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  • #6773
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      While Liz’ was playing possum at the mere mention of her mother, Godfrey was burying himself more deeply in the exploration of Liz’ old writing.

      Remembering his role as her publisher did something to him. Somehow, even peanuts didn’t capture his interest as much nowadays, but the exploration of the stories themselves had put a literal spell on him.

      He was for one, marveling at Liz’ capability to jump straight into writing, and especially her early works were quite difficult to understand because of that free-flowing ability, unencumbered by such worries as continuity or even characters consistency. While his own interest was more about providing a finished product, somehow the works of Elizabeth Tattler had defeated every attempts at that.

      What I need is a map… He’d thought. To be able to contextualize a random quote from any of her opus, give it a sense of direction. If we assume the reader is carried into a journey, writing that same journey would require a map of sorts. But the writing are as much about revealing the map, some parts hidden by the relief or terrain, as they are about providing a direction…

      That’s when he looked at his phone messages. 357 unread. Liz’ had been playing with images rerolls in this new app. He sighed looking at the last image. An unexplainable creature and a jelly bean cart in an odd landscape.

      There was no map big enough to contain her genius creativity he reckoned. There was some relief in that too.

      #6720
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “It’s amazing, all the material we gathered over the years, it makes one’s head spin…” Godfrey was poring over quantities of papers, mostly early drafts stuck haphazardly in a pile of donations boxes that Elizabeth had generously contributed to the National Library’s archives of great works and renowned authors, but mostly as way of spring cleaning.

        He had materialized some of the links from the pages with webs of purple yarn tied to the wall of the dining hall. It had soon become a tangled mess of interwoven threads that he had to protect from the cleaning frenzied assaults of energetic feather duster of Finnley.

        She’d softened her stance a little when she’s realised how often her namesake has popped in the various storylines, almost making her emotional about Liz’ incorporating her in her works of fictions —only to remember that most of the time, she’d been the working hand behind the continuity, the Finnleys appearances being an offshoot of this endeavour.

        Godfrey had almost forgotten he was actually a publisher to start with, before he became more of a useful side-kick, if not a useful idiot.

        The phone rang in the empty hall. Soon after, Finnley arrived with the heavy bakelite telephone, handing it over to Godfrey unceremoniously. “You might want to take this, it’s Felicity…” she mouthed the last word like it was the name of the Devil himself.

        “Dear Flove protect us, don’t tell me Liz’ mother is in town…”

        “Well, at least she has comic relief value” snorted Finnley on her way back to her duties.

        #6617

        In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

        Youssef had brought his black obsidian with him in the kitchen at breakfast. Idle—Youssef had realised that on top of being her way of life, it was also her name—was preparing a herbal brownie under the supervision of a colourful parrot perched on her shoulder.

        “If you’re interested in rocks, you should go to Betsy’s. She’s got that ‘Gems & Minerals’ shop on Main street. She opened it with her hubby a few years back. Before he died.”

        “Nutty Betsy, Pretty Girl likes her better,” said the parrot.

        Idle looked at his backpack and his clothes.

        “You seem the wandering type, lad. I was like you when I was younger, always gallivanting here, there, and everywhere with my brother. Now, I prefer wandering in my mind, if you know what I mean,” she said licking her finger full of chocolate. “Anyway, an advice. Don’t go down the mines alone. Betsy’s hubby’s still down there after one of the tunnels collapsed a few years back. She’s not been quite herself ever since.”

        Main street was —well— the only street in town. They’ve been preparing for some kind of festival, putting banners on top of the shops and in between two trees near the gas station. Youssef stopped there to buy snacks that he stacked on top of the obsidian stone in his backpack. The young boy who worked there, Devan, seemed quite excited at the perspective of the Lager and Cart Race. It happened only every ten years and last time he was too young to participate.

        The shop had not been difficult to find, at the other end of the street. A tiny sign covered in purple star sequins indicated “Betsy’s Gems & Minerals — We deliver worldwide”. He felt with his hand the black rock he had put in his backpack. If Idle had not mentioned the mines and the dead husband, Youssef might have reconsidered going in. But the coincidence with his dream and the game was too intriguing. He entered.

        The shop was a mess. Crates full of stones, cardboard boxes and bubble wrappings. In the back, a plump woman, working on a giant starfish she held  on her lap, was humming as she listened to loud rock music. Youssef recognised a song from the Last Shadow Puppets’ second album : The Element of Surprise. Apparently, the woman hadn’t heard him enter. She wore a dress and a hat sprinkled with golden stars, and her wrists were hidden under a ton of stone bracelets. The music track changed. The woman started shaking her head following the rhythm of the tune. She was gluing small red stones, she picked in a little box, on one of the starfish arms.

        “Bad Habits! Uhu. Bad Habits! Uhu.”

        Youssef moved closer. His shadow covered the starfish. The woman raised her head and screamed, scattering the red stones in her workshop. The starfish fell from her lap onto the ground with a thud.

        “Oh! My! Little devil. Look at what you made me do. I lost my marbles,” she said with a high pitched laugh. “Your mother never taught you? That’s bad habit to creep up on people like that. You scared the sheep out of me!”

        “I’m so sorry,” said Youssef, getting on his knees to help her gather the stones.

        When they were all back in their box, Youssef got back on his feet. The woman looked a him with a softened face.

        “You such a cutie with your bear shirt. You make me think of my Howard. He was as tall as you are. I’m Betsy, obviously” she said with a giggle, extending her hand to him.

        They shook hands, making the pearls of her bracelets clink together.

        “I’m Youssef.”

        :fleuron:

        Youssef didn’t need to insist too much. Betsy was a real juke box of gossips. He just had to ask one question from time to time, and she would get going again. He was starting to feel his quirk could be more than a curse after all.

        “When the tunnel collapsed,” Betsy said, “I was ready to give up the stone shop. The pain was too much to bear, everything in the shop reminded me of Howard. And in a miners’ town, who would want to buy stones anyway. We’ve been in bad terms with Idle and her family for some time, but that tragic incident coincided with her brother Fred’s disappearance. They thought at first Fred had died in the mines with Howard, because they spent so much time discussing together in Room 8 at the Inn. I overheard them once, talking about something they found in the mines. But Howard never told me, he was so secretive about that. We even had a fight, you know. But Fred, the children found some message later that suggested he had just left the family. Imagine, the children! Idle was pissed with him of course. Abandoning her with that mother of theirs and that money pit of an Inn and the rest of the family. And I needed company. So we started to get together on a regular basis. She would bring her special cakes, and we would complain about our lives. At some point she got involved with that shamanic stuff she found online, and she helped me find my totem Bear. It was quite a revelation. Bear suggested I diversify and open an online shop and start making orgonites. I love those little gummy bears so much. So, I followed Bear’s advice and it has been working like a charm ever since. That’s why I trusted you straight away, lad. Not ’cause of your cute face. You got the Bear in your heart,” she said putting her finger at the center of his chest.

