Focusphere Main menu Skip to content Focusphere Not so Random Explorations Stories ✍️ All Forums 📚 Chapters References Glossary Arc scrolls Timeline Timeline Alienor 🐉 Search Results for 'sturdy' › Forums › Search › Search Results for 'sturdy' Viewing 11 results - 1 through 11 (of 11 total) Author Search Results February 2, 2022 at 1:15 pm #6268 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued part 9 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Lyamungu 3rd January 1945 Dearest Family. We had a novel Christmas this year. We decided to avoid the expense of entertaining and being entertained at Lyamungu, and went off to spend Christmas camping in a forest on the Western slopes of Kilimanjaro. George decided to combine business with pleasure and in this way we were able to use Government transport. We set out the day before Christmas day and drove along the road which skirts the slopes of Kilimanjaro and first visited a beautiful farm where Philip Teare, the ex Game Warden, and his wife Mary are staying. We had afternoon tea with them and then drove on in to the natural forest above the estate and pitched our tent beside a small clear mountain stream. We decorated the tent with paper streamers and a few small balloons and John found a small tree of the traditional shape which we decorated where it stood with tinsel and small ornaments. We put our beer, cool drinks for the children and bottles of fresh milk from Simba Estate, in the stream and on Christmas morning they were as cold as if they had been in the refrigerator all night. There were not many presents for the children, there never are, but they do not seem to mind and are well satisfied with a couple of balloons apiece, sweets, tin whistles and a book each. George entertain the children before breakfast. He can make a magical thing out of the most ordinary balloon. The children watched entranced as he drew on his pipe and then blew the smoke into the balloon. He then pinched the neck of the balloon between thumb and forefinger and released the smoke in little puffs. Occasionally the balloon ejected a perfect smoke ring and the forest rang with shouts of “Do it again Daddy.” Another trick was to blow up the balloon to maximum size and then twist the neck tightly before releasing. Before subsiding the balloon darted about in a crazy fashion causing great hilarity. Such fun, at the cost of a few pence. After breakfast George went off to fish for trout. John and Jim decided that they also wished to fish so we made rods out of sticks and string and bent pins and they fished happily, but of course quite unsuccessfully, for hours. Both of course fell into the stream and got soaked, but I was prepared for this, and the little stream was so shallow that they could not come to any harm. Henry played happily in the sand and I had a most peaceful morning. Hamisi roasted a chicken in a pot over the camp fire and the jelly set beautifully in the stream. So we had grilled trout and chicken for our Christmas dinner. I had of course taken an iced cake for the occasion and, all in all, it was a very successful Christmas day. On Boxing day we drove down to the plains where George was to investigate a report of game poaching near the Ngassari Furrow. This is a very long ditch which has been dug by the Government for watering the Masai stock in the area. It is also used by game and we saw herds of zebra and wildebeest, and some Grant’s Gazelle and giraffe, all comparatively tame. At one point a small herd of zebra raced beside the lorry apparently enjoying the fun of a gallop. They were all sleek and fat and looked wild and beautiful in action. We camped a considerable distance from the water but this precaution did not save us from the mosquitoes which launched a vicious attack on us after sunset, so that we took to our beds unusually early. They were on the job again when we got up at sunrise so I was very glad when we were once more on our way home. “I like Christmas safari. Much nicer that silly old party,” said John. I agree but I think it is time that our children learned to play happily with others. There are no other young children at Lyamungu though there are two older boys and a girl who go to boarding school in Nairobi. On New Years Day two Army Officers from the military camp at Moshi, came for tea and to talk game hunting with George. I think they rather enjoy visiting a home and seeing children and pets around. Eleanor. Lyamungu 14 May 1945 Dearest Family. So the war in Europe is over at last. It is such marvellous news that I can hardly believe it. To think that as soon as George can get leave we will go to England and bring Ann and George home with us to Tanganyika. When we know when this leave can be arranged we will want Kate to join us here as of course she must go with us to England to meet George’s family. She has become so much a part of your lives that I know it will be a wrench for you to give her up but I know that you will all be happy to think that soon our family will be reunited. The V.E. celebrations passed off quietly here. We all went to Moshi to see the Victory Parade of the King’s African Rifles and in the evening we went to a celebration dinner at the Game Warden’s house. Besides ourselves the Moores had invited the Commanding Officer from Moshi and a junior officer. We had a very good dinner and many toasts including one to Mrs Moore’s brother, Oliver Milton who is fighting in Burma and has recently been awarded the Military Cross. There was also a celebration party for the children in the grounds of the Moshi Club. Such a spread! I think John and Jim sampled everything. We mothers were having our tea separately and a friend laughingly told me to turn around and have a look. I did, and saw the long tea tables now deserted by all the children but my two sons who were still eating steadily, and finding the party more exciting than the game of Musical Bumps into which all the other children had entered with enthusiasm. There was also an extremely good puppet show put on by the Italian prisoners of war from the camp at Moshi. They had made all the puppets which included well loved characters like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and the Babes in the Wood as well as more sophisticated ones like an irritable pianist and a would be prima donna. The most popular puppets with the children were a native askari and his family – a very happy little scene. I have never before seen a puppet show and was as entranced as the children. It is amazing what clever manipulation and lighting can do. I believe that the Italians mean to take their puppets to Nairobi and am glad to think that there, they will have larger audiences to appreciate their art. George has just come in, and I paused in my writing to ask him for the hundredth time when he thinks we will get leave. He says I must be patient because it may be a year before our turn comes. Shipping will be disorganised for months to come and we cannot expect priority simply because we have been separated so long from our children. The same situation applies to scores of other Government Officials. I have decided to write the story of my childhood in South Africa and about our life together in Tanganyika up to the time Ann and George left the country. I know you will have told Kate these stories, but Ann and George were so very little when they left home that I fear that they cannot remember much. My Mother-in-law will have told them about their father but she can tell them little about me. I shall send them one chapter of my story each month in the hope that they may be interested and not feel that I am a stranger when at last we meet again. Eleanor. Lyamungu 19th September 1945 Dearest Family. In a months time we will be saying good-bye to Lyamungu. George is to be transferred to Mbeya and I am delighted, not only as I look upon Mbeya as home, but because there is now a primary school there which John can attend. I feel he will make much better progress in his lessons when he realises that all children of his age attend school. At present he is putting up a strong resistance to learning to read and spell, but he writes very neatly, does his sums accurately and shows a real talent for drawing. If only he had the will to learn I feel he would do very well. Jim now just four, is too young for lessons but too intelligent to be interested in the ayah’s attempts at entertainment. Yes I’ve had to engage a native girl to look after Henry from 9 am to 12.30 when I supervise John’s Correspondence Course. She is clean and amiable, but like most African women she has no initiative at all when it comes to entertaining children. Most African men and youths are good at this. I don’t regret our stay at Lyamungu. It is a beautiful spot and the change to the cooler climate after the heat of Morogoro has been good for all the children. John is still tall for his age but not so thin as he was and much less pale. He is a handsome little lad with his large brown eyes in striking contrast to his fair hair. He is wary of strangers but very observant and quite uncanny in the way he sums up people. He seldom gets up to mischief but I have a feeling he eggs Jim on. Not that Jim needs egging. Jim has an absolute flair for mischief but it is all done in such an artless manner that it is not easy to punish him. He is a very sturdy child with a cap of almost black silky hair, eyes brown, like mine, and a large mouth which is quick to smile and show most beautiful white and even teeth. He is most popular with all the native servants and the Game Scouts. The servants call Jim, ‘Bwana Tembo’ (Mr Elephant) because of his sturdy build. Henry, now nearly two years old, is quite different from the other two in appearance. He is fair complexioned and fair haired like Ann and Kate, with large, black lashed, light grey eyes. He is a good child, not so merry as Jim was at his age, nor as shy as John was. He seldom cries, does not care to be cuddled and is independent and strong willed. The servants call Henry, ‘Bwana Ndizi’ (Mr Banana) because he has an inexhaustible appetite for this fruit. Fortunately they are very inexpensive here. We buy an entire bunch which hangs from a beam on the back verandah, and pluck off the bananas as they ripen. This way there is no waste and the fruit never gets bruised as it does in greengrocers shops in South Africa. Our three boys make a delightful and interesting trio and I do wish you could see them for yourselves. We are delighted with the really beautiful photograph of Kate. She is an extraordinarily pretty child and looks so happy and healthy and a great credit to you. Now that we will be living in Mbeya with a school on the doorstep I hope that we will soon be able to arrange for her return home. Eleanor. c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 30th October 1945 Dearest Family. How nice to be able to write c/o Game Dept. Mbeya at the head of my letters. We arrived here safely after a rather tiresome journey and are installed in a tiny house on the edge of the township. We left Lyamungu early on the morning of the 22nd. Most of our goods had been packed on the big Ford lorry the previous evening, but there were the usual delays and farewells. Of our servants, only the cook, Hamisi, accompanied us to Mbeya. Japhet, Tovelo and the ayah had to be paid off and largesse handed out. Tovelo’s granny had come, bringing a gift of bananas, and she also brought her little granddaughter to present a bunch of flowers. The child’s little scolded behind is now completely healed. Gifts had to be found for them too. At last we were all aboard and what a squash it was! Our few pieces of furniture and packing cases and trunks, the cook, his wife, the driver and the turney boy, who were to take the truck back to Lyamungu, and all their bits and pieces, bunches of bananas and Fanny the dog were all crammed into the body of the lorry. George, the children and I were jammed together in the cab. Before we left George looked dubiously at the tyres which were very worn and said gloomily that he thought it most unlikely that we would make our destination, Dodoma. Too true! Shortly after midday, near Kwakachinja, we blew a back tyre and there was a tedious delay in the heat whilst the wheel was changed. We were now without a spare tyre and George said that he would not risk taking the Ford further than Babati, which is less than half way to Dodoma. He drove very slowly and cautiously to Babati where he arranged with Sher Mohammed, an Indian trader, for a lorry to take us to Dodoma the next morning. It had been our intention to spend the night at the furnished Government Resthouse at Babati but when we got there we found that it was already occupied by several District Officers who had assembled for a conference. So, feeling rather disgruntled, we all piled back into the lorry and drove on to a place called Bereku where we spent an uncomfortable night in a tumbledown hut. Before dawn next morning Sher Mohammed’s lorry drove up, and there was a scramble to dress by the light of a storm lamp. The lorry was a very dilapidated one and there was already a native woman passenger in the cab. I felt so tired after an almost sleepless night that I decided to sit between the driver and this woman with the sleeping Henry on my knee. It was as well I did, because I soon found myself dosing off and drooping over towards the woman. Had she not been there I might easily have