The Tetbury Riots
While researching the Tetbury riots (I had found some Browning names in the newspaper archives in association with the uprisings) I came across an article called “Elizabeth Parker, the Swing Riots, and the Tetbury parish clerk” by Jill Evans.
I noted the name of the parish clerk, Daniel Cole, because I know someone else of that name. The incident in the article was 1830.
I found the 1826 marriage in the Tetbury parish registers (where Daniel was the parish clerk) of my 4x great grandmothers sister Hesther Lock. One of the witnesses was her brother Charles, and the other was Daniel Cole, the parish clerk.
Marriage of Lewin Chandler and Hesther Lock in 1826:
from the article:
“The Swing Riots were disturbances which took place in 1830 and 1831, mostly in the southern counties of England. Agricultural labourers, who were already suffering due to low wages and a lack of work after several years of bad harvests, rose up when their employers introduced threshing machines into their workplaces. The riots got their name from the threatening letters which were sent to farmers and other employers, which were signed “Captain Swing.”
The riots spread into Gloucestershire in November 1830, with the Tetbury area seeing the worst of the disturbances. Amongst the many people arrested afterwards was one woman, Elizabeth Parker. She has sometimes been cited as one of only two females who were transported for taking part in the Swing Riots. In fact, she was sentenced to be transported for this crime, but never sailed, as she was pardoned a few months after being convicted. However, less than a year after being released from Gloucester Gaol, she was back, awaiting trial for another offence. The circumstances in both of the cases she was tried for reveal an intriguing relationship with one Daniel Cole, parish clerk and assistant poor law officer in Tetbury….
….Elizabeth Parker was committed to Gloucester Gaol on 4 December 1830. In the Gaol Registers, she was described as being 23 and a “labourer”. She was in fact a prostitute, and she was unusual for the time in that she could read and write. She was charged on the oaths of Daniel Cole and others with having been among a mob which destroyed a threshing machine belonging to Jacob Hayward, at his farm in Beverstone, on 26 November.
…..Elizabeth Parker was granted royal clemency in July 1831 and was released from prison. She returned to Tetbury and presumably continued in her usual occupation, but on 27 March 1832, she was committed to Gloucester Gaol again. This time, she was charged with stealing 2 five pound notes, 5 sovereigns and 5 half sovereigns, from the person of Daniel Cole.
Elizabeth was tried at the Lent Assizes which began on 28 March, 1832. The details of her trial were reported in the Morning Post. Daniel Cole was in the “Boat Inn” (meaning the Boot Inn, I think) in Tetbury, when Elizabeth Parker came in. Cole “accompanied her down the yard”, where he stayed with her for about half an hour. The next morning, he realised that all his money was gone. One of his five pound notes was identified by him in a shop, where Parker had bought some items.
Under cross-examination, Cole said he was the assistant overseer of the poor and collector of public taxes of the parish of Tetbury. He was married with one child. He went in to the inn at about 9 pm, and stayed about 2 hours, drinking in the parlour, with the landlord, Elizabeth Parker, and two others. He was not drunk, but he was “rather fresh.” He gave the prisoner no money. He saw Elizabeth Parker next morning at the Prince and Princess public house. He didn’t drink with her or give her any money. He did give her a shilling after she was committed. He never said that he would not have prosecuted her “if it was not for her own tongue”. (Presumably meaning he couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut.)”
Contemporary illustration of the Swing riots:
Captain Swing was the imaginary leader agricultural labourers who set fire to barns and haystacks in the southern and eastern counties of England from 1830. Although the riots were ruthlessly put down (19 hanged, 644 imprisoned and 481 transported), the rural agitation led the new Whig government to establish a Royal Commission on the Poor Laws and its report provided the basis for the 1834 New Poor Law enacted after the Great Reform Bills of 1833.
An original portrait of Captain Swing hand coloured lithograph circa 1830:
The Grattidge Family
The first Grattidge to appear in our tree was Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) who married Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) in 1872.
Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) was their son and he married my great grandmother Nellie Fisher. Their daughter Margaret (later Peggy Edwards) was my grandmother on my fathers side.
Emma Grattidge was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs, born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs, a land carrier. William and Mary married at St Modwens church, Burton on Trent, in 1839. It’s unclear why they moved to Wolverhampton. On the 1841 census William was employed as an agent, and their first son William was nine months old. Thereafter, William was a licensed victuallar or innkeeper.
William Grattidge was born in Foston, Derbyshire in 1820. His parents were Thomas Grattidge, farmer (1779-1843) and Ann Gerrard (1789-1822) from Ellastone. Thomas and Ann married in 1813 in Ellastone. They had five children before Ann died at the age of 25:
Bessy was born in 1815, Thomas in 1818, William in 1820, and Daniel Augustus and Frederick were twins born in 1822. They were all born in Foston. (records say Foston, Foston and Scropton, or Scropton)
On the 1841 census Thomas had nine people additional to family living at the farm in Foston, presumably agricultural labourers and help.
After Ann died, Thomas had three children with Kezia Gibbs (30 years his junior) before marrying her in 1836, then had a further four with her before dying in 1843. Then Kezia married Thomas’s nephew Frederick Augustus Grattidge (born in 1816 in Stafford) in London in 1847 and had two more!
The siblings of William Grattidge (my 3x great grandfather):
Frederick Grattidge (1822-1872) was a schoolmaster and never married. He died at the age of 49 in Tamworth at his twin brother Daniels address.
Daniel Augustus Grattidge (1822-1903) was a grocer at Gungate in Tamworth.
Thomas Grattidge (1818-1871) married in Derby, and then emigrated to Illinois, USA.
Bessy Grattidge (1815-1840) married John Buxton, farmer, in Ellastone in January 1838. They had three children before Bessy died in December 1840 at the age of 25: Henry in 1838, John in 1839, and Bessy Buxton in 1840. Bessy was baptised in January 1841. Presumably the birth of Bessy caused the death of Bessy the mother.
Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:
“Sacred to the memory of Bessy Buxton, the affectionate wife of John Buxton of Stanton She departed this life December 20th 1840, aged 25 years. “Husband, Farewell my life is Past, I loved you while life did last. Think on my children for my sake, And ever of them with I take.”
20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire
In the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge, farmer of Foston, he leaves fifth shares of his estate, including freehold real estate at Findern, to his wife Kezia, and sons William, Daniel, Frederick and Thomas. He mentions that the children of his late daughter Bessy, wife of John Buxton, will be taken care of by their father. He leaves the farm to Keziah in confidence that she will maintain, support and educate his children with her.
An excerpt from the will:
I give and bequeath unto my dear wife Keziah Grattidge all my household goods and furniture, wearing apparel and plate and plated articles, linen, books, china, glass, and other household effects whatsoever, and also all my implements of husbandry, horses, cattle, hay, corn, crops and live and dead stock whatsoever, and also all the ready money that may be about my person or in my dwelling house at the time of my decease, …I also give my said wife the tenant right and possession of the farm in my occupation….
A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:
William Grattidges half siblings (the offspring of Thomas Grattidge and Kezia Gibbs):
Albert Grattidge (1842-1914) was a railway engine driver in Derby. In 1884 he was driving the train when an unfortunate accident occured outside Ambergate. Three children were blackberrying and crossed the rails in front of the train, and one little girl died.
George Grattidge (1826-1876) was baptised Gibbs as this was before Thomas married Kezia. He was a police inspector in Derby.
Edwin Grattidge (1837-1852) died at just 15 years old.
Ann Grattidge (1835-) married Charles Fletcher, stone mason, and lived in Derby.
Louisa Victoria Grattidge (1840-1869) was sadly another Grattidge woman who died young. Louisa married Emmanuel Brunt Cheesborough in 1860 in Derby. In 1861 Louisa and Emmanuel were living with her mother Kezia in Derby, with their two children Frederick and Ann Louisa. Emmanuel’s occupation was sawyer. (Kezia Gibbs second husband Frederick Augustus Grattidge was a timber merchant in Derby)
At the time of her death in 1869, Emmanuel was the landlord of the White Hart public house at Bridgegate in Derby.
The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:
“On Wednesday morning Mr Coroner Vallack held an inquest in the Grand
Jury-room, Town-hall, on the body of Louisa Victoria Cheeseborough, aged
33, the wife of the landlord of the White Hart, Bridge-gate, who committed
suicide by poisoning at an early hour on Sunday morning. The following
evidence was taken:
Mr Frederick Borough, surgeon, practising in Derby, deposed that he was
called in to see the deceased about four o’clock on Sunday morning last. He
accordingly examined the deceased and found the body quite warm, but dead.
He afterwards made enquiries of the husband, who said that he was afraid
that his wife had taken poison, also giving him at the same time the
remains of some blue material in a cup. The aunt of the deceased’s husband
told him that she had seen Mrs Cheeseborough put down a cup in the
club-room, as though she had just taken it from her mouth. The witness took
the liquid home with him, and informed them that an inquest would
necessarily have to be held on Monday. He had made a post mortem
examination of the body, and found that in the stomach there was a great
deal of congestion. There were remains of food in the stomach and, having
put the contents into a bottle, he took the stomach away. He also examined
the heart and found it very pale and flabby. All the other organs were
comparatively healthy; the liver was friable.
Hannah Stone, aunt of the deceased’s husband, said she acted as a servant
in the house. On Saturday evening, while they were going to bed and whilst
witness was undressing, the deceased came into the room, went up to the
bedside, awoke her daughter, and whispered to her. but what she said the
witness did not know. The child jumped out of bed, but the deceased closed
the door and went away. The child followed her mother, and she also
followed them to the deceased’s bed-room, but the door being closed, they
then went to the club-room door and opening it they saw the deceased
standing with a candle in one hand. The daughter stayed with her in the
room whilst the witness went downstairs to fetch a candle for herself, and
as she was returning up again she saw the deceased put a teacup on the
table. The little girl began to scream, saying “Oh aunt, my mother is
going, but don’t let her go”. The deceased then walked into her bed-room,
and they went and stood at the door whilst the deceased undressed herself.
The daughter and the witness then returned to their bed-room. Presently
they went to see if the deceased was in bed, but she was sitting on the
floor her arms on the bedside. Her husband was sitting in a chair fast
asleep. The witness pulled her on the bed as well as she could.
Ann Louisa Cheesborough, a little girl, said that the deceased was her
mother. On Saturday evening last, about twenty minutes before eleven
o’clock, she went to bed, leaving her mother and aunt downstairs. Her aunt
came to bed as usual. By and bye, her mother came into her room – before
the aunt had retired to rest – and awoke her. She told the witness, in a
low voice, ‘that she should have all that she had got, adding that she
should also leave her her watch, as she was going to die’. She did not tell
her aunt what her mother had said, but followed her directly into the
club-room, where she saw her drink something from a cup, which she
afterwards placed on the table. Her mother then went into her own room and
shut the door. She screamed and called her father, who was downstairs. He
came up and went into her room. The witness then went to bed and fell
asleep. She did not hear any noise or quarrelling in the house after going
Police-constable Webster was on duty in Bridge-gate on Saturday evening
last, about twenty minutes to one o’clock. He knew the White Hart
public-house in Bridge-gate, and as he was approaching that place, he heard
a woman scream as though at the back side of the house. The witness went to
the door and heard the deceased keep saying ‘Will you be quiet and go to
bed’. The reply was most disgusting, and the language which the
police-constable said was uttered by the husband of the deceased, was
immoral in the extreme. He heard the poor woman keep pressing her husband
to go to bed quietly, and eventually he saw him through the keyhole of the
door pass and go upstairs. his wife having gone up a minute or so before.
Inspector Fearn deposed that on Sunday morning last, after he had heard of
the deceased’s death from supposed poisoning, he went to Cheeseborough’s
public house, and found in the club-room two nearly empty packets of
Battie’s Lincoln Vermin Killer – each labelled poison.
Several of the Jury here intimated that they had seen some marks on the
deceased’s neck, as of blows, and expressing a desire that the surgeon
should return, and re-examine the body. This was accordingly done, after
which the following evidence was taken:
Mr Borough said that he had examined the body of the deceased and observed
a mark on the left side of the neck, which he considered had come on since
death. He thought it was the commencement of decomposition.
This was the evidence, after which the jury returned a verdict “that the
deceased took poison whilst of unsound mind” and requested the Coroner to
censure the deceased’s husband.
The Coroner told Cheeseborough that he was a disgusting brute and that the
jury only regretted that the law could not reach his brutal conduct.
However he had had a narrow escape. It was their belief that his poor
wife, who was driven to her own destruction by his brutal treatment, would
have been a living woman that day except for his cowardly conduct towards
The inquiry, which had lasted a considerable time, then closed.”
In this article it says:
“it was the “fourth or fifth remarkable and tragical event – some of which were of the worst description – that has taken place within the last twelve years at the White Hart and in the very room in which the unfortunate Louisa Cheesborough drew her last breath.”
Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:February 2, 2022 at 12:50 pm #6267
From Tanganyika with Love
continued part 8
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Morogoro 20th January 1941
It is all arranged for us to go on three months leave to Cape Town next month so
get out your flags. How I shall love showing off Kate and John to you and this time
George will be with us and you’ll be able to get to know him properly. You can’t think
what a comfort it will be to leave all the worries of baggage and tipping to him. We will all
be travelling by ship to Durban and from there to Cape Town by train. I rather dread the
journey because there is a fifth little Rushby on the way and, as always, I am very
Kate has become such a little companion to me that I dread the thought of leaving
her behind with you to start schooling. I miss Ann and George so much now and must
face separation from Kate as well. There does not seem to be any alternative though.
There is a boarding school in Arusha and another has recently been started in Mbeya,
but both places are so far away and I know she would be very unhappy as a boarder at
this stage. Living happily with you and attending a day school might wean her of her
dependance upon me. As soon as this wretched war ends we mean to get Ann and
George back home and Kate too and they can then all go to boarding school together.
If I were a more methodical person I would try to teach Kate myself, but being a
muddler I will have my hands full with Johnny and the new baby. Life passes pleasantly
but quietly here. Much of my time is taken up with entertaining the children and sewing
for them and just waiting for George to come home.
George works so hard on these safaris and this endless elephant hunting to
protect native crops entails so much foot safari, that he has lost a good deal of weight. it
is more than ten years since he had a holiday so he is greatly looking forward to this one.
Four whole months together!
I should like to keep the ayah, Janet, for the new baby, but she says she wants
to return to her home in the Southern Highlands Province and take a job there. She is
unusually efficient and so clean, and the houseboy and cook are quite scared of her. She
bawls at them if the children’s meals are served a few minutes late but she is always
respectful towards me and practically creeps around on tiptoe when George is home.
She has a room next to the outside kitchen. One night thieves broke into the kitchen and
stole a few things, also a canvas chair and mat from the verandah. Ayah heard them, and
grabbing a bit of firewood, she gave chase. Her shouts so alarmed the thieves that they
ran off up the hill jettisoning their loot as they ran. She is a great character.
Morogoro 30th July 1941
Safely back in Morogoro after a rather grim voyage from Durban. Our ship was
completely blacked out at night and we had to sleep with warm clothing and life belts
handy and had so many tedious boat drills. It was a nuisance being held up for a whole
month in Durban, because I was so very pregnant when we did embark. In fact George
suggested that I had better hide in the ‘Ladies’ until the ship sailed for fear the Captain
might refuse to take me. It seems that the ship, on which we were originally booked to
travel, was torpedoed somewhere off the Cape.
We have been given a very large house this tour with a mosquito netted
sleeping porch which will be fine for the new baby. The only disadvantage is that the
house is on the very edge of the residential part of Morogoro and Johnny will have to
go quite a distance to find playmates.
I still miss Kate terribly. She is a loving little person. I had prepared for a scene
when we said good-bye but I never expected that she would be the comforter. It
nearly broke my heart when she put her arms around me and said, “I’m so sorry
Mummy, please don’t cry. I’ll be good. Please don’t cry.” I’m afraid it was all very
harrowing for you also. It is a great comfort to hear that she has settled down so happily.
I try not to think consciously of my absent children and remind myself that there are
thousands of mothers in the same boat, but they are always there at the back of my
Mother writes that Ann and George are perfectly happy and well, and that though
German bombers do fly over fairly frequently, they are unlikely to drop their bombs on
a small place like Jacksdale.
George has already left on safari to the Rufiji. There was no replacement for his
job while he was away so he is anxious to get things moving again. Johnny and I are
going to move in with friends until he returns, just in case all the travelling around brings
the new baby on earlier than expected.
Morogoro 26th August 1941
Our new son, James Caleb. was born at 3.30 pm yesterday afternoon, with a
minimum of fuss, in the hospital here. The Doctor was out so my friend, Sister Murray,
delivered the baby. The Sister is a Scots girl, very efficient and calm and encouraging,
and an ideal person to have around at such a time.
Everything, this time, went without a hitch and I feel fine and proud of my
bouncing son. He weighs nine pounds and ten ounces and is a big boned fellow with
dark hair and unusually strongly marked eyebrows. His eyes are strong too and already
seem to focus. George is delighted with him and brought Hugh Nelson to see him this
morning. Hugh took one look, and, astonished I suppose by the baby’s apparent
awareness, said, “Gosh, this one has been here before.” The baby’s cot is beside my
bed so I can admire him as much as I please. He has large strong hands and George
reckons he’ll make a good boxer some day.
Another of my early visitors was Mabemba, George’s orderly. He is a very big
African and looks impressive in his Game Scouts uniform. George met him years ago at
Mahenge when he was a young elephant hunter and Mabemba was an Askari in the
Police. Mabemba takes quite a proprietary interest in the family.
Morogoro 25th December 1941
Christmas Day today, but not a gay one. I have Johnny in bed with a poisoned
leg so he missed the children’s party at the Club. To make things a little festive I have
put up a little Christmas tree in the children’s room and have hung up streamers and
balloons above the beds. Johnny demands a lot of attention so it is fortunate that little
James is such a very good baby. He sleeps all night until 6 am when his feed is due.
One morning last week I got up as usual to feed him but I felt so dopey that I
thought I’d better have a cold wash first. I went into the bathroom and had a hurried
splash and then grabbed a towel to dry my face. Immediately I felt an agonising pain in
my nose. Reason? There was a scorpion in the towel! In no time at all my nose looked
like a pear and felt burning hot. The baby screamed with frustration whilst I feverishly
bathed my nose and applied this and that in an effort to cool it.
For three days my nose was very red and tender,”A real boozer nose”, said
George. But now, thank goodness, it is back to normal.
Some of the younger marrieds and a couple of bachelors came around,
complete with portable harmonium, to sing carols in the early hours. No sooner had we
settled down again to woo sleep when we were disturbed by shouts and screams from
our nearest neighbour’s house. “Just celebrating Christmas”, grunted George, but we
heard this morning that the neighbour had fallen down his verandah steps and broken his
Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943
Well now we are eight! Our new son, Henry, was born on the night of the 28th.
He is a beautiful baby, weighing ten pounds three and a half ounces. This baby is very
well developed, handsome, and rather superior looking, and not at all amusing to look at
as the other boys were.George was born with a moustache, John had a large nose and
looked like a little old man, and Jim, bless his heart, looked rather like a baby
chimpanzee. Henry is different. One of my visitors said, “Heaven he’ll have to be a
Bishop!” I expect the lawn sleeves of his nightie really gave her that idea, but the baby
does look like ‘Someone’. He is very good and George, John, and Jim are delighted
with him, so is Mabemba.
We have a dear little nurse looking after us. She is very petite and childish
looking. When the baby was born and she brought him for me to see, the nurse asked
his name. I said jokingly, “His name is Benjamin – the last of the family.” She is now very
peeved to discover that his real name is Henry William and persists in calling him
‘Benjie’.I am longing to get home and into my pleasant rut. I have been away for two
whole weeks and George is managing so well that I shall feel quite expendable if I don’t
get home soon. As our home is a couple of miles from the hospital, I arranged to move
in and stay with the nursing sister on the day the baby was due. There I remained for ten
whole days before the baby was born. Each afternoon George came and took me for a
ride in the bumpy Bedford lorry and the Doctor tried this and that but the baby refused
to be hurried.
On the tenth day I had the offer of a lift and decided to go home for tea and
surprise George. It was a surprise too, because George was entertaining a young
Game Ranger for tea and my arrival, looking like a perambulating big top, must have
been rather embarrassing.Henry was born at the exact moment that celebrations started
in the Township for the end of the Muslim religious festival of Ramadan. As the Doctor
held him up by his ankles, there was the sound of hooters and firecrackers from the town.
The baby has a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon above his left eyebrow.
Morogoro 26th January 1944
We have just heard that we are to be transferred to the Headquarters of the
Game Department at a place called Lyamungu in the Northern Province. George is not
at all pleased because he feels that the new job will entail a good deal of office work and
that his beloved but endless elephant hunting will be considerably curtailed. I am glad of
that and I am looking forward to seeing a new part of Tanganyika and particularly
Kilimanjaro which dominates Lyamungu.
Thank goodness our menagerie is now much smaller. We found a home for the
guinea pigs last December and Susie, our mischievous guinea-fowl, has flown off to find
a mate.Last week I went down to Dar es Salaam for a check up by Doctor John, a
woman doctor, leaving George to cope with the three boys. I was away two nights and
a day and returned early in the morning just as George was giving Henry his six o’clock
bottle. It always amazes me that so very masculine a man can do my chores with no
effort and I have a horrible suspicion that he does them better than I do. I enjoyed the
short break at the coast very much. I stayed with friends and we bathed in the warm sea
and saw a good film.
Now I suppose there will be a round of farewell parties. People in this country
are most kind and hospitable.
Lyamungu 20th March 1944
We left Morogoro after the round of farewell parties I had anticipated. The final
one was at the Club on Saturday night. George made a most amusing speech and the
party was a very pleasant occasion though I was rather tired after all the packing.
Several friends gathered to wave us off on Monday morning. We had two lorries
loaded with our goods. I rode in the cab of the first one with Henry on my knee. George
with John and Jim rode in the second one. As there was no room for them in the cab,
they sat on our couch which was placed across the width of the lorry behind the cab. This
seat was not as comfortable as it sounds, because the space behind the couch was
taken up with packing cases which were not lashed in place and these kept moving
forward as the lorry bumped its way over the bad road.
Soon there was hardly any leg room and George had constantly to stand up and
push the second layer of packing cases back to prevent them from toppling over onto
the children and himself. As it is now the rainy season the road was very muddy and
treacherous and the lorries travelled so slowly it was dark by the time we reached
Karogwe from where we were booked to take the train next morning to Moshi.
Next morning we heard that there had been a washaway on the line and that the
train would be delayed for at least twelve hours. I was not feeling well and certainly did
not enjoy my day. Early in the afternoon Jimmy ran into a wall and blackened both his
eyes. What a child! As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and when at last the train
did arrive I simply crawled into my bunk whilst George coped nobly with the luggage
and the children.
We arrived at Moshi at breakfast time and went straight to the Lion Cub Hotel
where I took to my bed with a high temperature. It was, of course, malaria. I always have
my attacks at the most inopportune times. Fortunately George ran into some friends
called Eccles and the wife Mollie came to my room and bathed Henry and prepared his
bottle and fed him. George looked after John and Jim. Next day I felt much better and
we drove out to Lyamungu the day after. There we had tea with the Game Warden and
his wife before moving into our new home nearby.
The Game Warden is Captain Monty Moore VC. He came out to Africa
originally as an Officer in the King’s African Rifles and liked the country so much he left the
Army and joined the Game Department. He was stationed at Banagi in the Serengetti
Game Reserve and is well known for his work with the lions there. He particularly tamed
some of the lions by feeding them so that they would come out into the open and could
readily be photographed by tourists. His wife Audrey, has written a book about their
experiences at Banagi. It is called “Serengetti”
Our cook, Hamisi, soon had a meal ready for us and we all went to bed early.
This is a very pleasant house and I know we will be happy here. I still feel a little shaky
but that is the result of all the quinine I have taken. I expect I shall feel fine in a day or two.
Lyamungu 15th May 1944
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
As this is the rainy season, the surrounding country side is very lush and green.
Everywhere one sees the rich green of the coffee plantations and the lighter green of
the banana groves. Unfortunately our walks are rather circumscribed. Except for the main road to Moshi, there is nowhere to walk except through the Government coffee
plantation. Paddy, our dog, thinks life is pretty boring as there is no bush here and
nothing to hunt. There are only half a dozen European families here and half of those are
on very distant terms with the other half which makes the station a rather uncomfortable
The coffee expert who runs this station is annoyed because his European staff
has been cut down owing to the war, and three of the vacant houses and some office
buildings have been taken over temporarily by the Game Department. Another house
has been taken over by the head of the Labour Department. However I don’t suppose
the ill feeling will effect us much. We are so used to living in the bush that we are not
socially inclined any way.
Our cook, Hamisi, came with us from Morogoro but I had to engage a new
houseboy and kitchenboy. I first engaged a houseboy who produced a wonderful ‘chit’
in which his previous employer describes him as his “friend and confidant”. I felt rather
dubious about engaging him and how right I was. On his second day with us I produced
some of Henry’s napkins, previously rinsed by me, and asked this boy to wash them.
He looked most offended and told me that it was beneath his dignity to do women’s
work. We parted immediately with mutual relief.
Now I have a good natured fellow named Japhet who, though hard on crockery,
is prepared to do anything and loves playing with the children. He is a local boy, a
member of the Chagga tribe. These Chagga are most intelligent and, on the whole, well
to do as they all have their own small coffee shambas. Japhet tells me that his son is at
the Uganda University College studying medicine.The kitchen boy is a tall youth called
Tovelo, who helps both Hamisi, the cook, and the houseboy and also keeps an eye on
Henry when I am sewing. I still make all the children’s clothes and my own. Life is
pleasant but dull. George promises that he will take the whole family on safari when
Henry is a little older.
Lyamungu 18th July 1944
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
Lyamungu 16th August 1944
We have a new bull terrier bitch pup whom we have named Fanny III . So once
more we have a menagerie , the two dogs, two cats Susie and Winnie, and
some pet hens who live in the garage and are a real nuisance.
As John is nearly six I thought it time that he started lessons and wrote off to Dar
es Salaam for the correspondence course. We have had one week of lessons and I am
already in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. John is a most reluctant scholar.
“Why should I learn to read, when you can read to me?” he asks, and “Anyway why
should I read such stupid stuff, ‘Run Rover Run’, and ‘Mother play with baby’ . Who
wants to read about things like that? I don’t.”
He rather likes sums, but the only subject about which he is enthusiastic is
prehistoric history. He laps up information about ‘The Tree Dwellers’, though he is very
sceptical about the existence of such people. “God couldn’t be so silly to make people
so stupid. Fancy living in trees when it is easy to make huts like the natives.” ‘The Tree
Dwellers is a highly imaginative story about a revolting female called Sharptooth and her
offspring called Bodo. I have a very clear mental image of Sharptooth, so it came as a
shock to me and highly amused George when John looked at me reflectively across the
tea table and said, “Mummy I expect Sharptooth looked like you. You have a sharp
tooth too!” I have, my eye teeth are rather sharp, but I hope the resemblance stops
John has an uncomfortably logical mind for a small boy. The other day he was
lying on the lawn staring up at the clouds when he suddenly muttered “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?” I asked. “That Jesus is coming on a cloud one day. How can he? The
thick ones always stay high up. What’s he going to do, jump down with a parachute?”
Tovelo, my kitchen boy, announced one evening that his grandmother was in the
kitchen and wished to see me. She was a handsome and sensible Chagga woman who
brought sad news. Her little granddaughter had stumbled backwards into a large cooking
pot of almost boiling maize meal porridge and was ‘ngongwa sana’ (very ill). I grabbed
a large bottle of Picric Acid and a packet of gauze which we keep for these emergencies
and went with her, through coffee shambas and banana groves to her daughter’s house.