        My inner Bear, of course, thought Youssef. That’s the magnet. His phone buzzed. He took it out and saw he had an alert from the game and a message from his friends.

        You found the source of your quirk, the magnetic pull that attracts talkative people to you.
        Now obtain the silver key in the shape of a tongue to fulfil your quest.

         

        Zara : Where are you!? :yahoo_bee: We’re at the bar, getting parched! They got Pale Ale!

        “I have to go,” said Youssef.

        “Wait,” said Betsy.

        She foraged through her orgonite collection and handed Youssef one little gummy bear and an ornate metal badge.

        “Bear wants me to give this to you. Howard made it. He said it was his forked tongue key.”

        She looked at him, emotion in her eyes.

        “I know you won’t listen if I tell you not to. So, be careful when you go into the mines.”

        #6538
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          “That’s all Jorid had to say?” Georges mused at the sudden philosophical quote that read:

          And doesn’t this point to something fundamentally tragic about our way of life? We live under an assumed identity, in a neurotic fairy tale world with no more reality than the Mock Turtle in Alice in Wonderland. Hypnotized by the thrill of building, we have raised the houses of our lives on sand. This world can seem marvelously convincing until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. What will happen to us then if we have no clue of any deeper reality? (The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

          “I don’t know about this Mock Turtle, but those snapping sand ones that have been lurking about do look rather nasty. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

          Klatu opined “Klatu agrees with your female, sand turtle are lovely traps of death. Come with me now!” He intimated them to run into a sand opening he’d just made.

          “Let me guess,” Georges said, “is it the equivalent of a Zathu prison? What powerful people could Léonard possibly have rubbed the wrong way this time?”

          “Not prison.” Klatu commented “Death sentence.”

          Salomé pointed out a glowing twirl of sand shaped as an ovoid form, inside which a human form could be discerned. “That would explain why he’s not more guarded…”

          They approached carefully, expecting some extra booby trap, but nothing seemed to react to their presence, not even the moving sand egg.

          “Let me guess,” Georges said, expecting a chorus

          “DIMENSIONAL MAGIC!”

          Klatu shushed them “Quiet stupids! Sound waves attract good turtles.”

          “Is our friend OK? How do we break the spell?” Salomé asked Klatu. “Can you help?”

          Klatu took a few minutes to inspect the shape, hopping carefully around it, and probing with soft whistling sounds.

          “Friend in stasis for now. Kept fresh for questioning… possible.”

          “Then we must hurry, how can we free him? Can I brute force this?” Georges asked, looking around for something to pierce the sand barrier and hook Léonard out of it.

          “Only if you like sushi friend.” Klatu said, raising shoulders. “No finesse these primates.”

          Klatu moved around the shape, taking some tools from his belt and making some elaborate plaits of sounds, as if trying to match the energy signature of the sand prison.

          After a first belt of soundwaves was wrapped around, it seemed as though a first layer of the spell broke, and sand rained back into the external construct they were it. But a thin layer was still there, shifting and pulsating, almost clear as glass, and sharp as a razor blade.

          “Crude encoding, but solid. Need more time.” Klatu seemed exhausted.

          Georges was getting anxious for some activity. “Houses built on sand… Well I guess Jorid didn’t find the best quote to help…”

          Salomé who was sitting cross-legged, trying for some time to connect to Léonard in his stasis, turned to Georges in disbelief. “Georges, you’re a genius!”

          “What now?”

          “Jorid gave us the last bit we needed.  Until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. Remember? It’s risky but that could work!”

          “Oh, I see what you’re thinking about. It’s mad, and it’s brilliant at the same time, how do we go about this?”

          “I can’t reach Léonard, but maybe the both of us can.” Salomé joined hands with Georges.

          “If he’s like anything I remember, he’d be in his mental palace, his workshop on the Duane… or in Marseille… or with Madame Jamelie…”

          “Focus, Georges!”

          “Duane it is, that’s where he did his best work.”

          “We need to focus our energy to make him appear dead to the construct. It’ll be easier if we can locate precisely where his mind wanders.” Salomé said.

          “He’ll be there, I know it. Let’s do this!”

          The two of them joined hands and melded their minds, one as always, turning into a dark mirror of the abyss, bending light unto itself, leaving the void of creation at the place where Léonard was suspended.

          Klatu looked at the scene suspiciously, but started to giggle as he saw the last layer he couldn’t open finally shatter and dissolve to the ground.

          “Little apes full of surprises,… very awful, so very awful.” he said approvingly.

          As his friends rushed to him, Léonard was on the ground, inert, but apparently alive.

          #6521

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          But why tell Fred?

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

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

          #6502
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Chapter 4: There is no place like home

            A Visit to Duckailingtown

            The group arrives in the small city of Duckailingtown, known for its unusual name and the legendary wooden leg carpenter, Dumbass Voldomeer.
            Maryechka, is shown by Liliya and Lina the local museum where they learn about the famous wooden leg carpenter and the swan flu outbreak that left the President incapacitated.
            The group visits the workshop of Dumbass Voldomeer and they are shocked to find that he is the spitting image of the President.
            Dumbass Voldomeer tells them about his connection to the President and how he was approached to take his place as the President.
            The group learns about the Rootian border and the close relationship between Rootia and Dumbass, and the possibility of a future cross-border conflict.
            The group visits the swan sanctuary and learns about the mysterious swan flu virus that has affected the President and the citizens of Dumbass.
            The group makes a decision to continue their journey to Rootia to find a cure for the swan flu and save the President.