fallen out as the battered cab had no door. However I was alert enough when daylight came and changed places with the woman to our mutual relief. She was now able to converse with the African driver and I was able to enjoy the scenery and the fresh air! George, John and Jim were less comfortable. They sat in the lorry behind the cab hemmed in by packing cases. As the lorry was an open one the sun beat down unmercifully upon them until George, ever resourceful, moved a table to the front of the truck. The two boys crouched under this and so got shelter from the sun but they still had to endure the dust. Fanny complicated things by getting car sick and with one thing and another we were all jolly glad to get to Dodoma. We spent the night at the Dodoma Hotel and after hot baths, a good meal and a good nights rest we cheerfully boarded a bus of the Tanganyika Bus Service next morning to continue our journey to Mbeya. The rest of the journey was uneventful. We slept two nights on the road, the first at Iringa Hotel and the second at Chimala. We reached Mbeya on the 27th. I was rather taken aback when I first saw the little house which has been allocated to us. I had become accustomed to the spacious houses we had in Morogoro and Lyamungu. However though the house is tiny it is secluded and has a long garden sloping down to the road in front and another long strip sloping up behind. The front garden is shaded by several large cypress and eucalyptus trees but the garden behind the house has no shade and consists mainly of humpy beds planted with hundreds of carnations sadly in need of debudding. I believe that the previous Game Ranger’s wife cultivated the carnations and, by selling them, raised money for War Funds. Like our own first home, this little house is built of sun dried brick. Its original owners were Germans. It is now rented to the Government by the Custodian of Enemy Property, and George has his office in another ex German house. This afternoon we drove to the school to arrange about enrolling John there. The school is about four miles out of town. It was built by the German settlers in the late 1930’s and they were justifiably proud of it. It consists of a great assembly hall and classrooms in one block and there are several attractive single storied dormitories. This school was taken over by the Government when the Germans were interned on the outbreak of war and many improvements have been made to the original buildings. The school certainly looks very attractive now with its grassed playing fields and its lawns and bright flower beds. The Union Jack flies from a tall flagpole in front of the Hall and all traces of the schools German origin have been firmly erased. We met the Headmaster, Mr Wallington, and his wife and some members of the staff. The school is co-educational and caters for children from the age of seven to standard six. The leaving age is elastic owing to the fact that many Tanganyika children started school very late because of lack of educational facilities in this country. The married members of the staff have their own cottages in the grounds. The Matrons have quarters attached to the dormitories for which they are responsible. I felt most enthusiastic about the school until I discovered that the Headmaster is adamant upon one subject. He utterly refuses to take any day pupils at the school. So now our poor reserved Johnny will have to adjust himself to boarding school life. We have arranged that he will start school on November 5th and I shall be very busy trying to assemble his school uniform at short notice. The clothing list is sensible. Boys wear khaki shirts and shorts on weekdays with knitted scarlet jerseys when the weather is cold. On Sundays they wear grey flannel shorts and blazers with the silver and scarlet school tie. Mbeya looks dusty, brown and dry after the lush evergreen vegetation of Lyamungu, but I prefer this drier climate and there are still mountains to please the eye. In fact the lower slopes of Lolesa Mountain rise at the upper end of our garden. Eleanor. c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 21st November 1945 Dearest Family. We’re quite settled in now and I have got the little house fixed up to my satisfaction. I have engaged a rather uncouth looking houseboy but he is strong and capable and now that I am not tied down in the mornings by John’s lessons I am able to go out occasionally in the mornings and take Jim and Henry to play with other children. They do not show any great enthusiasm but are not shy by nature as John is. I have had a good deal of heartache over putting John to boarding school. It would have been different had he been used to the company of children outside his own family, or if he had even known one child there. However he seems to be adjusting himself to the life, though slowly. At least he looks well and tidy and I am quite sure that he is well looked after. I must confess that when the time came for John to go to school I simply did not have the courage to take him and he went alone with George, looking so smart in his new uniform – but his little face so bleak. The next day, Sunday, was visiting day but the Headmaster suggested that we should give John time to settle down and not visit him until Wednesday. When we drove up to the school I spied John on the far side of the field walking all alone. Instead of running up with glad greetings, as I had expected, he came almost reluctently and had little to say. I asked him to show me his dormitory and classroom and he did so politely as though I were a stranger. At last he volunteered some information. “Mummy,” he said in an awed voice, Do you know on the night I came here they burnt a man! They had a big fire and they burnt him.” After a blank moment the penny dropped. Of course John had started school and November the fifth but it had never entered my head to tell him about that infamous character, Guy Fawkes! I asked John’s Matron how he had settled down. “Well”, she said thoughtfully, “John is very good and has not cried as many of the juniors do when they first come here, but he seems to keep to himself all the time.” I went home very discouraged but on the Sunday John came running up with another lad of about his own age.” This is my friend Marks,” he announced proudly. I could have hugged Marks. Mbeya is very different from the small settlement we knew in the early 1930’s. Gone are all the colourful characters from the Lupa diggings for the alluvial claims are all worked out now, gone also are our old friends the Menzies from the Pub and also most of the Government Officials we used to know. Mbeya has lost its character of a frontier township and has become almost suburban. The social life revolves around two places, the Club and the school. The Club which started out as a little two roomed building, has been expanded and the golf course improved. There are also tennis courts and a good library considering the size of the community. There are frequent parties and dances, though most of the club revenue comes from Bar profits. The parties are relatively sober affairs compared with the parties of the 1930’s. The school provides entertainment of another kind. Both Mr and Mrs Wallington are good amateur actors and I am told that they run an Amateur Dramatic Society. Every Wednesday afternoon there is a hockey match at the school. Mbeya town versus a mixed team of staff and scholars. The match attracts almost the whole European population of Mbeya. Some go to play hockey, others to watch, and others to snatch the opportunity to visit their children. I shall have to try to arrange a lift to school when George is away on safari. I have now met most of the local women and gladly renewed an old friendship with Sheilagh Waring whom I knew two years ago at Morogoro. Sheilagh and I have much in common, the same disregard for the trappings of civilisation, the same sense of the ludicrous, and children. She has eight to our six and she has also been cut off by the war from two of her children. Sheilagh looks too young and pretty to be the mother of so large a family and is, in fact, several years younger than I am. her husband, Donald, is a large quiet man who, as far as I can judge takes life seriously. Our next door neighbours are the Bank Manager and his wife, a very pleasant couple though we seldom meet. I have however had correspondence with the Bank Manager. Early on Saturday afternoon their houseboy brought a note. It informed me that my son was disturbing his rest by precipitating a heart attack. Was I aware that my son was about 30 feet up in a tree and balanced on a twig? I ran out and,sure enough, there was Jim, right at the top of the tallest eucalyptus tree. It would be the one with the mound of stones at the bottom! You should have heard me fluting in my most wheedling voice. “Sweets, Jimmy, come down slowly dear, I’ve some nice sweets for you.” I’ll bet that little story makes you smile. I remember how often you have told me how, as a child, I used to make your hearts turn over because I had no fear of heights and how I used to say, “But that is silly, I won’t fall.” I know now only too well, how you must have felt. Eleanor. c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 14th January 1946 Dearest Family. I hope that by now you have my telegram to say that Kate got home safely yesterday. It was wonderful to have her back and what a beautiful child she is! Kate seems to have enjoyed the train journey with Miss Craig, in spite of the tears she tells me she shed when she said good-bye to you. She also seems to have felt quite at home with the Hopleys at Salisbury. She flew from Salisbury in a small Dove aircraft and they had a smooth passage though Kate was a little airsick. I was so excited about her home coming! This house is so tiny that I had to turn out the little store room to make a bedroom for her. With a fresh coat of whitewash and pretty sprigged curtains and matching bedspread, borrowed from Sheilagh Waring, the tiny room looks most attractive. I had also iced a cake, made ice-cream and jelly and bought crackers for the table so that Kate’s home coming tea could be a proper little celebration. I was pleased with my preparations and then, a few hours before the plane was due, my crowned front tooth dropped out, peg and all! When my houseboy wants to describe something very tatty, he calls it “Second-hand Kabisa.” Kabisa meaning absolutely. That is an apt description of how I looked and felt. I decided to try some emergency dentistry. I think you know our nearest dentist is at Dar es Salaam five hundred miles away. First I carefully dried the tooth and with a match stick covered the peg and base with Durofix. I then took the infants rubber bulb enema, sucked up some heat from a candle flame and pumped it into the cavity before filling that with Durofix. Then hopefully I stuck the tooth in its former position and held it in place for several minutes. No good. I sent the houseboy to a shop for Scotine and tried the whole process again. No good either. When George came home for lunch I appealed to him for advice. He jokingly suggested that a maize seed jammed into the space would probably work, but when he saw that I really was upset he produced some chewing gum and suggested that I should try that . I did and that worked long enough for my first smile anyway. George and the three boys went to meet Kate but I remained at home to welcome her there. I was afraid that after all this time away Kate might be reluctant to rejoin the family but she threw her arms around me and said “Oh Mummy,” We both shed a few tears and then we both felt fine. How gay Kate is, and what an infectious laugh she has! The boys follow her around in admiration. John in fact asked me, “Is Kate a Princess?” When I said “Goodness no, Johnny, she’s your sister,” he explained himself by saying, “Well, she has such golden hair.” Kate was less complementary. When I tucked her in bed last night she said, “Mummy, I didn’t expect my little brothers to be so yellow!” All three boys have been taking a course of Atebrin, an anti-malarial drug which tinges skin and eyeballs yellow. So now our tiny house is bursting at its seams and how good it feels to have one more child under our roof. We are booked to sail for England in May and when we return we will have Ann and George home too. Then I shall feel really content. Eleanor. c/o Game Dept. Mbeya. 