Inside the very neat thatched hut the mother sat with the naked child lying face
downwards on her knee. The child’s buttocks and the back of her legs were covered in
huge burst blisters from which a watery pus dripped. It appeared that the accident had
happened on the previous day.
I could see that it was absolutely necessary to clean up the damaged area, and I
suddenly remembered that there was a trained African hospital dresser on the station. I
sent the father to fetch him and whilst the dresser cleaned off the sloughed skin with
forceps and swabs saturated in Picric Acid, I cut the gauze into small squares which I
soaked in the lotion and laid on the cleaned area. I thought the small pieces would be
easier to change especially as the whole of the most tender parts, front and back, were
badly scalded. The child seemed dazed and neither the dresser nor I thought she would
live. I gave her half an aspirin and left three more half tablets to be given four hourly.
Next day she seemed much brighter. I poured more lotion on the gauze
disturbing as few pieces as possible and again the next day and the next. After a week
the skin was healing well and the child eating normally. I am sure she will be all right now.
The new skin is a brilliant red and very shiny but it is pale round the edges of the burnt
area and will I hope later turn brown. The mother never uttered a word of thanks, but the
granny is grateful and today brought the children a bunch of bananas.
c/o Game Dept. P.O.Moshi. 29th September 1944
I am so glad that you so enjoyed my last letter with the description of our very
interesting and enjoyable safari through Masailand. You said you would like an even
fuller description of it to pass around amongst the relations, so, to please you, I have
written it out in detail and enclose the result.
We have spent a quiet week after our exertions and all are well here.
Very much love,
Safari in Masailand
George and I were at tea with our three little boys on the front lawn of our house
in Lyamungu, Northern Tanganyika. It was John’s sixth birthday and he and Jim, a
happy sturdy three year old, and Henry, aged eleven months, were munching the
squares of plain chocolate which rounded off the party, when George said casually
across the table to me, “Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow to go on
safari?” “Me too?” enquired John anxiously, before I had time to reply, and “Me too?”
echoed Jim. “yes, of course I can”, said I to George and “of course you’re coming too”,
to the children who rate a day spent in the bush higher than any other pleasure.
So in the early morning two days later, we started out happily for Masailand in a
three ton Ford lorry loaded to capacity with the five Rushbys, the safari paraphernalia,
drums of petrol and quite a retinue of servants and Game Scouts. George travelling
alone on his monthly safaris, takes only the cook and a couple of Game Scouts, but this was to be a safari de luxe.
Henry and I shared the cab with George who was driving, whilst John and Jim
with the faithful orderly Mabemba beside them to point out the game animals, were
installed upon rolls of bedding in the body of the lorry. The lorry lumbered along, first
through coffee shambas, and then along the main road between Moshi and Arusha.
After half an hour or so, we turned South off the road into a track which crossed the
Sanya Plains and is the beginning of this part of Masailand. Though the dry season was
at its height, and the pasture dry and course, we were soon passing small groups of
game. This area is a Game Sanctuary and the antelope grazed quietly quite undisturbed
by the passing lorry. Here and there zebra stood bunched by the road, a few wild
ostriches stalked jerkily by, and in the distance some wildebeest cavorted around in their
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
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
We left Lolbeni very early next morning, which was a good thing, for as we left
camp the herds of thirsty cattle moved in from all directions. They were accompanied by
Masai herdsmen, their naked bodies and blankets now covered by volcanic dust which
was being stirred in rising clouds of stifling ash by the milling cattle, and also by grey
donkeys laden with panniers filled with corked calabashes for water.
Our next stop was Nabarera, a Masai cattle market and trading centre, where we
reluctantly stayed for two days in a pokey Goverment Resthouse because George had
a job to do in that area. The rest was good for Henry who promptly produced a tooth
and was consequently much better behaved for the rest of the trip. George was away in the bush most of the day but he returned for afternoon tea and later took the children out
walking. We had noticed curious white dumps about a quarter mile from the resthouse
and on the second afternoon we set out to investigate them. Behind the dumps we
found passages about six foot wide, cut through solid limestone. We explored two of
these and found that both passages led steeply down to circular wells about two and a
half feet in diameter.
At the very foot of each passage, beside each well, rough drinking troughs had
been cut in the stone. The herdsmen haul the water out of the well in home made hide
buckets, the troughs are filled and the cattle driven down the ramps to drink at the trough.
It was obvious that the wells were ancient and the sloping passages new. George tells
me that no one knows what ancient race dug the original wells. It seems incredible that
these deep and narrow shafts could have been sunk without machinery. I craned my
neck and looked above one well and could see an immensely long shaft reaching up to
ground level. Small footholds were cut in the solid rock as far as I could see.
It seems that the Masai are as ignorant as ourselves about the origin of these
wells. They do say however that when their forebears first occupied what is now known
as Masailand, they not only found the Wanderobo tribe in the area but also a light
skinned people and they think it possible that these light skinned people dug the wells.
These people disappeared. They may have been absorbed or, more likely, they were
The Masai had found the well impractical in their original form and had hired
labourers from neighbouring tribes to cut the passages to water level. Certainly the Masai are not responsible for the wells. They are a purely pastoral people and consider manual labour extremely degrading.
They live chiefly on milk from their herd which they allow to go sour, and mix with blood that has been skilfully tapped from the necks of living cattle. They do not eat game meat, nor do they cultivate any
land. They hunt with spears, but hunt only lions, to protect their herds, and to test the skill
and bravery of their young warriors. What little grain they do eat is transported into
Masailand by traders. The next stage of our journey took us to Ngassamet where
George was to pick up some elephant tusks. I had looked forward particularly to this
stretch of road for I had heard that there was a shallow lake at which game congregates,
and at which I had great hopes of seeing elephants. We had come too late in the
season though, the lake was dry and there were only piles of elephant droppings to
prove that elephant had recently been there in numbers. Ngassamet, though no beauty
spot, was interesting. We saw more elaborate editions of the wells already described, and as this area
is rich in cattle we saw the aristocrats of the Masai. You cannot conceive of a more arrogant looking male than a young Masai brave striding by on sandalled feet, unselfconscious in all his glory. All the young men wore the casually draped traditional ochre blanket and carried one or more spears. But here belts and long knife sheaths of scarlet leather seem to be the fashion. Here fringes do not seem to be the thing. Most of these young Masai had their hair drawn smoothly back and twisted in a pointed queue, the whole plastered with a smooth coating of red clay. Some tied their horn shaped queues over their heads
so that the tip formed a deep Satanic peak on the brow. All these young men wore the traditional
copper earrings and I saw one or two with copper bracelets and one with a necklace of brightly coloured
It so happened that, on the day of our visit to Ngassamet, there had been a
baraza (meeting) which was attended by all the local headmen and elders. These old
men came to pay their respects to George and a more shrewd and rascally looking
company I have never seen, George told me that some of these men own up to three
thousand head of cattle and more. The chief was as fat and Rabelasian as his second in
command was emaciated, bucktoothed and prim. The Chief shook hands with George
and greeted me and settled himself on the wall of the resthouse porch opposite
George. The lesser headmen, after politely greeting us, grouped themselves in a
semi circle below the steps with their ‘aides’ respectfully standing behind them. I
remained sitting in the only chair and watched the proceedings with interest and
These old Masai, I noticed, cared nothing for adornment. They had proved
themselves as warriors in the past and were known to be wealthy and influential so did
not need to make any display. Most of them had their heads comfortably shaved and
wore only a drab blanket or goatskin cloak. Their only ornaments were earrings whose
effect was somewhat marred by the serviceable and homely large safety pin that
dangled from the lobe of one ear. All carried staves instead of spears and all, except for
Buckteeth and one blind old skeleton of a man, appeared to have a keenly developed
sense of humour.
“Mummy?” asked John in an urgent whisper, “Is that old blind man nearly dead?”
“Yes dear”, said I, “I expect he’ll soon die.” “What here?” breathed John in a tone of
keen anticipation and, until the meeting broke up and the old man left, he had John’s
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
Early next morning I walked across to the camp kitchen to enquire into the loud
lamentations coming from that quarter. “Oh Memsahib”, moaned the cook, “We could
not sleep last night for the bad hyaenas round our tents. They have taken every scrap of
meat we had left over from the feast., even the meat we had left to smoke over the fire.”
Jim, who of our three young sons is the cook’s favourite commiserated with him. He said
in Ki-Swahili, which he speaks with great fluency, “Truly those hyaenas are very bad
creatures. They also robbed us. They have taken my hat from the table and eaten the
new soap from the washbowl.
Our last day in the bush was a pleasantly lazy one. We drove through country
that grew more open and less dry as we approached Arusha. We pitched our camp
near a large dam, and the water was a blessed sight after a week of scorched country.
On the plains to the right of our camp was a vast herd of native cattle enjoying a brief
rest after their long day trek through Masailand. They were destined to walk many more
weary miles before reaching their destination, a meat canning factory in Kenya.
The ground to the left of the camp rose gently to form a long low hill and on the
grassy slopes we could see wild ostriches and herds of wildebeest, zebra and
antelope grazing amicably side by side. In the late afternoon I watched the groups of
zebra and wildebeest merge into one. Then with a wildebeest leading, they walked
down the slope in single file to drink at the vlei . When they were satisfied, a wildebeest
once more led the herd up the trail. The others followed in a long and orderly file, and
vanished over the hill to their evening pasture.
When they had gone, George took up his shotgun and invited John to
accompany him to the dam to shoot duck. This was the first time John had acted as
retriever but he did very well and proudly helped to carry a mixed bag of sand grouse
and duck back to camp.
Next morning we turned into the Great North Road and passed first through
carefully tended coffee shambas and then through the township of Arusha, nestling at
the foot of towering Mount Meru. Beyond Arusha we drove through the Usa River
settlement where again coffee shambas and European homesteads line the road, and
saw before us the magnificent spectacle of Kilimanjaro unveiled, its white snow cap
gleaming in the sunlight. Before mid day we were home. “Well was it worth it?” enquired
George at lunch. “Lovely,” I replied. ”Let’s go again soon.” Then thinking regretfully of
our absent children I sighed, “If only Ann, George, and Kate could have gone with us
Lyamungu 10th November. 1944
Mummy wants to know how I fill in my time with George away on safari for weeks
on end. I do believe that you all picture me idling away my days, waited on hand and
foot by efficient servants! On the contrary, life is one rush and the days never long
To begin with, our servants are anything but efficient, apart from our cook, Hamisi
Issa, who really is competent. He suffers from frustration because our budget will not run
to elaborate dishes so there is little scope for his culinary art. There is one masterpiece
which is much appreciated by John and Jim. Hamisi makes a most realistic crocodile out
of pastry and stuffs its innards with minced meat. This revolting reptile is served on a
bed of parsley on my largest meat dish. The cook is a strict Mohammedan and
observes all the fasts and daily prayers and, like all Mohammedans he is very clean in
his person and, thank goodness, in the kitchen.
His wife is his pride and joy but not his helpmate. She does absolutely nothing
but sit in a chair in the sun all day, sipping tea and smoking cigarettes – a more
expensive brand than mine! It is Hamisi who sweeps out their quarters, cooks
delectable curries for her, and spends more than he can afford on clothing and trinkets for
his wife. She just sits there with her ‘Mona Lisa’ smile and her painted finger and toe
nails, doing absolutely nothing.
The thing is that natives despise women who do work and this applies especially
to their white employers. House servants much prefer a Memsahib who leaves
everything to them and is careless about locking up her pantry. When we first came to
Lyamungu I had great difficulty in employing a houseboy. A couple of rather efficient
ones did approach me but when they heard the wages I was prepared to pay and that
there was no number 2 boy, they simply were not interested. Eventually I took on a
local boy called Japhet who suits me very well except that his sight is not good and he
is extremely hard on the crockery. He tells me that he has lost face by working here
because his friends say that he works for a family that is too mean to employ a second
boy. I explained that with our large family we simply cannot afford to pay more, but this
didn’t register at all. Japhet says “But Wazungu (Europeans) all have money. They just
have to get it from the Bank.”
The third member of our staff is a strapping youth named Tovelo who helps both
cook and boy, and consequently works harder than either. What do I do? I chivvy the
servants, look after the children, supervise John’s lessons, and make all my clothing and
the children’s on that blessed old hand sewing machine.
The folk on this station entertain a good deal but we usually decline invitations
because we simply cannot afford to reciprocate. However, last Saturday night I invited
two couples to drinks and dinner. This was such an unusual event that the servants and I
were thrown into a flurry. In the end the dinner went off well though it ended in disaster. In
spite of my entreaties and exhortations to Japhet not to pile everything onto the tray at
once when clearing the table, he did just that. We were starting our desert and I was
congratulating myself that all had gone well when there was a frightful crash of breaking
china on the back verandah. I excused myself and got up to investigate. A large meat
dish, six dinner plates and four vegetable dishes lay shattered on the cement floor! I
controlled my tongue but what my eyes said to Japhet is another matter. What he said
was, “It is not my fault Memsahib. The handle of the tray came off.”
It is a curious thing about native servants that they never accept responsibility for
a mishap. If they cannot pin their misdeeds onto one of their fellow servants then the responsibility rests with God. ‘Shauri ya Mungu’, (an act of God) is a familiar cry. Fatalists
can be very exasperating employees.
The loss of my dinner service is a real tragedy because, being war time, one can
buy only china of the poorest quality made for the native trade. Nor was that the final
disaster of the evening. When we moved to the lounge for coffee I noticed that the
coffee had been served in the battered old safari coffee pot instead of the charming little
antique coffee pot which my Mother-in-law had sent for our tenth wedding anniversary.
As there had already been a disturbance I made no comment but resolved to give the
cook a piece of my mind in the morning. My instructions to the cook had been to warm
the coffee pot with hot water immediately before serving. On no account was he to put
the pewter pot on the hot iron stove. He did and the result was a small hole in the base
of the pot – or so he says. When I saw the pot next morning there was a two inch hole in
Hamisi explained placidly how this had come about. He said he knew I would be
mad when I saw the little hole so he thought he would have it mended and I might not
notice it. Early in the morning he had taken the pewter pot to the mechanic who looks
after the Game Department vehicles and had asked him to repair it. The bright individual
got busy with the soldering iron with the most devastating result. “It’s his fault,” said
Hamisi, “He is a mechanic, he should have known what would happen.”
One thing is certain, there will be no more dinner parties in this house until the war
The children are well and so am I, and so was George when he left on his safari
Eleanor.February 2, 2022 at 12:33 pm #6266
From Tanganyika with Love
continued part 7
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938
George arrived today to take us home to Mbulu but Sister Marianne will not allow
me to travel for another week as I had a bit of a set back after baby’s birth. At first I was
very fit and on the third day Sister stripped the bed and, dictionary in hand, started me
off on ante natal exercises. “Now make a bridge Mrs Rushby. So. Up down, up down,’
whilst I obediently hoisted myself aloft on heels and head. By the sixth day she
considered it was time for me to be up and about but alas, I soon had to return to bed
with a temperature and a haemorrhage. I got up and walked outside for the first time this
I have had lots of visitors because the local German settlers seem keen to see
the first British baby born in the hospital. They have been most kind, sending flowers
and little German cards of congratulations festooned with cherubs and rather sweet. Most
of the women, besides being pleasant, are very smart indeed, shattering my illusion that
German matrons are invariably fat and dowdy. They are all much concerned about the
Czecko-Slovakian situation, especially Sister Marianne whose home is right on the
border and has several relations who are Sudentan Germans. She is ant-Nazi and
keeps on asking me whether I think England will declare war if Hitler invades Czecko-
Slovakia, as though I had inside information.
George tells me that he has had a grass ‘banda’ put up for us at Mbulu as we are
both determined not to return to those prison-like quarters in the Fort. Sister Marianne is
horrified at the idea of taking a new baby to live in a grass hut. She told George,
“No,No,Mr Rushby. I find that is not to be allowed!” She is an excellent Sister but rather
prim and George enjoys teasing her. This morning he asked with mock seriousness,
“Sister, why has my wife not received her medal?” Sister fluttered her dictionary before
asking. “What medal Mr Rushby”. “Why,” said George, “The medal that Hitler gives to
women who have borne four children.” Sister started a long and involved explanation
about the medal being only for German mothers whilst George looked at me and
Later. Great Jubilation here. By the noise in Sister Marianne’s sitting room last night it
sounded as though the whole German population had gathered to listen to the wireless
news. I heard loud exclamations of joy and then my bedroom door burst open and
several women rushed in. “Thank God “, they cried, “for Neville Chamberlain. Now there
will be no war.” They pumped me by the hand as though I were personally responsible
for the whole thing.
George on the other hand is disgusted by Chamberlain’s lack of guts. Doesn’t
know what England is coming to these days. I feel too content to concern myself with
world affairs. I have a fine husband and four wonderful children and am happy, happy,
Mbulu. 30th September 1938
Here we are, comfortably installed in our little green house made of poles and
rushes from a nearby swamp. The house has of course, no doors or windows, but
there are rush blinds which roll up in the day time. There are two rooms and a little porch
and out at the back there is a small grass kitchen.
Here we have the privacy which we prize so highly as we are screened on one
side by a Forest Department plantation and on the other three sides there is nothing but
the rolling countryside cropped bare by the far too large herds of cattle and goats of the
Wambulu. I have a lovely lazy time. I still have Kesho-Kutwa and the cook we brought
with us from the farm. They are both faithful and willing souls though not very good at
their respective jobs. As one of these Mbeya boys goes on safari with George whose
job takes him from home for three weeks out of four, I have taken on a local boy to cut
firewood and heat my bath water and generally make himself useful. His name is Saa,
which means ‘Clock’
We had an uneventful but very dusty trip from Oldeani. Johnny Jo travelled in his
pram in the back of the boxbody and got covered in dust but seems none the worst for
it. As the baby now takes up much of my time and Kate was showing signs of
boredom, I have engaged a little African girl to come and play with Kate every morning.
She is the daughter of the head police Askari and a very attractive and dignified little
person she is. Her name is Kajyah. She is scrupulously clean, as all Mohammedan
Africans seem to be. Alas, Kajyah, though beautiful, is a bore. She simply does not
know how to play, so they just wander around hand in hand.
There are only two drawbacks to this little house. Mbulu is a very windy spot so
our little reed house is very draughty. I have made a little tent of sheets in one corner of
the ‘bedroom’ into which I can retire with Johnny when I wish to bathe or sponge him.
The other drawback is that many insects are attracted at night by the lamp and make it
almost impossible to read or sew and they have a revolting habit of falling into the soup.
There are no dangerous wild animals in this area so I am not at all nervous in this
flimsy little house when George is on safari. Most nights hyaenas come around looking
for scraps but our dogs, Fanny and Paddy, soon see them off.
Mbulu. 25th October 1938
Great news! a vacancy has occurred in the Game Department. George is to
transfer to it next month. There will be an increase in salary and a brighter prospect for
the future. It will mean a change of scene and I shall be glad of that. We like Mbulu and
the people here but the rains have started and our little reed hut is anything but water
Before the rain came we had very unpleasant dust storms. I think I told you that
this is a treeless area and the grass which normally covers the veldt has been cropped
to the roots by the hungry native cattle and goats. When the wind blows the dust
collects in tall black columns which sweep across the country in a most spectacular
fashion. One such dust devil struck our hut one day whilst we were at lunch. George
swept Kate up in a second and held her face against his chest whilst I rushed to Johnny
Jo who was asleep in his pram, and stooped over the pram to protect him. The hut
groaned and creaked and clouds of dust blew in through the windows and walls covering
our persons, food, and belongings in a black pall. The dogs food bowls and an empty
petrol tin outside the hut were whirled up and away. It was all over in a moment but you
should have seen what a family of sweeps we looked. George looked at our blackened
Johnny and mimicked in Sister Marianne’s primmest tones, “I find that this is not to be
The first rain storm caught me unprepared when George was away on safari. It
was a terrific thunderstorm. The quite violent thunder and lightening were followed by a
real tropical downpour. As the hut is on a slight slope, the storm water poured through
the hut like a river, covering the entire floor, and the roof leaked like a lawn sprinkler.
Johnny Jo was snug enough in the pram with the hood raised, but Kate and I had a
damp miserable night. Next morning I had deep drains dug around the hut and when
George returned from safari he managed to borrow an enormous tarpaulin which is now
lashed down over the roof.
It did not rain during the next few days George was home but the very next night
we were in trouble again. I was awakened by screams from Kate and hurriedly turned up
the lamp to see that we were in the midst of an invasion of siafu ants. Kate’s bed was
covered in them. Others appeared to be raining down from the thatch. I quickly stripped
Kate and carried her across to my bed, whilst I rushed to the pram to see whether
Johnny Jo was all right. He was fast asleep, bless him, and slept on through all the
commotion, whilst I struggled to pick all the ants out of Kate’s hair, stopping now and
again to attend to my own discomfort. These ants have a painful bite and seem to
choose all the most tender spots. Kate fell asleep eventually but I sat up for the rest of
the night to make sure that the siafu kept clear of the children. Next morning the servants
dispersed them by laying hot ash.
In spite of the dampness of the hut both children are blooming. Kate has rosy
cheeks and Johnny Jo now has a fuzz of fair hair and has lost his ‘old man’ look. He
reminds me of Ann at his age.
Iringa. 30th November 1938
Here we are back in the Southern Highlands and installed on the second floor of
another German Fort. This one has been modernised however and though not so
romantic as the Mbulu Fort from the outside, it is much more comfortable.We are all well
and I am really proud of our two safari babies who stood up splendidly to a most trying
journey North from Mbulu to Arusha and then South down the Great North Road to
Iringa where we expect to stay for a month.
At Arusha George reported to the headquarters of the Game Department and
was instructed to come on down here on Rinderpest Control. There is a great flap on in
case the rinderpest spread to Northern Rhodesia and possibly onwards to Southern
Rhodesia and South Africa. Extra veterinary officers have been sent to this area to
inoculate all the cattle against the disease whilst George and his African game Scouts will
comb the bush looking for and destroying diseased game. If the rinderpest spreads,
George says it may be necessary to shoot out all the game in a wide belt along the
border between the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and Northern Rhodesia, to
prevent the disease spreading South. The very idea of all this destruction sickens us
George left on a foot safari the day after our arrival and I expect I shall be lucky if I
see him occasionally at weekends until this job is over. When rinderpest is under control
George is to be stationed at a place called Nzassa in the Eastern Province about 18
miles from Dar es Salaam. George’s orderly, who is a tall, cheerful Game Scout called
Juma, tells me that he has been stationed at Nzassa and it is a frightful place! However I
refuse to be depressed. I now have the cheering prospect of leave to England in thirty
months time when we will be able to fetch Ann and George and be a proper family
again. Both Ann and George look happy in the snapshots which mother-in-law sends
frequently. Ann is doing very well at school and loves it.
To get back to our journey from Mbulu. It really was quite an experience. It
poured with rain most of the way and the road was very slippery and treacherous the
120 miles between Mbulu and Arusha. This is a little used earth road and the drains are
so blocked with silt as to be practically non existent. As usual we started our move with
the V8 loaded to capacity. I held Johnny on my knee and Kate squeezed in between
George and me. All our goods and chattels were in wooden boxes stowed in the back
and the two houseboys and the two dogs had to adjust themselves to the space that
remained. We soon ran into trouble and it took us all day to travel 47 miles. We stuck
several times in deep mud and had some most nasty skids. I simply clutched Kate in
one hand and Johnny Jo in the other and put my trust in George who never, under any
circumstances, loses his head. Poor Johnny only got his meals when circumstances
permitted. Unfortunately I had put him on a bottle only a few days before we left Mbulu
and, as I was unable to buy either a primus stove or Thermos flask there we had to
make a fire and boil water for each meal. Twice George sat out in the drizzle with a rain
coat rapped over his head to protect a miserable little fire of wet sticks drenched with
paraffin. Whilst we waited for the water to boil I pacified John by letting him suck a cube
of Tate and Lyles sugar held between my rather grubby fingers. Not at all according to
That night George, the children and I slept in the car having dumped our boxes
and the two servants in a deserted native hut. The rain poured down relentlessly all night
and by morning the road was more of a morass than ever. We swerved and skidded
alarmingly till eventually one of the wheel chains broke and had to be tied together with
string which constantly needed replacing. George was so patient though he was wet
and muddy and tired and both children were very good. Shortly before reaching the Great North Road we came upon Jack Gowan, the Stock Inspector from Mbulu. His car
was bogged down to its axles in black mud. He refused George’s offer of help saying
that he had sent his messenger to a nearby village for help.
I hoped that conditions would be better on the Great North Road but how over
optimistic I was. For miles the road runs through a belt of ‘black cotton soil’. which was
churned up into the consistency of chocolate blancmange by the heavy lorry traffic which
runs between Dodoma and Arusha. Soon the car was skidding more fantastically than
ever. Once it skidded around in a complete semi circle so George decided that it would
be safer for us all to walk whilst he negotiated the very bad patches. You should have
seen me plodding along in the mud and drizzle with the baby in one arm and Kate
clinging to the other. I was terrified of slipping with Johnny. Each time George reached
firm ground he would return on foot to carry Kate and in this way we covered many bad
patches.We were more fortunate than many other travellers. We passed several lorries
ditched on the side of the road and one car load of German men, all elegantly dressed in
lounge suits. One was busy with his camera so will have a record of their plight to laugh
over in the years to come. We spent another night camping on the road and next day
set out on the last lap of the journey. That also was tiresome but much better than the
previous day and we made the haven of the Arusha Hotel before dark. What a picture
we made as we walked through the hall in our mud splattered clothes! Even Johnny was
well splashed with mud but no harm was done and both he and Kate are blooming.
We rested for two days at Arusha and then came South to Iringa. Luckily the sun
came out and though for the first day the road was muddy it was no longer so slippery
and the second day found us driving through parched country and along badly
corrugated roads. The further South we came, the warmer the sun which at times blazed
through the windscreen and made us all uncomfortably hot. I have described the country
between Arusha and Dodoma before so I shan’t do it again. We reached Iringa without
mishap and after a good nights rest all felt full of beans.
Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939.
You will be surprised to note that we are back on the farm! At least the children
and I are here. George is away near the Rhodesian border somewhere, still on
I had a pleasant time at Iringa, lots of invitations to morning tea and Kate had a
wonderful time enjoying the novelty of playing with children of her own age. She is not
shy but nevertheless likes me to be within call if not within sight. It was all very suburban
but pleasant enough. A few days before Christmas George turned up at Iringa and
suggested that, as he would be working in the Mbeya area, it might be a good idea for
the children and me to move to the farm. I agreed enthusiastically, completely forgetting
that after my previous trouble with the leopard I had vowed to myself that I would never
again live alone on the farm.
Alas no sooner had we arrived when Thomas, our farm headman, brought the
news that there were now two leopards terrorising the neighbourhood, and taking dogs,
goats and sheep and chickens. Traps and poisoned bait had been tried in vain and he
was sure that the female was the same leopard which had besieged our home before.
Other leopards said Thomas, came by stealth but this one advertised her whereabouts
in the most brazen manner.
George stayed with us on the farm over Christmas and all was quiet at night so I
cheered up and took the children for walks along the overgrown farm paths. However on
New Years Eve that darned leopard advertised her presence again with the most blood
chilling grunts and snarls. Horrible! Fanny and Paddy barked and growled and woke up
both children. Kate wept and kept saying, “Send it away mummy. I don’t like it.” Johnny
Jo howled in sympathy. What a picnic. So now the whole performance of bodyguards
has started again and ‘till George returns we confine our exercise to the garden.