            Cross-border Conflict

            The group crosses the Rootian border and finds themselves in the midst of a conflict between Rootia and Dumbass.
            They meet with a Rootian diplomat who explains the conflict and the role of the President in resolving it.
            The group encounters Myroslava who is still being pursued by her pursuers and they team up to find a cure for the swan flu.
            They visit the Rootian medical facility where they meet with the chief medical officer who explains the research being done on the swan flu virus.
            The group travels to a remote location where they meet with Olek, the caretaker of the Flovlinden Tree, and learns about the sacred oil that is believed to have healing properties.
            The group collects the sacred oil and returns to the medical facility where they successfully cure the President and put an end to the conflict between Rootia and Dumbass.
            The group returns home, proud of their accomplishment and the newfound knowledge and experiences they have gained on their journey.

            A Homecoming Celebration

            The group returns home and is greeted with open arms by their families and friends.
            Maryechka, Liliya, and Lina visit Egna who is thrilled to hear about their journey and the success of their mission.
            The group shares their experiences and knowledge with their friends and families, and they all celebrate their homecoming together.
            Dumbass Voldomeer visits the group and thanks them for their help in resolving the conflict between Rootia and Dumbass.
            The group visits the Flovlinden Tree and pays homage to Olek and the sacred oil that played a critical role in their journey.
            Maryechka, Liliya, and Lina reflect on their journey and the life-long friendships they have formed.
            The group concludes their journey and looks forward to their future adventures and discoveries.

            #6501
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              Potential situations and complications:

              • While searching for Dumbass Voldomeer, they stumble upon a group of political protesters who are demanding the resignation of the President.
              • Dumbass Voldomeer mistakenly takes Maryechka and her friends for secret agents sent to spy on him and tries to escape.
              • The group is treated to a unique performance by the local swan-dancing troupe, who are trying to raise awareness about the mysterious swan flu virus.
              • Dumbass Voldomeer invites the group to his workshop and shows them his latest creations, including a wooden replica of the Eiffel Tower.
              • While looking through the books of families connected to Egna, they find a page with a recipe for a special cocktail that supposedly grants immortality.
              • Maryechka and her friends come across a black market for wooden legs, where they meet a man who claims to have the original wooden leg made by Dumbass Voldomeer for the President.
              #6489

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              It was a pleasant 25 degrees as Zara stepped off the plane. The flat red land stretched as far as the eye could see, and although she prefered a more undulating terrain there was something awe inspiring about this vast landscape. It was quite a contrast from the past few hours spent inside mine tunnels.

              Bert, a weatherbeaten man of indeterminate advanced age, was there to meet her as arranged and led her to the car, a battered old four wheel drive.  Although clearly getting on in years, he was tall and spry and dressed in practical working clothes.

              “Welcome to Alice,” he said, taking her bag and putting in on the back seat.  “I expect you’ll be wanting to know a bit about the place.”

              “How long have you lived here?” Zara asked, as Bert settled into the creaky drivers seat and started the car.

              Bert gave her a funny look and replied “Longer than a ducks ass.”  Zara had never heard that expression before; she assumed it meant a long time but didn’t like to pursue the question.

              “All this land belongs to the Arrernte,” he said, pronouncing it Arrunda.  “The local aboriginals.  1862 when we got here. Well,” Bert turned to give Zara a lopsided smile, “Not me personally, I aint quite that old.”

              Zara chuckled politely as Bert continued, “It got kinda busy around these parts round 1887 with the gold.”

              “Oh, are there mines near here?”  Zara asked with some excitement.

              Bert gave her a sharp look. “Oh there’s mines alright. Abandoned now though, and dangerous. Dangerous places, old mines.  You’ll be more interested in the hiking trails than those old mines, some real nice hiking and rock gorges, and it’s a nice temperature this time of year.”

              Bert lapsed into silence for a few minutes, frowning.

              “If you’da been arriving back then, you’da been on a camel train, that’s how they did it back then. Camel trains.   They do camel tours for tourists nowadays.”

              “Do you get many tourists?”

              “Too dang many tourists if you ask me, Alice is full of them, and Ayers Rock’s crawling with ’em these days. We don’t get many out our way though.” Bert snorted, reminding Zara of Yasmin. “Our visitors like an off the beaten track kind of holiday, know what I mean?” Bert gave Zara another sideways lopsided smile.  “I reckon you’ll like it at The Flying Fish Inn.  Down to earth, know what I mean? Down to earth and off the wall.”  He laughed heartily at that and Zara wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she laughed too.

              “Sounds great.”

              “Family run, see, makes a difference.  No fancy airs and graces, no traffic ~ well, not much of anything really, just beautiful scenery and peace and quiet.  Aunt Idle thinks she’s in charge but me and old Mater do most of it, well Finly does most of it to be honest, and you dropped lucky coming now, the twins have just decorated the bedrooms. Real nice they look now, they fancied doing some dreamtime murials on the walls.  The twins are Idle’s neices, Clove and Corrie, turned out nice girls, despite everything.”

              “Despite ….?”

              “What? Oh, living in the outback. Youngsters usually leave and head for the cities.  Prune’s the youngest gal, she’s a real imp, that one, a real character.  And Devan calls by regular to see Mater, he works at the gas station.”

              “Are they all Idle’s neices and nephews? Where are their parents?”  Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, Zara thought when she saw Bert’s face.

              “Long gone, mate, long since gone from round here.  We’ve taken good care of ’em.”  Bert turned off the road onto a dirt road.  “Only another five minutes now.  We’re outside the town a bit, but there aint much in town anyway. Population 79, our town. About right for a decent sized town if you ask me.”

              Bert rounded a bend in a eucalyptus grove and announced, “Here we are, then, the Flying Fish Inn.”  He parked the car and retrieved Zara’s bag from the back seat.  “Take a seat on the verandah and I’ll find Idle to show you to your room and get you a drink.  Oh, and don’t be put off by Idle’s appearance, she’s a sweetheart really.”

              Flying Fish Inn

               

              Aunt Idle was nowhere to be found though, having decided to go for a walk on impulse, quite forgetting the arrival of the first guest.    She saw Bert’s car approaching the hotel from her vantage point on a low hill, which reminded her she should be getting back.  It was a lovely evening and she didn’t rush.

              Aunt Idle walk

               

              Bert found Mater in the dining room gazing out of the window.  “Where the bloody hell is Idle? The guest’s outside on the verandah.”

              “She’s taken herself off for a walk, can you believe it?” sighed Mater.

              “Yep” Bert replied, “I can.  Which room’s she in? Can you show her to her room?”

              “Yes of course, Bert. Perhaps you’d see to getting a drink for her.”