2nd March 1946 Dearest Family. My life just now is uneventful but very busy. I am sewing hard and knitting fast to try to get together some warm clothes for our leave in England. This is not a simple matter because woollen materials are in short supply and very expensive, and now that we have boarding school fees to pay for both Kate and John we have to budget very carefully indeed. Kate seems happy at school. She makes friends easily and seems to enjoy communal life. John also seems reconciled to school now that Kate is there. He no longer feels that he is the only exile in the family. He seems to rub along with the other boys of his age and has a couple of close friends. Although Mbeya School is coeducational the smaller boys and girls keep strictly apart. It is considered extremely cissy to play with girls. The local children are allowed to go home on Sundays after church and may bring friends home with them for the day. Both John and Kate do this and Sunday is a very busy day for me. The children come home in their Sunday best but bring play clothes to change into. There is always a scramble to get them to bath and change again in time to deliver them to the school by 6 o’clock. When George is home we go out to the school for the morning service. This is taken by the Headmaster Mr Wallington, and is very enjoyable. There is an excellent school choir to lead the singing. The service is the Church of England one, but is attended by children of all denominations, except the Roman Catholics. I don’t think that more than half the children are British. A large proportion are Greeks, some as old as sixteen, and about the same number are Afrikaners. There are Poles and non-Nazi Germans, Swiss and a few American children. All instruction is through the medium of English and it is amazing how soon all the foreign children learn to chatter in English. George has been told that we will return to Mbeya after our leave and for that I am very thankful as it means that we will still be living near at hand when Jim and Henry start school. Because many of these children have to travel many hundreds of miles to come to school, – Mbeya is a two day journey from the railhead, – the school year is divided into two instead of the usual three terms. This means that many of these children do not see their parents for months at a time. I think this is a very sad state of affairs especially for the seven and eight year olds but the Matrons assure me , that many children who live on isolated farms and stations are quite reluctant to go home because they miss the companionship and the games and entertainment that the school offers. My only complaint about the life here is that I see far too little of George. He is kept extremely busy on this range and is hardly at home except for a few days at the months end when he has to be at his office to check up on the pay vouchers and the issue of ammunition to the Scouts. George’s Range takes in the whole of the Southern Province and the Southern half of the Western Province and extends to the border with Northern Rhodesia and right across to Lake Tanganyika. This vast area is patrolled by only 40 Game Scouts because the Department is at present badly under staffed, due partly to the still acute shortage of rifles, but even more so to the extraordinary reluctance which the Government shows to allocate adequate funds for the efficient running of the Department. The Game Scouts must see that the Game Laws are enforced, protect native crops from raiding elephant, hippo and other game animals. Report disease amongst game and deal with stock raiding lions. By constantly going on safari and checking on their work, George makes sure the range is run to his satisfaction. Most of the Game Scouts are fine fellows but, considering they receive only meagre pay for dangerous and exacting work, it is not surprising that occasionally a Scout is tempted into accepting a bribe not to report a serious infringement of the Game Laws and there is, of course, always the temptation to sell ivory illicitly to unscrupulous Indian and Arab traders. Apart from supervising the running of the Range, George has two major jobs. One is to supervise the running of the Game Free Area along the Rhodesia – Tanganyika border, and the other to hunt down the man-eating lions which for years have terrorised the Njombe District killing hundreds of Africans. Yes I know ‘hundreds’ sounds fantastic, but this is perfectly true and one day, when the job is done and the official report published I shall send it to you to prove it! I hate to think of the Game Free Area and so does George. All the game from buffalo to tiny duiker has been shot out in a wide belt extending nearly two hundred miles along the Northern Rhodesia -Tanganyika border. There are three Europeans in widely spaced camps who supervise this slaughter by African Game Guards. This horrible measure is considered necessary by the Veterinary Departments of Tanganyika, Rhodesia and South Africa, to prevent the cattle disease of Rinderpest from spreading South. When George is home however, we do relax and have fun. On the Saturday before the school term started we took Kate and the boys up to the top fishing camp in the Mporoto Mountains for her first attempt at trout fishing. There are three of these camps built by the Mbeya Trout Association on the rivers which were first stocked with the trout hatched on our farm at Mchewe. Of the three, the top camp is our favourite. The scenery there is most glorious and reminds me strongly of the rivers of the Western Cape which I so loved in my childhood. The river, the Kawira, flows from the Rungwe Mountain through a narrow valley with hills rising steeply on either side. The water runs swiftly over smooth stones and sometimes only a foot or two below the level of the banks. It is sparkling and shallow, but in places the water is deep and dark and the banks high. I had a busy day keeping an eye on the boys, especially Jim, who twice climbed out on branches which overhung deep water. “Mummy, I was only looking for trout!” How those kids enjoyed the freedom of the camp after the comparative restrictions of town. So did Fanny, she raced about on the hills like a mad dog chasing imaginary rabbits and having the time of her life. To escape the noise and commotion George had gone far upstream to fish and returned in the late afternoon with three good sized trout and four smaller ones. Kate proudly showed George the two she had caught with the assistance or our cook Hamisi. I fear they were caught in a rather unorthodox manner but this I kept a secret from George who is a stickler for the orthodox in trout fishing. Eleanor. Jacksdale England 24th June 1946 Dearest Family. Here we are all together at last in England. You cannot imagine how wonderful it feels to have the whole Rushby family reunited. I find myself counting heads. Ann, George, Kate, John, Jim, and Henry. All present and well. We had a very pleasant trip on the old British India Ship Mantola. She was crowded with East Africans going home for the first time since the war, many like us, eagerly looking forward to a reunion with their children whom they had not seen for years. There was a great air of anticipation and good humour but a little anxiety too. “I do hope our children will be glad to see us,” said one, and went on to tell me about a Doctor from Dar es Salaam who, after years of separation from his son had recently gone to visit him at his school. The Doctor had alighted at the railway station where he had arranged to meet his son. A tall youth approached him and said, very politely, “Excuse me sir. Are you my Father?” Others told me of children who had become so attached to their relatives in England that they gave their parents a very cool reception. I began to feel apprehensive about Ann and George but fortunately had no time to mope. Oh, that washing and ironing for six! I shall remember for ever that steamy little laundry in the heat of the Red Sea and queuing up for the ironing and the feeling of guilt at the size of my bundle. We met many old friends amongst the passengers, and made some new ones, so the voyage was a pleasant one, We did however have our anxious moments. John was the first to disappear and we had an anxious search for him. He was quite surprised that we had been concerned. “I was just talking to my friend Chinky Chinaman in his workshop.” Could John have called him that? Then, when I returned to the cabin from dinner one night I found Henry swigging Owbridge’s Lung Tonic. He had drunk half the bottle neat and the label said ‘five drops in water’. Luckily it did not harm him. Jim of course was forever risking his neck. George had forbidden him to climb on the railings but he was forever doing things which no one had thought of forbidding him to do, like hanging from the overhead pipes on the deck or standing on the sill of a window and looking down at the well deck far below. An Officer found him doing this and gave me the scolding. Another day he climbed up on a derrick used for hoisting cargo. George, oblivious to this was sitting on the hatch cover with other passengers reading a book. I was in the wash house aft on the same deck when Kate rushed in and said, “Mummy come and see Jim.” Before I had time to more than gape, the butcher noticed Jim and rushed out knife in hand. “Get down from there”, he bellowed. Jim got, and with such speed that he caught the leg or his shorts on a projecting piece of metal. The cotton ripped across the seam from leg to leg and Jim stood there for a humiliating moment in a sort of revealing little kilt enduring the smiles of the passengers who had looked up from their books at the butcher’s shout. That incident cured Jim of his urge to climb on the ship but he managed to give us one more fright. He was lost off Dover. People from whom we enquired said, “Yes we saw your little boy. He was by the railings watching that big aircraft carrier.” Now Jim, though mischievous , is very obedient. It was not until George and I had conducted an exhaustive search above and below decks that I really became anxious. Could he have fallen overboard? Jim was returned to us by an unamused Officer. He had been found in one of the lifeboats on the deck forbidden to children. Our ship passed Dover after dark and it was an unforgettable sight. Dover Castle and the cliffs were floodlit for the Victory Celebrations. One of the men passengers sat down at the piano and played ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’, and people sang and a few wept. The Mantola docked at Tilbury early next morning in a steady drizzle. There was a dockers strike on and it took literally hours for all the luggage to be put ashore. The ships stewards simply locked the public rooms and went off leaving the passengers shivering on the docks. Eventually damp and bedraggled, we arrived at St Pancras Station and were given a warm welcome by George’s sister Cath and her husband Reg Pears, who had come all the way from Nottingham to meet us. As we had to spend an hour in London before our train left for Nottingham, George suggested that Cath and I should take the children somewhere for a meal. So off we set in the cold drizzle, the boys and I without coats and laden with sundry packages, including a hand woven native basket full of shoes. We must have looked like a bunch of refugees as we stood in the hall of The Kings Cross Station Hotel because a supercilious waiter in tails looked us up and down and said, “I’m afraid not Madam”, in answer to my enquiry whether the hotel could provide lunch for six. Anyway who cares! We had lunch instead at an ABC tea room — horrible sausage and a mound or rather sloppy mashed potatoes, but very good ice-cream. After the train journey in a very grimy third class coach, through an incredibly green and beautiful countryside, we eventually reached Nottingham and took a bus to Jacksdale, where George’s mother and sisters live in large detached houses side by side. Ann and George were at the bus stop waiting for us, and thank God, submitted to my kiss as though we had been parted for weeks instead of eight years. Even now that we are together again my heart aches to think of all those missed years. They have not changed much and I would have picked them out of a crowd, but Ann, once thin and pale, is now very rosy and blooming. She still has her pretty soft plaits and her eyes are still a clear calm blue. Young George is very striking looking with sparkling brown eyes, a ready, slightly lopsided smile, and charming manners. Mother, and George’s elder sister, Lottie Giles, welcomed us at the door with the cheering news that our tea was ready. Ann showed us the way to mother’s lovely lilac tiled bathroom for a wash before tea. Before I had even turned the tap, Jim had hung form the glass towel rail and it lay in three pieces on the floor. There have since been similar tragedies. I can see that life in civilisation is not without snags. I am most grateful that Ann and George have accepted us so naturally and affectionately. Ann said candidly, “Mummy, it’s a good thing that you had Aunt Cath with you when you arrived because, honestly, I wouldn’t have known you.” Eleanor. Jacksdale England 28th August 1946 Dearest Family. I am sorry that I have not written for some time but honestly, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Mother handed the top floor of her house to us and the arrangement was that I should tidy our rooms and do our laundry and Mother would prepare the meals except for breakfast. It looked easy at first. All the rooms have wall to wall carpeting and there was a large vacuum cleaner in the box room. I was told a window cleaner would do the windows. Well the first time I used the Hoover I nearly died of fright. I pressed the switch and immediately there was a roar and the bag filled with air to bursting point, or so I thought. I screamed for Ann and she came at the run. I pointed to the bag and shouted above the din, “What must I do? It’s going to burst!” Ann looked at me in astonishment and said, “But Mummy that’s the way it works.” I couldn’t have her thinking me a complete fool so I switched the current off and explained to Ann how it was that I had never seen this type of equipment in action. How, in Tanganyika , I had never had a house with electricity and that, anyway, electric equipment would be superfluous because floors are of cement which the houseboy polishes by hand, one only has a few