Our little house is still cosy and sweet but the coffee plantation looks very
neglected. I wish to goodness we could sell it.
Nzassa 14th February 1939.
After three months of moving around with two small children it is heavenly to be
settled in our own home, even though Nzassa is an isolated spot and has the reputation
of being unhealthy.
We travelled by car from Mbeya to Dodoma by now a very familiar stretch of
country, but from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam by train which made a nice change. We
spent two nights and a day in the Splendid Hotel in Dar es Salaam, George had some
official visits to make and I did some shopping and we took the children to the beach.
The bay is so sheltered that the sea is as calm as a pond and the water warm. It is
wonderful to see the sea once more and to hear tugs hooting and to watch the Arab
dhows putting out to sea with their oddly shaped sails billowing. I do love the bush, but
I love the sea best of all, as you know.
We made an early start for Nzassa on the 3rd. For about four miles we bowled
along a good road. This brought us to a place called Temeke where George called on
the District Officer. His house appears to be the only European type house there. The
road between Temeke and the turn off to Nzassa is quite good, but the six mile stretch
from the turn off to Nzassa is a very neglected bush road. There is nothing to be seen
but the impenetrable bush on both sides with here and there a patch of swampy
ground where rice is planted in the wet season.
After about six miles of bumpy road we reached Nzassa which is nothing more
than a sandy clearing in the bush. Our house however is a fine one. It was originally built
for the District Officer and there is a small court house which is now George’s office. The
District Officer died of blackwater fever so Nzassa was abandoned as an administrative
station being considered too unhealthy for Administrative Officers but suitable as
Headquarters for a Game Ranger. Later a bachelor Game Ranger was stationed here
but his health also broke down and he has been invalided to England. So now the
healthy Rushbys are here and we don’t mean to let the place get us down. So don’t
The house consists of three very large and airy rooms with their doors opening
on to a wide front verandah which we shall use as a living room. There is also a wide
back verandah with a store room at one end and a bathroom at the other. Both
verandahs and the end windows of the house are screened my mosquito gauze wire
and further protected by a trellis work of heavy expanded metal. Hasmani, the Game
Scout, who has been acting as caretaker, tells me that the expanded metal is very
necessary because lions often come out of the bush at night and roam around the
house. Such a comforting thought!
On our very first evening we discovered how necessary the mosquito gauze is.
After sunset the air outside is thick with mosquitos from the swamps. About an acre of
land has been cleared around the house. This is a sandy waste because there is no
water laid on here and absolutely nothing grows here except a rather revolting milky
desert bush called ‘Manyara’, and a few acacia trees. A little way from the house there is
a patch of citrus trees, grape fruit, I think, but whether they ever bear fruit I don’t know.
The clearing is bordered on three sides by dense dusty thorn bush which is
‘lousy with buffalo’ according to George. The open side is the road which leads down to
George’s office and the huts for the Game Scouts. Only Hasmani and George’s orderly
Juma and their wives and families live there, and the other huts provide shelter for the
Game Scouts from the bush who come to Nzassa to collect their pay and for a short
rest. I can see that my daily walk will always be the same, down the road to the huts and
back! However I don’t mind because it is far too hot to take much exercise.
The climate here is really tropical and worse than on the coast because the thick
bush cuts us off from any sea breeze. George says it will be cooler when the rains start
but just now we literally drip all day. Kate wears nothing but a cotton sun suit, and Johnny
a napkin only, but still their little bodies are always moist. I have shorn off all Kate’s lovely
shoulder length curls and got George to cut my hair very short too.
We simply must buy a refrigerator. The butter, and even the cheese we bought
in Dar. simply melted into pools of oil overnight, and all our meat went bad, so we are
living out of tins. However once we get organised I shall be quite happy here. I like this
spacious house and I have good servants. The cook, Hamisi Issa, is a Swahili from Lindi
whom we engaged in Dar es Salaam. He is a very dignified person, and like most
devout Mohammedan Cooks, keeps both his person and the kitchen spotless. I
engaged the house boy here. He is rather a timid little body but is very willing and quite
capable. He has an excessively plain but cheerful wife whom I have taken on as ayah. I
do not really need help with the children but feel I must have a woman around just in
case I go down with malaria when George is away on safari.
Nzassa 28th February 1939.
George’s birthday and we had a special tea party this afternoon which the
children much enjoyed. We have our frig now so I am able to make jellies and provide
them with really cool drinks.
Our very first visitor left this morning after spending only one night here. He is Mr
Ionides, the Game Ranger from the Southern Province. He acted as stand in here for a
short while after George’s predecessor left for England on sick leave, and where he has
since died. Mr Ionides returned here to hand over the range and office formally to
George. He seems a strange man and is from all accounts a bit of a hermit. He was at
one time an Officer in the Regular Army but does not look like a soldier, he wears the
most extraordinary clothes but nevertheless contrives to look top-drawer. He was
educated at Rugby and Sandhurst and is, I should say, well read. Ionides told us that he
hated Nzassa, particularly the house which he thinks sinister and says he always slept
down in the office.
The house, or at least one bedroom, seems to have the same effect on Kate.
She has been very nervous at night ever since we arrived. At first the children occupied
the bedroom which is now George’s. One night, soon after our arrival, Kate woke up
screaming to say that ‘something’ had looked at her through the mosquito net. She was
in such a hysterical state that inspite of the heat and discomfort I was obliged to crawl into
her little bed with her and remained there for the rest of the night.
Next night I left a night lamp burning but even so I had to sit by her bed until she
dropped off to sleep. Again I was awakened by ear-splitting screams and this time
found Kate standing rigid on her bed. I lifted her out and carried her to a chair meaning to
comfort her but she screeched louder than ever, “Look Mummy it’s under the bed. It’s
looking at us.” In vain I pointed out that there was nothing at all there. By this time
George had joined us and he carried Kate off to his bed in the other room whilst I got into
Kate’s bed thinking she might have been frightened by a rat which might also disturb
Next morning our houseboy remarked that he had heard Kate screaming in the
night from his room behind the kitchen. I explained what had happened and he must
have told the old Scout Hasmani who waylaid me that afternoon and informed me quite
seriously that that particular room was haunted by a ‘sheitani’ (devil) who hates children.
He told me that whilst he was acting as caretaker before our arrival he one night had his
wife and small daughter in the room to keep him company. He said that his small
daughter woke up and screamed exactly as Kate had done! Silly coincidence I
suppose, but such strange things happen in Africa that I decided to move the children
into our room and George sleeps in solitary state in the haunted room! Kate now sleeps
peacefully once she goes to sleep but I have to stay with her until she does.
I like this house and it does not seem at all sinister to me. As I mentioned before,
the rooms are high ceilinged and airy, and have cool cement floors. We have made one
end of the enclosed verandah into the living room and the other end is the playroom for
the children. The space in between is a sort of no-mans land taken over by the dogs as
their special territory.
Nzassa 25th March 1939.
George is on safari down in the Rufigi River area. He is away for about three
weeks in the month on this job. I do hate to see him go and just manage to tick over until
he comes back. But what fun and excitement when he does come home.
Usually he returns after dark by which time the children are in bed and I have
settled down on the verandah with a book. The first warning is usually given by the
dogs, Fanny and her son Paddy. They stir, sit up, look at each other and then go and sit
side by side by the door with their noses practically pressed to the mosquito gauze and
ears pricked. Soon I can hear the hum of the car, and so can Hasmani, the old Game
Scout who sleeps on the back verandah with rifle and ammunition by his side when
George is away. When he hears the car he turns up his lamp and hurries out to rouse
Juma, the houseboy. Juma pokes up the fire and prepares tea which George always
drinks whist a hot meal is being prepared. In the meantime I hurriedly comb my hair and
powder my nose so that when the car stops I am ready to rush out and welcome
George home. The boy and Hasmani and the garden boy appear to help with the
luggage and to greet George and the cook, who always accompanies George on
Safari. The home coming is always a lively time with much shouting of greetings.
‘Jambo’, and ‘Habari ya safari’, whilst the dogs, beside themselves with excitement,
rush around like lunatics.
As though his return were not happiness enough, George usually collects the
mail on his way home so there is news of Ann and young George and letters from you
and bundles of newspapers and magazines. On the day following his return home,
George has to deal with official mail in the office but if the following day is a weekday we
all, the house servants as well as ourselves, pile into the boxbody and go to Dar es
Salaam. To us this means a mornings shopping followed by an afternoon on the beach.
It is a bit cooler now that the rains are on but still very humid. Kate keeps chubby
and rosy in spite of the climate but Johnny is too pale though sturdy enough. He is such
a good baby which is just as well because Kate is a very demanding little girl though
sunny tempered and sweet. I appreciate her company very much when George is
away because we are so far off the beaten track that no one ever calls.
Nzassa 28th April 1939.
You all seem to wonder how I can stand the loneliness and monotony of living at
Nzassa when George is on safari, but really and truly I do not mind. Hamisi the cook
always goes on safari with George and then the houseboy Juma takes over the cooking
and I do the lighter housework. the children are great company during the day, and when
they are settled for the night I sit on the verandah and read or write letters or I just dream.
The verandah is entirely enclosed with both wire mosquito gauze and a trellis
work of heavy expanded metal, so I am safe from all intruders be they human, animal, or
insect. Outside the air is alive with mosquitos and the cicadas keep up their monotonous
singing all night long. My only companions on the verandah are the pale ghecco lizards
on the wall and the two dogs. Fanny the white bull terrier, lies always near my feet
dozing happily, but her son Paddy, who is half Airedale has a less phlegmatic
disposition. He sits alert and on guard by the metal trellis work door. Often a lion grunts
from the surrounding bush and then his hackles rise and he stands up stiffly with his nose
pressed to the door. Old Hasmani from his bedroll on the back verandah, gives a little
cough just to show he is awake. Sometimes the lions are very close and then I hear the
click of a rifle bolt as Hasmani loads his rifle – but this is usually much later at night when
the lights are out. One morning I saw large pug marks between the wall of my bedroom
and the garage but I do not fear lions like I did that beastly leopard on the farm.
A great deal of witchcraft is still practiced in the bush villages in the
neighbourhood. I must tell you about old Hasmani’s baby in connection with this. Last
week Hasmani came to me in great distress to say that his baby was ‘Ngongwa sana ‘
(very ill) and he thought it would die. I hurried down to the Game Scouts quarters to see
whether I could do anything for the child and found the mother squatting in the sun
outside her hut with the baby on her lap. The mother was a young woman but not an
attractive one. She appeared sullen and indifferent compared with old Hasmani who
was very distressed. The child was very feverish and breathing with difficulty and
seemed to me to be suffering from bronchitis if not pneumonia. I rubbed his back and
chest with camphorated oil and dosed him with aspirin and liquid quinine. I repeated the
treatment every four hours, but next day there was no apparent improvement.
In the afternoon Hasmani begged me to give him that night off duty and asked for
a loan of ten shillings. He explained to me that it seemed to him that the white man’s
medicine had failed to cure his child and now he wished to take the child to the local witch
doctor. “For ten shillings” said Hasmani, “the Maganga will drive the devil out of my
child.” “How?” asked I. “With drums”, said Hasmani confidently. I did not know what to
do. I thought the child was too ill to be exposed to the night air, yet I knew that if I
refused his request and the child were to die, Hasmani and all the other locals would hold
me responsible. I very reluctantly granted his request. I was so troubled by the matter
that I sent for George’s office clerk. Daniel, and asked him to accompany Hasmani to the
ceremony and to report to me the next morning. It started to rain after dark and all night
long I lay awake in bed listening to the drums and the light rain. Next morning when I
went out to the kitchen to order breakfast I found a beaming Hasmani awaiting me.
“Memsahib”, he said. “My child is well, the fever is now quite gone, the Maganga drove
out the devil just as I told you.” Believe it or not, when I hurried to his quarters after
breakfast I found the mother suckling a perfectly healthy child! It may be my imagination
but I thought the mother looked pretty smug.The clerk Daniel told me that after Hasmani
had presented gifts of money and food to the ‘Maganga’, the naked baby was placed
on a goat skin near the drums. Most of the time he just lay there but sometimes the witch
doctor picked him up and danced with the child in his arms. Daniel seemed reluctant to
talk about it. Whatever mumbo jumbo was used all this happened a week ago and the
baby has never looked back.
Nzassa 3rd July 1939.
Did I tell you that one of George’s Game Scouts was murdered last month in the
Maneromango area towards the Rufigi border. He was on routine patrol, with a porter
carrying his bedding and food, when they suddenly came across a group of African
hunters who were busy cutting up a giraffe which they had just killed. These hunters were
all armed with muzzle loaders, spears and pangas, but as it is illegal to kill giraffe without
a permit, the Scout went up to the group to take their names. Some argument ensued
and the Scout was stabbed.
The District Officer went to the area to investigate and decided to call in the Police
from Dar es Salaam. A party of police went out to search for the murderers but after
some days returned without making any arrests. George was on an elephant control
safari in the Bagamoyo District and on his return through Dar es Salaam he heard of the
murder. George was furious and distressed to hear the news and called in here for an
hour on his way to Maneromango to search for the murderers himself.
After a great deal of strenuous investigation he arrested three poachers, put them
in jail for the night at Maneromango and then brought them to Dar es Salaam where they
are all now behind bars. George will now have to prosecute in the Magistrate’s Court
and try and ‘make a case’ so that the prisoners may be committed to the High Court to
be tried for murder. George is convinced of their guilt and justifiably proud to have
succeeded where the police failed.
George had to borrow handcuffs for the prisoners from the Chief at
Maneromango and these he brought back to Nzassa after delivering the prisoners to
Dar es Salaam so that he may return them to the Chief when he revisits the area next
I had not seen handcuffs before and picked up a pair to examine them. I said to
George, engrossed in ‘The Times’, “I bet if you were arrested they’d never get
handcuffs on your wrist. Not these anyway, they look too small.” “Standard pattern,”
said George still concentrating on the newspaper, but extending an enormous relaxed
left wrist. So, my dears, I put a bracelet round his wrist and as there was a wide gap I
gave a hard squeeze with both hands. There was a sharp click as the handcuff engaged
in the first notch. George dropped the paper and said, “Now you’ve done it, my love,
one set of keys are in the Dar es Salaam Police Station, and the others with the Chief at
Maneromango.” You can imagine how utterly silly I felt but George was an angel about it
and said as he would have to go to Dar es Salaam we might as well all go.
So we all piled into the car, George, the children and I in the front, and the cook
and houseboy, immaculate in snowy khanzus and embroidered white caps, a Game
Scout and the ayah in the back. George never once complain of the discomfort of the
handcuff but I was uncomfortably aware that it was much too tight because his arm
above the cuff looked red and swollen and the hand unnaturally pale. As the road is so
bad George had to use both hands on the wheel and all the time the dangling handcuff
clanked against the dashboard in an accusing way.
We drove straight to the Police Station and I could hear the roars of laughter as
George explained his predicament. Later I had to put up with a good deal of chaffing
and congratulations upon putting the handcuffs on George.
Nzassa 5th August 1939
George made a point of being here for Kate’s fourth birthday last week. Just
because our children have no playmates George and I always do all we can to make
birthdays very special occasions. We went to Dar es Salaam the day before the
birthday and bought Kate a very sturdy tricycle with which she is absolutely delighted.
You will be glad to know that your parcels arrived just in time and Kate loved all your
gifts especially the little shop from Dad with all the miniature tins and packets of
groceries. The tea set was also a great success and is much in use.
We had a lively party which ended with George and me singing ‘Happy
Birthday to you’, and ended with a wild game with balloons. Kate wore her frilly white net
party frock and looked so pretty that it seemed a shame that there was no one but us to
see her. Anyway it was a good party. I wish so much that you could see the children.
Kate keeps rosy and has not yet had malaria. Johnny Jo is sturdy but pale. He
runs a temperature now and again but I am not sure whether this is due to teething or
malaria. Both children of course take quinine every day as George and I do. George
quite frequently has malaria in spite of prophylactic quinine but this is not surprising as he
got the germ thoroughly established in his system in his early elephant hunting days. I
get it too occasionally but have not been really ill since that first time a month after my
arrival in the country.
Johnny is such a good baby. His chief claim to beauty is his head of soft golden
curls but these are due to come off on his first birthday as George considers them too
girlish. George left on safari the day after the party and the very next morning our wood
boy had a most unfortunate accident. He was chopping a rather tough log when a chip
flew up and split his upper lip clean through from mouth to nostril exposing teeth and
gums. A truly horrible sight and very bloody. I cleaned up the wound as best I could
and sent him off to the hospital at Dar es Salaam on the office bicycle. He wobbled
away wretchedly down the road with a white cloth tied over his mouth to keep off the
dust. He returned next day with his lip stitched and very swollen and bearing a
resemblance to my lip that time I used the hair remover.
Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939
So now another war has started and it has disrupted even our lives. We have left
Nzassa for good. George is now a Lieutenant in the King’s African Rifles and the children
and I are to go to a place called Morogoro to await further developments.
I was glad to read in today’s paper that South Africa has declared war on
Germany. I would have felt pretty small otherwise in this hotel which is crammed full of
men who have been called up for service in the Army. George seems exhilarated by
the prospect of active service. He is bursting out of his uniform ( at the shoulders only!)
and all too ready for the fray.
The war came as a complete surprise to me stuck out in the bush as I was without
wireless or mail. George had been away for a fortnight so you can imagine how
surprised I was when a messenger arrived on a bicycle with a note from George. The
note informed me that war had been declared and that George, as a Reserve Officer in
the KAR had been called up. I was to start packing immediately and be ready by noon
next day when George would arrive with a lorry for our goods and chattels. I started to
pack immediately with the help of the houseboy and by the time George arrived with
the lorry only the frig remained to be packed and this was soon done.
Throughout the morning Game Scouts had been arriving from outlying parts of
the District. I don’t think they had the least idea where they were supposed to go or
whom they were to fight but were ready to fight anybody, anywhere, with George.
They all looked very smart in well pressed uniforms hung about with water bottles and
ammunition pouches. The large buffalo badge on their round pill box hats absolutely
glittered with polish. All of course carried rifles and when George arrived they all lined up
and they looked most impressive. I took some snaps but unfortunately it was drizzling
and they may not come out well.
We left Nzassa without a backward glance. We were pretty fed up with it by
then. The children and I are spending a few days here with George but our luggage, the
dogs, and the houseboys have already left by train for Morogoro where a small house
has been found for the children and me.
George tells me that all the German males in this Territory were interned without a
hitch. The whole affair must have been very well organised. In every town and
settlement special constables were sworn in to do the job. It must have been a rather
unpleasant one but seems to have gone without incident. There is a big transit camp
here at Dar for the German men. Later they are to be sent out of the country, possibly to
The Indian tailors in the town are all terribly busy making Army uniforms, shorts
and tunics in khaki drill. George swears that they have muddled their orders and he has
been given the wrong things. Certainly the tunic is far too tight. His hat, a khaki slouch hat
like you saw the Australians wearing in the last war, is also too small though it is the
largest they have in stock. We had a laugh over his other equipment which includes a
small canvas haversack and a whistle on a black cord. George says he feels like he is
back in his Boy Scouting boyhood.
George has just come in to say the we will be leaving for Morogoro tomorrow
Morogoro 14th September 1939
Morogoro is a complete change from Nzassa. This is a large and sprawling
township. The native town and all the shops are down on the flat land by the railway but
all the European houses are away up the slope of the high Uluguru Mountains.
Morogoro was a flourishing town in the German days and all the streets are lined with
trees for coolness as is the case in other German towns. These trees are the flamboyant
acacia which has an umbrella top and throws a wide but light shade.
Most of the houses have large gardens so they cover a considerable area and it
is quite a safari for me to visit friends on foot as our house is on the edge of this area and
the furthest away from the town. Here ones house is in accordance with ones seniority in
Government service. Ours is a simple affair, just three lofty square rooms opening on to
a wide enclosed verandah. Mosquitoes are bad here so all doors and windows are
screened and we will have to carry on with our daily doses of quinine.
George came up to Morogoro with us on the train. This was fortunate because I
went down with a sharp attack of malaria at the hotel on the afternoon of our departure
from Dar es Salaam. George’s drastic cure of vast doses of quinine, a pillow over my
head, and the bed heaped with blankets soon brought down the temperature so I was
fit enough to board the train but felt pretty poorly on the trip. However next day I felt
much better which was a good thing as George had to return to Dar es Salaam after two
days. His train left late at night so I did not see him off but said good-bye at home
feeling dreadful but trying to keep the traditional stiff upper lip of the wife seeing her
husband off to the wars. He hopes to go off to Abyssinia but wrote from Dar es Salaam
to say that he is being sent down to Rhodesia by road via Mbeya to escort the first
detachment of Rhodesian white troops.
First he will have to select suitable camping sites for night stops and arrange for
supplies of food. I am very pleased as it means he will be safe for a while anyway. We
are both worried about Ann and George in England and wonder if it would be safer to
have them sent out.
Morogoro 4th November 1939
My big news is that George has been released from the Army. He is very
indignant and disappointed because he hoped to go to Abyssinia but I am terribly,
terribly glad. The Chief Secretary wrote a very nice letter to George pointing out that he
would be doing a greater service to his country by his work of elephant control, giving
crop protection during the war years when foodstuffs are such a vital necessity, than by
doing a soldiers job. The Government plan to start a huge rice scheme in the Rufiji area,
and want George to control the elephant and hippo there. First of all though. he must go
to the Southern Highlands Province where there is another outbreak of Rinderpest, to
shoot out diseased game especially buffalo, which might spread the disease.
So off we go again on our travels but this time we are leaving the two dogs
behind in the care of Daniel, the Game Clerk. Fanny is very pregnant and I hate leaving
her behind but the clerk has promised to look after her well. We are taking Hamisi, our
dignified Swahili cook and the houseboy Juma and his wife whom we brought with us
from Nzassa. The boy is not very good but his wife makes a cheerful and placid ayah
and adores Johnny.
Iringa 8th December 1939
The children and I are staying in a small German house leased from the
Custodian of Enemy Property. I can’t help feeling sorry for the owners who must be in
concentration camps somewhere.George is away in the bush dealing with the
Rinderpest emergency and the cook has gone with him. Now I have sent the houseboy
and the ayah away too. Two days ago my houseboy came and told me that he felt
very ill and asked me to write a ‘chit’ to the Indian Doctor. In the note I asked the Doctor
to let me know the nature of his complaint and to my horror I got a note from him to say
that the houseboy had a bad case of Venereal Disease. Was I horrified! I took it for
granted that his wife must be infected too and told them both that they would have to
return to their home in Nzassa. The boy shouted and the ayah wept but I paid them in
lieu of notice and gave them money for the journey home. So there I was left servant
less with firewood to chop, a smokey wood burning stove to control, and of course, the
To add to my troubles Johnny had a temperature so I sent for the European
Doctor. He diagnosed malaria and was astonished at the size of Johnny’s spleen. He
said that he must have had suppressed malaria over a long period and the poor child
must now be fed maximum doses of quinine for a long time. The Doctor is a fatherly
soul, he has been recalled from retirement to do this job as so many of the young
doctors have been called up for service with the army.
I told him about my houseboy’s complaint and the way I had sent him off
immediately, and he was very amused at my haste, saying that it is most unlikely that
they would have passed the disease onto their employers. Anyway I hated the idea. I
mean to engage a houseboy locally, but will do without an ayah until we return to
Morogoro in February.
Something happened today to cheer me up. A telegram came from Daniel which
read, “FLANNEL HAS FIVE CUBS.”
Morogoro 10th March 1940
We are having very heavy rain and the countryside is a most beautiful green. In
spite of the weather George is away on safari though it must be very wet and
unpleasant. He does work so hard at his elephant hunting job and has got very thin. I
suppose this is partly due to those stomach pains he gets and the doctors don’t seem
to diagnose the trouble.
Living in Morogoro is much like living in a country town in South Africa, particularly
as there are several South African women here. I go out quite often to morning teas. We
all take our war effort knitting, and natter, and are completely suburban.
I sometimes go and see an elderly couple who have been interred here. They
are cold shouldered by almost everyone else but I cannot help feeling sorry for them.
Usually I go by invitation because I know Mrs Ruppel prefers to be prepared and
always has sandwiches and cake. They both speak English but not fluently and
conversation is confined to talking about my children and theirs. Their two sons were
students in Germany when war broke out but are now of course in the German Army.
Such nice looking chaps from their photographs but I suppose thorough Nazis. As our
conversation is limited I usually ask to hear a gramophone record or two. They have a
Janet, the ayah whom I engaged at Mbeya, is proving a great treasure. She is a
trained hospital ayah and is most dependable and capable. She is, perhaps, a little strict
but the great thing is that I can trust her with the children out of my sight.
Last week I went out at night for the first time without George. The occasion was
a farewell sundowner given by the Commissioner of Prisoners and his wife. I was driven
home by the District Officer and he stopped his car by the back door in a large puddle.
Ayah came to the back door, storm lamp in hand, to greet me. My escort prepared to
drive off but the car stuck. I thought a push from me might help, so without informing the
driver, I pushed as hard as I could on the back of the car. Unfortunately the driver
decided on other tactics. He put the engine in reverse and I was knocked flat on my back
in the puddle. The car drove forward and away without the driver having the least idea of
what happened. The ayah was in quite a state, lifting me up and scolding me for my
stupidity as though I were Kate. I was a bit shaken but non the worse and will know
better next time.
Morogoro 14th July 1940
How good it was of Dad to send that cable to Mother offering to have Ann and
George to live with you if they are accepted for inclusion in the list of children to be
evacuated to South Africa. It would be wonderful to know that they are safely out of the
war zone and so much nearer to us but I do dread the thought of the long sea voyage
particularly since we heard the news of the sinking of that liner carrying child evacuees to
Canada. I worry about them so much particularly as George is so often away on safari.
He is so comforting and calm and I feel brave and confident when he is home.
We have had no news from England for five weeks but, when she last wrote,
mother said the children were very well and that she was sure they would be safe in the
country with her.
Kate and John are growing fast. Kate is such a pretty little girl, rosy in spite of the
rather trying climate. I have allowed her hair to grow again and it hangs on her shoulders
in shiny waves. John is a more slightly built little boy than young George was, and quite
different in looks. He has Dad’s high forehead and cleft chin, widely spaced brown eyes
that are not so dark as mine and hair that is still fair and curly though ayah likes to smooth it
down with water every time she dresses him. He is a shy child, and although he plays
happily with Kate, he does not care to play with other children who go in the late
afternoons to a lawn by the old German ‘boma’.
Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves
to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go
too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea
and always calls Janet “John’s ayah”. One morning I went to a knitting session at a
neighbours house. We are all knitting madly for the troops. As there were several other
women in the lounge and no other children, I installed Kate in the dining room with a
colouring book and crayons. My hostess’ black dog was chained to the dining room
table leg, but as he and Kate are on friendly terms I was not bothered by this.
Some time afterwards, during a lull in conversation, I heard a strange drumming
noise coming from the dining room. I went quickly to investigate and, to my horror, found
Kate lying on her back with the dog chain looped around her neck. The frightened dog
was straining away from her as far as he could get and the chain was pulled so tightly
around her throat that she could not scream. The drumming noise came from her heels
kicking in a panic on the carpet.
Even now I do not know how Kate got herself into this predicament. Luckily no
great harm was done but I think I shall do my knitting at home in future.
Morogoro 16th November 1940
I much prefer our little house on the hillside to the larger one we had down below.
The only disadvantage is that the garden is on three levels and both children have had
some tumbles down the steps on the tricycle. John is an extremely stoical child. He
never cries when he hurts himself.