              Mater dining room

              #6487
              DevanDevan
              Participant

                I’ve always felt like the odd one out in my family. Growing up at the Flying Fish Inn, I’ve always felt like I was on the outside looking in. My mother left when I was young, and my father disappeared not long after. I’ve always felt like I was the only one who didn’t fit in with the craziness of my family.

                I’ve always tried to keep my distance with the others. I didn’t want to get too involved, take sides about petty things, like growing weed in the backyard, making psychedelic termite honey, or trying to influence the twins to buy proper clothes. But truth is, you can’t get too far away. Town’s too small. Family always get back to you, and manage to get you involved in their shit, one way or another, even if you don’t say anything. That’s how it works. They don’t need my participation to use me as an argument.

                So I stopped paying attention, almost stopped caring. I lived my life working at the gas station, and drinking beers with my buddies Joe and Jasper, living in a semi-comatose state. I learned that word today when I came bringing little honey buns to mater. I know she secretly likes them, even if she pretend she doesn’t in front of Idle. But I can see the breadcrumbs on her cardigan when I come say hi at the end of the day. This morning, Idle was rocking in her favourite chair on the porch, looking at the clouds behind her mirrored sunglasses. Prune was talking to her, I saw she was angry because of the contraction of the muscles of her jaw and her eyes were darker than usual. She was saying to Idle that she was always in a semi-comatose state and doing nothing useful for the Inn when we had a bunch of tourists arriving. And something about the twins redecorating the rooms without proper design knowledge. Idle did what she usually does. She ignored the comment and kept on looking at the clouds. I’m not even sure she heard or understood that word that Prune said. Semi-comatose. It sounds like glucose. That’s how I’m spending my life between the Inn, the gas station and my buddies.

                But things changed today when I got back to my apartment for lunch. You can call it a hunch or a coincidence. But as we talked with Joe about that time when my dad left, making me think we were doing hide and seek, and he left me a note saying he would be back someday. I don’t know why I felt the need to go search that note afterwards. So I went back to the apartment and opened the mailbox. Among the bills and ads, I found a postcard with a few words written on the image and nothing except my address on the back. I knew it was from my dad.

                It was not signed or anything, but still I was sure it was his handwriting. I would recognise it anywhere. I went and took the shoebox I keep hidden on top of the kitchen closet, because I saw people do that in movies. That’s not very original, I know, but I’m not too bright either. I opened the box and took the note my dad left me when he disappeared.

                I put the card on the desk near the note. The handwritings matched. I felt so excited, and confused.

                A few words at the bottom of the card said : “Memories from the coldest place on Earth…”

                Why would dad go to such a place to send me a postcard after all those years ? Just to say that.

                That’s when I recalled what Prune had told me once as we were watching a detective movie : “Read everything with care and always double check your information.”

                On the back, it said that the image was from a scientific station in Antartica, but the stamp indicated it had been posted from a floating post office in the North Pole. I turned the card and looked at the text again. Above the station, a few words were written that sounded like a riddle.

                > A mine, a tile, dust piled high,
                Together they rest, yet always outside.
                One misstep, and you’ll surely fall,
                Into the depths, where danger lies all.

                It sure sounds like a warning. But I’m not too good with riddles. No need to worry Mater about that, in case of false hope and all that. Idle ? Don’t even think about it. She won’t believe me when I say it’s from dad. She never does believe me. And she’ll keep playing with the words trying to find her answer in the shape of smoke. The twins, they are a riddle on their own.

                No. It’s Prune’s help I need.

                #6481
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  This is the outline for a short novel called “The Jorid’s Travels – 14 years on” that will unfold in this thread.
                  The novel is about the travels of Georges and Salomé.
                  The Jorid is the name of the vessel that can travel through dimensions as well as time, within certain boundaries. The Jorid has been built and is operated by Georges and his companion Salomé.

                  Short backstory for the main cast and secondary characters

                  Georges was a French thief possibly from the 1800s, turned other-dimensional explorer, and together with Salomé, a girl of mysterious origins who he first met in the Alienor dimension but believed to have origins in Northern India maybe Tibet from a distant past.
                  They have lived rich adventures together, and are deeply bound together, by love and mutual interests.
                  Georges, with his handsome face, dark hair and amber gaze, is a bit of a daredevil at times, curious and engaging with others. He is very interesting in anything that shines, strange mechanisms and generally the ways consciousness works in living matter.
                  Salomé, on the other hand is deeply intuitive, empath at times, quite logical and rational but also interested in mysticism, the ways of the Truth, and the “why” rather than the “how” of things.
                  The world of Alienor (a pale green sun under which twin planets originally orbited – Duane, Murtuane – with an additional third, Phreal, home planet of the Guardians, an alien race of builders with god-like powers) lived through cataclysmic changes, finished by the time this story is told.
                  The Jorid’s original prototype designed were crafted by Léonard, a mysterious figure, self-taught in the arts of dimensional magic in Alienor sects, acted as a mentor to Georges during his adventures. It is not known where he is now.
                  The story starts with Georges and Salomé looking for Léonard to adjust and calibrate the tiles navigational array of the Jorid, who seems to be affected by the auto-generated tiles which behave in too predictible fashion, instead of allowing for deeper explorations in the dimensions of space/time or dimensions of consciousness.
                  Leonard was last spotted in a desert in quadrant AVB 34-7•8 – Cosmic time triangulation congruent to 2023 AD Earth era. More precisely the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector.

                  When they find Léonard, they are propelled in new adventures. They possibly encounter new companions, and some mystery to solve in a similar fashion to the Odyssey, or Robinsons Lost in Space.

                  Being able to tune into the probable quantum realities, the Jorid is able to trace the plot of their adventures even before they’ve been starting to unfold in no less than 33 chapters, giving them evocative titles.

                  Here are the 33 chapters for the glorious adventures with some keywords under each to give some hints to the daring adventurers.