rugs or grass mats on the floor. “But what about Granny’s house in South Africa?’” she asked, so I explained about your Josephine who threatened to leave if you bought a Hoover because that would mean that you did not think she kept the house clean. The sad fact remains that, at fourteen, Ann knows far more about housework than I do, or rather did! I’m learning fast. The older children all go to school at different times in the morning. Ann leaves first by bus to go to her Grammar School at Sutton-in-Ashfield. Shortly afterwards George catches a bus for Nottingham where he attends the High School. So they have breakfast in relays, usually scrambled egg made from a revolting dried egg mixture. Then there are beds to make and washing and ironing to do, so I have little time for sightseeing, though on a few afternoons George has looked after the younger children and I have gone on bus tours in Derbyshire. Life is difficult here with all the restrictions on foodstuffs. We all have ration books so get our fair share but meat, fats and eggs are scarce and expensive. The weather is very wet. At first I used to hang out the washing and then rush to bring it in when a shower came. Now I just let it hang. We have left our imprint upon my Mother-in-law’s house for ever. Henry upset a bottle of Milk of Magnesia in the middle of the pale fawn bedroom carpet. John, trying to be helpful and doing some dusting, broke one of the delicate Dresden china candlesticks which adorn our bedroom mantelpiece.Jim and Henry have wrecked the once professionally landscaped garden and all the boys together bored a large hole through Mother’s prized cherry tree. So now Mother has given up and gone off to Bournemouth for a much needed holiday. Once a week I have the capable help of a cleaning woman, called for some reason, ‘Mrs Two’, but I have now got all the cooking to do for eight. Mrs Two is a godsend. She wears, of all things, a print mob cap with a hole in it. Says it belonged to her Grandmother. Her price is far beyond Rubies to me, not so much because she does, in a couple of hours, what it takes me all day to do, but because she sells me boxes of fifty cigarettes. Some non-smoking relative, who works in Players tobacco factory, passes on his ration to her. Until Mrs Two came to my rescue I had been starved of cigarettes. Each time I asked for them at the shop the grocer would say, “Are you registered with us?” Only very rarely would some kindly soul sell me a little packet of five Woodbines. England is very beautiful but the sooner we go home to Tanganyika, the better. On this, George and I and the children agree. Eleanor. Jacksdale England 20th September 1946 Dearest Family. Our return passages have now been booked on the Winchester Castle and we sail from Southampton on October the sixth. I look forward to returning to Tanganyika but hope to visit England again in a few years time when our children are older and when rationing is a thing of the past. I have grown fond of my Sisters-in-law and admire my Mother-in-law very much. She has a great sense of humour and has entertained me with stories of her very eventful life, and told me lots of little stories of the children which did not figure in her letters. One which amused me was about young George. During one of the air raids early in the war when the sirens were screaming and bombers roaring overhead Mother made the two children get into the cloak cupboard under the stairs. Young George seemed quite unconcerned about the planes and the bombs but soon an anxious voice asked in the dark, “Gran, what will I do if a spider falls on me?” I am afraid that Mother is going to miss Ann and George very much. I had a holiday last weekend when Lottie and I went up to London on a spree. It was a most enjoyable weekend, though very rushed. We placed ourselves in the hands of Thos. Cook and Sons and saw most of the sights of London and were run off our feet in the process. As you all know London I shall not describe what I saw but just to say that, best of all, I enjoyed walking along the Thames embankment in the evening and the changing of the Guard at Whitehall. On Sunday morning Lottie and I went to Kew Gardens and in the afternoon walked in Kensington Gardens. We went to only one show, ‘The Skin of our Teeth’ starring Vivienne Leigh. Neither of us enjoyed the performance at all and regretted having spent so much on circle seats. The show was far too highbrow for my taste, a sort of satire on the survival of the human race. Miss Leigh was unrecognisable in a blond wig and her voice strident. However the night was not a dead loss as far as entertainment was concerned as we were later caught up in a tragicomedy at our hotel. We had booked communicating rooms at the enormous Imperial Hotel in Russell Square. These rooms were comfortably furnished but very high up, and we had a rather terrifying and dreary view from the windows of the enclosed courtyard far below. We had some snacks and a chat in Lottie’s room and then I moved to mine and went to bed. I had noted earlier that there was a special lock on the outer door of my room so that when the door was closed from the inside it automatically locked itself. I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard a hammering which seemed to come from my wardrobe. I got up, rather fearfully, and opened the wardrobe door and noted for the first time that the wardrobe was set in an opening in the wall and that the back of the wardrobe also served as the back of the wardrobe in the room next door. I quickly shut it again and went to confer with Lottie. Suddenly a male voice was raised next door in supplication, “Mary Mother of God, Help me! They’ve locked me in!” and the hammering resumed again, sometimes on the door, and then again on the back of the wardrobe of the room next door. Lottie had by this time joined me and together we listened to the prayers and to the hammering. Then the voice began to threaten, “If you don’t let me out I’ll jump out of the window.” Great consternation on our side of the wall. I went out into the passage and called through the door, “You’re not locked in. Come to your door and I’ll tell you how to open it.” Silence for a moment and then again the prayers followed by a threat. All the other doors in the corridor remained shut. Luckily just then a young man and a woman came walking down the corridor and I explained the situation. The young man hurried off for the night porter who went into the next door room. In a matter of minutes there was peace next door. When the night porter came out into the corridor again I asked for an explanation. He said quite casually, “It’s all right Madam. He’s an Irish Gentleman in Show Business. He gets like this on a Saturday night when he has had a drop too much. He won’t give any more trouble now.” And he didn’t. Next morning at breakfast Lottie and I tried to spot the gentleman in the Show Business, but saw no one who looked like the owner of that charming Irish voice. George had to go to London on business last Monday and took the older children with him for a few hours of sight seeing. They returned quite unimpressed. Everything was too old and dirty and there were far too many people about, but they had enjoyed riding on the escalators at the tube stations, and all agreed that the highlight of the trip was, “Dad took us to lunch at the Chicken Inn.” Now that it is almost time to leave England I am finding the housework less of a drudgery, Also, as it is school holiday time, Jim and Henry are able to go on walks with the older children and so use up some of their surplus energy. Cath and I took the children (except young George who went rabbit shooting with his uncle Reg, and Henry, who stayed at home with his dad) to the Wakes at Selston, the neighbouring village. There were the roundabouts and similar contraptions but the side shows had more appeal for the children. Ann and Kate found a stall where assorted prizes were spread out on a sloping table. Anyone who could land a penny squarely on one of these objects was given a similar one as a prize. I was touched to see that both girls ignored all the targets except a box of fifty cigarettes which they were determined to win for me. After numerous attempts, Kate landed her penny successfully and you would have loved to have seen her radiant little face. Eleanor. Dar es Salaam 22nd October 1946 Dearest Family. Back in Tanganyika at last, but not together. We have to stay in Dar es Salaam until tomorrow when the train leaves for Dodoma. We arrived yesterday morning to find all the hotels filled with people waiting to board ships for England. Fortunately some friends came to the rescue and Ann, Kate and John have gone to stay with them. Jim, Henry and I are sleeping in a screened corner of the lounge of the New Africa Hotel, and George and young George have beds in the Palm Court of the same hotel. We travelled out from England in the Winchester Castle under troopship conditions. We joined her at Southampton after a rather slow train journey from Nottingham. We arrived after dark and from the station we could see a large ship in the docks with a floodlit red funnel. “Our ship,” yelled the children in delight, but it was not the Winchester Castle but the Queen Elizabeth, newly reconditioned. We had hoped to board our ship that evening but George made enquiries and found that we would not be allowed on board until noon next day. Without much hope, we went off to try to get accommodation for eight at a small hotel recommended by the taxi driver. Luckily for us there was a very motherly woman at the reception desk. She looked in amusement at the six children and said to me, “Goodness are all these yours, ducks? Then she called over her shoulder, “Wilf, come and see this lady with lots of children. We must try to help.” They settled the problem most satisfactorily by turning two rooms into a dormitory. In the morning we had time to inspect bomb damage in the dock area of Southampton. Most of the rubble had been cleared away but there are still numbers of damaged buildings awaiting demolition. A depressing sight. We saw the Queen Mary at anchor, still in her drab war time paint, but magnificent nevertheless. The Winchester Castle was crammed with passengers and many travelled in acute discomfort. We were luckier than most because the two girls, the three small boys and I had a stateroom to ourselves and though it was stripped of peacetime comforts, we had a private bathroom and toilet. The two Georges had bunks in a huge men-only dormitory somewhere in the bowls of the ship where they had to share communal troop ship facilities. The food was plentiful but unexciting and one had to queue for afternoon tea. During the day the decks were crowded and there was squatting room only. The many children on board got bored. Port Said provided a break and we were all entertained by the ‘Gully Gully’ man and his conjuring tricks, and though we had no money to spend at Simon Artz, we did at least have a chance to stretch our legs. Next day scores of passengers took ill with sever stomach upsets, whether from food poisoning, or as was rumoured, from bad water taken on at the Egyptian port, I don’t know. Only the two Georges in our family were affected and their attacks were comparatively mild. As we neared the Kenya port of Mombassa, the passengers for Dar es Salaam were told that they would have to disembark at Mombassa and continue their journey in a small coaster, the Al Said. The Winchester Castle is too big for the narrow channel which leads to Dar es Salaam harbour. From the wharf the Al Said looked beautiful. She was once the private yacht of the Sultan of Zanzibar and has lovely lines. Our admiration lasted only until we were shown our cabins. With one voice our children exclaimed, “Gosh they stink!” They did, of a mixture of rancid oil and sweat and stale urine. The beds were not yet made and the thin mattresses had ominous stains on them. John, ever fastidious, lifted his mattress and two enormous cockroaches scuttled for cover. We had a good homely lunch served by two smiling African stewards and afterwards we sat on deck and that was fine too, though behind ones enjoyment there was the thought of those stuffy and dirty cabins. That first night nearly everyone, including George and our older children, slept on deck. Women occupied deck chairs and men and children slept on the bare decks. Horrifying though the idea was, I decided that, as Jim had a bad cough, he, Henry and I would sleep in our cabin. When I announced my intention of sleeping in the cabin one of the passengers gave me some insecticide spray which I used lavishly, but without avail. The children slept but I sat up all night with the light on, determined to keep at least their pillows clear of the cockroaches which scurried about boldly regardless of the light. All the next day and night we avoided the cabins. The Al Said stopped for some hours at Zanzibar to offload her deck cargo of live cattle and packing cases from the hold. George and the elder children went ashore for a walk but I felt too lazy and there was plenty to watch from deck. That night I too occupied a deck chair and slept quite comfortably, and next morning we entered the palm fringed harbour of Dar es Salaam and were home. Eleanor. Mbeya 1st November 1946 Dearest Family. Home at last! We are all most happily installed in a real family house about three miles out of Mbeya and near the