I think I have mentioned ‘Morningside’ before. It is a kind of Resthouse high up in
the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro. Jess Howe-Browne, who runs the large
house as a Guest House, is a wonderful woman. Besides running the boarding house
she also grows vegetables, flowers and fruit for sale in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam.
Her guests are usually women and children from Dar es Salaam who come in the hot
season to escape the humidity on the coast. Often the mothers leave their children for
long periods in Jess Howe-Browne’s care. There is a road of sorts up the mountain side
to Morningside, but this is so bad that cars do not attempt it and guests are carried up
the mountain in wicker chairs lashed to poles. Four men carry an adult, and two a child,
and there are of course always spare bearers and they work in shifts.
Last week the children and I went to Morningside for the day as guests. John
rode on my lap in one chair and Kate in a small chair on her own. This did not please
Kate at all. The poles are carried on the bearers shoulders and one is perched quite high.
The motion is a peculiar rocking one. The bearers chant as they go and do not seem
worried by shortness of breath! They are all hillmen of course and are, I suppose, used
to trotting up and down to the town.
Morningside is well worth visiting and we spent a delightful day there. The fresh
cool air is a great change from the heavy air of the valley. A river rushes down the
mountain in a series of cascades, and the gardens are shady and beautiful. Behind the
property is a thick indigenous forest which stretches from Morningside to the top of the
mountain. The house is an old German one, rather in need of repair, but Jess has made
it comfortable and attractive, with some of her old family treasures including a fine old
Grandfather clock. We had a wonderful lunch which included large fresh strawberries and
cream. We made the return journey again in the basket chairs and got home before dark.
George returned home at the weekend with a baby elephant whom we have
called Winnie. She was rescued from a mud hole by some African villagers and, as her
mother had abandoned her, they took her home and George was informed. He went in
the truck to fetch her having first made arrangements to have her housed in a shed on the
Agriculture Department Experimental Farm here. He has written to the Game Dept
Headquarters to inform the Game Warden and I do not know what her future will be, but
in the meantime she is our pet. George is afraid she will not survive because she has
had a very trying time. She stands about waist high and is a delightful creature and quite
docile. Asian and African children as well as Europeans gather to watch her and George
encourages them to bring fruit for her – especially pawpaws which she loves.
Whilst we were there yesterday one of the local ladies came, very smartly
dressed in a linen frock, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. She watched fascinated
whilst Winnie neatly split a pawpaw and removed the seeds with her trunk, before
scooping out the pulp and putting it in her mouth. It was a particularly nice ripe pawpaw
and Winnie enjoyed it so much that she stretched out her trunk for more. The lady took
fright and started to run with Winnie after her, sticky trunk outstretched. Quite an
entertaining sight. George managed to stop Winnie but not before she had left a gooey
smear down the back of the immaculate frock.
Eleanor.February 2, 2022 at 11:53 am #6265
From Tanganyika with Love
continued ~ part 6
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Mchewe 6th June 1937
Home again! We had an uneventful journey. Kate was as good as gold all the
way. We stopped for an hour at Bulawayo where we had to change trains but
everything was simplified for me by a very pleasant man whose wife shared my
compartment. Not only did he see me through customs but he installed us in our new
train and his wife turned up to see us off with magazines for me and fruit and sweets for
Kate. Very, very kind, don’t you think?
Kate and I shared the compartment with a very pretty and gentle girl called
Clarice Simpson. She was very worried and upset because she was going home to
Broken Hill in response to a telegram informing her that her young husband was
dangerously ill from Blackwater Fever. She was very helpful with Kate whose
cheerfulness helped Clarice, I think, though I, quite unintentionally was the biggest help
at the end of our journey. Remember the partial dentures I had had made just before
leaving Cape Town? I know I shall never get used to the ghastly things, I’ve had them
two weeks now and they still wobble. Well this day I took them out and wrapped them
in a handkerchief, but when we were packing up to leave the train I could find the
handkerchief but no teeth! We searched high and low until the train had slowed down to
enter Broken Hill station. Then Clarice, lying flat on the floor, spied the teeth in the dark
corner under the bottom bunk. With much stretching she managed to retrieve the
dentures covered in grime and fluff. My look of horror, when I saw them, made young
Clarice laugh. She was met at the station by a very grave elderly couple. I do wonder
how things turned out for her.
I stayed overnight with Kate at the Great Northern Hotel, and we set off for
Mbeya by plane early in the morning. One of our fellow passengers was a young
mother with a three week old baby. How ideas have changed since Ann was born. This
time we had a smooth passage and I was the only passenger to get airsick. Although
there were other women passengers it was a man once again, who came up and
offered to help. Kate went off with him amiably and he entertained her until we touched
down at Mbeya.
George was there to meet us with a wonderful surprise, a little red two seater
Ford car. She is a bit battered and looks a bit odd because the boot has been
converted into a large wooden box for carrying raw salt, but she goes like the wind.
Where did George raise the cash to buy a car? Whilst we were away he found a small
cave full of bat guano near a large cave which is worked by a man called Bob Sargent.
As Sargent did not want any competition he bought the contents of the cave from
George giving him the small car as part payment.
It was lovely to return to our little home and find everything fresh and tidy and the
garden full of colour. But it was heartbreaking to go into the bedroom and see George’s
precious forgotten boots still standing by his empty bed.
With much love,
Mchewe 25th June 1937
Last Friday George took Kate and me in the little red Ford to visit Mr Sargent’s
camp on the Songwe River which cuts the Mbeya-Mbosi road. Mr Sargent bought
Hicky-Wood’s guano deposit and also our small cave and is making a good living out of
selling the bat guano to the coffee farmers in this province. George went to try to interest
him in a guano deposit near Kilwa in the Southern Province. Mr Sargent agreed to pay
25 pounds to cover the cost of the car trip and pegging costs. George will make the trip
to peg the claim and take samples for analysis. If the quality is sufficiently high, George
and Mr Sargent will go into partnership. George will work the claim and ship out the
guano from Kilwa which is on the coast of the Southern Province of Tanganyika. So now
we are busy building castles in the air once more.
On Saturday we went to Mbeya where George had to attend a meeting of the
Trout Association. In the afternoon he played in a cricket match so Kate and I spent the
whole day with the wife of the new Superintendent of Police. They have a very nice
new house with lawns and a sunken rose garden. Kate had a lovely romp with Kit, her
three year old son.
Mrs Wolten also has two daughters by a previous marriage. The elder girl said to
me, “Oh Mrs Rushby your husband is exactly like the strong silent type of man I
expected to see in Africa but he is the only one I have seen. I think he looks exactly like
those men in the ‘Barney’s Tobacco’ advertisements.”
I went home with a huge pile of magazines to keep me entertained whilst
George is away on the Kilwa trip.
Lots of love,
Mchewe 9th July 1937
George returned on Monday from his Kilwa safari. He had an entertaining
tale to tell.
Before he approached Mr Sargent about going shares in the Kilwa guano
deposit he first approached a man on the Lupa who had done very well out of a small
gold reef. This man, however said he was not interested so you can imagine how
indignant George was when he started on his long trip, to find himself being trailed by
this very man and a co-driver in a powerful Ford V8 truck. George stopped his car and
had some heated things to say – awful threats I imagine as to what would happen to
anyone who staked his claim. Then he climbed back into our ancient little two seater and
went off like a bullet driving all day and most of the night. As the others took turns in
driving you can imagine what a feat it was for George to arrive in Kilwa ahead of them.
When they drove into Kilwa he met them with a bright smile and a bit of bluff –
quite justifiable under the circumstances I think. He said, you chaps can have a rest now,
you’re too late.” He then whipped off and pegged the claim. he brought some samples
of guano back but until it has been analysed he will not know whether the guano will be
an economic proposition or not. George is not very hopeful. He says there is a good
deal of sand mixed with the guano and that much of it was damp.
The trip was pretty eventful for Kianda, our houseboy. The little two seater car
had been used by its previous owner for carting bags of course salt from his salt pans.
For this purpose the dicky seat behind the cab had been removed, and a kind of box
built into the boot of the car. George’s camp kit and provisions were packed into this
open box and Kianda perched on top to keep an eye on the belongings. George
travelled so fast on the rough road that at some point during the night Kianda was
bumped off in the middle of the Game Reserve. George did not notice that he was
missing until the next morning. He concluded, quite rightly as it happened, that Kianda
would be picked up by the rival truck so he continued his journey and Kianda rejoined
him at Kilwa.
Believe it or not, the same thing happened on the way back but fortunately this
time George noticed his absence. He stopped the car and had just started back on his
tracks when Kianda came running down the road still clutching the unlighted storm lamp
which he was holding in his hand when he fell. The glass was not even cracked.
We are finding it difficult just now to buy native chickens and eggs. There has
been an epidemic amongst the poultry and one hesitates to eat the survivors. I have a
brine tub in which I preserve our surplus meat but I need the chickens for soup.
I hope George will be home for some months. He has arranged to take a Mr
Blackburn, a wealthy fruit farmer from Elgin, Cape, on a hunting safari during September
and October and that should bring in some much needed cash. Lillian Eustace has
invited Kate and me to spend the whole of October with her in Tukuyu.
I am so glad that you so much enjoy having Ann and George with you. We miss
them dreadfully. Kate is a pretty little girl and such a little madam. You should hear the
imperious way in which she calls the kitchenboy for her meals. “Boy Brekkis, Boy Lunch,
and Boy Eggy!” are her three calls for the day. She knows no Ki-Swahili.
Mchewe 8th October 1937
I am rapidly becoming as superstitious as our African boys. They say the wild
animals always know when George is away from home and come down to have their
revenge on me because he has killed so many.
I am being besieged at night by a most beastly leopard with a half grown cub. I
have grown used to hearing leopards grunt as they hunt in the hills at night but never
before have I had one roaming around literally under the windows. It has been so hot at
night lately that I have been sleeping with my bedroom door open onto the verandah. I
felt quite safe because the natives hereabouts are law-abiding and in any case I always
have a boy armed with a club sleeping in the kitchen just ten yards away. As an added
precaution I also have a loaded .45 calibre revolver on my bedside table, and Fanny
our bullterrier, sleeps on the mat by my bed. I am also looking after Barney, a fine
Airedale dog belonging to the Costers. He slept on a mat by the open bedroom door
near a dimly burning storm lamp.
As usual I went to sleep with an easy mind on Monday night, but was awakened
in the early hours of Tuesday by the sound of a scuffle on the front verandah. The noise
was followed by a scream of pain from Barney. I jumped out of bed and, grabbing the
lamp with my left hand and the revolver in my right, I rushed outside just in time to see
two animal figures roll over the edge of the verandah into the garden below. There they
engaged in a terrific tug of war. Fortunately I was too concerned for Barney to be
nervous. I quickly fired two shots from the revolver, which incidentally makes a noise like
a cannon, and I must have startled the leopard for both animals, still locked together,
disappeared over the edge of the terrace. I fired two more shots and in a few moments
heard the leopard making a hurried exit through the dry leaves which lie thick under the
wild fig tree just beyond the terrace. A few seconds later Barney appeared on the low
terrace wall. I called his name but he made no move to come but stood with hanging
head. In desperation I rushed out, felt blood on my hands when I touched him, so I
picked him up bodily and carried him into the house. As I regained the verandah the boy
appeared, club in hand, having been roused by the shots. He quickly grasped what had
happened when he saw my blood saturated nightie. He fetched a bowl of water and a
clean towel whilst I examined Barney’s wounds. These were severe, the worst being a
gaping wound in his throat. I washed the gashes with a strong solution of pot permang
and I am glad to say they are healing remarkably well though they are bound to leave
scars. Fanny, very prudently, had taken no part in the fighting except for frenzied barking
which she kept up all night. The shots had of course wakened Kate but she seemed
more interested than alarmed and kept saying “Fanny bark bark, Mummy bang bang.
Poor Barney lots of blood.”
In the morning we inspected the tracks in the garden. There was a shallow furrow
on the terrace where Barney and the leopard had dragged each other to and fro and
claw marks on the trunk of the wild fig tree into which the leopard climbed after I fired the
shots. The affair was of course a drama after the Africans’ hearts and several of our
shamba boys called to see me next day to make sympathetic noises and discuss the
I went to bed early that night hoping that the leopard had been scared off for
good but I must confess I shut all windows and doors. Alas for my hopes of a restful
night. I had hardly turned down the lamp when the leopard started its terrifying grunting
just under the bedroom windows. If only she would sniff around quietly I should not
mind, but the noise is ghastly, something like the first sickening notes of a braying
donkey, amplified here by the hills and the gorge which is only a stones throw from the
bedroom. Barney was too sick to bark but Fanny barked loud enough for two and the more
frantic she became the hungrier the leopard sounded. Kate of course woke up and this
time she was frightened though I assured her that the noise was just a donkey having
fun. Neither of us slept until dawn when the leopard returned to the hills. When we
examined the tracks next morning we found that the leopard had been accompanied by
a fair sized cub and that together they had prowled around the house, kitchen, and out
houses, visiting especially the places to which the dogs had been during the day.
As I feel I cannot bear many more of these nights, I am sending a note to the
District Commissioner, Mbeya by the messenger who takes this letter to the post,
asking him to send a game scout or an armed policeman to deal with the leopard.
So don’t worry, for by the time this reaches you I feel sure this particular trouble
will be over.
Mchewe 17th October 1937
More about the leopard I fear! My messenger returned from Mbeya to say that
the District Officer was on safari so he had given the message to the Assistant District
Officer who also apparently left on safari later without bothering to reply to my note, so
there was nothing for me to do but to send for the village Nimrod and his muzzle loader
and offer him a reward if he could frighten away or kill the leopard.
The hunter, Laza, suggested that he should sleep at the house so I went to bed
early leaving Laza and his two pals to make themselves comfortable on the living room
floor by the fire. Laza was armed with a formidable looking muzzle loader, crammed I
imagine with nuts and bolts and old rusty nails. One of his pals had a spear and the other
a panga. This fellow was also in charge of the Petromax pressure lamp whose light was
hidden under a packing case. I left the campaign entirely to Laza’s direction.
As usual the leopard came at midnight stealing down from the direction of the
kitchen and announcing its presence and position with its usual ghastly grunts. Suddenly
pandemonium broke loose on the back verandah. I heard the roar of the muzzle loader
followed by a vigourous tattoo beaten on an empty paraffin tin and I rushed out hoping
to find the dead leopard. however nothing of the kind had happened except that the
noise must have scared the beast because she did not return again that night. Next
morning Laza solemnly informed me that, though he had shot many leopards in his day,
this was no ordinary leopard but a “sheitani” (devil) and that as his gun was no good
against witchcraft he thought he might as well retire from the hunt. Scared I bet, and I
don’t blame him either.
You can imagine my relief when a car rolled up that afternoon bringing Messers
Stewart and Griffiths, two farmers who live about 15 miles away, between here and
Mbeya. They had a note from the Assistant District Officer asking them to help me and
they had come to set up a trap gun in the garden. That night the leopard sniffed all
around the gun and I had the added strain of waiting for the bang and wondering what I
should do if the beast were only wounded. I conjured up horrible visions of the two little
totos trotting up the garden path with the early morning milk and being horribly mauled,
but I needn’t have worried because the leopard was far too wily to be caught that way.
Two more ghastly nights passed and then I had another visitor, a Dr Jackson of
the Tsetse Department on safari in the District. He listened sympathetically to my story
and left his shotgun and some SSG cartridges with me and instructed me to wait until the
leopard was pretty close and blow its b—– head off. It was good of him to leave his
gun. George always says there are three things a man should never lend, ‘His wife, his
gun and his dog.’ (I think in that order!)I felt quite cheered by Dr Jackson’s visit and sent
once again for Laza last night and arranged a real show down. In the afternoon I draped
heavy blankets over the living room windows to shut out the light of the pressure lamp
and the four of us, Laza and his two stooges and I waited up for the leopard. When we
guessed by her grunts that she was somewhere between the kitchen and the back door
we all rushed out, first the boy with the panga and the lamp, next Laza with his muzzle
loader, then me with the shotgun followed closely by the boy with the spear. What a
farce! The lamp was our undoing. We were blinded by the light and did not even
glimpse the leopard which made off with a derisive grunt. Laza said smugly that he knew
it was hopeless to try and now I feel tired and discouraged too.
This morning I sent a runner to Mbeya to order the hotel taxi for tomorrow and I
shall go to friends in Mbeya for a day or two and then on to Tukuyu where I shall stay
with the Eustaces until George returns from Safari.
Mchewe 18th November 1937
My darling Ann,
Here we are back in our own home and how lovely it is to have Daddy back from
safari. Thank you very much for your letter. I hope by now you have got mine telling you
how very much I liked the beautiful tray cloth you made for my birthday. I bet there are
not many little girls of five who can embroider as well as you do, darling. The boy,
Matafari, washes and irons it so carefully and it looks lovely on the tea tray.
Daddy and I had some fun last night. I was in bed and Daddy was undressing
when we heard a funny scratching noise on the roof. I thought it was the leopard. Daddy
quickly loaded his shotgun and ran outside. He had only his shirt on and he looked so
funny. I grabbed the loaded revolver from the cupboard and ran after Dad in my nightie
but after all the rush it was only your cat, Winnie, though I don’t know how she managed
to make such a noise. We felt so silly, we laughed and laughed.
Kate talks a lot now but in such a funny way you would laugh to her her. She
hears the houseboys call me Memsahib so sometimes instead of calling me Mummy
she calls me “Oompaab”. She calls the bedroom a ‘bippon’ and her little behind she
calls her ‘sittendump’. She loves to watch Mandawi’s cattle go home along the path
behind the kitchen. Joseph your donkey, always leads the cows. He has a lazy life now.
I am glad you had such fun on Guy Fawkes Day. You will be sad to leave
Plumstead but I am sure you will like going to England on the big ship with granny Kate.
I expect you will start school when you get to England and I am sure you will find that
God bless my dear little girl. Lots of love from Daddy and Kate,
Mchewe 18th November 1937
Hello George Darling,
Thank you for your lovely drawing of Daddy shooting an elephant. Daddy says
that the only thing is that you have drawn him a bit too handsome.
I went onto the verandah a few minutes ago to pick a banana for Kate from the
bunch hanging there and a big hornet flew out and stung my elbow! There are lots of
them around now and those stinging flies too. Kate wears thick corduroy dungarees so
that she will not get her fat little legs bitten. She is two years old now and is a real little
pickle. She loves running out in the rain so I have ordered a pair of red Wellingtons and a
tiny umbrella from a Nairobi shop for her Christmas present.
Fanny’s puppies have their eyes open now and have very sharp little teeth.
They love to nip each other. We are keeping the fiercest little one whom we call Paddy
but are giving the others to friends. The coffee bushes are full of lovely white flowers
and the bees and ants are very busy stealing their honey.
Yesterday a troop of baboons came down the hill and Dad shot a big one to
scare the others off. They are a nuisance because they steal the maize and potatoes
from the native shambas and then there is not enough food for the totos.
Dad and I are very proud of you for not making a fuss when you went to the
dentist to have that tooth out.
Bye bye, my fine little son.
Three bags full of love from Kate, Dad and Mummy.
Mchewe 12th February, 1938
here is some news that will please you. George has been offered and has
accepted a job as Forester at Mbulu in the Northern Province of Tanganyika. George
would have preferred a job as Game Ranger, but though the Game Warden, Philip
Teare, is most anxious to have him in the Game Department, there is no vacancy at
present. Anyway if one crops up later, George can always transfer from one
Government Department to another. Poor George, he hates the idea of taking a job. He
says that hitherto he has always been his own master and he detests the thought of
being pushed around by anyone.
Now however he has no choice. Our capitol is almost exhausted and the coffee
market shows no signs of improving. With three children and another on the way, he
feels he simply must have a fixed income. I shall be sad to leave this little farm. I love
our little home and we have been so very happy here, but my heart rejoices at the
thought of overseas leave every thirty months. Now we shall be able to fetch Ann and
George from England and in three years time we will all be together in Tanganyika once
There is no sale for farms so we will just shut the house and keep on a very small
labour force just to keep the farm from going derelict. We are eating our hens but will
take our two dogs, Fanny and Paddy with us.
One thing I shall be glad to leave is that leopard. She still comes grunting around
at night but not as badly as she did before. I do not mind at all when George is here but
until George was accepted for this forestry job I was afraid he might go back to the
Diggings and I should once more be left alone to be cursed by the leopard’s attentions.
Knowing how much I dreaded this George was most anxious to shoot the leopard and
for weeks he kept his shotgun and a powerful torch handy at night.
One night last week we woke to hear it grunting near the kitchen. We got up very
quietly and whilst George loaded the shotgun with SSG, I took the torch and got the
heavy revolver from the cupboard. We crept out onto the dark verandah where George
whispered to me to not switch on the torch until he had located the leopard. It was pitch
black outside so all he could do was listen intently. And then of course I spoilt all his
plans. I trod on the dog’s tin bowl and made a terrific clatter! George ordered me to
switch on the light but it was too late and the leopard vanished into the long grass of the
Kalonga, grunting derisively, or so it sounded.
She never comes into the clearing now but grunts from the hillside just above it.
Mbulu 18th March, 1938
Journeys end at last. here we are at Mbulu, installed in our new quarters which are
as different as they possibly could be from our own cosy little home at Mchewe. We
live now, my dears, in one wing of a sort of ‘Beau Geste’ fort but I’ll tell you more about
it in my next letter. We only arrived yesterday and have not had time to look around.
This letter will tell you just about our trip from Mbeya.
We left the farm in our little red Ford two seater with all our portable goods and
chattels plus two native servants and the two dogs. Before driving off, George took one
look at the flattened springs and declared that he would be surprised if we reached
Mbeya without a breakdown and that we would never make Mbulu with the car so
However luck was with us. We reached Mbeya without mishap and at one of the
local garages saw a sturdy used Ford V8 boxbody car for sale. The garage agreed to
take our small car as part payment and George drew on our little remaining capitol for the
rest. We spent that night in the house of the Forest Officer and next morning set out in
comfort for the Northern Province of Tanganyika.
I had done the journey from Dodoma to Mbeya seven years before so was
familiar with the scenery but the road was much improved and the old pole bridges had
been replaced by modern steel ones. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We
avoided hotels and camped by the road and she found this great fun.
The road beyond Dodoma was new to me and very interesting country, flat and
dry and dusty, as little rain falls there. The trees are mostly thorn trees but here and there
one sees a giant baobab, weird trees with fantastically thick trunks and fat squat branches
with meagre foliage. The inhabitants of this area I found interesting though. They are
called Wagogo and are a primitive people who ape the Masai in dress and customs
though they are much inferior to the Masai in physique. They are also great herders of
cattle which, rather surprisingly, appear to thrive in that dry area.
The scenery alters greatly as one nears Babati, which one approaches by a high
escarpment from which one has a wonderful view of the Rift Valley. Babati township
appears to be just a small group of Indian shops and shabby native houses, but I
believe there are some good farms in the area. Though the little township is squalid,
there is a beautiful lake and grand mountains to please the eye. We stopped only long
enough to fill up with petrol and buy some foodstuffs. Beyond Babati there is a tsetse
fly belt and George warned our two native servants to see that no tsetse flies settled on
We stopped for the night in a little rest house on the road about 80 miles from
Arusha where we were to spend a few days with the Forest Officer before going on to
Mbulu. I enjoyed this section of the road very much because it runs across wide plains
which are bounded on the West by the blue mountains of the Rift Valley wall. Here for
the first time I saw the Masai on their home ground guarding their vast herds of cattle. I
also saw their strange primitive hovels called Manyattas, with their thorn walled cattle
bomas and lots of plains game – giraffe, wildebeest, ostriches and antelope. Kate was
wildly excited and entranced with the game especially the giraffe which stood gazing
curiously and unafraid of us, often within a few yards of the road.
Finally we came across the greatest thrill of all, my first view of Mt Meru the extinct
volcano about 16,000 feet high which towers over Arusha township. The approach to
Arusha is through flourishing coffee plantations very different alas from our farm at Mchewe. George says that at Arusha coffee growing is still a paying proposition
because here the yield of berry per acre is much higher than in the Southern highlands
and here in the North the farmers have not such heavy transport costs as the railway runs
from Arusha to the port at Tanga.
We stayed overnight at a rather second rate hotel but the food was good and we
had hot baths and a good nights rest. Next day Tom Lewis the Forest Officer, fetched
us and we spent a few days camping in a tent in the Lewis’ garden having meals at their
home. Both Tom and Lillian Lewis were most friendly. Tom lewis explained to George
what his work in the Mbulu District was to be, and they took us camping in a Forest
Reserve where Lillian and her small son David and Kate and I had a lovely lazy time
amidst beautiful surroundings. Before we left for Mbulu, Lillian took me shopping to buy
material for curtains for our new home. She described the Forest House at Mbulu to me
and it sounded delightful but alas, when we reached Mbulu we discovered that the
Assistant District Officer had moved into the Forest House and we were directed to the
Fort or Boma. The night before we left Arusha for Mbulu it rained very heavily and the
road was very treacherous and slippery due to the surface being of ‘black cotton’ soil
which has the appearance and consistency of chocolate blancmange, after rain. To get to
Mbulu we had to drive back in the direction of Dodoma for some 70 miles and then turn
to the right and drive across plains to the Great Rift Valley Wall. The views from this
escarpment road which climbs this wall are magnificent. At one point one looks down
upon Lake Manyara with its brilliant white beaches of soda.
The drive was a most trying one for George. We had no chains for the wheels
and several times we stuck in the mud and our two houseboys had to put grass and
branches under the wheels to stop them from spinning. Quite early on in the afternoon
George gave up all hope of reaching Mbulu that day and planned to spend the night in
a little bush rest camp at Karatu. However at one point it looked as though we would not
even reach this resthouse for late afternoon found us properly bogged down in a mess
of mud at the bottom of a long and very steep hill. In spite of frantic efforts on the part of
George and the two boys, all now very wet and muddy, the heavy car remained stuck.
Suddenly five Masai men appeared through the bushes beside the road. They
were all tall and angular and rather terrifying looking to me. Each wore only a blanket
knotted over one shoulder and all were armed with spears. They lined up by the side of
the road and just looked – not hostile but simply aloof and supercilious. George greeted
them and said in Ki-Swahili, “Help to push and I will reward you.” But they said nothing,
just drawing back imperceptibly to register disgust at the mere idea of manual labour.
Their expressions said quite clearly “A Masai is a warrior and does not soil his hands.”
George then did something which startled them I think, as much as me. He
plucked their spears from their hands one by one and flung them into the back of the
boxbody. “Now push!” he said, “And when we are safely out of the mud you shall have
your spears back.” To my utter astonishment the Masai seemed to applaud George’s
action. I think they admire courage in a man more than anything else. They pushed with a
will and soon we were roaring up the long steep slope. “I can’t stop here” quoth George
as up and up we went. The Masai were in mad pursuit with their blankets streaming
behind. They took a very steep path which was a shortcut to the top. They are certainly
amazing athletes and reached the top at the same time as the car. Their route of course
was shorter but much more steep, yet they came up without any sign of fatigue to claim
their spears and the money which George handed out with a friendly grin. The Masai
took the whole episode in good heart and we parted on the most friendly terms.
After a rather chilly night in the three walled shack, we started on the last lap of our
journey yesterday morning in bright weather and made the trip to Mbulu without incident.
Mbulu 24th March, 1938
Mbulu is an attractive station but living in this rather romantic looking fort has many
disadvantages. Our quarters make up one side of the fort which is built up around a
hollow square. The buildings are single storied but very tall in the German manner and
there is a tower on one corner from which the Union Jack flies. The tower room is our
sitting room, and one has very fine views from the windows of the rolling country side.