                  1. Chapter 1: The Search Begins – Georges and Salomé, Léonard, Zathu sector, Bluhm’Oxl, dimensional magic
                  2. Chapter 2: A New Companion – unexpected ally, discovery, adventure
                  3. Chapter 3: Into the Desert – Bluhm’Oxl, sand dunes, treacherous journey
                  4. Chapter 4: The First Clue – search for Léonard, mystery, puzzle
                  5. Chapter 5: The Oasis – rest, rekindling hope, unexpected danger
                  6. Chapter 6: The Lost City – ancient civilization, artifacts, mystery
                  7. Chapter 7: A Dangerous Encounter – hostile aliens, survival, bravery
                  8. Chapter 8: A New Threat – ancient curse, ominous presence, danger
                  9. Chapter 9: The Key to the Past – uncovering secrets, solving puzzles, unlocking power
                  10. Chapter 10: The Guardian’s Temple – mystical portal, discovery, knowledge
                  11. Chapter 11: The Celestial Map – space-time navigation, discovery, enlightenment
                  12. Chapter 12: The First Step – journey through dimensions, bravery, adventure
                  13. Chapter 13: The Cosmic Rift – strange anomalies, dangerous zones, exploration
                  14. Chapter 14: A Surprising Discovery – unexpected allies, strange creatures, intrigue
                  15. Chapter 15: The Memory Stones – ancient wisdom, unlock hidden knowledge, unlock the past
                  16. Chapter 16: The Time Stream – navigating through time, adventure, danger
                  17. Chapter 17: The Mirror Dimension – parallel world, alternate reality, discovery
                  18. Chapter 18: A Distant Planet – alien world, strange cultures, exploration
                  19. Chapter 19: The Starlight Forest – enchanted forest, secrets, danger
                  20. Chapter 20: The Temple of the Mind – exploring consciousness, inner journey, enlightenment
                  21. Chapter 21: The Sea of Souls – mystical ocean, hidden knowledge, inner peace
                  22. Chapter 22: The Path of the Truth – search for meaning, self-discovery, enlightenment
                  23. Chapter 23: The Cosmic Library – ancient knowledge, discovery, enlightenment
                  24. Chapter 24: The Dream Plane – exploring the subconscious, self-discovery, enlightenment
                  25. Chapter 25: The Shadow Realm – dark dimensions, fear, danger
                  26. Chapter 26: The Fire Planet – intense heat, dangerous creatures, bravery
                  27. Chapter 27: The Floating Islands – aerial adventure, strange creatures, discovery
                  28. Chapter 28: The Crystal Caves – glittering beauty, hidden secrets, danger
                  29. Chapter 29: The Eternal Night – unknown world, strange creatures, fear
                  30. Chapter 30: The Lost Civilization – ancient ruins, mystery, adventure
                  31. Chapter 31: The Vortex – intense energy, danger, bravery
                  32. Chapter 32: The Cosmic Storm – weather extremes, danger, survival
                  33. Chapter 33: The Return – reunion with Léonard, returning to the Jorid, new adventures.
                  #6471
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    The Jorid is a vessel that can travel through dimensions as well as time, within certain boundaries.

                    The Jorid has been built and is operated by Georges and his companion Salomé.
                    Georges was a French thief possibly from the 1800s, turned other-dimensional explorer, and along with Salomé, a girl of mysterious origins who he first met in the Alienor dimension but believed to be born in Northern India in a distant past, they have lived rich adventures together, and are deeply bound by love and mutual interests.

                    Georges, with his handsome face, dark hair and amber gaze, is a bit of a daredevil at times, curious and engaging with others. He is very interesting in anything that shines, strange mechanisms and generally the ways consciousness works in living matter. Salomé, on the other hand is deeply intuitive, empath at times, quite logical and rational but also interested in mysticism, the ways of the Truth, and the “why” rather than the “how” of things.

                    The world of Alienor (a pale green sun under which twin planets originally orbited – Duane, Murtuane – with an additional third, Phreal, home planet of the Guardians, an alien race of builders with god-like powers) lived through cataclysmic changes, finished by the time this story is told.

                    The Jorid’s original prototype designs were crafted by Léonard, a mysterious figure, self-taught in the arts of dimensional magic in Alienor sects, who acted as a mentor to Georges during his adventures. It is not known where he is now.

                    The story unfolds 14 years after we discovered Georges & Salomé in the story.

                     

                    (for more background information, refer to this thread)

                    #6393
                    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
                    Participant

                      Give me an unusual plot structure for a narrative

                      One unusual plot structure for a narrative could be a “reverse chronological” structure, where the story begins at the end and works backwards in time, revealing events and information in a non-linear way. Another could be a “choose your own adventure” style, where the reader is presented with a series of choices at different points in the story that determine the direction and outcome of the plot.

                      How would role playing qualify in terms of plot structure?

                      Role-playing games (RPGs) can be considered a unique form of plot structure because they are interactive and open-ended. In a traditional RPG, the players take on the roles of characters within a fictional setting and work together to create a shared narrative. The plot structure of an RPG is determined by the actions and decisions of the players, rather than a pre-written script. The game master (GM) creates an overarching plot and a set of rules for the players to follow, but the players’ choices and actions will determine the direction and outcome of the story. This makes the plot structure of an RPG fluid and ever-changing, unlike a traditional linear narrative.

                      What about “Cloud Atlas” in terms of plot structure?

                      “Cloud Atlas” is a novel written by David Mitchell that was later adapted into a film. It has a complex and non-linear plot structure, which employs multiple storylines that are set in different time periods and locations, and are connected by recurring themes and motifs. The novel is divided into six nested stories, each set in a different time period and location, that are told in a non-linear fashion. The story begins in the 19th century and then jumps back and forth between the 19th, 20th and 23rd century, and each story is interconnected and interrelated, with characters reappearing in different time periods, the events that happen in one story impacting the others. The novel is also notable for its use of different genres, such as science fiction, historical fiction, and thriller, and the way it explores the themes of destiny, reincarnation, and the power of human connection. The film adaptation also used this structure, with the different stories intertwined and characters reprising their roles in different settings and eras.

                      Take a story thread made of comments. In each comment is a text about characters in a particular plot, location, action etc. The comments are sequential, but they are not necessarily continuous. It is a mix between Cloud Atlas and RPG plot structures. How do you sort something that’s fundamentally non-linear to present it in an accessible way?

                      One way to sort and present a story thread made of comments that is fundamentally non-linear, yet accessible, is to group the comments based on their content. For example, you could group the comments by characters, and present them in chronological order of their appearance in the story. Another way could be grouping the comments by location, and present them in chronological order of when the action takes place in that particular location. You could also group comments by the type of action taking place, such as combat, conversation, or puzzle-solving, and present them in chronological order of when they occur in the story.

                      Another approach could be using visual aids, such as mind maps, timelines, or flowcharts, to help organize and present the information in a clear and easy-to-understand way. For example, you could use a mind map to show how different characters are connected, or a timeline to show the chronology of events. Additionally, you could use labels, such as “character introduction,” “location change,” or “plot twist,” to make it clear to the reader what type of information they can expect in each comment.