school. This house belongs to an elderly German and has been taken over by the Custodian of Enemy Property and leased to the Government. The owner, whose name is Shenkel, was not interned but is allowed to occupy a smaller house on the Estate. I found him in the garden this morning lecturing the children on what they may do and may not do. I tried to make it quite clear to him that he was not our landlord, though he clearly thinks otherwise. After he had gone I had to take two aspirin and lie down to recover my composure! I had been warned that he has this effect on people. Mr Shenkel is a short and ugly man, his clothes are stained with food and he wears steel rimmed glasses tied round his head with a piece of dirty elastic because one earpiece is missing. He speaks with a thick German accent but his English is fluent and I believe he is a cultured and clever man. But he is maddening. The children were more amused than impressed by his exhortations and have happily Christened our home, ‘Old Shenks’. The house has very large grounds as the place is really a derelict farm. It suits us down to the ground. We had no sooner unpacked than George went off on safari after those maneating lions in the Njombe District. he accounted for one, and a further two jointly with a Game Scout, before we left for England. But none was shot during the five months we were away as George’s relief is quite inexperienced in such work. George thinks that there are still about a dozen maneaters at large. His theory is that a female maneater moved into the area in 1938 when maneating first started, and brought up her cubs to be maneaters, and those cubs in turn did the same. The three maneating lions that have been shot were all in very good condition and not old and maimed as maneaters usually are. George anticipates that it will be months before all these lions are accounted for because they are constantly on the move and cover a very large area. The lions have to be hunted on foot because they range over broken country covered by bush and fairly dense thicket. I did a bit of shooting myself yesterday and impressed our African servants and the children and myself. What a fluke! Our houseboy came to say that there was a snake in the garden, the biggest he had ever seen. He said it was too big to kill with a stick and would I shoot it. I had no gun but a heavy .450 Webley revolver and I took this and hurried out with the children at my heels. The snake turned out to be an unusually large puff adder which had just shed its skin. It looked beautiful in a repulsive way. So flanked by servants and children I took aim and shot, not hitting the head as I had planned, but breaking the snake’s back with the heavy bullet. The two native boys then rushed up with sticks and flattened the head. “Ma you’re a crack shot,” cried the kids in delighted surprise. I hope to rest on my laurels for a long, long while. Although there are only a few weeks of school term left the four older children will start school on Monday. Not only am I pleased with our new home here but also with the staff I have engaged. Our new houseboy, Reuben, (but renamed Robin by our children) is not only cheerful and willing but intelligent too, and Jumbe, the wood and garden boy, is a born clown and a source of great entertainment to the children. I feel sure that we are all going to be very happy here at ‘Old Shenks!. Eleanor. February 2, 2022 at 12:50 pm #6267 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued part 8 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Morogoro 20th January 1941 Dearest Family, It is all arranged for us to go on three months leave to Cape Town next month so get out your flags. How I shall love showing off Kate and John to you and this time George will be with us and you’ll be able to get to know him properly. You can’t think what a comfort it will be to leave all the worries of baggage and tipping to him. We will all be travelling by ship to Durban and from there to Cape Town by train. I rather dread the journey because there is a fifth little Rushby on the way and, as always, I am very queasy. Kate has become such a little companion to me that I dread the thought of leaving her behind with you to start schooling. I miss Ann and George so much now and must face separation from Kate as well. There does not seem to be any alternative though. There is a boarding school in Arusha and another has recently been started in Mbeya, but both places are so far away and I know she would be very unhappy as a boarder at this stage. Living happily with you and attending a day school might wean her of her dependance upon me. As soon as this wretched war ends we mean to get Ann and George back home and Kate too and they can then all go to boarding school together. If I were a more methodical person I would try to teach Kate myself, but being a muddler I will have my hands full with Johnny and the new baby. Life passes pleasantly but quietly here. Much of my time is taken up with entertaining the children and sewing for them and just waiting for George to come home. George works so hard on these safaris and this endless elephant hunting to protect native crops entails so much foot safari, that he has lost a good deal of weight. it is more than ten years since he had a holiday so he is greatly looking forward to this one. Four whole months together! I should like to keep the ayah, Janet, for the new baby, but she says she wants to return to her home in the Southern Highlands Province and take a job there. She is unusually efficient and so clean, and the houseboy and cook are quite scared of her. She bawls at them if the children’s meals are served a few minutes late but she is always respectful towards me and practically creeps around on tiptoe when George is home. She has a room next to the outside kitchen. One night thieves broke into the kitchen and stole a few things, also a canvas chair and mat from the verandah. Ayah heard them, and grabbing a bit of firewood, she gave chase. Her shouts so alarmed the thieves that they ran off up the hill jettisoning their loot as they ran. She is a great character. Eleanor. Morogoro 30th July 1941 Dearest Family, Safely back in Morogoro after a rather grim voyage from Durban. Our ship was completely blacked out at night and we had to sleep with warm clothing and life belts handy and had so many tedious boat drills. It was a nuisance being held up for a whole month in Durban, because I was so very pregnant when we did embark. In fact George suggested that I had better hide in the ‘Ladies’ until the ship sailed for fear the Captain might refuse to take me. It seems that the ship, on which we were originally booked to travel, was torpedoed somewhere off the Cape. We have been given a very large house this tour with a mosquito netted sleeping porch which will be fine for the new baby. The only disadvantage is that the house is on the very edge of the residential part of Morogoro and Johnny will have to go quite a distance to find playmates. I still miss Kate terribly. She is a loving little person. I had prepared for a scene when we said good-bye but I never expected that she would be the comforter. It nearly broke my heart when she put her arms around me and said, “I’m so sorry Mummy, please don’t cry. I’ll be good. Please don’t cry.” I’m afraid it was all very harrowing for you also. It is a great comfort to hear that she has settled down so happily. I try not to think consciously of my absent children and remind myself that there are thousands of mothers in the same boat, but they are always there at the back of my mind. Mother writes that Ann and George are perfectly happy and well, and that though German bombers do fly over fairly frequently, they are unlikely to drop their bombs on a small place like Jacksdale. George has already left on safari to the Rufiji. There was no replacement for his job while he was away so he is anxious to get things moving again. Johnny and I are going to move in with friends until he returns, just in case all the travelling around brings the new baby on earlier than expected. Eleanor. Morogoro 26th August 1941 Dearest Family, Our new son, James Caleb. was born at 3.30 pm yesterday afternoon, with a minimum of fuss, in the hospital here. The Doctor was out so my friend, Sister Murray, delivered the baby. The Sister is a Scots girl, very efficient and calm and encouraging, and an ideal person to have around at such a time. Everything, this time, went without a hitch and I feel fine and proud of my bouncing son. He weighs nine pounds and ten ounces and is a big boned fellow with dark hair and unusually strongly marked eyebrows. His eyes are strong too and already seem to focus. George is delighted with him and brought Hugh Nelson to see him this morning. Hugh took one look, and, astonished I suppose by the baby’s apparent awareness, said, “Gosh, this one has been here before.” The baby’s cot is beside my bed so I can admire him as much as I please. He has large strong hands and George reckons he’ll make a good boxer some day. Another of my early visitors was Mabemba, George’s orderly. He is a very big African and looks impressive in his Game Scouts uniform. George met him years ago at Mahenge when he was a young elephant hunter and Mabemba was an Askari in the Police. Mabemba takes quite a proprietary interest in the family. Eleanor. Morogoro 25th December 1941 Dearest Family, Christmas Day today, but not a gay one. I have Johnny in bed with a poisoned leg so he missed the children’s party at the Club. To make things a little festive I have put up a little Christmas tree in the children’s room and have hung up streamers and balloons above the beds. Johnny demands a lot of attention so it is fortunate that little James is such a very good baby. He sleeps all night until 6 am when his feed is due. One morning last week I got up as usual to feed him but I felt so dopey that I thought I’d better have a cold wash first. I went into the bathroom and had a hurried splash and then grabbed a towel to dry my face. Immediately I felt an agonising pain in my nose. Reason? There was a scorpion in the towel! In no time at all my nose looked like a pear and felt burning hot. The baby screamed with frustration whilst I feverishly bathed my nose and applied this and that in an effort to cool it. For three days my nose was very red and tender,”A real boozer nose”, said George. But now, thank goodness, it is back to normal. Some of the younger marrieds and a couple of bachelors came around, complete with portable harmonium, to sing carols in the early hours. No sooner had we settled down again to woo sleep when we were disturbed by shouts and screams from our nearest neighbour’s house. “Just celebrating Christmas”, grunted George, but we heard this morning that the neighbour had fallen down his verandah steps and broken his leg. Eleanor. Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943 Dearest Family, Well now we are eight! Our new son, Henry, was born on the night of the 28th. He is a beautiful baby, weighing ten pounds three and a half ounces. This baby is very well developed, handsome, and rather superior looking, and not at all amusing to look at as the other boys were.George was born with a moustache, John had a large nose and looked like a little old man, and Jim, bless his heart, looked rather like a baby chimpanzee. Henry is different. One of my visitors said, “Heaven he’ll have to be a Bishop!” I expect the lawn sleeves of his nightie really gave her that idea, but the baby does look like ‘Someone’. He is very good and George, John, and Jim are delighted with him, so is Mabemba. We have a dear little nurse looking after us. She is very petite and childish looking. When the baby was born and she brought him for me to see, the nurse asked his name. I said jokingly, “His name is Benjamin – the last of the family.” She is now very peeved to discover that his real name is Henry William and persists in calling him ‘Benjie’.I am longing to get home and into my pleasant rut. I have been away for two whole weeks and George is managing so well that I shall feel quite expendable if I don’t get home soon. As our home is a couple of miles from the hospital, I arranged to move in and stay with the nursing sister on the day the baby was due. There I remained for ten whole days before the baby was born. Each afternoon George came and took me for a ride in the bumpy Bedford lorry and the Doctor tried this and that but the baby refused to be hurried. On the tenth day I had the offer of a lift and decided to go home for tea and surprise George. It was a surprise too, because George was entertaining a young Game Ranger for tea and my arrival, looking like a perambulating big top, must have been rather embarrassing.Henry was born at the exact moment that celebrations started in the Township for the end of the Muslim religious festival of Ramadan. As the Doctor held him up by his ankles, there was the sound of hooters and firecrackers from the town. The baby has a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon above his left eyebrow. Eleanor. Morogoro 26th January 1944 Dearest Family, We have just heard that we are to be transferred to the Headquarters of the Game Department at a place called Lyamungu in the Northern Province. George is not at all pleased because he feels that the new job will entail a good deal of office work and that his beloved but endless elephant hunting will be