However to reach this room one has to climb a steep flight of cement steps from the
court yard. Another disadvantage of this tower room is that there is a swarm of bees in
the roof and the stray ones drift down through holes in the ceiling and buzz angrily
against the window panes or fly around in a most menacing manner.
Ours are the only private quarters in the Fort. Two other sides of the Fort are
used as offices, storerooms and court room and the fourth side is simply a thick wall with
battlements and loopholes and a huge iron shod double door of enormous thickness
which is always barred at sunset when the flag is hauled down. Two Police Askari always
remain in the Fort on guard at night. The effect from outside the whitewashed fort is very
romantic but inside it is hardly homely and how I miss my garden at Mchewe and the
grass and trees.
We have no privacy downstairs because our windows overlook the bare
courtyard which is filled with Africans patiently waiting to be admitted to the courtroom as
witnesses or spectators. The outside windows which overlook the valley are heavily
barred. I can only think that the Germans who built this fort must have been very scared
of the local natives.
Our rooms are hardly cosy and are furnished with typical heavy German pieces.
We have a vast bleak bedroom, a dining room and an enormous gloomy kitchen in
which meals for the German garrison were cooked. At night this kitchen is alive with
gigantic rats but fortunately they do not seem to care for the other rooms. To crown
everything owls hoot and screech at night on the roof.
On our first day here I wandered outside the fort walls with Kate and came upon a
neatly fenced plot enclosing the graves of about fifteen South African soldiers killed by
the Germans in the 1914-18 war. I understand that at least one of theses soldiers died in
the courtyard here. The story goes, that during the period in the Great War when this fort
was occupied by a troop of South African Horse, a German named Siedtendorf
appeared at the great barred door at night and asked to speak to the officer in command
of the Troop. The officer complied with this request and the small shutter in the door was
opened so that he could speak with the German. The German, however, had not come
to speak. When he saw the exposed face of the officer, he fired, killing him, and
escaped into the dark night. I had this tale on good authority but cannot vouch for it. I do
know though, that there are two bullet holes in the door beside the shutter. An unhappy
story to think about when George is away, as he is now, and the moonlight throws queer
shadows in the court yard and the owls hoot.
However though I find our quarters depressing, I like Mbulu itself very much. It is
rolling country, treeless except for the plantations of the Forestry Dept. The land is very
fertile in the watered valleys but the grass on hills and plains is cropped to the roots by
the far too numerous cattle and goats. There are very few Europeans on the station, only
Mr Duncan, the District Officer, whose wife and children recently left for England, the
Assistant District Officer and his wife, a bachelor Veterinary Officer, a Road Foreman and
ourselves, and down in the village a German with an American wife and an elderly
Irishman whom I have not met. The Government officials have a communal vegetable
garden in the valley below the fort which keeps us well supplied with green stuff.
Most afternoons George, Kate and I go for walks after tea. On Fridays there is a
little ceremony here outside the fort. In the late afternoon a little procession of small
native schoolboys, headed by a drum and penny whistle band come marching up the
road to a tune which sounds like ‘Two lovely black eyes”. They form up below our tower
and as the flag is lowered for the day they play ‘God save the King’, and then march off
again. It is quite a cheerful little ceremony.
The local Africans are a skinny lot and, I should say, a poor tribe. They protect
themselves against the cold by wrapping themselves in cotton blankets or a strip of
unbleached sheeting. This they drape over their heads, almost covering their faces and
the rest is wrapped closely round their bodies in the manner of a shroud. A most
depressing fashion. They live in very primitive comfortless houses. They simply make a
hollow in the hillside and build a front wall of wattle and daub. Into this rude shelter at night
go cattle and goats, men, women, and children.
Mbulu village has the usual mud brick and wattle dukas and wattle and daub
houses. The chief trader is a Goan who keeps a surprisingly good variety of tinned
foodstuffs and also sells hardware and soft goods.
The Europeans here have been friendly but as you will have noted there are
only two other women on station and no children at all to be companions for Kate.
Mbulu 20th June 1938
Here we are on Safari with George at Babati where we are occupying a rest
house on the slopes of Ufiome Mountain. The slopes are a Forest Reserve and
George is supervising the clearing of firebreaks in preparation for the dry weather. He
goes off after a very early breakfast and returns home in the late afternoon so Kate and I
have long lazy days.
Babati is a pleasant spot and the resthouse is quite comfortable. It is about a mile
from the village which is just the usual collection of small mud brick and corrugated iron
Indian Dukas. There are a few settlers in the area growing coffee, or going in for mixed
farming but I don’t think they are doing very well. The farm adjoining the rest house is
owned by Lord Lovelace but is run by a manager.
George says he gets enough exercise clambering about all day on the mountain,
so Kate and I do our walking in the mornings when George is busy, and we all relax in
the evenings when George returns from his field work. Kate’s favourite walk is to the big
block of mtama (sorghum) shambas lower down the hill. There are huge swarms of tiny
grain eating birds around waiting the chance to plunder the mtama, so the crops are
watched from sunrise to sunset.
Crude observation platforms have been erected for this purpose in the centre of
each field and the women and the young boys of the family concerned, take it in turn to
occupy the platform and scare the birds. Each watcher has a sling and uses clods of
earth for ammunition. The clod is placed in the centre of the sling which is then whirled
around at arms length. Suddenly one end of the sling is released and the clod of earth
flies out and shatters against the mtama stalks. The sling makes a loud whip like crack and
the noise is quite startling and very effective in keeping the birds at a safe distance.
Karatu 3rd July 1938
Still on safari you see! We left Babati ten days ago and passed through Mbulu
on our way to this spot. We slept out of doors one night beside Lake Tiawa about eight
miles from Mbulu. It was a peaceful spot and we enjoyed watching the reflection of the
sunset on the lake and the waterhens and duck and pelicans settling down for the night.
However it turned piercingly cold after sunset so we had an early supper and then all
three of us lay down to sleep in the back of the boxbody (station wagon). It was a tight
fit and a real case of ‘When Dad turns, we all turn.’
Here at Karatu we are living in a grass hut with only three walls. It is rather sweet
and looks like the setting for a Nativity Play. Kate and I share the only camp bed and
George and the dogs sleep on the floor. The air here is very fresh and exhilarating and
we all feel very fit. George is occupied all day supervising the cutting of firebreaks
around existing plantations and the forest reserve of indigenous trees. Our camp is on
the hillside and below us lie the fertile wheat lands of European farmers.
They are mostly Afrikaners, the descendants of the Boer families who were
invited by the Germans to settle here after the Boer War. Most of them are pro-British
now and a few have called in here to chat to George about big game hunting. George
gets on extremely well with them and recently attended a wedding where he had a
lively time dancing at the reception. He likes the older people best as most are great
individualists. One fine old man, surnamed von Rooyen, visited our camp. He is a Boer
of the General Smuts type with spare figure and bearded face. George tells me he is a
real patriarch with an enormous family – mainly sons. This old farmer fought against the
British throughout the Boer War under General Smuts and again against the British in the
German East Africa campaign when he was a scout and right hand man to Von Lettow. It
is said that Von Lettow was able to stay in the field until the end of the Great War
because he listened to the advise given to him by von Rooyen. However his dislike for
the British does not extend to George as they have a mutual interest in big game
Kate loves being on safari. She is now so accustomed to having me as her nurse
and constant companion that I do not know how she will react to paid help. I shall have to
get someone to look after her during my confinement in the little German Red Cross
hospital at Oldeani.
George has obtained permission from the District Commissioner, for Kate and
me to occupy the Government Rest House at Oldeani from the end of July until the end
of August when my baby is due. He will have to carry on with his field work but will join
us at weekends whenever possible.
Karatu 12th July 1938
Not long now before we leave this camp. We have greatly enjoyed our stay
here in spite of the very chilly earl mornings and the nights when we sit around in heavy
overcoats until our early bed time.
Last Sunday I persuaded George to take Kate and me to the famous Ngoro-
Ngoro Crater. He was not very keen to do so because the road is very bumpy for
anyone in my interesting condition but I feel so fit that I was most anxious to take this
opportunity of seeing the enormous crater. We may never be in this vicinity again and in
any case safari will not be so simple with a small baby.
What a wonderful trip it was! The road winds up a steep escarpment from which
one gets a glorious birds eye view of the plains of the Great Rift Valley far, far below.
The crater is immense. There is a road which skirts the rim in places and one has quite
startling views of the floor of the crater about two thousand feet below.
A camp for tourists has just been built in a clearing in the virgin forest. It is most
picturesque as the camp buildings are very neatly constructed log cabins with very high
pitched thatched roofs. We spent about an hour sitting on the grass near the edge of the
crater enjoying the sunshine and the sharp air and really awe inspiring view. Far below us
in the middle of the crater was a small lake and we could see large herds of game
animals grazing there but they were too far away to be impressive, even seen through
George’s field glasses. Most appeared to be wildebeest and zebra but I also picked
out buffalo. Much more exciting was my first close view of a wild elephant. George
pointed him out to me as we approached the rest camp on the inward journey. He
stood quietly under a tree near the road and did not seem to be disturbed by the car
though he rolled a wary eye in our direction. On our return journey we saw him again at
almost uncomfortably close quarters. We rounded a sharp corner and there stood the
elephant, facing us and slap in the middle of the road. He was busily engaged giving
himself a dust bath but spared time to give us an irritable look. Fortunately we were on a
slight slope so George quickly switched off the engine and backed the car quietly round
the corner. He got out of the car and loaded his rifle, just in case! But after he had finished
his toilet the elephant moved off the road and we took our chance and passed without
One notices the steepness of the Ngoro-Ngoro road more on the downward
journey than on the way up. The road is cut into the side of the mountain so that one has
a steep slope on one hand and a sheer drop on the other. George told me that a lorry
coming down the mountain was once charged from behind by a rhino. On feeling and
hearing the bash from behind the panic stricken driver drove off down the mountain as
fast as he dared and never paused until he reached level ground at the bottom of the
mountain. There was no sign of the rhino so the driver got out to examine his lorry and
found the rhino horn embedded in the wooden tail end of the lorry. The horn had been
wrenched right off!
Happily no excitement of that kind happened to us. I have yet to see a rhino.
Oldeani. 19th July 1938
Greetings from a lady in waiting! Kate and I have settled down comfortably in the
new, solidly built Government Rest House which comprises one large living room and
one large office with a connecting door. Outside there is a kitchen and a boys quarter.
There are no resident Government officials here at Oldeani so the office is in use only
when the District Officer from Mbulu makes his monthly visit. However a large Union
Jack flies from a flagpole in the front of the building as a gentle reminder to the entirely
German population of Oldeani that Tanganyika is now under British rule.
There is quite a large community of German settlers here, most of whom are
engaged in coffee farming. George has visited several of the farms in connection with his
forestry work and says the coffee plantations look very promising indeed. There are also
a few German traders in the village and there is a large boarding school for German
children and also a very pleasant little hospital where I have arranged to have the baby.
Right next door to the Rest House is a General Dealers Store run by a couple named
Schnabbe. The shop is stocked with drapery, hardware, china and foodstuffs all
imported from Germany and of very good quality. The Schnabbes also sell local farm
produce, beautiful fresh vegetables, eggs and pure rich milk and farm butter. Our meat
comes from a German butchery and it is a great treat to get clean, well cut meat. The
sausages also are marvellous and in great variety.
The butcher is an entertaining character. When he called round looking for custom I
expected him to break out in a yodel any minute, as it was obvious from a glance that
the Alps are his natural background. From under a green Tyrollean hat with feather,
blooms a round beefy face with sparkling small eyes and such widely spaced teeth that
one inevitably thinks of a garden rake. Enormous beefy thighs bulge from greasy
lederhosen which are supported by the traditional embroidered braces. So far the
butcher is the only cheery German, male or female, whom I have seen, and I have met
most of the locals at the Schnabbe’s shop. Most of the men seem to have cultivated
the grim Hitler look. They are all fanatical Nazis and one is usually greeted by a raised
hand and Heil Hitler! All very theatrical. I always feel like crying in ringing tones ‘God
Save the King’ or even ‘St George for England’. However the men are all very correct
and courteous and the women friendly. The women all admire Kate and cry, “Ag, das
kleine Englander.” She really is a picture with her rosy cheeks and huge grey eyes and
golden curls. Kate is having a wonderful time playing with Manfried, the Scnabbe’s small
son. Neither understands a word said by the other but that doesn’t seem to worry them.
Before he left on safari, George took me to hospital for an examination by the
nurse, Sister Marianne. She has not been long in the country and knows very little
English but is determined to learn and carried on an animated, if rather quaint,
conversation with frequent references to a pocket dictionary. She says I am not to worry
because there is not doctor here. She is a very experienced midwife and anyway in an
emergency could call on the old retired Veterinary Surgeon for assistance.
I asked sister Marianne whether she knew of any German woman or girl who
would look after Kate whilst I am in hospital and today a very top drawer German,
bearing a strong likeness to ‘Little Willie’, called and offered the services of his niece who
is here on a visit from Germany. I was rather taken aback and said, “Oh no Baron, your
niece would not be the type I had in mind. I’m afraid I cannot pay much for a companion.”
However the Baron was not to be discouraged. He told me that his niece is seventeen
but looks twenty, that she is well educated and will make a cheerful companion. Her
father wishes her to learn to speak English fluently and that is why the Baron wished her
to come to me as a house daughter. As to pay, a couple of pounds a month for pocket
money and her keep was all he had in mind. So with some misgivings I agreed to take
the niece on as a companion as from 1st August.
Oldeani. 10th August 1938
Never a dull moment since my young companion arrived. She is a striking looking
girl with a tall boyish figure and very short and very fine dark hair which she wears
severely slicked back. She wears tweeds, no make up but has shiny rosy cheeks and
perfect teeth – she also,inevitably, has a man friend and I have an uncomfortable
suspicion that it is because of him that she was planted upon me. Upon second
thoughts though, maybe it was because of her excessive vitality, or even because of
her healthy appetite! The Baroness, I hear is in poor health and I can imagine that such
abundant health and spirit must have been quite overpowering. The name is Ingeborg,
but she is called Mouche, which I believe means Mouse. Someone in her family must
have a sense of humour.
Her English only needed practice and she now chatters fluently so that I know her
background and views on life. Mouche’s father is a personal friend of Goering. He was
once a big noise in the German Airforce but is now connected with the car industry and
travels frequently and intensively in Europe and America on business. Mouche showed
me some snap shots of her family and I must say they look prosperous and charming.
Mouche tells me that her father wants her to learn to speak English fluently so that
she can get a job with some British diplomat in Cairo. I had immediate thought that I
might be nursing a future Mata Hari in my bosom, but this was immediately extinguished
when Mouche remarked that her father would like her to marry an Englishman. However
it seems that the mere idea revolts her. “Englishmen are degenerates who swill whisky
all day.” I pointed out that she had met George, who was a true blue Englishman, but
was nevertheless a fine physical specimen and certainly didn’t drink all day. Mouche
replied that George is not an Englishman but a hunter, as though that set him apart.
Mouche is an ardent Hitler fan and an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth
Movement. The house resounds with Hitler youth songs and when she is not singing,
her gramophone is playing very stirring marching songs. I cannot understand a word,
which is perhaps as well. Every day she does the most strenuous exercises watched
with envy by me as my proportions are now those of a circus Big Top. Mouche eats a
fantastic amount of meat and I feel it is a blessing that she is much admired by our
Tyrollean butcher who now delivers our meat in person and adds as a token of his
admiration some extra sausages for Mouche.
I must confess I find her stimulating company as George is on safari most of the
time and my evenings otherwise would be lonely. I am a little worried though about
leaving Kate here with Mouche when I go to hospital. The dogs and Kate have not taken
to her. I am trying to prepare Kate for the separation but she says, “She’s not my
mummy. You are my dear mummy, and I want you, I want you.” George has got
permission from the Provincial Forestry Officer to spend the last week of August here at
the Rest House with me and I only hope that the baby will be born during that time.
Kate adores her dad and will be perfectly happy to remain here with him.
One final paragraph about Mouche. I thought all German girls were domesticated
but not Mouche. I have Kesho-Kutwa here with me as cook and I have engaged a local
boy to do the laundry. I however expected Mouche would take over making the
puddings and pastry but she informed me that she can only bake a chocolate cake and
absolutely nothing else. She said brightly however that she would do the mending. As
there is none for her to do, she has rescued a large worn handkerchief of George’s and
sits with her feet up listening to stirring gramophone records whilst she mends the
handkerchief with exquisite darning.
Oldeani. 20th August 1938
Just after I had posted my last letter I received what George calls a demi official
letter from the District Officer informing me that I would have to move out of the Rest
House for a few days as the Governor and his hangers on would be visiting Oldeani
and would require the Rest House. Fortunately George happened to be here for a few
hours and he arranged for Kate and Mouche and me to spend a few days at the
German School as borders. So here I am at the school having a pleasant and restful
time and much entertained by all the goings on.
The school buildings were built with funds from Germany and the school is run on
the lines of a contemporary German school. I think the school gets a grant from the
Tanganyika Government towards running expenses, but I am not sure. The school hall is
dominated by a more than life sized oil painting of Adolf Hitler which, at present, is
flanked on one side by the German Flag and on the other by the Union Jack. I cannot
help feeling that the latter was put up today for the Governor’s visit today.
The teachers are very amiable. We all meet at mealtimes, and though few of the
teachers speak English, the ones who do are anxious to chatter. The headmaster is a
scholarly man but obviously anti-British. He says he cannot understand why so many
South Africans are loyal to Britain – or rather to England. “They conquered your country
didn’t they?” I said that that had never occurred to me and that anyway I was mainly of
Scots descent and that loyalty to the crown was natural to me. “But the English
conquered the Scots and yet you are loyal to England. That I cannot understand.” “Well I
love England,” said I firmly, ”and so do all British South Africans.” Since then we have
stuck to English literature. Shakespeare, Lord Byron and Galsworthy seem to be the
favourites and all, thank goodness, make safe topics for conversation.
Mouche is in her element but Kate and I do not enjoy the food which is typically
German and consists largely of masses of fat pork and sauerkraut and unfamiliar soups. I
feel sure that the soup at lunch today had blobs of lemon curd in it! I also find most
disconcerting the way that everyone looks at me and says, “Bon appetite”, with much
smiling and nodding so I have to fight down my nausea and make a show of enjoying
The teacher whose room adjoins mine is a pleasant woman and I take my
afternoon tea with her. She, like all the teachers, has a large framed photo of Hitler on her
wall flanked by bracket vases of fresh flowers. One simply can’t get away from the man!
Even in the dormitories each child has a picture of Hitler above the bed. Hitler accepting
flowers from a small girl, or patting a small boy on the head. Even the children use the
greeting ‘Heil Hitler’. These German children seem unnaturally prim when compared with
my cheerful ex-pupils in South Africa but some of them are certainly very lovely to look
Tomorrow Mouche, Kate and I return to our quarters in the Rest House and in a
few days George will join us for a week.
Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938
You will all be delighted to hear that we have a second son, whom we have
named John. He is a darling, so quaint and good. He looks just like a little old man with a
high bald forehead fringed around the edges with a light brown fluff. George and I call
him Johnny Jo because he has a tiny round mouth and a rather big nose and reminds us
of A.A.Milne’s ‘Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an O’ , but Kate calls him, ‘My brother John’.
George was not here when he was born on September 5th, just two minutes
before midnight. He left on safari on the morning of the 4th and, of course, that very night
the labour pains started. Fortunately Kate was in bed asleep so Mouche walked with
me up the hill to the hospital where I was cheerfully received by Sister Marianne who
had everything ready for the confinement. I was lucky to have such an experienced
midwife because this was a breech birth and sister had to manage single handed. As
there was no doctor present I was not allowed even a sniff of anaesthetic. Sister slaved
away by the light of a pressure lamp endeavouring to turn the baby having first shoved
an inverted baby bath under my hips to raise them.
What a performance! Sister Marianne was very much afraid that she might not be
able to save the baby and great was our relief when at last she managed to haul him out
by the feet. One slap and the baby began to cry without any further attention so Sister
wrapped him up in a blanket and took Johnny to her room for the night. I got very little
sleep but was so thankful to have the ordeal over that I did not mind even though I
heard a hyaena cackling and calling under my window in a most evil way.
When Sister brought Johnny to me in the early morning I stared in astonishment.
Instead of dressing him in one of his soft Viyella nighties, she had dressed him in a short
sleeved vest of knitted cotton with a cotton cloth swayed around his waist sarong
fashion. When I protested, “But Sister why is the baby not dressed in his own clothes?”
She answered firmly, “I find it is not allowed. A baby’s clotheses must be boiled and I
cannot boil clotheses of wool therefore your baby must wear the clotheses of the Red
It was the same with the bedding. Poor Johnny lies all day in a deep wicker
basket with a detachable calico lining. There is no pillow under his head but a vast kind of
calico covered pillow is his only covering. There is nothing at all cosy and soft round my
poor baby. I said crossly to the Sister, “As every thing must be so sterile, I wonder you
don’t boil me too.” This she ignored.
When my message reached George he dashed back to visit us. Sister took him
first to see the baby and George was astonished to see the baby basket covered by a
sheet. “She has the poor little kid covered up like a bloody parrot,” he told me. So I
asked him to go at once to buy a square of mosquito netting to replace the sheet.
Kate is quite a problem. She behaves like an Angel when she is here in my
room but is rebellious when Sister shoos her out. She says she “Hates the Nanny”
which is what she calls Mouche. Unfortunately it seems that she woke before midnight
on the night Johnny Jo was born to find me gone and Mouche in my bed. According to
Mouche, Kate wept all night and certainly when she visited me in the early morning
Kate’s face was puffy with crying and she clung to me crying “Oh my dear mummy, why
did you go away?” over and over again. Sister Marianne was touched and suggested
that Mouche and Kate should come to the hospital as boarders as I am the only patient
at present and there is plenty of room. Luckily Kate does not seem at all jealous of the
baby and it is a great relief to have here here under my eye.
Eleanor.January 28, 2022 at 9:30 pm #6264
From Tanganyika with Love
continued ~ part 5
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Chunya 16th December 1936
Since last I wrote I have visited Chunya and met several of the diggers wives.
On the whole I have been greatly disappointed because there is nothing very colourful
about either township or women. I suppose I was really expecting something more like
the goldrush towns and women I have so often seen on the cinema screen.
Chunya consists of just the usual sun-dried brick Indian shops though there are
one or two double storied buildings. Most of the life in the place centres on the
Goldfields Hotel but we did not call there. From the store opposite I could hear sounds
of revelry though it was very early in the afternoon. I saw only one sight which was quite
new to me, some elegantly dressed African women, with high heels and lipsticked
mouths teetered by on their way to the silk store. “Native Tarts,” said George in answer
to my enquiry.
Several women have called on me and when I say ‘called’ I mean called. I have
grown so used to going without stockings and wearing home made dresses that it was
quite a shock to me to entertain these ladies dressed to the nines in smart frocks, silk
stockings and high heeled shoes, handbags, makeup and whatnot. I feel like some
female Rip van Winkle. Most of the women have a smart line in conversation and their
talk and views on life would make your nice straight hair curl Mummy. They make me feel
very unsophisticated and dowdy but George says he has a weakness for such types
and I am to stay exactly as I am. I still do not use any makeup. George says ‘It’s all right
for them. They need it poor things, you don’t.” Which, though flattering, is hardly true.
I prefer the men visitors, though they also are quite unlike what I had expected
diggers to be. Those whom George brings home are all well educated and well
groomed and I enjoy listening to their discussion of the world situation, sport and books.
They are extremely polite to me and gentle with the children though I believe that after a
few drinks at the pub tempers often run high. There were great arguments on the night
following the abdication of Edward VIII. Not that the diggers were particularly attached to
him as a person, but these men are all great individualists and believe in freedom of
choice. George, rather to my surprise, strongly supported Edward. I did not.
Many of the diggers have wireless sets and so we keep up to date with the
news. I seldom leave camp. I have my hands full with the three children during the day
and, even though Janey is a reliable ayah, I would not care to leave the children at night
in these grass roofed huts. Having experienced that fire on the farm, I know just how
unlikely it would be that the children would be rescued in time in case of fire. The other
women on the diggings think I’m crazy. They leave their children almost entirely to ayahs
and I must confess that the children I have seen look very well and happy. The thing is
that I simply would not enjoy parties at the hotel or club, miles away from the children
and I much prefer to stay at home with a book.
I love hearing all about the parties from George who likes an occasional ‘boose
up’ with the boys and is terribly popular with everyone – not only the British but with the
Germans, Scandinavians and even the Afrikaans types. One Afrikaans woman said “Jou
man is ‘n man, al is hy ‘n Engelsman.” Another more sophisticated woman said, “George
is a handsome devil. Aren’t you scared to let him run around on his own?” – but I’m not. I
usually wait up for George with sandwiches and something hot to drink and that way I
get all the news red hot.
There is very little gold coming in. The rains have just started and digging is
temporarily at a standstill. It is too wet for dry blowing and not yet enough water for
panning and sluicing. As this camp is some considerable distance from the claims, all I see of the process is the weighing of the daily taking of gold dust and tiny nuggets.
Unless our luck changes I do not think we will stay on here after John Molteno returns.
George does not care for the life and prefers a more constructive occupation.
Ann and young George still search optimistically for gold. We were all saddened
last week by the death of Fanny, our bull terrier. She went down to the shopping centre
with us and we were standing on the verandah of a store when a lorry passed with its
canvas cover flapping. This excited Fanny who rushed out into the street and the back
wheel of the lorry passed right over her, killing her instantly. Ann was very shocked so I
soothed her by telling her that Fanny had gone to Heaven. When I went to bed that
night I found Ann still awake and she asked anxiously, “Mummy, do you think God
remembered to give Fanny her bone tonight?”
Much love to all,
Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936
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.
Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936
We had a very cheery Christmas. The children loved the toys and are so proud
of their new clothes. They wore them when we went to Christmas lunch to the
Cresswell-Georges. The C-Gs have been doing pretty well lately and they have a
comfortable brick house and a large wireless set. The living room was gaily decorated
with bought garlands and streamers and balloons. We had an excellent lunch cooked by
our ex cook Abel who now works for the Cresswell-Georges. We had turkey with
trimmings and plum pudding followed by nuts and raisons and chocolates and sweets
galore. There was also a large variety of drinks including champagne!
There were presents for all of us and, in addition, Georgie and Ann each got a
large tin of chocolates. Kate was much admired. She was a picture in her new party frock
with her bright hair and rosy cheeks. There were other guests beside ourselves and
they were already there having drinks when we arrived. Someone said “What a lovely
child!” “Yes” said George with pride, “She’s a Marie Stopes baby.” “Truby King!” said I
quickly and firmly, but too late to stop the roar of laughter.
Our children played amicably with the C-G’s three, but young George was
unusually quiet and surprised me by bringing me his unopened tin of chocolates to keep
for him. Normally he is a glutton for sweets. I might have guessed he was sickening for
something. That night he vomited and had diarrhoea and has had an upset tummy and a
slight temperature ever since.
Janey is also ill. She says she has malaria and has taken to her bed. I am dosing
her with quinine and hope she will soon be better as I badly need her help. Not only is
young George off his food and peevish but Kate has a cold and Ann sore eyes and
they all want love and attention. To complicate things it has been raining heavily and I
must entertain the children indoors.
Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937
So sorry I have not written before but we have been in the wars and I have had neither
the time nor the heart to write. However the worst is now over. Young George and
Janey are both recovering from Typhoid Fever. The doctor had Janey moved to the
native hospital at Chunya but I nursed young George here in the camp.