                      It’s also important to keep in mind the audience for which you are organizing the story. It should be easy for them to understand and follow the story, and if it’s a game, you should make sure it’s easy for the players to play and make decisions.

                      #6384
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        “Wait, never mind, don’t call Finnley yet, show me how it works, Godfrey.”  Liz had an idea.  If this thing was as good as it was supposed to be, she could get it to do everything. Maybe it wouldn’t even argue. No more rude remarks from the staff!  It could be a godsend!

                        #6301
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The Warrens of Stapenhill

                           

                          There were so many Warren’s in Stapenhill that it was complicated to work out who was who. I had gone back as far as Samuel Warren marrying Catherine Holland, and this was as far back as my cousin Ian Warren had gone in his research some decades ago as well. The Holland family from Barton under Needwood are particularly interesting, and will be a separate chapter.

                          Stapenhill village by John Harden:

                          Stapenhill

                           

                          Resuming the research on the Warrens, Samuel Warren 1771-1837 married Catherine Holland 1775-1861 in 1795 and their son Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge, whose childless brother Benjamin Bridge left the Warren Brothers Boiler Works in Newhall to his nephews, the Warren brothers.

                          Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland marriage licence 1795:

                          Samuel Warren Catherine Holland

                           

                          Samuel (born 1771) was baptised at Stapenhill St Peter and his parents were William and Anne Warren. There were at least three William and Ann Warrens in town at the time. One of those William’s was born in 1744, which would seem to be the right age to be Samuel’s father, and one was born in 1710, which seemed a little too old. Another William, Guiliamos Warren (Latin was often used in early parish registers) was baptised in Stapenhill in 1729.

                          Stapenhill St Peter:

                          Stapenhill St Peter

                           

                          William Warren (born 1744) appeared to have been born several months before his parents wedding. William Warren and Ann Insley married 16 July 1744, but the baptism of William in 1744 was 24 February. This seemed unusual ~ children were often born less than nine months after a wedding, but not usually before the wedding! Then I remembered the change from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1752. Prior to 1752, the first day of the year was Lady Day, March 25th, not January 1st. This meant that the birth in February 1744 was actually after the wedding in July 1744. Now it made sense. The first son was named William, and he was born seven months after the wedding.

                          William born in 1744 died intestate in 1822, and his wife Ann made a legal claim to his estate. However he didn’t marry Ann Holland (Ann was Catherines Hollands sister, who married Samuel Warren the year before) until 1796, so this William and Ann were not the parents of Samuel.

                          It seemed likely that William born in 1744 was Samuels brother. William Warren and Ann Insley had at least eight children between 1744 and 1771, and it seems that Samuel was their last child, born when William the elder was 61 and his wife Ann was 47.

                          It seems it wasn’t unusual for the Warren men to marry rather late in life. William Warren’s (born 1710) parents were William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton. On the marriage licence in 1702/1703 (it appears to say 1703 but is transcribed as 1702), William was a 40 year old bachelor from Stapenhill, which puts his date of birth at 1662. Elizabeth was considerably younger, aged 19.

                          William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton marriage licence 1703:

                          William Warren 1702

                           

                          These Warren’s were farmers, and they were literate and able to sign their own names on various documents. This is worth noting, as most made the mark of an X.

                          I found three Warren and Holland marriages. One was Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland in 1795, then William Warren and Ann Holland in 1796. William Warren and Ann Hollands daughter born in 1799 married John Holland in 1824.

                          Elizabeth Hatterton (wife of William Warren who was born circa 1662) was born in Burton upon Trent in 1685. Her parents were Edward Hatterton 1655-1722, and Sara.

                          A page from the 1722 will of Edward Hatterton:

                          Edward Hatterton 1722

                           

                          The earliest Warren I found records for was William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton in 1703. The marriage licence states his age as 40 and that he was from Stapenhill, but none of the Stapenhill parish records online go back as far as 1662.  On other public trees on ancestry websites, a birth record from Suffolk has been chosen, probably because it was the only record to be found online with the right name and date. Once again, I don’t think that is correct, and perhaps one day I’ll find some earlier Stapenhill records to prove that he was born in locally.

                           

                          Subsequently, I found a list of the 1662 Hearth Tax for Stapenhill. On it were a number of Warrens, three William Warrens including one who was a constable. One of those William Warrens had a son he named William (as they did, hence the number of William Warrens in the tree) the same year as this hearth tax list.

                          But was it the William Warren with 2 chimneys, the one with one chimney who was too poor to pay it, or the one who was a constable?

                          from the list:
                          Will. Warryn 2
                          Richard Warryn 1
                          William Warren Constable
                          These names are not payable by Act:
                          Will. Warryn 1
                          Richard Warren John Watson
                          over seers of the poore and churchwardens

                          The Hearth Tax:

                          via wiki:
                          In England, hearth tax, also known as hearth money, chimney tax, or chimney money, was a tax imposed by Parliament in 1662, to support the Royal Household of King Charles II. Following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, Parliament calculated that the Royal Household needed an annual income of £1,200,000. The hearth tax was a supplemental tax to make up the shortfall. It was considered easier to establish the number of hearths than the number of heads, hearths forming a more stationary subject for taxation than people. This form of taxation was new to England, but had precedents abroad. It generated considerable debate, but was supported by the economist Sir William Petty, and carried through the Commons by the influential West Country member Sir Courtenay Pole, 2nd Baronet (whose enemies nicknamed him “Sir Chimney Poll” as a result).  The bill received Royal Assent on 19 May 1662, with the first payment due on 29 September 1662, Michaelmas.
                          One shilling was liable to be paid for every firehearth or stove, in all dwellings, houses, edifices or lodgings, and was payable at Michaelmas, 29 September and on Lady Day, 25 March. The tax thus amounted to two shillings per hearth or stove per year. The original bill contained a practical shortcoming in that it did not distinguish between owners and occupiers and was potentially a major burden on the poor as there were no exemptions. The bill was subsequently amended so that the tax was paid by the occupier. Further amendments introduced a range of exemptions that ensured that a substantial proportion of the poorer people did not have to pay the tax.

                           

                          Indeed it seems clear that William Warren the elder came from Stapenhill and not Suffolk, and one of the William Warrens paying hearth tax in 1662 was undoubtedly the father of William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton.