considerably curtailed. I am glad of that and I am looking forward to seeing a new part of Tanganyika and particularly Kilimanjaro which dominates Lyamungu. Thank goodness our menagerie is now much smaller. We found a home for the guinea pigs last December and Susie, our mischievous guinea-fowl, has flown off to find a mate.Last week I went down to Dar es Salaam for a check up by Doctor John, a woman doctor, leaving George to cope with the three boys. I was away two nights and a day and returned early in the morning just as George was giving Henry his six o’clock bottle. It always amazes me that so very masculine a man can do my chores with no effort and I have a horrible suspicion that he does them better than I do. I enjoyed the short break at the coast very much. I stayed with friends and we bathed in the warm sea and saw a good film. Now I suppose there will be a round of farewell parties. People in this country are most kind and hospitable. Eleanor. Lyamungu 20th March 1944 Dearest Family, We left Morogoro after the round of farewell parties I had anticipated. The final one was at the Club on Saturday night. George made a most amusing speech and the party was a very pleasant occasion though I was rather tired after all the packing. Several friends gathered to wave us off on Monday morning. We had two lorries loaded with our goods. I rode in the cab of the first one with Henry on my knee. George with John and Jim rode in the second one. As there was no room for them in the cab, they sat on our couch which was placed across the width of the lorry behind the cab. This seat was not as comfortable as it sounds, because the space behind the couch was taken up with packing cases which were not lashed in place and these kept moving forward as the lorry bumped its way over the bad road. Soon there was hardly any leg room and George had constantly to stand up and push the second layer of packing cases back to prevent them from toppling over onto the children and himself. As it is now the rainy season the road was very muddy and treacherous and the lorries travelled so slowly it was dark by the time we reached Karogwe from where we were booked to take the train next morning to Moshi. Next morning we heard that there had been a washaway on the line and that the train would be delayed for at least twelve hours. I was not feeling well and certainly did not enjoy my day. Early in the afternoon Jimmy ran into a wall and blackened both his eyes. What a child! As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and when at last the train did arrive I simply crawled into my bunk whilst George coped nobly with the luggage and the children. We arrived at Moshi at breakfast time and went straight to the Lion Cub Hotel where I took to my bed with a high temperature. It was, of course, malaria. I always have my attacks at the most inopportune times. Fortunately George ran into some friends called Eccles and the wife Mollie came to my room and bathed Henry and prepared his bottle and fed him. George looked after John and Jim. Next day I felt much better and we drove out to Lyamungu the day after. There we had tea with the Game Warden and his wife before moving into our new home nearby. The Game Warden is Captain Monty Moore VC. He came out to Africa originally as an Officer in the King’s African Rifles and liked the country so much he left the Army and joined the Game Department. He was stationed at Banagi in the Serengetti Game Reserve and is well known for his work with the lions there. He particularly tamed some of the lions by feeding them so that they would come out into the open and could readily be photographed by tourists. His wife Audrey, has written a book about their experiences at Banagi. It is called “Serengetti” Our cook, Hamisi, soon had a meal ready for us and we all went to bed early. This is a very pleasant house and I know we will be happy here. I still feel a little shaky but that is the result of all the quinine I have taken. I expect I shall feel fine in a day or two. Eleanor. Lyamungu 15th May 1944 Dearest Family, Well, here we are settled comfortably in our very nice house. The house is modern and roomy, and there is a large enclosed verandah, which will be a Godsend in the wet weather as a playroom for the children. The only drawback is that there are so many windows to be curtained and cleaned. The grounds consist of a very large lawn and a few beds of roses and shrubs. It is an ideal garden for children, unlike our steeply terraced garden at Morogoro. Lyamungu is really the Government Coffee Research Station. It is about sixteen miles from the town of Moshi which is the centre of the Tanganyika coffee growing industry. Lyamungu, which means ‘place of God’ is in the foothills of Mt Kilimanjaro and we have a beautiful view of Kilimanjaro. Kibo, the more spectacular of the two mountain peaks, towers above us, looking from this angle, like a giant frosted plum pudding. Often the mountain is veiled by cloud and mist which sometimes comes down to our level so that visibility is practically nil. George dislikes both mist and mountain but I like both and so does John. He in fact saw Kibo before I did. On our first day here, the peak was completely hidden by cloud. In the late afternoon when the children were playing on the lawn outside I was indoors hanging curtains. I heard John call out, “Oh Mummy, isn’t it beautiful!” I ran outside and there, above a scarf of cloud, I saw the showy dome of Kibo with the setting sun shining on it tingeing the snow pink. It was an unforgettable experience. As this is the rainy season, the surrounding country side is very lush and green. Everywhere one sees the rich green of the coffee plantations and the lighter green of the banana groves. Unfortunately our walks are rather circumscribed. Except for the main road to Moshi, there is nowhere to walk except through the Government coffee plantation. Paddy, our dog, thinks life is pretty boring as there is no bush here and nothing to hunt. There are only half a dozen European families here and half of those are on very distant terms with the other half which makes the station a rather uncomfortable one. The coffee expert who runs this station is annoyed because his European staff has been cut down owing to the war, and three of the vacant houses and some office buildings have been taken over temporarily by the Game Department. Another house has been taken over by the head of the Labour Department. However I don’t suppose the ill feeling will effect us much. We are so used to living in the bush that we are not socially inclined any way. Our cook, Hamisi, came with us from Morogoro but I had to engage a new houseboy and kitchenboy. I first engaged a houseboy who produced a wonderful ‘chit’ in which his previous employer describes him as his “friend and confidant”. I felt rather dubious about engaging him and how right I was. On his second day with us I produced some of Henry’s napkins, previously rinsed by me, and asked this boy to wash them. He looked most offended and told me that it was beneath his dignity to do women’s work. We parted immediately with mutual relief. Now I have a good natured fellow named Japhet who, though hard on crockery, is prepared to do anything and loves playing with the children. He is a local boy, a member of the Chagga tribe. These Chagga are most intelligent and, on the whole, well to do as they all have their own small coffee shambas. Japhet tells me that his son is at the Uganda University College studying medicine.The kitchen boy is a tall youth called Tovelo, who helps both Hamisi, the cook, and the houseboy and also keeps an eye on Henry when I am sewing. I still make all the children’s clothes and my own. Life is pleasant but dull. George promises that he will take the whole family on safari when Henry is a little older. Eleanor. Lyamungu 18th July 1944 Dearest Family, Life drifts quietly by at Lyamungu with each day much like the one before – or they would be, except that the children provide the sort of excitement that prohibits boredom. Of the three boys our Jim is the best at this. Last week Jim wandered into the coffee plantation beside our house and chewed some newly spayed berries. Result? A high temperature and nasty, bloody diarrhoea, so we had to rush him to the hospital at Moshi for treatment. however he was well again next day and George went off on safari. That night there was another crisis. As the nights are now very cold, at this high altitude, we have a large fire lit in the living room and the boy leaves a pile of logs beside the hearth so that I can replenish the fire when necessary. Well that night I took Henry off to bed, leaving John and Jim playing in the living room. When their bedtime came, I called them without leaving the bedroom. When I had tucked John and Jim into bed, I sat reading a bedtime story as I always do. Suddenly I saw smoke drifting through the door, and heard a frightening rumbling noise. Japhet rushed in to say that the lounge chimney was on fire! Picture me, panic on the inside and sweet smile on the outside, as I picked Henry up and said to the other two, “There’s nothing to be frightened about chaps, but get up and come outside for a bit.” Stupid of me to be so heroic because John and Jim were not at all scared but only too delighted at the chance of rushing about outside in the dark. The fire to them was just a bit of extra fun. We hurried out to find one boy already on the roof and the other passing up a brimming bucket of water. Other boys appeared from nowhere and soon cascades of water were pouring down the chimney. The result was a mountain of smouldering soot on the hearth and a pool of black water on the living room floor. However the fire was out and no serious harm done because all the floors here are cement and another stain on the old rug will hardly be noticed. As the children reluctantly returned to bed John remarked smugly, “I told Jim not to put all the wood on the fire at once but he wouldn’t listen.” I might have guessed! However it was not Jim but John who gave me the worst turn of all this week. As a treat I decided to take the boys to the river for a picnic tea. The river is not far from our house but we had never been there before so I took the kitchen boy, Tovelo, to show us the way. The path is on the level until one is in sight of the river when the bank slopes steeply down. I decided that it was too steep for the pram so I stopped to lift Henry out and carry him. When I looked around I saw John running down the slope towards the river. The stream is not wide but flows swiftly and I had no idea how deep it was. All I knew was that it was a trout stream. I called for John, “Stop, wait for me!” but he ran on and made for a rude pole bridge which spanned the river. He started to cross and then, to my horror, I saw John slip. There was a splash and he disappeared under the water. I just dumped the baby on the ground, screamed to the boy to mind him and ran madly down the slope to the river. Suddenly I saw John’s tight fitting felt hat emerge, then his eyes and nose. I dashed into the water and found, to my intense relief, that it only reached up to my shoulders but, thank heaven no further. John’s steady eyes watched me trustingly as I approached him and carried him safely to the bank. He had been standing on a rock and had not panicked at all though he had to stand up very straight and tall to keep his nose out of water. I was too proud of him to scold him for disobedience and too wet anyway. I made John undress and put on two spare pullovers and wrapped Henry’s baby blanket round his waist like a sarong. We made a small fire over which I crouched with literally chattering teeth whilst Tovelo ran home to fetch a coat for me and dry clothes for John. Eleanor. Lyamungu 16th August 1944 Dearest Family, We have a new bull terrier bitch pup whom we have named Fanny III . So once more we have a menagerie , the two dogs, two cats Susie and Winnie, and some pet hens who live in the garage and are a real nuisance. As John is nearly six I thought it time that he started lessons and wrote off to Dar es Salaam for the correspondence course. We have had one week of lessons and I am already in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. John is a most reluctant scholar. “Why should I learn to read, when you can read to me?” he asks, and “Anyway why should I read such stupid stuff, ‘Run Rover Run’, and ‘Mother play with baby’ . Who wants to read about things like that? I don’t.” He rather likes sums, but the only subject about which he is enthusiastic is prehistoric history. He laps up information about ‘The Tree Dwellers’, though he is very sceptical about the existence of such people. “God couldn’t be so silly to make people so stupid. Fancy living in trees when it is easy to make huts like the natives.” ‘The Tree Dwellers is a highly imaginative story about a revolting female called Sharptooth and her offspring called Bodo. I have a very clear mental image of Sharptooth, so it came as a shock to me and highly amused George when John looked at me reflectively across the tea table and said, “Mummy I expect Sharptooth looked like you. You have a sharp tooth too!” I have, my eye teeth are rather sharp, but I hope the resemblance stops there. John has an uncomfortably logical mind for a small boy. The other day he was lying on the lawn staring up at the clouds when he suddenly muttered “I don’t believe