As I told you young George’s tummy trouble started on Christmas day. At first I
thought it was only a protracted bilious attack due to eating too much unaccustomed rich
food and treated him accordingly but when his temperature persisted I thought that the
trouble might be malaria and kept him in bed and increased the daily dose of quinine.
He ate less and less as the days passed and on New Years Day he seemed very
weak and his stomach tender to the touch.
George fetched the doctor who examined small George and said he had a very
large liver due no doubt to malaria. He gave the child injections of emertine and quinine
and told me to give young George frequent and copious drinks of water and bi-carb of
soda. This was more easily said than done. Young George refused to drink this mixture
and vomited up the lime juice and water the doctor had suggested as an alternative.
The doctor called every day and gave George further injections and advised me
to give him frequent sips of water from a spoon. After three days the child was very
weak and weepy but Dr Spiers still thought he had malaria. During those anxious days I
also worried about Janey who appeared to be getting worse rather that better and on
January the 3rd I asked the doctor to look at her. The next thing I knew, the doctor had
put Janey in his car and driven her off to hospital. When he called next morning he
looked very grave and said he wished to talk to my husband. I said that George was out
on the claim but if what he wished to say concerned young George’s condition he might
just as well tell me.
With a good deal of reluctance Dr Spiers then told me that Janey showed all the
symptoms of Typhoid Fever and that he was very much afraid that young George had
contracted it from her. He added that George should be taken to the Mbeya Hospital
where he could have the professional nursing so necessary in typhoid cases. I said “Oh
no,I’d never allow that. The child had never been away from his family before and it
would frighten him to death to be sick and alone amongst strangers.” Also I was sure that
the fifty mile drive over the mountains in his weak condition would harm him more than
my amateur nursing would. The doctor returned to the camp that afternoon to urge
George to send our son to hospital but George staunchly supported my argument that
young George would stand a much better chance of recovery if we nursed him at home.
I must say Dr Spiers took our refusal very well and gave young George every attention
coming twice a day to see him.
For some days the child was very ill. He could not keep down any food or liquid
in any quantity so all day long, and when he woke at night, I gave him a few drops of
water at a time from a teaspoon. His only nourishment came from sucking Macintosh’s
toffees. Young George sweated copiously especially at night when it was difficult to
change his clothes and sponge him in the draughty room with the rain teeming down
outside. I think I told you that the bedroom is a sort of shed with only openings in the wall
for windows and doors, and with one wall built only a couple of feet high leaving a six
foot gap for air and light. The roof leaked and the damp air blew in but somehow young
George pulled through.
Only when he was really on the mend did the doctor tell us that whilst he had
been attending George, he had also been called in to attend to another little boy of the same age who also had typhoid. He had been called in too late and the other little boy,
an only child, had died. Young George, thank God, is convalescent now, though still on a
milk diet. He is cheerful enough when he has company but very peevish when left
alone. Poor little lad, he is all hair, eyes, and teeth, or as Ann says” Georgie is all ribs ribs
now-a-days Mummy.” He shares my room, Ann and Kate are together in the little room.
Anyway the doctor says he should be up and around in about a week or ten days time.
We were all inoculated against typhoid on the day the doctor made the diagnosis
so it is unlikely that any of us will develop it. Dr Spiers was most impressed by Ann’s
unconcern when she was inoculated. She looks gentle and timid but has always been
very brave. Funny thing when young George was very ill he used to wail if I left the
room, but now that he is convalescent he greatly prefers his dad’s company. So now I
have been able to take the girls for walks in the late afternoons whilst big George
entertains small George. This he does with the minimum of effort, either he gets out
cartons of ammunition with which young George builds endless forts, or else he just sits
beside the bed and cleans one of his guns whilst small George watches with absorbed
The Doctor tells us that Janey is also now convalescent. He says that exhusband
Abel has been most attentive and appeared daily at the hospital with a tray of
food that made his, the doctor’s, mouth water. All I dare say, pinched from Mrs
I’ll write again soon. Lots of love to all,
Chunya 29th January 1937
Georgie is up and about but still tires very easily. At first his legs were so weak
that George used to carry him around on his shoulders. The doctor says that what the
child really needs is a long holiday out of the Tropics so that Mrs Thomas’ offer, to pay all
our fares to Cape Town as well as lending us her seaside cottage for a month, came as
a Godsend. Luckily my passport is in order. When George was in Mbeya he booked
seats for the children and me on the first available plane. We will fly to Broken Hill and go
on to Cape Town from there by train.
Ann and George are wildly thrilled at the idea of flying but I am not. I remember
only too well how airsick I was on the old Hannibal when I flew home with the baby Ann.
I am longing to see you all and it will be heaven to give the children their first seaside
I mean to return with Kate after three months but, if you will have him, I shall leave
George behind with you for a year. You said you would all be delighted to have Ann so
I do hope you will also be happy to have young George. Together they are no trouble
at all. They amuse themselves and are very independent and loveable.
George and I have discussed the matter taking into consideration the letters from
you and George’s Mother on the subject. If you keep Ann and George for a year, my
mother-in-law will go to Cape Town next year and fetch them. They will live in England
with her until they are fit enough to return to the Tropics. After the children and I have left
on this holiday, George will be able to move around and look for a job that will pay
sufficiently to enable us to go to England in a few years time to fetch our children home.
We both feel very sad at the prospect of this parting but the children’s health
comes before any other consideration. I hope Kate will stand up better to the Tropics.
She is plump and rosy and could not look more bonny if she lived in a temperate
We should be with you in three weeks time!
Very much love,
Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937
Well here we are safe and sound at the Great Northern Hotel, Broken Hill, all
ready to board the South bound train tonight.
We were still on the diggings on Ann’s birthday, February 8th, when George had
a letter from Mbeya to say that our seats were booked on the plane leaving Mbeya on
the 10th! What a rush we had packing up. Ann was in bed with malaria so we just
bundled her up in blankets and set out in John Molteno’s car for the farm. We arrived that
night and spent the next day on the farm sorting things out. Ann and George wanted to
take so many of their treasures and it was difficult for them to make a small selection. In
the end young George’s most treasured possession, his sturdy little boots, were left
Before leaving home on the morning of the tenth I took some snaps of Ann and
young George in the garden and one of them with their father. He looked so sad. After
putting us on the plane, George planned to go to the fishing camp for a day or two
before returning to the empty house on the farm.
John Molteno returned from the Cape by plane just before we took off, so he
will take over the running of his claims once more. I told John that I dreaded the plane trip
on account of air sickness so he gave me two pills which I took then and there. Oh dear!
How I wished later that I had not done so. We had an extremely bumpy trip and
everyone on the plane was sick except for small George who loved every moment.
Poor Ann had a dreadful time but coped very well and never complained. I did not
actually puke until shortly before we landed at Broken Hill but felt dreadfully ill all the way.
Kate remained rosy and cheerful almost to the end. She sat on my lap throughout the
trip because, being under age, she travelled as baggage and was not entitled to a seat.
Shortly before we reached Broken Hill a smartly dressed youngish man came up
to me and said, “You look so poorly, please let me take the baby, I have children of my
own and know how to handle them.” Kate made no protest and off they went to the
back of the plane whilst I tried to relax and concentrate on not getting sick. However,
within five minutes the man was back. Kate had been thoroughly sick all over his collar
I took Kate back on my lap and then was violently sick myself, so much so that
when we touched down at Broken Hill I was unable to speak to the Immigration Officer.
He was so kind. He sat beside me until I got my diaphragm under control and then
drove me up to the hotel in his own car.
We soon recovered of course and ate a hearty dinner. This morning after
breakfast I sallied out to look for a Bank where I could exchange some money into
Rhodesian and South African currency and for the Post Office so that I could telegraph
to George and to you. What a picnic that trip was! It was a terribly hot day and there was
no shade. By the time we had done our chores, the children were hot, and cross, and
tired and so indeed was I. As I had no push chair for Kate I had to carry her and she is
pretty heavy for eighteen months. George, who is still not strong, clung to my free arm
whilst Ann complained bitterly that no one was helping her.
Eventually Ann simply sat down on the pavement and declared that she could
not go another step, whereupon George of course decided that he also had reached his
limit and sat down too. Neither pleading no threats would move them so I had to resort
to bribery and had to promise that when we reached the hotel they could have cool
drinks and ice-cream. This promise got the children moving once more but I am determined that nothing will induce me to stir again until the taxi arrives to take us to the
This letter will go by air and will reach you before we do. How I am longing for
With love to you all,
Leaving home 10th February 1937, George Gilman Rushby with Ann and Georgie (Mike) Rushby:
We had a very warm welcome to the family home at Plumstead Cape Town.
After ten days with my family we moved to Hout Bay where Mrs Thomas lent us her
delightful seaside cottage. She also provided us with two excellent maids so I had
nothing to do but rest and play on the beach with the children.
After a month at the sea George had fully recovered his health though not his
former gay spirits. After another six months with my parents I set off for home with Kate,
leaving Ann and George in my parent’s home under the care of my elder sister,
One or two incidents during that visit remain clearly in my memory. Our children
had never met elderly people and were astonished at the manifestations of age. One
morning an elderly lady came around to collect church dues. She was thin and stooped
and Ann surveyed her with awe. She turned to me with a puzzled expression and
asked in her clear voice, “Mummy, why has that old lady got a moustache – oh and a
beard?’ The old lady in question was very annoyed indeed and said, “What a rude little
girl.” Ann could not understand this, she said, “But Mummy, I only said she had a
moustache and a beard and she has.” So I explained as best I could that when people
have defects of this kind they are hurt if anyone mentions them.
A few days later a strange young woman came to tea. I had been told that she
had a most disfiguring birthmark on her cheek and warned Ann that she must not
comment on it. Alas! with the kindest intentions Ann once again caused me acute
embarrassment. The young woman was hardly seated when Ann went up to her and
gently patted the disfiguring mark saying sweetly, “Oh, I do like this horrible mark on your
I remember also the afternoon when Kate and George were christened. My
mother had given George a white silk shirt for the occasion and he wore it with intense
pride. Kate was baptised first without incident except that she was lost in admiration of a
gold bracelet given her that day by her Godmother and exclaimed happily, “My
bangle, look my bangle,” throughout the ceremony. When George’s turn came the
clergyman held his head over the font and poured water on George’s forehead. Some
splashed on his shirt and George protested angrily, “Mum, he has wet my shirt!” over
and over again whilst I led him hurriedly outside.
My last memory of all is at the railway station. The time had come for Kate and
me to get into our compartment. My sisters stood on the platform with Ann and George.
Ann was resigned to our going, George was not so, at the last moment Sylvia, my
younger sister, took him off to see the engine. The whistle blew and I said good-bye to
my gallant little Ann. “Mummy”, she said urgently to me, “Don’t forget to wave to
And so I waved good-bye to my children, never dreaming that a war would
intervene and it would be eight long years before I saw them again.January 28, 2022 at 3:13 pm #6262
From Tanganyika with Love
continued ~ part 3
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935
I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got
my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George
calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding
astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much
prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named
‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes
ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was.
It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has
decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am
very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on
their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of
selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of
caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is
off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in
Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come
and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really
friendly terms with them.
Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps
the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still
reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she
has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with
the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things.
Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks.
She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very
active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can
manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They
have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly
pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs.
Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the
shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the
baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on
Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down
the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He
grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant
stride up the hill, half walking half riding.
Very much love,
Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935
A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be
arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning
but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best
of what we have.
George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening.
This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the
farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden
frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire.
Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom
which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as
there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically
to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for
Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs
whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look.
To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day
of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the
Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane.
Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair,
normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this
because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract
attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law.
Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting
habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look
how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration.
Just hold thumbs that all goes well.
your loving but anxious,
Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935
Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare
to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the
mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very
much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface
mail has not yet arrived.
Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden
brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very
handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once
Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course,
was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin-
law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to
her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her
family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the
same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but
mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley.
Perhaps number three will be a Leslie.
What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty
and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I
also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother
has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy
in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at
entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times.
Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her
room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes.
I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook
took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers
drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here.
The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a
thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he
wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose
and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and
as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother!
A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch
so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and
not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and
cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe.
Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when
he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the
spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by
scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible
for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of
eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get
another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe
with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what
transformations will be worked when I am in hospital.
Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because
she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large
saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house
servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first
come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist.
One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married,
mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home
like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of
George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a
month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot.
To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom
George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky
and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet.
Very much love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935
Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket
beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and
her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her
Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine.
I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping
successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and
carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor
wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy.
For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for
Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple
of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of
the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So
George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering
what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering
with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into
Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I
settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby
would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank
goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she
had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights.
Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but
anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I
would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the
wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She
got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to
bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,”
and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat
spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around
to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying
warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked
“Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and
there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor
A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had
kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept
in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s
future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten
o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note
from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on
the sixth to fetch me home.
I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What
more could anyone possibly want.
Lots and lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935
Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid
and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not
so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga
being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is
dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire
her when she is lying alone in her basket.
George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and
native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts
and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house
spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge.
Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and
decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen
one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table
back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up
without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He
was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked,
enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she
left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to
push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she
put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room
exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We
looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched
the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful,
you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to
get that sylph-like figure.”
When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that
live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home.
Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the
Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly
refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have
a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants
to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit.
Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your
baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.”
Who would be a mother!
Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935
I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at
Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George
says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam
of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful.
About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of
George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp
lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded
Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy
had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache
out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with
Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism.
I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill
with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does
George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake
for Kate’s ten o’clock feed.
I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George
to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill
with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked.
“I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He
has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on
vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no
enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand
George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This
is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is
secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned
up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme!
Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in
trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging
from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched
upwards to support his head.
Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have.
Lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935
Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a
good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She
arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by
the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was
dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid
Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked
“Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember
how livid you were, dad?
I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said,
“What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki-
Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate
who is thriving and bonny and placid.
Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have
some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne.
Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come
into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for
ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She
disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered
Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her
former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and
her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed
and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was.
Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching
hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children
love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much.
The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell
Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be
astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call
Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels
on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t
touch it, it’s hot.”
Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935
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,
Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things
happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the
children’s pranks is very tranquil.
Lots and lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935
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
Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of
returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the
Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply
here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit.
There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine
berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning,
before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn
the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine
berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily
ceremony of presentation.
The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy
disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last
week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens
as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box.
The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager
anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga
and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from
several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them
forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly
didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped
once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he
would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said
than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats
climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed
I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats
away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the
ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was
put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats.
I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in
this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I
have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same
reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire.
So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say
didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children?
Very much love from us all, Eleanor.
Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935
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
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
Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot.
With love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935
The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind
the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The
kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under
the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both
lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the
casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I
heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann
was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well
Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.”
George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is
what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of
coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol
is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used
to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a
beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills
anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice.
We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was
delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut
into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry.
With love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935
We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week
George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because
never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as
she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle
of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with
matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally
pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples.
As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only
Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted
to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning
the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our
house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great
muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards
behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown
flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard.
By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and
George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had
had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and
turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded
and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my
first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has
had there is little hope of a decent crop next year.
Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children
have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable
garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas.
Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935
I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is
back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick
during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The
children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper
decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and
it looks beautifully fresh.
My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would
like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give
ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of
enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this
week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around
staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile.
Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got
wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was
cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked
“Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from
I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could
not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be
delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel
shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall
regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I
am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the
gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but
much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression.
You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or
an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas
cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner.
Think of us as I shall certainly think of you.
Your very loving,
Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936
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.January 28, 2022 at 2:29 pm #6261
From Tanganyika with Love
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Mchewe Estate. 11th July 1931.
You say that you would like to know more about our neighbours. Well there is
not much to tell. Kath Wood is very good about coming over to see me. I admire her
very much because she is so capable as well as being attractive. She speaks very
fluent Ki-Swahili and I envy her the way she can carry on a long conversation with the
natives. I am very slow in learning the language possibly because Lamek and the
houseboy both speak basic English.
I have very little to do with the Africans apart from the house servants, but I do
run a sort of clinic for the wives and children of our employees. The children suffer chiefly
from sore eyes and worms, and the older ones often have bad ulcers on their legs. All
farmers keep a stock of drugs and bandages.
George also does a bit of surgery and last month sewed up the sole of the foot
of a boy who had trodden on the blade of a panga, a sort of sword the Africans use for
hacking down bush. He made an excellent job of it. George tells me that the Africans
have wonderful powers of recuperation. Once in his bachelor days, one of his men was
disembowelled by an elephant. George washed his “guts” in a weak solution of
pot.permang, put them back in the cavity and sewed up the torn flesh and he
But to get back to the neighbours. We see less of Hicky Wood than of Kath.
Hicky can be charming but is often moody as I believe Irishmen often are.
Major Jones is now at home on his shamba, which he leaves from time to time
for temporary jobs on the district roads. He walks across fairly regularly and we are
always glad to see him for he is a great bearer of news. In this part of Africa there is no
knocking or ringing of doorbells. Front doors are always left open and visitors always
welcome. When a visitor approaches a house he shouts “Hodi”, and the owner of the
house yells “Karibu”, which I believe means “Come near” or approach, and tea is
produced in a matter of minutes no matter what hour of the day it is.
The road that passes all our farms is the only road to the Gold Diggings and
diggers often drop in on the Woods and Major Jones and bring news of the Goldfields.
This news is sometimes about gold but quite often about whose wife is living with
whom. This is a great country for gossip.
Major Jones now has his brother Llewyllen living with him. I drove across with
George to be introduced to him. Llewyllen’s health is poor and he looks much older than
his years and very like the portrait of Trader Horn. He has the same emaciated features,
burning eyes and long beard. He is proud of his Welsh tenor voice and often bursts into
Both brothers are excellent conversationalists and George enjoys walking over
sometimes on a Sunday for a bit of masculine company. The other day when George
walked across to visit the Joneses, he found both brothers in the shamba and Llew in a
great rage. They had been stooping to inspect a water furrow when Llew backed into a
hornets nest. One furious hornet stung him on the seat and another on the back of his
neck. Llew leapt forward and somehow his false teeth shot out into the furrow and were
carried along by the water. When George arrived Llew had retrieved his teeth but
George swears that, in the commotion, the heavy leather leggings, which Llew always
wears, had swivelled around on his thin legs and were calves to the front.
George has heard that Major Jones is to sell pert of his land to his Swedish brother-in-law, Max Coster, so we will soon have another couple in the neighbourhood.
I’ve had a bit of a pantomime here on the farm. On the day we went to Tukuyu,
all our washing was stolen from the clothes line and also our new charcoal iron. George
reported the matter to the police and they sent out a plain clothes policeman. He wears
the long white Arab gown called a Kanzu much in vogue here amongst the African elite
but, alas for secrecy, huge black police boots protrude from beneath the Kanzu and, to
add to this revealing clue, the askari springs to attention and salutes each time I pass by.
Not much hope of finding out the identity of the thief I fear.
George’s furrow was entirely successful and we now have water running behind
the kitchen. Our drinking water we get from a lovely little spring on the farm. We boil and
filter it for safety’s sake. I don’t think that is necessary. The furrow water is used for
washing pots and pans and for bath water.
Lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. 8th. August 1931
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
The days tick by quietly here. The servants are very willing but have to be
supervised and even then a crisis can occur. Last Saturday I was feeling squeamish and
decided not to have lunch. I lay reading on the couch whilst George sat down to a
solitary curry lunch. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and pushed back his chair. I
jumped up to see what was wrong and there, on his plate, gleaming in the curry gravy
were small bits of broken glass. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Lamek with the plate.
He explained that he had dropped the new and expensive bottle of curry powder on
the brick floor of the kitchen. He did not tell me as he thought I would make a “shauri” so
he simply scooped up the curry powder, removed the larger pieces of glass and used
part of the powder for seasoning the lunch.
The weather is getting warmer now. It was very cold in June and July and we had
fires in the daytime as well as at night. Now that much of the land has been cleared we
are able to go for pleasant walks in the weekends. My favourite spot is a waterfall on the
Mchewe River just on the boundary of our land. There is a delightful little pool below the
waterfall and one day George intends to stock it with trout.
Now that there are more Europeans around to buy meat the natives find it worth
their while to kill an occasional beast. Every now and again a native arrives with a large
bowl of freshly killed beef for sale. One has no way of knowing whether the animal was
healthy and the meat is often still warm and very bloody. I hated handling it at first but am
becoming accustomed to it now and have even started a brine tub. There is no other
way of keeping meat here and it can only be kept in its raw state for a few hours before
going bad. One of the delicacies is the hump which all African cattle have. When corned
it is like the best brisket.
See what a housewife I am becoming.
With much love,
Mchewe Estate. Sept.6th. 1931
I have grown to love the life here and am sad to think I shall be leaving
Tanganyika soon for several months. Yes I am coming down to have the baby in the
bosom of the family. George thinks it best and so does the doctor. I didn’t mention it
before but I have never recovered fully from the effects of that bad bout of malaria and
so I have been persuaded to leave George and our home and go to the Cape, in the
hope that I shall come back here as fit as when I first arrived in the country plus a really
healthy and bouncing baby. I am torn two ways, I long to see you all – but how I would
love to stay on here.
George will drive me down to Northern Rhodesia in early October to catch a
South bound train. I’ll telegraph the date of departure when I know it myself. The road is
very, very bad and the car has been giving a good deal of trouble so, though the baby
is not due until early February, George thinks it best to get the journey over soon as
possible, for the rains break in November and the the roads will then be impassable. It
may take us five or six days to reach Broken Hill as we will take it slowly. I am looking
forward to the drive through new country and to camping out at night.
Our days pass quietly by. George is out on the shamba most of the day. He
goes out before breakfast on weekdays and spends most of the day working with the
men – not only supervising but actually working with his hands and beating the labourers
at their own jobs. He comes to the house for meals and tea breaks. I potter around the
house and garden, sew, mend and read. Lamek continues to be a treasure. he turns out
some surprising dishes. One of his specialities is stuffed chicken. He carefully skins the
chicken removing all bones. He then minces all the chicken meat and adds minced onion
and potatoes. He then stuffs the chicken skin with the minced meat and carefully sews it
together again. The resulting dish is very filling because the boned chicken is twice the
size of a normal one. It lies on its back as round as a football with bloated legs in the air.
Rather repulsive to look at but Lamek is most proud of his accomplishment.
The other day he produced another of his masterpieces – a cooked tortoise. It
was served on a dish covered with parsley and crouched there sans shell but, only too
obviously, a tortoise. I took one look and fled with heaving diaphragm, but George said
it tasted quite good. He tells me that he has had queerer dishes produced by former
cooks. He says that once in his hunting days his cook served up a skinned baby
monkey with its hands folded on its breast. He says it would take a cannibal to eat that
And now for something sad. Poor old Llew died quite suddenly and it was a sad
shock to this tiny community. We went across to the funeral and it was a very simple and
dignified affair. Llew was buried on Joni’s farm in a grave dug by the farm boys. The
body was wrapped in a blanket and bound to some boards and lowered into the
ground. There was no service. The men just said “Good-bye Llew.” and “Sleep well
Llew”, and things like that. Then Joni and his brother-in-law Max, and George shovelled
soil over the body after which the grave was filled in by Joni’s shamba boys. It was a
lovely bright afternoon and I thought how simple and sensible a funeral it was.
I hope you will be glad to have me home. I bet Dad will be holding thumbs that
the baby will be a girl.
Very much love,
“There are no letters to my family during the period of Sept. 1931 to June 1932
because during these months I was living with my parents and sister in a suburb of
Cape Town. I had hoped to return to Tanganyika by air with my baby soon after her
birth in Feb.1932 but the doctor would not permit this.
A month before my baby was born, a company called Imperial Airways, had
started the first passenger service between South Africa and England. One of the night
stops was at Mbeya near my husband’s coffee farm, and it was my intention to take the
train to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia and to fly from there to Mbeya with my month
old baby. In those days however, commercial flying was still a novelty and the doctor
was not sure that flying at a high altitude might not have an adverse effect upon a young
He strongly advised me to wait until the baby was four months old and I did this
though the long wait was very trying to my husband alone on our farm in Tanganyika,
and to me, cherished though I was in my old home.
My story, covering those nine long months is soon told. My husband drove me
down from Mbeya to Broken Hill in NorthernRhodesia. The journey was tedious as the
weather was very hot and dry and the road sandy and rutted, very different from the
Great North road as it is today. The wooden wheel spokes of the car became so dry
that they rattled and George had to bind wet rags around them. We had several
punctures and with one thing and another I was lucky to catch the train.
My parents were at Cape Town station to welcome me and I stayed
comfortably with them, living very quietly, until my baby was born. She arrived exactly
on the appointed day, Feb.8th.
I wrote to my husband “Our Charmian Ann is a darling baby. She is very fair and
rather pale and has the most exquisite hands, with long tapering fingers. Daddy
absolutely dotes on her and so would you, if you were here. I can’t bear to think that you
are so terribly far away. Although Ann was born exactly on the day, I was taken quite by
surprise. It was awfully hot on the night before, and before going to bed I had a fancy for
some water melon. The result was that when I woke in the early morning with labour
pains and vomiting I thought it was just an attack of indigestion due to eating too much
melon. The result was that I did not wake Marjorie until the pains were pretty frequent.
She called our next door neighbour who, in his pyjamas, drove me to the nursing home
at breakneck speed. The Matron was very peeved that I had left things so late but all
went well and by nine o’clock, Mother, positively twittering with delight, was allowed to
see me and her first granddaughter . She told me that poor Dad was in such a state of
nerves that he was sick amongst the grapevines. He says that he could not bear to go
through such an anxious time again, — so we will have to have our next eleven in
The next four months passed rapidly as my time was taken up by the demands
of my new baby. Dr. Trudy King’s method of rearing babies was then the vogue and I
stuck fanatically to all the rules he laid down, to the intense exasperation of my parents
who longed to cuddle the child.
As the time of departure drew near my parents became more and more reluctant
to allow me to face the journey alone with their adored grandchild, so my brother,
Graham, very generously offered to escort us on the train to Broken Hill where he could
put us on the plane for Mbeya.
Mchewe Estate. June 15th 1932
You’ll be glad to know that we arrived quite safe and sound and very, very
happy to be home.The train Journey was uneventful. Ann slept nearly all the way.
Graham was very kind and saw to everything. He even sat with the baby whilst I went
to meals in the dining car.
We were met at Broken Hill by the Thoms who had arranged accommodation for
us at the hotel for the night. They also drove us to the aerodrome in the morning where
the Airways agent told us that Ann is the first baby to travel by air on this section of the
Cape to England route. The plane trip was very bumpy indeed especially between
Broken Hill and Mpika. Everyone was ill including poor little Ann who sicked up her milk
all over the front of my new coat. I arrived at Mbeya looking a sorry caricature of Radiant
Motherhood. I must have been pale green and the baby was snow white. Under the
circumstances it was a good thing that George did not meet us. We were met instead
by Ken Menzies, the owner of the Mbeya Hotel where we spent the night. Ken was
most fatherly and kind and a good nights rest restored Ann and me to our usual robust
Mbeya has greatly changed. The hotel is now finished and can accommodate
fifty guests. It consists of a large main building housing a large bar and dining room and
offices and a number of small cottage bedrooms. It even has electric light. There are
several buildings out at the aerodrome and private houses going up in Mbeya.
After breakfast Ken Menzies drove us out to the farm where we had a warm
welcome from George, who looks well but rather thin. The house was spotless and the
new cook, Abel, had made light scones for tea. George had prepared all sorts of lovely
surprises. There is a new reed ceiling in the living room and a new dresser gay with
willow pattern plates which he had ordered from England. There is also a writing table
and a square table by the door for visitors hats. More personal is a lovely model ship
which George assembled from one of those Hobbie’s kits. It puts the finishing touch to
the rather old world air of our living room.