                          #6290
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Leicestershire Blacksmiths

                            The Orgill’s of Measham led me further into Leicestershire as I traveled back in time.

                            I also realized I had uncovered a direct line of women and their mothers going back ten generations:

                            myself, Tracy Edwards 1957-
                            my mother Gillian Marshall 1933-
                            my grandmother Florence Warren 1906-1988
                            her mother and my great grandmother Florence Gretton 1881-1927
                            her mother Sarah Orgill 1840-1910
                            her mother Elizabeth Orgill 1803-1876
                            her mother Sarah Boss 1783-1847
                            her mother Elizabeth Page 1749-
                            her mother Mary Potter 1719-1780
                            and her mother and my 7x great grandmother Mary 1680-

                            You could say it leads us to the very heart of England, as these Leicestershire villages are as far from the coast as it’s possible to be. There are countless other maternal lines to follow, of course, but only one of mothers of mothers, and ours takes us to Leicestershire.

                            The blacksmiths

                            Sarah Boss was the daughter of Michael Boss 1755-1807, a blacksmith in Measham, and Elizabeth Page of nearby Hartshorn, just over the county border in Derbyshire.

                            An earlier Michael Boss, a blacksmith of Measham, died in 1772, and in his will he left the possession of the blacksmiths shop and all the working tools and a third of the household furniture to Michael, who he named as his nephew. He left his house in Appleby Magna to his wife Grace, and five pounds to his mother Jane Boss. As none of Michael and Grace’s children are mentioned in the will, perhaps it can be assumed that they were childless.

                            The will of Michael Boss, 1772, Measham:

                            Michael Boss 1772 will

                             

                            Michael Boss the uncle was born in Appleby Magna in 1724. His parents were Michael Boss of Nelson in the Thistles and Jane Peircivall of Appleby Magna, who were married in nearby Mancetter in 1720.

                            Information worth noting on the Appleby Magna website:

                            In 1752 the calendar in England was changed from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar, as a result 11 days were famously “lost”. But for the recording of Church Registers another very significant change also took place, the start of the year was moved from March 25th to our more familiar January 1st.
                            Before 1752 the 1st day of each new year was March 25th, Lady Day (a significant date in the Christian calendar). The year number which we all now use for calculating ages didn’t change until March 25th. So, for example, the day after March 24th 1750 was March 25th 1751, and January 1743 followed December 1743.
                            This March to March recording can be seen very clearly in the Appleby Registers before 1752. Between 1752 and 1768 there appears slightly confused recording, so dates should be carefully checked. After 1768 the recording is more fully by the modern calendar year.

                            Michael Boss the uncle married Grace Cuthbert.  I haven’t yet found the birth or parents of Grace, but a blacksmith by the name of Edward Cuthbert is mentioned on an Appleby Magna history website:

                            An Eighteenth Century Blacksmith’s Shop in Little Appleby
                            by Alan Roberts

                            Cuthberts inventory

                            The inventory of Edward Cuthbert provides interesting information about the household possessions and living arrangements of an eighteenth century blacksmith. Edward Cuthbert (als. Cutboard) settled in Appleby after the Restoration to join the handful of blacksmiths already established in the parish, including the Wathews who were prominent horse traders. The blacksmiths may have all worked together in the same shop at one time. Edward and his wife Sarah recorded the baptisms of several of their children in the parish register. Somewhat sadly three of the boys named after their father all died either in infancy or as young children. Edward’s inventory which was drawn up in 1732, by which time he was probably a widower and his children had left home, suggests that they once occupied a comfortable two-storey house in Little Appleby with an attached workshop, well equipped with all the tools for repairing farm carts, ploughs and other implements, for shoeing horses and for general ironmongery. 

                            Edward Cuthbert born circa 1660, married Joane Tuvenet in 1684 in Swepston cum Snarestone , and died in Appleby in 1732. Tuvenet is a French name and suggests a Huguenot connection, but this isn’t our family, and indeed this Edward Cuthbert is not likely to be Grace’s father anyway.

                            Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page appear to have married twice: once in 1776, and once in 1779. Both of the documents exist and appear correct. Both marriages were by licence. They both mention Michael is a blacksmith.

                            Their first daughter, Elizabeth, was baptized in February 1777, just nine months after the first wedding. It’s not known when she was born, however, and it’s possible that the marriage was a hasty one. But why marry again three years later?

                            But Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page did not marry twice.

                            Elizabeth Page from Smisby was born in 1752 and married Michael Boss on the 5th of May 1776 in Measham. On the marriage licence allegations and bonds, Michael is a bachelor.

                            Baby Elizabeth was baptised in Measham on the 9th February 1777. Mother Elizabeth died on the 18th February 1777, also in Measham.

                            In 1779 Michael Boss married another Elizabeth Page! She was born in 1749 in Hartshorn, and Michael is a widower on the marriage licence allegations and bonds.

                            Hartshorn and Smisby are neighbouring villages, hence the confusion.  But a closer look at the documents available revealed the clues.  Both Elizabeth Pages were literate, and indeed their signatures on the marriage registers are different:

                            Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Smisby in 1776:

                            Elizabeth Page 1776

                             

                            Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Harsthorn in 1779:

                            Elizabeth Page 1779

                             

                            Not only did Michael Boss marry two women both called Elizabeth Page but he had an unusual start in life as well. His uncle Michael Boss left him the blacksmith business and a third of his furniture. This was all in the will. But which of Uncle Michaels brothers was nephew Michaels father?

                            The only Michael Boss born at the right time was in 1750 in Edingale, Staffordshire, about eight miles from Appleby Magna. His parents were Thomas Boss and Ann Parker, married in Edingale in 1747.  Thomas died in August 1750, and his son Michael was baptised in the December, posthumus son of Thomas and his widow Ann. Both entries are on the same page of the register.

                            1750 posthumus

                             

                            Ann Boss, the young widow, married again. But perhaps Michael and his brother went to live with their childless uncle and aunt, Michael Boss and Grace Cuthbert.

                            The great grandfather of Michael Boss (the Measham blacksmith born in 1850) was also Michael Boss, probably born in the 1660s. He died in Newton Regis in Warwickshire in 1724, four years after his son (also Michael Boss born 1693) married Jane Peircivall.  The entry on the parish register states that Michael Boss was buried ye 13th Affadavit made.