it.” “Believe what?” I asked. “That Jesus is coming on a cloud one day. How can he? The thick ones always stay high up. What’s he going to do, jump down with a parachute?” Tovelo, my kitchen boy, announced one evening that his grandmother was in the kitchen and wished to see me. She was a handsome and sensible Chagga woman who brought sad news. Her little granddaughter had stumbled backwards into a large cooking pot of almost boiling maize meal porridge and was ‘ngongwa sana’ (very ill). I grabbed a large bottle of Picric Acid and a packet of gauze which we keep for these emergencies and went with her, through coffee shambas and banana groves to her daughter’s house. Inside the very neat thatched hut the mother sat with the naked child lying face downwards on her knee. The child’s buttocks and the back of her legs were covered in huge burst blisters from which a watery pus dripped. It appeared that the accident had happened on the previous day. I could see that it was absolutely necessary to clean up the damaged area, and I suddenly remembered that there was a trained African hospital dresser on the station. I sent the father to fetch him and whilst the dresser cleaned off the sloughed skin with forceps and swabs saturated in Picric Acid, I cut the gauze into small squares which I soaked in the lotion and laid on the cleaned area. I thought the small pieces would be easier to change especially as the whole of the most tender parts, front and back, were badly scalded. The child seemed dazed and neither the dresser nor I thought she would live. I gave her half an aspirin and left three more half tablets to be given four hourly. Next day she seemed much brighter. I poured more lotion on the gauze disturbing as few pieces as possible and again the next day and the next. After a week the skin was healing well and the child eating normally. I am sure she will be all right now. The new skin is a brilliant red and very shiny but it is pale round the edges of the burnt area and will I hope later turn brown. The mother never uttered a word of thanks, but the granny is grateful and today brought the children a bunch of bananas. Eleanor. c/o Game Dept. P.O.Moshi. 29th September 1944 Dearest Mummy, I am so glad that you so enjoyed my last letter with the description of our very interesting and enjoyable safari through Masailand. You said you would like an even fuller description of it to pass around amongst the relations, so, to please you, I have written it out in detail and enclose the result. We have spent a quiet week after our exertions and all are well here. Very much love, Eleanor. Safari in Masailand George and I were at tea with our three little boys on the front lawn of our house in Lyamungu, Northern Tanganyika. It was John’s sixth birthday and he and Jim, a happy sturdy three year old, and Henry, aged eleven months, were munching the squares of plain chocolate which rounded off the party, when George said casually across the table to me, “Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow to go on safari?” “Me too?” enquired John anxiously, before I had time to reply, and “Me too?” echoed Jim. “yes, of course I can”, said I to George and “of course you’re coming too”, to the children who rate a day spent in the bush higher than any other pleasure. So in the early morning two days later, we started out happily for Masailand in a three ton Ford lorry loaded to capacity with the five Rushbys, the safari paraphernalia, drums of petrol and quite a retinue of servants and Game Scouts. George travelling alone on his monthly safaris, takes only the cook and a couple of Game Scouts, but this was to be a safari de luxe. Henry and I shared the cab with George who was driving, whilst John and Jim with the faithful orderly Mabemba beside them to point out the game animals, were installed upon rolls of bedding in the body of the lorry. The lorry lumbered along, first through coffee shambas, and then along the main road between Moshi and Arusha. After half an hour or so, we turned South off the road into a track which crossed the Sanya Plains and is the beginning of this part of Masailand. Though the dry season was at its height, and the pasture dry and course, we were soon passing small groups of game. This area is a Game Sanctuary and the antelope grazed quietly quite undisturbed by the passing lorry. Here and there zebra stood bunched by the road, a few wild ostriches stalked jerkily by, and in the distance some wildebeest cavorted around in their crazy way. Soon the grasslands gave way to thorn bush, and we saw six fantastically tall giraffe standing motionless with their heads turned enquiringly towards us. George stopped the lorry so the children could have a good view of them. John was enchanted but Jim, alas, was asleep. At mid day we reached the Kikoletwa River and turned aside to camp. Beside the river, under huge leafy trees, there was a beautiful camping spot, but the river was deep and reputed to be full of crocodiles so we passed it by and made our camp some distance from the river under a tall thorn tree with a flat lacy canopy. All around the camp lay uprooted trees of similar size that had been pushed over by elephants. As soon as the lorry stopped a camp chair was set up for me and the Game Scouts quickly slashed down grass and cleared the camp site of thorns. The same boys then pitched the tent whilst George himself set up the three camp beds and the folding cot for Henry, and set up the safari table and the canvas wash bowl and bath. The cook in the meantime had cleared a cool spot for the kitchen , opened up the chop boxes and started a fire. The cook’s boy and the dhobi (laundry boy) brought water from the rather muddy river and tea was served followed shortly afterward by an excellent lunch. In a very short time the camp had a suprisingly homely look. Nappies fluttered from a clothes line, Henry slept peacefully in his cot, John and Jim sprawled on one bed looking at comics, and I dozed comfortably on another. George, with the Game Scouts, drove off in the lorry about his work. As a Game Ranger it is his business to be on a constant look out for poachers, both African and European, and for disease in game which might infect the valuable herds of Masai cattle. The lorry did not return until dusk by which time the children had bathed enthusiastically in the canvas bath and were ready for supper and bed. George backed the lorry at right angles to the tent, Henry’s cot and two camp beds were set up in the lorry, the tarpaulin was lashed down and the children put to bed in their novel nursery. When darkness fell a large fire was lit in front of the camp, the exited children at last fell asleep and George and I sat on by the fire enjoying the cool and quiet night. When the fire subsided into a bed of glowing coals, it was time for our bed. During the night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches and strange indescribable noises.” Just elephant”, said George comfortably and instantly fell asleep once more. I didn’t! We rose with the birds next morning, but breakfast was ready and in a remarkably short time the lorry had been reloaded and we were once more on our way. For about half a mile we made our own track across the plain and then we turned into the earth road once more. Soon we had reached the river and were looking with dismay at the suspension bridge which we had to cross. At the far side, one steel hawser was missing and there the bridge tilted dangerously. There was no handrail but only heavy wooden posts which marked the extremities of the bridge. WhenGeorge measured the distance between the posts he found that there could be barely two inches to spare on either side of the cumbersome lorry. He decided to risk crossing, but the children and I and all the servants were told to cross the bridge and go down the track out of sight. The Game Scouts remained on the river bank on the far side of the bridge and stood ready for emergencies. As I walked along anxiously listening, I was horrified to hear the lorry come to a stop on the bridge. There was a loud creaking noise and I instantly visualised the lorry slowly toppling over into the deep crocodile infested river. The engine restarted, the lorry crossed the bridge and came slowly into sight around the bend. My heart slid back into its normal position. George was as imperturbable as ever and simply remarked that it had been a near thing and that we would return to Lyamungu by another route. Beyond the green river belt the very rutted track ran through very uninteresting thorn bush country. Henry was bored and tiresome, jumping up and down on my knee and yelling furiously. “Teeth”, said I apologetically to George, rashly handing a match box to Henry to keep him quiet. No use at all! With a fat finger he poked out the tray spilling the matches all over me and the floor. Within seconds Henry had torn the matchbox to pieces with his teeth and flung the battered remains through the window. An empty cigarette box met with the same fate as the match box and the yells continued unabated until Henry slept from sheer exhaustion. George gave me a smile, half sympathetic and half sardonic, “Enjoying the safari, my love?” he enquired. On these trying occasions George has the inestimable advantage of being able to go into a Yogilike trance, whereas I become irritated to screaming point. In an effort to prolong Henry’s slumber I braced my feet against the floor boards and tried to turn myself into a human shock absorber as we lurched along the eroded track. Several times my head made contact with the bolt of a rifle in the rack above, and once I felt I had shattered my knee cap against the fire extinguisher in a bracket under the dash board. Strange as it may seem, I really was enjoying the trip in spite of these discomforts. At last after three years I was once more on safari with George. This type of country was new to me and there was so much to see We passed a family of giraffe standing in complete immobility only a few yards from the track. Little dick-dick. one of the smallest of the antelope, scuttled in pairs across the road and that afternoon I had my first view of Gerenuk, curious red brown antelope with extremely elongated legs and giraffe-like necks. Most interesting of all was my first sight of Masai at home. We could hear a tuneful jangle of cattle bells and suddenly came across herds of humped cattle browsing upon the thorn bushes. The herds were guarded by athletic,striking looking Masai youths and men. Each had a calabash of water slung over his shoulder and a tall, highly polished spear in his hand. These herdsmen were quite unselfconscious though they wore no clothing except for one carelessly draped blanket. Very few gave us any greeting but glanced indifferently at us from under fringes of clay-daubed plaited hair . The rest of their hair was drawn back behind the ears to display split earlobes stretched into slender loops by the weight of heavy brass or copper tribal ear rings. Most of the villages were set well back in the bush out of sight of the road but we did pass one typical village which looked most primitive indeed. It consisted simply of a few mound like mud huts which were entirely covered with a plaster of mud and cattle dung and the whole clutch of huts were surrounded by a ‘boma’ of thorn to keep the cattle in at night and the lions out. There was a gathering of women and children on the road at this point. The children of both sexes were naked and unadorned, but the women looked very fine indeed. This is not surprising for they have little to do but adorn themselves, unlike their counterparts of other tribes who have to work hard cultivating the fields. The Masai women, and others I saw on safari, were far more amiable and cheerful looking than the men and were well proportioned. They wore skirts of dressed goat skin, knee length in front but ankle length behind. Their arms from elbow to wrist, and legs from knee to ankle, were encased in tight coils of copper and galvanised wire. All had their heads shaved and in some cases bound by a leather band embroidered in red white and blue beads. Circular ear rings hung from slit earlobes and their handsome throats were encircled by stiff wire necklaces strung with brightly coloured beads. These necklaces were carefully graded in size and formed deep collars almost covering their breasts. About a quarter of a mile further along the road we met eleven young braves in gala attire, obviously on their way to call on the girls. They formed a line across the road and danced up and down until the lorry was dangerously near when they parted and grinned cheerfully at us. These were the only cheerful looking male Masai that I saw. Like the herdsmen these youths wore only a blanket, but their blankets were ochre colour, and elegantly draped over their backs. Their naked bodies gleamed with oil. Several had painted white stripes on their faces, and two had whitewashed their faces entirely which I thought a pity. All had their long hair elaborately dressed and some carried not only one, but two gleaming spears. By mid day George decided that we had driven far enough for that day. He stopped the lorry and consulted a rather unreliable map. “Somewhere near here is a place called Lolbeni,” he said. “The name means Sweet Water, I hear that the government have piped spring water down from the mountain into a small dam at which the Masai water their cattle.” Lolbeni