In the bedroom there is a large double bed which George made himself. It has
strips of old car tyres nailed to a frame which makes a fine springy mattress and on top
of this is a thick mattress of kapok.In the kitchen there is a good wood stove which
George salvaged from a Mission dump. It looks a bit battered but works very well. The
new cook is excellent. The only blight is that he will wear rubber soled tennis shoes and
they smell awful. I daren’t hurt his feelings by pointing this out though. Opposite the
kitchen is a new laundry building containing a forty gallon hot water drum and a sink for
washing up. Lovely!
George has been working very hard. He now has forty acres of coffee seedlings
planted out and has also found time to plant a rose garden and fruit trees. There are
orange and peach trees, tree tomatoes, paw paws, guavas and berries. He absolutely
adores Ann who has been very good and does not seem at all unsettled by the long
It is absolutely heavenly to be back and I shall be happier than ever now that I
have a baby to play with during the long hours when George is busy on the farm,
Thank you for all your love and care during the many months I was with you. Ann
sends a special bubble for granddad.
Your very loving,
Mchewe Estate Mbeya July 18th 1932
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
We always have a night light burning so that, if necessary, I can attend to Ann
with a minimum of fuss, and the things I see in that dim light! There are gaps between
the reeds and one night I heard, plop! and there, before my horrified gaze, lay a newly
born hairless baby rat on the floor by the bed, plop, plop! and there lay two more.
Quite dead, poor things – but what a careless mother.
I have also seen rats scampering around on the tops of the mosquito nets and
sometimes we have them on our bed. They have a lovely game. They swarm down
the cord from which the mosquito net is suspended, leap onto the bed and onto the
floor. We do not have our net down now the cold season is here and there are few
Last week a rat crept under Ann’s net which hung to the floor and bit her little
finger, so now I tuck the net in under the mattress though it makes it difficult for me to
attend to her at night. We shall have to get a cat somewhere. Ann’s pram has not yet
arrived so George carries her when we go walking – to her great content.
The native women around here are most interested in Ann. They come to see
her, bearing small gifts, and usually bring a child or two with them. They admire my child
and I admire theirs and there is an exchange of gifts. They produce a couple of eggs or
a few bananas or perhaps a skinny fowl and I hand over sugar, salt or soap as they
value these commodities. The most lavish gift went to the wife of Thomas our headman,
who produced twin daughters in the same week as I had Ann.
Our neighbours have all been across to welcome me back and to admire the
baby. These include Marion Coster who came out to join her husband whilst I was in
South Africa. The two Hickson-Wood children came over on a fat old white donkey.
They made a pretty picture sitting astride, one behind the other – Maureen with her arms
around small Michael’s waist. A native toto led the donkey and the children’ s ayah
walked beside it.
It is quite cold here now but the sun is bright and the air dry. The whole
countryside is beautifully green and we are a very happy little family.
Lots and lots of love,
Mchewe Estate August 11th 1932
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
After he had thoroughly cleaned the wound George sewed it up himself. he has
the proper surgical needles and gut. He held the cut together with his left hand and
pushed the needle through the flesh with his right. I pulled the needle out and passed it
to George for the next stitch. I doubt whether a surgeon could have made a neater job
of it. He is still confined to the couch but today his temperature is normal. Some
The previous week was hectic in another way. We had a visit from lions! George
and I were having supper about 8.30 on Tuesday night when the back verandah was
suddenly invaded by women and children from the servants quarters behind the kitchen.
They were all yelling “Simba, Simba.” – simba means lions. The door opened suddenly
and the houseboy rushed in to say that there were lions at the huts. George got up
swiftly, fetched gun and ammunition from the bedroom and with the houseboy carrying
the lamp, went off to investigate. I remained at the table, carrying on with my supper as I
felt a pioneer’s wife should! Suddenly something big leapt through the open window
behind me. You can imagine what I thought! I know now that it is quite true to say one’s
hair rises when one is scared. However it was only Kelly, our huge Irish wolfhound,
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
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
Apart from the little set back last week, Ann is blooming. She has a cap of very
fine fair hair and clear blue eyes under straight brow. She also has lovely dimples in both
cheeks. We are very proud of her.
Our neighbours are picking coffee but the crops are small and the price is low. I
am amazed that they are so optimistic about the future. No one in these parts ever
seems to grouse though all are living on capital. They all say “Well if the worst happens
we can always go up to the Lupa Diggings.”
Don’t worry about us, we have enough to tide us over for some time yet.
Much love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 28th Sept. 1932
News! News! I’m going to have another baby. George and I are delighted and I
hope it will be a boy this time. I shall be able to have him at Mbeya because things are
rapidly changing here. Several German families have moved to Mbeya including a
German doctor who means to build a hospital there. I expect he will make a very good
living because there must now be some hundreds of Europeans within a hundred miles
radius of Mbeya. The Europeans are mostly British or German but there are also
Greeks and, I believe, several other nationalities are represented on the Lupa Diggings.
Ann is blooming and developing according to the Book except that she has no
teeth yet! Kath Hickson-Wood has given her a very nice high chair and now she has
breakfast and lunch at the table with us. Everything within reach goes on the floor to her
amusement and my exasperation!
You ask whether we have any Church of England missionaries in our part. No we
haven’t though there are Lutheran and Roman Catholic Missions. I have never even
heard of a visiting Church of England Clergyman to these parts though there are babies
in plenty who have not been baptised. Jolly good thing I had Ann Christened down
The R.C. priests in this area are called White Fathers. They all have beards and
wear white cassocks and sun helmets. One, called Father Keiling, calls around frequently.
Though none of us in this area is Catholic we take it in turn to put him up for the night. The
Catholic Fathers in their turn are most hospitable to travellers regardless of their beliefs.
Rather a sad thing has happened. Lucas our old chicken-boy is dead. I shall miss
his toothy smile. George went to the funeral and fired two farewell shots from his rifle
over the grave – a gesture much appreciated by the locals. Lucas in his day was a good
Several of the locals own muzzle loading guns but the majority hunt with dogs
and spears. The dogs wear bells which make an attractive jingle but I cannot bear the
idea of small antelope being run down until they are exhausted before being clubbed of
stabbed to death. We seldom eat venison as George does not care to shoot buck.
Recently though, he shot an eland and Abel rendered down the fat which is excellent for
cooking and very like beef fat.
Much love to all,
Mchewe Estate. P.O.Mbeya 21st November 1932
George has gone off to the Lupa for a week with John Molteno. John came up
here with the idea of buying a coffee farm but he has changed his mind and now thinks of
staking some claims on the diggings and also setting up as a gold buyer.
Did I tell you about his arrival here? John and George did some elephant hunting
together in French Equatorial Africa and when John heard that George had married and
settled in Tanganyika, he also decided to come up here. He drove up from Cape Town
in a Baby Austin and arrived just as our labourers were going home for the day. The little
car stopped half way up our hill and John got out to investigate. You should have heard
the astonished exclamations when John got out – all 6 ft 5 ins. of him! He towered over
the little car and even to me it seemed impossible for him to have made the long
journey in so tiny a car.
Kath Wood has been over several times lately. She is slim and looks so right in
the shirt and corduroy slacks she almost always wears. She was here yesterday when
the shamba boy, digging in the front garden, unearthed a large earthenware cooking pot,
sealed at the top. I was greatly excited and had an instant mental image of fabulous
wealth. We made the boy bring the pot carefully on to the verandah and opened it in
happy anticipation. What do you think was inside? Nothing but a grinning skull! Such a
treat for a pregnant female.
We have a tree growing here that had lovely straight branches covered by a
smooth bark. I got the garden boy to cut several of these branches of a uniform size,
peeled off the bark and have made Ann a playpen with the poles which are much like
broom sticks. Now I can leave her unattended when I do my chores. The other morning
after breakfast I put Ann in her playpen on the verandah and gave her a piece of toast
and honey to keep her quiet whilst I laundered a few of her things. When I looked out a
little later I was horrified to see a number of bees buzzing around her head whilst she
placidly concentrated on her toast. I made a rapid foray and rescued her but I still don’t
know whether that was the thing to do.
We all send our love,
Mbeya Hospital. April 25th. 1933
Here I am, installed at the very new hospital, built by Dr Eckhardt, awaiting the
arrival of the new baby. George has gone back to the farm on foot but will walk in again
to spend the weekend with us. Ann is with me and enjoys the novelty of playing with
other children. The Eckhardts have two, a pretty little girl of two and a half and a very fair
roly poly boy of Ann’s age. Ann at fourteen months is very active. She is quite a little girl
now with lovely dimples. She walks well but is backward in teething.
George, Ann and I had a couple of days together at the hotel before I moved in
here and several of the local women visited me and have promised to visit me in
hospital. The trip from farm to town was very entertaining if not very comfortable. There
is ten miles of very rough road between our farm and Utengule Mission and beyond the
Mission there is a fair thirteen or fourteen mile road to Mbeya.
As we have no car now the doctor’s wife offered to drive us from the Mission to
Mbeya but she would not risk her car on the road between the Mission and our farm.
The upshot was that I rode in the Hickson-Woods machila for that ten mile stretch. The
machila is a canopied hammock, slung from a bamboo pole, in which I reclined, not too
comfortably in my unwieldy state, with Ann beside me or sometime straddling me. Four
of our farm boys carried the machila on their shoulders, two fore and two aft. The relief
bearers walked on either side. There must have been a dozen in all and they sang a sort
of sea shanty song as they walked. One man would sing a verse and the others took up
the chorus. They often improvise as they go. They moaned about my weight (at least
George said so! I don’t follow Ki-Swahili well yet) and expressed the hope that I would
have a son and that George would reward them handsomely.
George and Kelly, the dog, followed close behind the machila and behind
George came Abel our cook and his wife and small daughter Annalie, all in their best
attire. The cook wore a palm beach suit, large Terai hat and sunglasses and two colour
shoes and quite lent a tone to the proceedings! Right at the back came the rag tag and
bobtail who joined the procession just for fun.
Mrs Eckhardt was already awaiting us at the Mission when we arrived and we had
an uneventful trip to the Mbeya Hotel.
During my last week at the farm I felt very tired and engaged the cook’s small
daughter, Annalie, to amuse Ann for an hour after lunch so that I could have a rest. They
played in the small verandah room which adjoins our bedroom and where I keep all my
sewing materials. One afternoon I was startled by a scream from Ann. I rushed to the
room and found Ann with blood steaming from her cheek. Annalie knelt beside her,
looking startled and frightened, with my embroidery scissors in her hand. She had cut off
half of the long curling golden lashes on one of Ann’s eyelids and, in trying to finish the
job, had cut off a triangular flap of skin off Ann’s cheek bone.
I called Abel, the cook, and demanded that he should chastise his daughter there and
then and I soon heard loud shrieks from behind the kitchen. He spanked her with a
bamboo switch but I am sure not as well as she deserved. Africans are very tolerant
towards their children though I have seen husbands and wives fighting furiously.
I feel very well but long to have the confinement over.
Very much love,
Mbeya Hospital. 2nd May 1933.
Little George arrived at 7.30 pm on Saturday evening 29 th. April. George was
with me at the time as he had walked in from the farm for news, and what a wonderful bit
of luck that was. The doctor was away on a case on the Diggings and I was bathing Ann
with George looking on, when the pains started. George dried Ann and gave her
supper and put her to bed. Afterwards he sat on the steps outside my room and a
great comfort it was to know that he was there.
The confinement was short but pretty hectic. The Doctor returned to the Hospital
just in time to deliver the baby. He is a grand little boy, beautifully proportioned. The
doctor says he has never seen a better formed baby. He is however rather funny
looking just now as his head is, very temporarily, egg shaped. He has a shock of black
silky hair like a gollywog and believe it or not, he has a slight black moustache.
George came in, looked at the baby, looked at me, and we both burst out
laughing. The doctor was shocked and said so. He has no sense of humour and couldn’t
understand that we, though bursting with pride in our son, could never the less laugh at
Friends in Mbeya have sent me the most gorgeous flowers and my room is
transformed with delphiniums, roses and carnations. The room would be very austere
without the flowers. Curtains, bedspread and enamelware, walls and ceiling are all
George hired a car and took Ann home next day. I have little George for
company during the day but he is removed at night. I am longing to get him home and
away from the German nurse who feeds him on black tea when he cries. She insists that
tea is a medicine and good for him.
Much love from a proud mother of two.
Mchewe Estate 12May 1933
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.
Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1933
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.
Mchewe Estate. August 10 th. 1933
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
George and the District Commissioner, David Pollock, went to meet the plane
by which the ova had been consigned but the pilot knew nothing about the package. It
came to light in the mail bag with the parcels! However the ova came to no harm. David
Pollock and George brought the parcel to the farm and carefully transferred the ova to
the hatching box. It was interesting to watch the tiny fry hatch out – a process which took
several days. Many died in the process and George removed the dead by sucking
them up in a glass tube.
When hatched, the tiny fry were fed on ant eggs collected by the boys. I had to
take over the job of feeding and removing the dead when George left on safari. The fry
have to be fed every four hours, like the baby, so each time I have fed Georgie. I hurry
down to feed the trout.
The children are very good but keep me busy. Ann can now say several words
and understands more. She adores Georgie. I long to show them off to you.
Very much love
Mchewe Estate. October 27th 1933
All just over flu. George and Ann were very poorly. I did not fare so badly and
Georgie came off best. He is on a bottle now.
There was some excitement here last Wednesday morning. At 6.30 am. I called
for boiling water to make Georgie’s food. No water arrived but muffled shouting and the
sound of blows came from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found a fierce fight in
progress between the house boy and the kitchen boy. In my efforts to make them stop
fighting I went too close and got a sharp bang on the mouth with the edge of an
enamelled plate the kitchen boy was using as a weapon. My teeth cut my lip inside and
the plate cut it outside and blood flowed from mouth to chin. The boys were petrified.
By the time I had fed Georgie the lip was stiff and swollen. George went in wrath
to the kitchen and by breakfast time both house boy and kitchen boy had swollen faces
too. Since then I have a kettle of boiling water to hand almost before the words are out
of my mouth. I must say that the fight was because the house boy had clouted the
kitchen boy for keeping me waiting! In this land of piece work it is the job of the kitchen
boy to light the fire and boil the kettle but the houseboy’s job to carry the kettle to me.
I have seen little of Kath Wood or Marion Coster for the past two months. Major
Jones is the neighbour who calls most regularly. He has a wireless set and calls on all of
us to keep us up to date with world as well as local news. He often brings oranges for
Ann who adores him. He is a very nice person but no oil painting and makes no effort to
entertain Ann but she thinks he is fine. Perhaps his monocle appeals to her.
George has bought a six foot long galvanised bath which is a great improvement
on the smaller oval one we have used until now. The smaller one had grown battered
from much use and leaks like a sieve. Fortunately our bathroom has a cement floor,
because one had to fill the bath to the brim and then bath extremely quickly to avoid
being left high and dry.
Lots and lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. P.O. Mbeya 1st December 1933
Ann has not been well. We think she has had malaria. She has grown a good
deal lately and looks much thinner and rather pale. Georgie is thriving and has such
sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile. He and Ann make a charming pair, one so fair
and the other dark.
The Moltenos’ spent a few days here and took Georgie and me to Mbeya so
that Georgie could be vaccinated. However it was an unsatisfactory trip because the
doctor had no vaccine.
George went to the Lupa with the Moltenos and returned to the farm in their Baby
Austin which they have lent to us for a week. This was to enable me to go to Mbeya to
have a couple of teeth filled by a visiting dentist.
We went to Mbeya in the car on Saturday. It was quite a squash with the four of
us on the front seat of the tiny car. Once George grabbed the babies foot instead of the
gear knob! We had Georgie vaccinated at the hospital and then went to the hotel where
the dentist was installed. Mr Dare, the dentist, had few instruments and they were very
tarnished. I sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair whilst he tinkered with my teeth. He filled
three but two of the fillings came out that night. This meant another trip to Mbeya in the
Baby Austin but this time they seem all right.
The weather is very hot and dry and the garden a mess. We are having trouble
with the young coffee trees too. Cut worms are killing off seedlings in the nursery and
there is a borer beetle in the planted out coffee.
George bought a large grey donkey from some wandering Masai and we hope
the children will enjoy riding it later on.
Very much love,
Mchewe Estate. 14th February 1934.
You will be sorry to hear that little Ann has been very ill, indeed we were terribly
afraid that we were going to lose her. She enjoyed her birthday on the 8th. All the toys
you, and her English granny, sent were unwrapped with such delight. However next
day she seemed listless and a bit feverish so I tucked her up in bed after lunch. I dosed
her with quinine and aspirin and she slept fitfully. At about eleven o’clock I was
awakened by a strange little cry. I turned up the night light and was horrified to see that
Ann was in a convulsion. I awakened George who, as always in an emergency, was
perfectly calm and practical. He filled the small bath with very warm water and emersed
Ann in it, placing a cold wet cloth on her head. We then wrapped her in blankets and
gave her an enema and she settled down to sleep. A few hours later we had the same
thing over again.
At first light we sent a runner to Mbeya to fetch the doctor but waited all day in
vain and in the evening the runner returned to say that the doctor had gone to a case on
the diggings. Ann had been feverish all day with two or three convulsions. Neither
George or I wished to leave the bedroom, but there was Georgie to consider, and in
the afternoon I took him out in the garden for a while whilst George sat with Ann.
That night we both sat up all night and again Ann had those wretched attacks of
convulsions. George and I were worn out with anxiety by the time the doctor arrived the
next afternoon. Ann had not been able to keep down any quinine and had had only
small sips of water since the onset of the attack.
The doctor at once diagnosed the trouble as malaria aggravated by teething.
George held Ann whilst the Doctor gave her an injection. At the first attempt the needle
bent into a bow, George was furious! The second attempt worked and after a few hours
Ann’s temperature dropped and though she was ill for two days afterwards she is now
up and about. She has also cut the last of her baby teeth, thank God. She looks thin and
white, but should soon pick up. It has all been a great strain to both of us. Georgie
behaved like an angel throughout. He played happily in his cot and did not seem to
sense any tension as people say, babies do. Our baby was cheerful and not at all
This is the rainy season and it is a good thing that some work has been done on
our road or the doctor might not have got through.
Much love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 1st October 1934
We are all well now, thank goodness, but last week Georgie gave us such a
fright. I was sitting on the verandah, busy with some sewing and not watching Ann and
Georgie, who were trying to reach a bunch of bananas which hung on a rope from a
beam of the verandah. Suddenly I heard a crash, Georgie had fallen backward over the
edge of the verandah and hit the back of his head on the edge of the brick furrow which
carries away the rainwater. He lay flat on his back with his arms spread out and did not
move or cry. When I picked him up he gave a little whimper, I carried him to his cot and
bathed his face and soon he began sitting up and appeared quite normal. The trouble
began after he had vomited up his lunch. He began to whimper and bang his head
against the cot.
George and I were very worried because we have no transport so we could not
take Georgie to the doctor and we could not bear to go through again what we had gone
through with Ann earlier in the year. Then, in the late afternoon, a miracle happened. Two
men George hardly knew, and complete strangers to me, called in on their way from the
diggings to Mbeya and they kindly drove Georgie and me to the hospital. The Doctor
allowed me to stay with Georgie and we spent five days there. Luckily he responded to
treatment and is now as alive as ever. Children do put years on one!
There is nothing much else to report. We have a new vegetable garden which is
doing well but the earth here is strange. Gardens seem to do well for two years but by
that time the soil is exhausted and one must move the garden somewhere else. The
coffee looks well but it will be another year before we can expect even a few bags of
coffee and prices are still low. Anyway by next year George should have some good
return for all his hard work.
Lots of love,
Mchewe Estate. November 4th 1934
George is home from his White Hunting safari looking very sunburnt and well.
The elderly American, who was his client this time, called in here at the farm to meet me
and the children. It is amazing what spirit these old lads have! This one looked as though
he should be thinking in terms of slippers and an armchair but no, he thinks in terms of
high powered rifles with telescopic sights.
It is lovely being together again and the children are delighted to have their Dad
home. Things are always exciting when George is around. The day after his return
George said at breakfast, “We can’t go on like this. You and the kids never get off the
shamba. We’ll simply have to get a car.” You should have heard the excitement. “Get a
car Daddy?’” cried Ann jumping in her chair so that her plaits bounced. “Get a car
Daddy?” echoed Georgie his brown eyes sparkling. “A car,” said I startled, “However
can we afford one?”
“Well,” said George, “on my way back from Safari I heard that a car is to be sold
this week at the Tukuyu Court, diseased estate or bankruptcy or something, I might get it
cheap and it is an A.C.” The name meant nothing to me, but George explained that an
A.C. is first cousin to a Rolls Royce.
So off he went to the sale and next day the children and I listened all afternoon for
the sound of an approaching car. We had many false alarms but, towards evening we
heard what appeared to be the roar of an aeroplane engine. It was the A.C. roaring her
way up our steep hill with a long plume of steam waving gaily above her radiator.
Out jumped my beaming husband and in no time at all, he was showing off her
points to an admiring family. Her lines are faultless and seats though worn are most
comfortable. She has a most elegant air so what does it matter that the radiator leaks like
a sieve, her exhaust pipe has broken off, her tyres are worn almost to the canvas and
she has no windscreen. She goes, and she cost only five pounds.
Next afternoon George, the kids and I piled into the car and drove along the road
on lookout for guinea fowl. All went well on the outward journey but on the homeward
one the poor A.C. simply gasped and died. So I carried the shot gun and George
carried both children and we trailed sadly home. This morning George went with a bunch
of farmhands and brought her home. Truly temperamental, she came home literally
under her own steam.
George now plans to get a second hand engine and radiator for her but it won’t
be an A.C. engine. I think she is the only one of her kind in the country.
I am delighted to hear, dad, that you are sending a bridle for Joseph for
Christmas. I am busy making a saddle out of an old piece of tent canvas stuffed with
kapok, some webbing and some old rug straps. A car and a riding donkey! We’re
definitely carriage folk now.
Lots of love to all,
Mchewe Estate. 28th December 1934
Thank you for the wonderful Christmas parcel. My frock is a splendid fit. George
declares that no one can knit socks like Mummy and the children love their toys and new
Joseph, the donkey, took his bit with an air of bored resignation and Ann now
rides proudly on his back. Joseph is a big strong animal with the looks and disposition of
a mule. he will not go at all unless a native ‘toto’ walks before him and when he does go
he wears a pained expression as though he were carrying fourteen stone instead of
Ann’s fly weight. I walk beside the donkey carrying Georgie and our cat, ‘Skinny Winnie’,
follows behind. Quite a cavalcade. The other day I got so exasperated with Joseph that
I took Ann off and I got on. Joseph tottered a few paces and sat down! to the huge
delight of our farm labourers who were going home from work. Anyway, one good thing,
the donkey is so lazy that there is little chance of him bolting with Ann.
The Moltenos spent Christmas with us and left for the Lupa Diggings yesterday.
They arrived on the 22nd. with gifts for the children and chocolates and beer. That very
afternoon George and John Molteno left for Ivuna, near Lake Ruckwa, to shoot some
guinea fowl and perhaps a goose for our Christmas dinner. We expected the menfolk
back on Christmas Eve and Anne and I spent a busy day making mince pies and
sausage rolls. Why I don’t know, because I am sure Abel could have made them better.
We decorated the Christmas tree and sat up very late but no husbands turned up.
Christmas day passed but still no husbands came. Anne, like me, is expecting a baby
and we both felt pretty forlorn and cross. Anne was certain that they had been caught up
in a party somewhere and had forgotten all about us and I must say when Boxing Day
went by and still George and John did not show up I felt ready to agree with her.
They turned up towards evening and explained that on the homeward trip the car
had bogged down in the mud and that they had spent a miserable Christmas. Anne
refused to believe their story so George, to prove their case, got the game bag and
tipped the contents on to the dining room table. Out fell several guinea fowl, long past
being edible, followed by a large goose so high that it was green and blue where all the
feathers had rotted off.
The stench was too much for two pregnant girls. I shot out of the front door
closely followed by Anne and we were both sick in the garden.
I could not face food that evening but Anne is made of stronger stuff and ate her
belated Christmas dinner with relish.
I am looking forward enormously to having Marjorie here with us. She will be able
to carry back to you an eyewitness account of our home and way of life.
Much love to you all,
Mchewe Estate. 5th January 1935
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.
Mchewe Estate. 18th February 1935
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.
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, EleanorDecember 18, 2021 at 12:59 pm #6243
William Housley’s Will and the Court Case
William Housley died in 1848, but his widow Ellen didn’t die until 1872. The court case was in 1873. Details about the court case are archived at the National Archives at Kew, in London, but are not available online. They can be viewed in person, but that hasn’t been possible thus far. However, there are a great many references to it in the letters.
William Housley’s first wife was Mary Carrington 1787-1813. They had three children, Mary Anne, Elizabeth and William. When Mary died, William married Mary’s sister Ellen, not in their own parish church at Smalley but in Ashbourne. Although not uncommon for a widower to marry a deceased wife’s sister, it wasn’t legal. This point is mentioned in one of the letters.
One of the pages of William Housley’s will:
An excerpt from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters:
A comment in a letter from Joseph (August 6, 1873) indicated that William was married twice and that his wives were sisters: “What do you think that I believe that Mary Ann is trying to make our father’s will of no account as she says that my father’s marriage with our mother was not lawful he marrying two sisters. What do you think of her? I have heard my mother say something about paying a fine at the time of the marriage to make it legal.” Markwell and Saul in The A-Z Guide to Tracing Ancestors in Britain explain that marriage to a deceased wife’s sister was not permissible under Canon law as the relationship was within the prohibited degrees. However, such marriages did take place–usually well away from the couple’s home area. Up to 1835 such marriages were not void but were voidable by legal action. Few such actions were instituted but the risk was always there.
Joseph wrote that when Emma was married, Ellen “broke up the comfortable home and the things went to Derby and she went to live with them but Derby didn’t agree with her so she left again leaving her things behind and came to live with John in the new house where she died.” Ellen was listed with John’s household in the 1871 census.
In May 1872, the Ilkeston Pioneer carried this notice: “Mr. Hopkins will sell by auction on Saturday next the eleventh of May 1872 the whole of the useful furniture, sewing machine, etc. nearly new on the premises of the late Mrs. Housley at Smalley near Heanor in the county of Derby. Sale at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
There were hard feelings between Mary Ann and Ellen and her children. Anne wrote: “If you remember we were not very friendly when you left. They never came and nothing was too bad for Mary Ann to say of Mother and me, but when Robert died Mother sent for her to the funeral but she did not think well to come so we took no more notice. She would not allow her children to come either.”
Mary Ann was still living in May 1872. Joseph implied that she and her brother, Will “intend making a bit of bother about the settlement of the bit of property” left by their mother. The 1871 census listed Mary Ann’s occupation as “income from houses.”
In July 1872, Joseph introduced Ruth’s husband: “No doubt he is a bad lot. He is one of the Heath’s of Stanley Common a miller and he lives at Smalley Mill” (Ruth Heath was Mary Anne Housley’s daughter)
In 1873 Joseph wrote, “He is nothing but a land shark both Heath and his wife and his wife is the worst of the two. You will think these is hard words but they are true dear brother.” The solicitor, Abraham John Flint, was not at all pleased with Heath’s obstruction of the settlement of the estate. He wrote on June 30, 1873: “Heath agreed at first and then because I would not pay his expenses he refused and has since instructed another solicitor for his wife and Mrs. Weston who have been opposing us to the utmost. I am concerned for all parties interested except these two….The judge severely censured Heath for his conduct and wanted to make an order for sale there and then but Heath’s council would not consent….” In June 1875, the solicitor wrote: “Heath bid for the property but it fetched more money than he could give for it. He has been rather quieter lately.”
