting ceremony ending with the consumption of sacred mushroom soup.

                              “It’s because of the microscopic snails that infest the crops,” Eugene said. Gavin couldn’t help but notice an accumulation of dried saliva at the corner of his mouth. “They’re carried by bird shit and they are too small to be eaten by our ducks and in the end they cause the carrots to grow random shapes unfit for Odin.”

                              Odin, short for Organic Dildo Industry, has been the main source of revenue for the cult. Since the start of the confinement the demand has skyrocketed. Especially appreciated by vegans and nature lovers, it also procured a nice orange tan on the skin after usage.

                              “Can’t you find smaller dwarf ducks?”

                              “Your Gourdness, microscopic means very tiny, even dwarf ducks wouldn’t be able to eat them unless they eat the carrots.”

                              “And that would be a problem,” sighed Gavin. “What is your solution then?”

                              “I don’t have one.”

                              Gavin raised his hands to the black roof in despair. Did he have to do the jobs of everyone? He needed some fresh eyes and fresh ideas.

                              #6059

                              DAY D

                              Everyday is now. I know, I’ve stopped the count.

                              This strange book I’ve found must be for something. Had the impulse to post a picture from it on a forum.

                              There were instructions coming with it, I have only started to decypher them, and my brain already feels like it will melt if I go too fast.

                              Apparently the Chinese philosopher who wrote it said he was swallowed whole, then spat out from the belly of a giant fish, a kūn 鯤, months later. I know, sounds crazy, and yet very familiar. Jonas of course, but also Sinbad, —Pinocchio even… The story’s not new to us.

                              When he came back, he said it was only to share knowledge. So came his book of encoded instructions.

                              First instruction he said. You are in a maze, you want to find the center of the maze, and never get lost again while you decide whether or not you still want to explore it.

                              It kind of struck a chord for some reason. I realized, with all the stories we tell ourselves, they abound, expand in our minds, take roots deeply.
                              The thought came this morning: if suddenly I’m struck dead, and find myself in my own stories, I would be in a tight spot to escape the whole craziness. I would need a backdoor, a way back, or out.

                              That’s why its first instruction resonated. It continued. Create your center of your maze. Now. Don’t delay, you may regret it. It must be pure with intent, and tell about who you are in the deepest sense. Engrave the following words around it to seal this pure memory. And put it outside in the world, so that someday when you come back to it, you’ll know.

                              您已找到您的迷宮中心。現在,您完全是智慧。

                              You have found the Center of Your Maze.
                              Now, You Know It
                              And it can never be taken from you again.

                              萬事萬物再也無法奪走您的知識。

                               

                              I know of a memory of mine I could put in my center. It came very naturally. An illustrated book of stories, mythology to be exact. One of the first books I got, and I can still remember vividly the feeling of entering its world. My parents had given it to me as a gift at a time they had to leave me home alone for a few hours. When they came back, I was still on the same kitchen chair, deeply thrown into the book’s world, feeling like barely a minute had passed.
                              It was a moment out of time and space. I know it was what being at the center of my maze meant.

                              I’m grown now, but the feeling is still there. I’m going to put that out some place where I can find it in case I ever get lost again among the shadows of men.

                              #5986

                              In reply to: Snooteries

                              The SnootThe Snoot
                              Participant

                                Friend forgive the Snoot’s first try at limericks

                                There was a Whale from the Sargasso Sea
                                A big blue whale no one could see
                                She stroke a deal
                                To break her ordeal
                                Now she’s the star of a Japanese meal.

                                The blue Man gives another spin to thy quest

                                Art is your journal of your world, of your societies, of your lives. It is your record of history. It has been your record of history long before you engaged alphabets. (Chuckles) Long before you engaged written words, art has always been your journal of history, and it continues to be now.
                                The Blue Man E.

                                For our enjoyment you may offer us a limerick about a friend at your market.

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