                            I had not seen affadavit made on a parish register before, and this relates to the The Burying in Woollen Acts 1666–80.  According to Wikipedia:

                             “Acts of the Parliament of England which required the dead, except plague victims and the destitute, to be buried in pure English woollen shrouds to the exclusion of any foreign textiles.  It was a requirement that an affidavit be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace (usually by a relative of the deceased), confirming burial in wool, with the punishment of a £5 fee for noncompliance. Burial entries in parish registers were marked with the word “affidavit” or its equivalent to confirm that affidavit had been sworn; it would be marked “naked” for those too poor to afford the woollen shroud.  The legislation was in force until 1814, but was generally ignored after 1770.”

                            Michael Boss buried 1724 “Affadavit made”:

                            Michael Boss affadavit 1724

                             

                             

                             

                            Elizabeth Page‘s father was William Page 1717-1783, a wheelwright in Hartshorn.  (The father of the first wife Elizabeth was also William Page, but he was a husbandman in Smisby born in 1714. William Page, the father of the second wife, was born in Nailstone, Leicestershire, in 1717. His place of residence on his marriage to Mary Potter was spelled Nelson.)

                            Her mother was Mary Potter 1719- of nearby Coleorton.  Mary’s father, Richard Potter 1677-1731, was a blacksmith in Coleorton.

                            A page of the will of Richard Potter 1731:

                            Richard Potter 1731

                             

                            Richard Potter states: “I will and order that my son Thomas Potter shall after my decease have one shilling paid to him and no more.”  As he left £50 to each of his daughters, one can’t help but wonder what Thomas did to displease his father.

                            Richard stipulated that his son Thomas should have one shilling paid to him and not more, for several good considerations, and left “the house and ground lying in the parish of Whittwick in a place called the Long Lane to my wife Mary Potter to dispose of as she shall think proper.”

                            His son Richard inherited the blacksmith business:  “I will and order that my son Richard Potter shall live and be with his mother and serve her duly and truly in the business of a blacksmith, and obey and serve her in all lawful commands six years after my decease, and then I give to him and his heirs…. my house and grounds Coulson House in the Liberty of Thringstone”

                            Richard wanted his son John to be a blacksmith too: “I will and order that my wife bring up my son John Potter at home with her and teach or cause him to be taught the trade of a blacksmith and that he shall serve her duly and truly seven years after my decease after the manner of an apprentice and at the death of his mother I give him that house and shop and building and the ground belonging to it which I now dwell in to him and his heirs forever.”

                            To his daughters Margrett and Mary Potter, upon their reaching the age of one and twenty, or the day after their marriage, he leaves £50 each. All the rest of his goods are left to his loving wife Mary.

                             

                            An inventory of the belongings of Richard Potter, 1731:

                            Richard Potter inventory

                             

                            Richard Potters father was also named Richard Potter 1649-1719, and he too was a blacksmith.

                            Richard Potter of Coleorton in the county of Leicester, blacksmith, stated in his will:  “I give to my son and daughter Thomas and Sarah Potter the possession of my house and grounds.”

                            He leaves ten pounds each to his daughters Jane and Alice, to his son Francis he gives five pounds, and five shillings to his son Richard. Sons Joseph and William also receive five shillings each. To his daughter Mary, wife of Edward Burton, and her daughter Elizabeth, he gives five shillings each. The rest of his good, chattels and wordly substance he leaves equally between his son and daugter Thomas and Sarah. As there is no mention of his wife, it’s assumed that she predeceased him.

                            The will of Richard Potter, 1719:

                            Richard Potter 1719

                             

                            Richard Potter’s (1649-1719) parents were William Potter and Alse Huldin, both born in the early 1600s.  They were married in 1646 at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire.  The name Huldin appears to originate in Finland.

                            William Potter was a blacksmith. In the 1659 parish registers of Breedon on the Hill, William Potter of Breedon blacksmith buryed the 14th July.

                            #6268
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              From Tanganyika with Love

                              continued part 9

                              With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                              Lyamungu 3rd January 1945

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 14 May 1945

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Lyamungu 19th September 1945

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

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

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Jacksdale England 24th June 1946

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Jacksdale England 28th August 1946

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Jacksdale England 20th September 1946

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              Mbeya 1st November 1946

                              Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              Eleanor.

                              #6267
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                From Tanganyika with Love

                                continued part 8

                                With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                Morogoro 20th January 1941

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Morogoro 30th July 1941

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Morogoro 26th August 1941

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Morogoro 25th December 1941

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Morogoro 26th January 1944

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

                                Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                                Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                Eleanor.

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

                                Dearest Mummy,

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

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

                                Very much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                Safari in Masailand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                                Dearest Family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Much love,
                                Eleanor.

                                 

                                #6264
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  From Tanganyika with Love

                                  continued  ~ part 5

                                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                  Chunya 16th December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Much love to all,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  With love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                  Eleanor.

                                  Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  Chunya 29th January 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                  We should be with you in three weeks time!

                                  Very much love,
                                  Eleanor.

                                  Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937

                                  Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  With love to you all,
                                  Eleanor.

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

                                  George Rushby Ann and Georgie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                  #6262
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    From Tanganyika with Love

                                    continued  ~ part 3

                                    With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Very much love,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Just hold thumbs that all goes well.

                                    your loving but anxious,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Very much love to all,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Lots and lots of love,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Who would be a mother!
                                    Eleanor

                                    Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Lots and lots of love,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    Very much love from us all, Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    With love to all,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

                                    With love to all,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Eleanor

                                    Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    Your very loving,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936

                                    Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                    With love to all,
                                    Eleanor.

                                    #6261
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      From Tanganyika with Love

                                      continued

                                      With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Lots of love,
                                      Eleanor

                                      Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                      Very much love,
                                      Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Eleanor Rushby

                                       

                                      Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Your very loving,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Lots and lots of love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love to all,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love to all,
                                      Eleanor.

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

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      We all send our love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Very much love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love from a proud mother of two.
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate 12May 1933

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Your affectionate,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                      your affectionate,
                                      Eleanor

                                      Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      Very much love
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933

                                      Dear Family,

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

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

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

                                      Lots and lots of love,
                                      Eleanor.

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

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Very much love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love to all,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                      Lots of love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Lots of love to all,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Much love to you all,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

                                      Much love,
                                      Eleanor.

                                      Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935

                                      Dearest Family,

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

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

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

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

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

                                      Lots of love, Eleanor

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