In May 1872, Joseph wrote: “For what do you think, John has sold his share and he has acted very bad since his wife died and at the same time he sold all his furniture. You may guess I have never seen him but once since poor mother’s funeral and he is gone now no one knows where.”
Anne intended that one third of the inheritance coming to her from her father and her grandfather, William Carrington, be divided between her four nieces: Sam’s three daughters and John’s daughter Elizabeth.
In the same letter (December 15, 1872), Joseph wrote:
“I think we have now found all out now that is concerned in the matter for there was only Sam that we did not know his whereabouts but I was informed a week ago that he is dead–died about three years ago in Birmingham Union. Poor Sam. He ought to have come to a better end than that”
However, Samuel was still alive was on the 1871 census in Henley in Arden, and no record of his death can be found. Samuel’s brother in law said he was dead: we do not know why he lied, or perhaps the brothers were lying to keep his share, or another possibility is that Samuel himself told his brother in law to tell them that he was dead. I am inclined to think it was the latter.
Excerpts from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on the Letters continued:
Charles went to Australia in 1851, and was last heard from in January 1853. According to the solicitor, who wrote to George on June 3, 1874, Charles had received advances on the settlement of their parent’s estate. “Your promissory note with the two signed by your brother Charles for 20 pounds he received from his father and 20 pounds he received from his mother are now in the possession of the court.”
In December 1872, Joseph wrote: “I’m told that Charles two daughters has wrote to Smalley post office making inquiries about his share….” In January 1876, the solicitor wrote: “Charles Housley’s children have claimed their father’s share.”
In the Adelaide Observer 28 Aug 1875
HOUSLEY – wanted information
as to the Death, Will, or Intestacy, and
Children of Charles Housley, formerly of
Smalley, Derbyshire, England, who died at
Geelong or Creewick Creek Diggings, Victoria
August, 1855. His children will hear of something to their advantage by communicating with
Mr. A J. Flint, solicitor, Derby, England.
The Diggers & Diggings of Victoria in 1855. Drawn on Stone by S.T. Gill:
The court case:
Kerry v Housley.
Documents: Bill, demurrer.
Plaintiffs: Samuel Kerry and Joseph Housley.
Defendants: William Housley, Joseph Housley (deleted), Edwin Welch Harvey, Eleanor Harvey (deleted), Ernest Harvey infant, William Stafford, Elizabeth Stafford his wife, Mary Ann Housley, George Purdy and Catherine Purdy his wife, Elizabeth Housley, Mary Ann Weston widow and William Heath and Ruth Heath his wife (deleted).
Provincial solicitor employed in Derbyshire.
From the Narrative on the Letters:
The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”
In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”
In September 1872 Joseph wrote; “My wife is anxious to come. I hope it will suit her health for she is not over strong.” Elsewhere Joseph wrote that Harriet was “middling sometimes. She is subject to sick headaches. It knocks her up completely when they come on.” In December 1872 Joseph wrote, “Now dear brother about us coming to America you know we shall have to wait until this affair is settled and if it is not settled and thrown into Chancery I’m afraid we shall have to stay in England for I shall never be able to save money enough to bring me out and my family but I hope of better things.”
On July 19, 1875 Abraham Flint (the solicitor) wrote: “Joseph Housley has removed from Smalley and is working on some new foundry buildings at Little Chester near Derby. He lives at a village called Little Eaton near Derby. If you address your letter to him as Joseph Housley, carpenter, Little Eaton near Derby that will no doubt find him.”
In his last letter (February 11, 1874), Joseph sounded very discouraged and wrote that Harriet’s parents were very poorly and both had been “in bed for a long time.” In addition, Harriet and the children had been ill.
The move to Little Eaton may indicate that Joseph received his settlement because in August, 1873, he wrote: “I think this is bad news enough and bad luck too, but I have had little else since I came to live at Kiddsley cottages but perhaps it is all for the best if one could only think so. I have begun to think there will be no chance for us coming over to you for I am afraid there will not be so much left as will bring us out without it is settled very shortly but I don’t intend leaving this house until it is settled either one way or the other. ”
Joseph’s letters were much concerned with the settling of their mother’s estate. In 1854, Anne wrote, “As for my mother coming (to America) I think not at all likely. She is tied here with her property.” A solicitor, Abraham John Flint of 42 Full Street Derby, was engaged by John following the death of their mother. On June 30, 1873 the solicitor wrote: “Dear sir, On the death of your mother I was consulted by your brother John. I acted for him with reference to the sale and division of your father’s property at Smalley. Mr. Kerry was very unwilling to act as trustee being over 73 years of age but owing to the will being a badly drawn one we could not appoint another trustee in his place nor could the property be sold without a decree of chancery. Therefore Mr. Kerry consented and after a great deal of trouble with Heath who has opposed us all throughout whenever matters did not suit him, we found the title deeds and offered the property for sale by public auction on the 15th of July last. Heath could not find his purchase money without mortaging his property the solicitor which the mortgagee employed refused to accept Mr. Kerry’s title and owing to another defect in the will we could not compel them.”
In July 1872, Joseph wrote, “I do not know whether you can remember who the trustee was to my father’s will. It was Thomas Watson and Samuel Kerry of Smalley Green. Mr. Watson is dead (died a fortnight before mother) so Mr. Kerry has had to manage the affair.”
On Dec. 15, 1972, Joseph wrote, “Now about this property affair. It seems as far off of being settled as ever it was….” and in the following March wrote: “I think we are as far off as ever and farther I think.”
Concerning the property which was auctioned on July 15, 1872 and brought 700 pounds, Joseph wrote: “It was sold in five lots for building land and this man Heath bought up four lots–that is the big house, the croft and the cottages. The croft was made into two lots besides the piece belonging to the big house and the cottages and gardens was another lot and the little intake was another. William Richardson bought that.” Elsewhere Richardson’s purchase was described as “the little croft against Smith’s lane.” Smith’s Lane was probably named for their neighbor Daniel Smith, Mrs. Davy’s father.
But in December 1872, Joseph wrote that they had not received any money because “Mr. Heath is raising all kinds of objections to the will–something being worded wrong in the will.” In March 1873, Joseph “clarified” matters in this way: “His objection was that one trustee could not convey the property that his signature was not guarantee sufficient as it states in the will that both trustees has to sign the conveyance hence this bother.”
Joseph indicated that six shares were to come out of the 700 pounds besides Will’s 20 pounds. Children were to come in for the parents shares if dead. The solicitor wrote in 1873, “This of course refers to the Kidsley property in which you take a one seventh share and which if the property sells well may realize you about 60-80 pounds.” In March 1873 Joseph wrote: “You have an equal share with the rest in both lots of property, but I am afraid there will be but very little for any of us.”
The other “lot of property” was “property in Smalley left under another will.” On July 17, 1872, Joseph wrote: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington and Uncle Richard is trustee. He seems very backward in bringing the property to a sale but I saw him and told him that I for one expect him to proceed with it.” George seemed to have difficulty understanding that there were two pieces of property so Joseph explained further: “It was left by my grandfather Carrington not by our father and Uncle Richard is the trustee for it but the will does not give him power to sell without the signatures of the parties concerned.” In June 1873 the solicitor Abraham John Flint asked: “Nothing has been done about the other property at Smalley at present. It wants attention and the other parties have asked me to attend to it. Do you authorize me to see to it for you as well?”
After Ellen’s death, the rent was divided between Joseph, Will, Mary Ann and Mr. Heath who bought John’s share and was married to Mary Ann’s daughter, Ruth. Joseph said that Mr. Heath paid 40 pounds for John’s share and that John had drawn 110 pounds in advance. The solicitor said Heath said he paid 60. The solicitor said that Heath was trying to buy the shares of those at home to get control of the property and would have defied the absent ones to get anything.
In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer said the trustee cannot sell the property at the bottom of Smalley without the signatures of all parties concerned in it and it will have to go through chancery court which will be a great expense. He advised Joseph to sell his share and Joseph advised George to do the same.
George sent a “portrait” so that it could be established that it was really him–still living and due a share. Joseph wrote (July 1872): “the trustee was quite willing to (acknowledge you) for the portrait I think is a very good one.” Several letters later in response to an inquiry from George, Joseph wrote: “The trustee recognized you in a minute…I have not shown it to Mary Ann for we are not on good terms….Parties that I have shown it to own you again but they say it is a deal like John. It is something like him, but I think is more like myself.”
In September 1872 Joseph wrote that the lawyer required all of their ages and they would have to pay “succession duty”. Joseph requested that George send a list of birth dates.
On May 23, 1874, the solicitor wrote: “I have been offered 240 pounds for the three cottages and the little house. They sold for 200 pounds at the last sale and then I was offered 700 pounds for the whole lot except Richardson’s Heanor piece for which he is still willing to give 58 pounds. Thus you see that the value of the estate has very materially increased since the last sale so that this delay has been beneficial to your interests than other-wise. Coal has become much dearer and they suppose there is coal under this estate. There are many enquiries about it and I believe it will realize 800 pounds or more which increase will more than cover all expenses.” Eventually the solicitor wrote that the property had been sold for 916 pounds and George would take a one-ninth share.
January 14, 1876: “I am very sorry to hear of your lameness and illness but I trust that you are now better. This matter as I informed you had to stand over until December since when all the costs and expenses have been taxed and passed by the court and I am expecting to receive the order for these this next week, then we have to pay the legacy duty and them divide the residue which I doubt won’t come to very much amongst so many of you. But you will hear from me towards the end of the month or early next month when I shall have to send you the papers to sign for your share. I can’t tell you how much it will be at present as I shall have to deduct your share with the others of the first sale made of the property before it went to court.
Wishing you a Happy New Year, I am Dear Sir, Yours truly
Abram J. Flint”
September 15, 1876 (the last letter)
“I duly received your power of attorney which appears to have been properly executed on Thursday last and I sent it on to my London agent, Mr. Henry Lyvell, who happens just now to be away for his annual vacation and will not return for 14 or 20 days and as his signature is required by the Paymaster General before he will pay out your share, it must consequently stand over and await his return home. It shall however receive immediate attention as soon as he returns and I hope to be able to send your checque for the balance very shortly.”
1874 in chancery:FloveParticipant
Star paused in the lobby. “I need some more persuading,” she said. “What if she dies in that wardrobe? What will we do with the body? Or, worse, what if she doesn’t die and sues us?”
“I’m going back. I can’t leave Rosamund to face the consequences of our drunken stupidity.” Star headed defiantly towards the stairs; the lift was out of order, again. “We would have to be on the eight bloody floor,” she muttered. “You do what you like,” she flung over her shoulder to Tara.
Tara sighed. “Wait up,” she shouted.
Star was relieved that Tara decided to follow. The building was scary at night – the few tenants who did lease office space, were, much like themselves, dodgy start-ups that couldn’t afford anything better. Missing bulbs meant the lighting in the stairwell was dim, and, on some floors, non-existent.
As they approached the door to their office, they paused to listen. “Can you hear something … ?” whispered Star.
“Is it … singing?”
“That’s never Rosamund singing. She’s got a voice like … well let’s just say you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.”
“I’m going in,” hissed Tara and flung open the door.
“Don’t come any closer!” cried a woman in a mink coat; she did make a peculiar sight, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and brandishing a broom. “And you, shut up!” she said reaching out to bang the wardrobe with her broom. There were muffled cries from within, and then silence.
“Was that you singing?” asked Star in her most polite voice.
“Yes, what’s it to you?”
“It was rather… lovely.”
The woman smirked. “I was rehearsing.”
“We are awfully sorry about locking you in the wardrobe. We thought you were a masked intruder.”
Loud banging emanated from the wardrobe followed by mostly unintelligible shouting but it went something like: “Bloody-let-me-out-or-I-will-friggin-kill-you-stupid-bloody-tarts!”
April nodded. “Go on then, little fool’s learnt her lesson. The cheek of her not letting me have pineapple on my pizza.”
“About bloody time,” sniffed Rosamund when the door was opened. She made a sorry sight, mascara streaked under her eyes and her red fingernails broken from where she had tried to force the door.
April crinkled her brow.”Well, as I may of mentioned on the phone, my husband, Albert — that’s your Uncle Albie,” she said to Rosamund, “is cheating on me. He denies it vehemently of course, but I found this note in his pocket.” She reached into her Louis Vuitton hand-bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. “That’s his handwriting and the paper is from the Royal Albert Hotel. He was there on a business trip last month.” Her face crumpled.
April sniffed. “It says, meet you at the usual place. Bring the money and the suitcase and I will make it worth your while.”
“Let me see that,” said Rosamund, snatching the note from April. She reached into the front of her tee-shirt and pulled out another crumpled note which had been stuffed into her bra. She smirked. “I found this in the wardrobe. I was keeping it secret to pay you back but … ” She brandished both notes triumphantly. “The handwriting is the same!”
“It says, If you find this note, please help me. All is not what it seems..”
“Wow, cool!” said Tara, her face lit up. This was more like it!EricKeymaster
“… and don’t tell me she’s got another pitiful excuse for not delivering! Listen, she’s just the worst! And let me tell you that I’m not exaggerating. I’m also managing GRRAOU —yes, George fucking R.R.A.O. Urtin, and this guy’s been at his pentalogy since 25 years. So, I got my fill about lame excuses.”
“Her readers are devotees, you know. They know hers is a difficult craft. Warping and woofing words around like she does, so gloriously. Everybody but you Bronkel seem to understand that it’s not commonplace, it’s a treasure earned with patience and devotion.”
“Devotees for sure. They have a saint’s patience I can grant you that, and luckily for her!” Bronkel drank the inch of gin bottoms up. “And where is she, by the way? Will she not deign face me?”
“Oh, I think she’s err… busy at the moment. She’s rehearsing a scene from her last book for accuracy… with the gardener.”
Mater has started a fitness regime to make sure she lives long enough to make the milestone. She said if it had all happened a couple of years ago she wouldn’t have minded whether she popped off or not, but now that she was this close, she wasn’t going to be robbed of her glory.
It was hard to see the glory in that lumpy old flesh wobbling around the front yard, or why anyone would be interested in robbing her of it still less, but she was determined, and there was no putting her off. And it’s not just the jogging. I thought we had a swarm of bees on the porch yesterday and went out to investigate and it was Mater, sitting there on the wooden floor in an awkward parody of a guru pose babbling some Om sounds and humming. And that wasn’t the worst of it either, she was wearing a fuchsia pink leotard.
The evening helper said she was very sorry to tell me that my niece wouldn’t be able to make it this week, as she’d been on holiday and got quarantined. You needn’t be sorry about that, I told her, I don’t know who she is anyway. Not that I’m ungrateful, it’s very kind of her to come and visit me. She tells me all about people I’ve never heard of, and I pretend to take an interest. I’m polite you see, brought up that way.
Then she said, you’ll have to go easy on the toilet paper, it’s all sold out. Panic buying, she said.
That’s what happens when people start shitting themselves with fear, I said, and she tutted at me as if I was a seven year old, the cheeky young whippersnapper. And how shall I go easy on it, shall I crap outside behind the flat topped bushes under my window? Wipe my arse on a leaf?
Don’t be daft, you’d fall over, she replied crisply. She had a point. My hip’s still playing me up, so my plans to escape are on hold. Not much point in it with all this quarantine nonsense going on anyway. I might get rounded up and put in a tent by a faceless moron in a hazmat suit. I must say the plague doctors outfits were much more stylish. And there was no panic buying of loo rolls in those days either.
I don’t know what the world’s coming to. A handful of people with a cough and everyone loses their minds. Then again, when the plague came, everyone lost their minds too. Not over toilet paper though. We didn’t start losing our minds until the carts started rolling past every night full of the bodies. No paper masks in those days either, we wound scarves around our faces because of the stench.
The worst thing was being locked in the house when the kitchen maid came down with it. All of us, all of the nine children, my wife and her mother, the cook and the maids, all of us untouched, all but that one kitchen maid. If only they’d taken her away, the rest of us might not have perished. Not having enough food did us in, we were weakened with starvation. Shut in the house for weeks, with no escape. Nothing to do but feast on the fears, like a smothering cloud. Like as not, we just gave up, and said, plague, carry me off, I can bear no more. I know after the youngest 6 children and the oldest boy died, I had no will to live. I died before the wife did and felt a bit guilty about that, leaving her to face the rest of it alone. She wasn’t happy about that, and who can blame her.
One thing for sure, it wasn’t running out of blasted toilet paper that was worrying me.
With her pink glove on and her lips apart, Liz passed her finger on the bookshelf. Making the most of the opportunity of Finnley’s excursion outside, Liz had pretexted she wanted to show Roberto how to check for dust. In truth, but she would never confess to it, except to Godfrey after a few drink and some cashew nuts later that day, in truth she had bought a new pink uniform for the gardener/handyman and wanted to see how it fitted him. Of course, she had ordered a few sizes under, so Roberto’s muscles bulged quite nicely under the fabric of the short sleeves, stretching the seam in a dangerously exciting way.
“What’s this book?” asked Roberto.
“What?” asked Liz who had been lost in one of the worst case scenario. Why would Roberto talk about something as undersexying as a book? Nonetheless, without wanting to, her eyes followed the gardener’s sexy arm down to his sexy finger pointing at the book spine and her brain froze on the title: “An Aesthetic of the Night Mare“, by Vanina Vain.
“What’s this book doing among my personal work?” she asked, all sexying forgotten.
“Don’t you remember?” asked Godfrey who happened to pass behind her. “Years ago when you still read your fanmail you answered one from a young girl wanting to follow in your footsteps. You sent her a handwritten copy of Rilke’s letter to a young poet. I wrote it myself and Finnley signed it for you. She’s so good at imitating your signature. Well anyway a few years later that girl finally published her first book and sent you a copy to thank you.”
“Have I read it?” Liz asked.
“You might have. But I’m not sure. It’s quite Gothic. The girl takes advantage of her sleep paralysis at night to do some crazy experiences.”
Liz had no recollection whatsoever of it, but that was not the point.
“Tsk. What’s it doing among my personal work bookshelves? Don’t we have somewhere else to put that kind of…”
“The trash you mean?” asked Finnley.
“Oh! You’re back”, said Liz.
“Tsk, tsk. Such disappointment in your voice. But I’m never far away, and luckily for some”, she added with a look at Roberto who was trying to stretch the sleeve without breaking the seam.
Barbara’s office was dead silent apart from the regular bips of the machines. The whiteness of the painted walls made it feel like a psych ward. She shivered away the memories that were trying to catch her attention.
It’s been two hours since the Doctor had locked himself up in his rage-release room, a spacious soundproofed room with padded walls. Not even a small window to look inside and check if his anger had subsided. Barbara clearly preferred the trauma of the shouts and cries and the broken plates that were hidden here and there for him to use when he needed most. But when he started his therapy with the AI psych module, the damn bot suggested he built that room in order to release his rage in a more intimate framework.
Now the plates collected dust and the sessions in the room tended to last longer and longer.
Today’s burst of rage had been triggered by the unexpected gathering of the guests at the Inn. The Doctor was drinking his columbian cocoa, a blend of melted dark chocolate with cheddar cheese, when the old hag in that bloody gabardine started her speech. The camera hidden in the eye of the fish by their agent, gave them a fisheye view of the room. It was very practical and they could see everything. The AI engineer module could recreate a 3D view of the room and anticipate the moves of all the attendees.
When that girl with the fishnet handed out the keys for all to see and the other girl got the doll out, the Doctor had his attention hyper-focused. He wanted to see it all.
Except there had been a glitch and images of granola cookies superimposed on the items.
“Send the magpies to retrieve the items,” he said, nervousness making his voice louder.
“Ahem,” had answered Barbara.
“What?” The Doctor turned towards her. His eye twitched when he expected the worst, and it had been twitching fast.
She had been trying to hide the fact that the magpies had been distracted lately, as she had clearly been herself since she had found that goldminer game on facebush.
No need to delay the inevitable, she had thought. “The magpies are not in the immediate vicinity of the Inn.” In fact, just as their imprinting mother was busy digging digital gold during her work time, the magpies had found a new vein of gold while going to the Inn and Barbara had thought it could be a nice addition to her meager salary… to make ends meet at the end of the month.
It obviously wasn’t the right time to do so. And she was worried about the Doctor now.
To trump her anxiety, she was surfing the internet. Too guilty to play the gold miner, she was looking around for solutions to her boss’s stress. The variety and abundance of advertisement was deafening her eyes, and somewhere in a gold mine she was sure the magpies were going berserk too. She had to find a solution quickly.
Barbara hesitated to ask the AI. But there were obviously too many solutions to choose from. Her phone buzzed. It was her mother.
“I finally found the white jade masks. Bought one for you 2. It helps chase the mental stress away. You clearly need it.” Her mother had joined a picture of her wearing the mask on top of a beauty mask which gave her the look of a mummy. Her mother was too much into the woowoo stuffs and Barbara was about to send her a polite but firm no she didn’t want the mask. But the door of the rage-room opened and the Doctor went out. He had such a blissful look on his face. It was unnatural. Barbara had been suspecting the AI to brainwash the Doctor with subliminal messages during those therapy sessions. Maybe it also happened in the rage-room. The AI was using tech to control the Doctor. Barbara would use some other means to win him back.
OK. SEND IT TO ME QUICK. she sent to her mother.
A rivulet of sweat ran down the middle of Eleri’s back, taking her attention for a moment from the sting in her eye where a bead of perspiration had trickled from her steaming brow. Despite telling herself that there was no need to hurry, that there was plenty of time to get back to the cottage to join the expedition, that even if she was late and they had started without her, that she could easily catch them up, even so, she hurried along the path. There was no sign of cooling rain this day, and the sun beat down mercilessly.
The visit with Jolly had been surprising, and had it not been for the expedition and the others waiting for her, Eleri would have stayed longer with her old friend. The village had become divided, with some of the inhabitants supporting Leroway’s invasive construction schemes, and the others disliking them greatly. And Jolly had sided with the ones opposing her husband. Old Leroway was too determined, and had too much support, to stop him cutting a swathe through the forest. And that wasn’t even the worst of his plans.
But it wasn’t just Leroway. There had been other changes, subtle changes hard to define, but that increasingly fostered profound feelings of restlessness. The energy of the place was different, and for some the lack of resonance was becoming too unsettling to bear. Some of them started to talk about leaving, finding somewhere new. And much to everyone’s surprise, Jolly was one of them. She was leaving Leroway.
Jolly’s people had not yet organized the exodus, had no clear plans. Eleri promised to send word when ~ if ~ she reached a suitable destination. There was no way to know what they would find beyond the mountains. But they knew they must look.FloveParticipant
(With thanks to random story generator for this comment)
Albie looked at the soft feather in his hands and felt happy.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his silent surroundings. He had always loved haunting the village near the doline with its few, but faithful inhabitants. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel happiness.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Ma. He felt his mood drop. Ma was ambitious and a mean-spirited bossy boots.
Albie gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an impulsive, kind-hearted, beer drinker. His friends saw him as an amusing foolish clown. But he was kind-hearted and once, he had even brought a brave baby bird back from the brink of death.
But not even an impulsive person who had once brought a brave baby bird back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Ma had in store today.
The inclement brooding silence teased like a sitting praying mantis, making Albie anticipate the worst.
As Albie stepped outside and Ma came closer, he could see the mean glint in her eye.
Ma glared with all the wrath of 9 thoughtless hurt hippo. She said, in hushed tones, “I disown you and I want you to leave.”
Albie looked back, even more nervous and still fingering the soft feather. “Ma, please don’t boss me. I am going to the doline,” he replied.
They looked at each other with conflicted feelings, like two deep donkeys chatting at a very funny farewell.
Ma’s skinny ear trembled and her short legs wobbled. She looked excited, her emotions raw like a rabblesnatching, rare rock.
Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Ma was dead.
Albie went back inside and had himself a cold beer.prUneParticipant
“Sometimes you don’t know who you really are, but your story does.”
That was a strange fortune sesame ball. Janel’s parents had brought us to their favourite restaurant in town. Well, apart from Bart’s, it was the only other restaurant in town. The Blue Phoenix had this usual mixture of dimly lit, exotic looking run of the mill Chinese restaurant. But the highlight of the place, which surely drove people from miles here, was its owner. She liked to be called The Dragon Lady with her blue-black hair, slim silhouette, and mysterious half-closed eyes, she was always seen scrapping notes on bits of paper, sitting on a high stool at the back of the restaurant, near the cashier, and a tinkling beaded door curtain, leading to probably even darker places downstairs.
“How did you like the food kids?”
Janel’s father was nice, trying his best. I confectioned the most genial smile I could do, not my greatest work by far, “it was lurvely!” was all I could get out in such short notice.
The Dragon Lady must have felt something, she had apparently some extrasensoriel bullshit detector, and moving unnoticed like a cat, she was standing at our table, already not mincing words. “What was it you didn’t like with the food, young lady?”
She managed to cut all attempts at protest from the clueless adults with a single bat of an eyelash, and a well-placed wink of her deep blue eye.
For worse or for worst, the floor was all mine.
“Are glukenitched eggs even a real thing?” I managed to blurt out.
“Oh, my dear, you have no idea.”EricKeymaster
The front door rang at the same time.
Elizabeth was in the mood to let it ring until whoever was there finally let it go, but there was an imperative and distinct sting in that ring.
She wrapped her night gown around her waist, carefully adjusted her towel beehive coiffe, and sluggishly slid on her rabbit slippers to the door. That summer heat was just too unbearable.
“COMING!” She yelled at the door, estimating her arrival there at another good minute of bunny slipper sliding and slaloming around the scattered mess.
When she finally managed to open the door, her worst fears proved true.
“Elizabeth! What sort of attire is that?! Are you sloshed already?”
“Damn bloody right it is, and not a minute too late, by the look of that place. Having another of your barmy spells haven’t you? I knew something was wrong when that delightful maid of yours stopped phoning in for her daily report. Now, budge up, let me in, take care of that mess of yours.”
“Is that lamb head on the menu?” asked Connie with a grimace on her face. “I can’t believe it.”
“It looks like it, dear”, retorted Sophie offhandedly. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve seen and eaten worse.”
“Ewh”, said Connie, “I don’t want to know.” She was not quite honest, her reporter blood was thirsty about good and juicy stories. But she was not here to interview the temp, and the menu was leaving her perplexed. “What’s Hrútspungar ?”
“You don’t want to know”, said Sophie, “Trust me.”
Connie craved some vegan food and they didn’t seem to have any vegetables in the hotel restaurant. She pouted and finally gave up. “Take whatever you want, I’ll follow.”
Sophie snorted. She never believed in diet. She had tried them all, just for fun, but she eventually found the rules boring and just forgot about the whole diet business.
“Nice beehive hair Ladies”, said the waiter with an appreciative look at their heads. “What will you order?” he asked opening his small notebook.
Sophie smiled at the compliment and closed the menu. “I’ve been told you had a special”, she said.
The man tilted his head and looked at the old woman with a hint of surprise in his eyes. He shrugged as if it wasn’t his problem after all. Connie gulped, expecting the worse.
“The common error is to go for the head and dismiss the eyes”, said the waiter. “They may surprise you”, he added before leaving.
Connie looked murderously at Sweet Sophie, whom she would have renamed Sour Sophie in that moment. The old woman had an air of satisfaction on her face. “Why on earth would you pick that ?” asked the reporter.
“Oh! That was part of the instructions in the letter”, answered Sophie with a shrug that made her beehive tremble.
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