sounded pleasant to me. Henry was dusty and cross, the rubber sheet had long slipped from my lap to the floor and I was conscious of a very damp lap. ‘Sweet Waters’ I felt, would put all that right. A few hundred yards away a small herd of cattle was grazing, so George lit his pipe and relaxed at last, whilst a Game Scout went off to find the herdsman. The scout soon returned with an ancient and emaciated Masai who was thrilled at the prospect of his first ride in a lorry and offered to direct us to Lolbeni which was off the main track and about four miles away. Once Lolbeni had been a small administrative post and a good track had led to it, but now the Post had been abandoned and the road is dotted with vigourous thorn bushes and the branches of larger thorn trees encroach on the track The road had deteriorated to a mere cattle track, deeply rutted and eroded by heavy rains over a period of years. The great Ford truck, however, could take it. It lurched victoriously along, mowing down the obstructions, tearing off branches from encroaching thorn trees with its high railed sides, spanning gorges in the track, and climbing in and out of those too wide to span. I felt an army tank could not have done better. I had expected Lolbeni to be a green oasis in a desert of grey thorns, but I was quickly disillusioned. To be sure the thorn trees were larger and more widely spaced and provided welcome shade, but the ground under the trees had been trampled by thousands of cattle into a dreary expanse of dirty grey sand liberally dotted with cattle droppings and made still more uninviting by the bleached bones of dead beasts. To the right of this waste rose a high green hill which gave the place its name and from which the precious water was piped, but its slopes were too steep to provide a camping site. Flies swarmed everywhere and I was most relieved when George said that we would stay only long enough to fill our cans with water. Even the water was a disappointment! The water in the small dam was low and covered by a revolting green scum, and though the water in the feeding pipe was sweet, it trickled so feebly that it took simply ages to fill a four gallon can. However all these disappointments were soon forgotten for we drove away from the flies and dirt and trampled sand and soon, with their quiet efficiency, George and his men set up a comfortable camp. John and Jim immediately started digging operations in the sandy soil whilst Henry and I rested. After tea George took his shot gun and went off to shoot guinea fowl and partridges for the pot. The children and I went walking, keeping well in site of camp, and soon we saw a very large flock of Vulturine Guineafowl, running aimlessly about and looking as tame as barnyard fowls, but melting away as soon as we moved in their direction. We had our second quiet and lovely evening by the camp fire, followed by a peaceful night. We left Lolbeni very early next morning, which was a good thing, for as we left camp the herds of thirsty cattle moved in from all directions. They were accompanied by Masai herdsmen, their naked bodies and blankets now covered by volcanic dust which was being stirred in rising clouds of stifling ash by the milling cattle, and also by grey donkeys laden with panniers filled with corked calabashes for water. Our next stop was Nabarera, a Masai cattle market and trading centre, where we reluctantly stayed for two days in a pokey Goverment Resthouse because George had a job to do in that area. The rest was good for Henry who promptly produced a tooth and was consequently much better behaved for the rest of the trip. George was away in the bush most of the day but he returned for afternoon tea and later took the children out walking. We had noticed curious white dumps about a quarter mile from the resthouse and on the second afternoon we set out to investigate them. Behind the dumps we found passages about six foot wide, cut through solid limestone. We explored two of these and found that both passages led steeply down to circular wells about two and a half feet in diameter. At the very foot of each passage, beside each well, rough drinking troughs had been cut in the stone. The herdsmen haul the water out of the well in home made hide buckets, the troughs are filled and the cattle driven down the ramps to drink at the trough. It was obvious that the wells were ancient and the sloping passages new. George tells me that no one knows what ancient race dug the original wells. It seems incredible that these deep and narrow shafts could have been sunk without machinery. I craned my neck and looked above one well and could see an immensely long shaft reaching up to ground level. Small footholds were cut in the solid rock as far as I could see. It seems that the Masai are as ignorant as ourselves about the origin of these wells. They do say however that when their forebears first occupied what is now known as Masailand, they not only found the Wanderobo tribe in the area but also a light skinned people and they think it possible that these light skinned people dug the wells. These people disappeared. They may have been absorbed or, more likely, they were liquidated. The Masai had found the well impractical in their original form and had hired labourers from neighbouring tribes to cut the passages to water level. Certainly the Masai are not responsible for the wells. They are a purely pastoral people and consider manual labour extremely degrading. They live chiefly on milk from their herd which they allow to go sour, and mix with blood that has been skilfully tapped from the necks of living cattle. They do not eat game meat, nor do they cultivate any land. They hunt with spears, but hunt only lions, to protect their herds, and to test the skill and bravery of their young warriors. What little grain they do eat is transported into Masailand by traders. The next stage of our journey took us to Ngassamet where George was to pick up some elephant tusks. I had looked forward particularly to this stretch of road for I had heard that there was a shallow lake at which game congregates, and at which I had great hopes of seeing elephants. We had come too late in the season though, the lake was dry and there were only piles of elephant droppings to prove that elephant had recently been there in numbers. Ngassamet, though no beauty spot, was interesting. We saw more elaborate editions of the wells already described, and as this area is rich in cattle we saw the aristocrats of the Masai. You cannot conceive of a more arrogant looking male than a young Masai brave striding by on sandalled feet, unselfconscious in all his glory. All the young men wore the casually draped traditional ochre blanket and carried one or more spears. But here belts and long knife sheaths of scarlet leather seem to be the fashion. Here fringes do not seem to be the thing. Most of these young Masai had their hair drawn smoothly back and twisted in a pointed queue, the whole plastered with a smooth coating of red clay. Some tied their horn shaped queues over their heads so that the tip formed a deep Satanic peak on the brow. All these young men wore the traditional copper earrings and I saw one or two with copper bracelets and one with a necklace of brightly coloured beads. It so happened that, on the day of our visit to Ngassamet, there had been a baraza (meeting) which was attended by all the local headmen and elders. These old men came to pay their respects to George and a more shrewd and rascally looking company I have never seen, George told me that some of these men own up to three thousand head of cattle and more. The chief was as fat and Rabelasian as his second in command was emaciated, bucktoothed and prim. The Chief shook hands with George and greeted me and settled himself on the wall of the resthouse porch opposite George. The lesser headmen, after politely greeting us, grouped themselves in a semi circle below the steps with their ‘aides’ respectfully standing behind them. I remained sitting in the only chair and watched the proceedings with interest and amusement. These old Masai, I noticed, cared nothing for adornment. They had proved themselves as warriors in the past and were known to be wealthy and influential so did not need to make any display. Most of them had their heads comfortably shaved and wore only a drab blanket or goatskin cloak. Their only ornaments were earrings whose effect was somewhat marred by the serviceable and homely large safety pin that dangled from the lobe of one ear. All carried staves instead of spears and all, except for Buckteeth and one blind old skeleton of a man, appeared to have a keenly developed sense of humour. “Mummy?” asked John in an urgent whisper, “Is that old blind man nearly dead?” “Yes dear”, said I, “I expect he’ll soon die.” “What here?” breathed John in a tone of keen anticipation and, until the meeting broke up and the old man left, he had John’s undivided attention. After local news and the game situation had been discussed, the talk turned to the war. “When will the war end?” moaned the fat Chief. “We have made great gifts of cattle to the War Funds, we are taxed out of existence.” George replied with the Ki-Swahili equivalent of ‘Sez you!’. This sally was received with laughter and the old fellows rose to go. They made their farewells and dignified exits, pausing on their way to stare at our pink and white Henry, who sat undismayed in his push chair giving them stare for stare from his striking grey eyes. Towards evening some Masai, prompted no doubt by our native servants, brought a sheep for sale. It was the last night of the fast of Ramadan and our Mohammedan boys hoped to feast next day at our expense. Their faces fell when George refused to buy the animal. “Why should I pay fifteen shillings for a sheep?” he asked, “Am I not the Bwana Nyama and is not the bush full of my sheep?” (Bwana Nyama is the native name for a Game Ranger, but means literally, ‘Master of the meat’) George meant that he would shoot a buck for the men next day, but this incident was to have a strange sequel. Ngassamet resthouse consists of one room so small we could not put up all our camp beds and George and I slept on the cement floor which was unkind to my curves. The night was bitterly cold and all night long hyaenas screeched hideously outside. So we rose at dawn without reluctance and were on our way before it was properly light. George had decided that it would be foolhardy to return home by our outward route as he did not care to risk another crossing of the suspension bridge. So we returned to Nabarera and there turned onto a little used track which would eventually take us to the Great North Road a few miles South of Arusha. There was not much game about but I saw Oryx which I had not previously seen. Soon it grew intolerably hot and I think all of us but George were dozing when he suddenly stopped the lorry and pointed to the right. “Mpishi”, he called to the cook, “There’s your sheep!” True enough, on that dreary thorn covered plain,with not another living thing in sight, stood a fat black sheep. There was an incredulous babbling from the back of the lorry. Every native jumped to the ground and in no time at all the wretched sheep was caught and slaughtered. I felt sick. “Oh George”, I wailed, “The poor lost sheep! I shan’t eat a scrap of it.” George said nothing but went and had a look at the sheep and called out to me, “Come and look at it. It was kindness to kill the poor thing, the vultures have been at it already and the hyaenas would have got it tonight.” I went reluctantly and saw one eye horribly torn out, and small deep wounds on the sheep’s back where the beaks of the vultures had cut through the heavy fleece. Poor thing! I went back to the lorry more determined than ever not to eat mutton on that trip. The Scouts and servants had no such scruples. The fine fat sheep had been sent by Allah for their feast day and that was the end of it. “ ‘Mpishi’ is more convinced than ever that I am a wizard”, said George in amusement as he started the lorry. I knew what he meant. Several times before George had foretold something which had later happened. Pure coincidence, but strange enough to give rise to a legend that George had the power to arrange things. “What happened of course”, explained George, “Is that a flock of Masai sheep was driven to market along this track yesterday or the day before. This one strayed and was not missed.” The day grew hotter and hotter and for long miles we looked out for a camping spot but could find little shade and no trace of water anywhere. At last, in the early afternoon we reached another pokey little rest house and asked for water. “There is no water here,” said the native caretaker. “Early in the morning there is water in a well nearby but we are allowed only one kerosene tin full and by ten o’clock the well is dry.” I looked at George in dismay for we were all so tired and dusty. “Where do the Masai from the village water their cattle then?” asked George. “About two miles away through the bush. If you take me with you I shall show you”, replied the native. So we turned off into the bush and followed a cattle track even more tortuous than the one to Lolbeni. Two Scouts walked ahead to warn us of hazards and I stretched my arm across the open window to fend off thorns. Henry screamed with fright and hunger. But George’s efforts to reach water went unrewarded as we were brought to a stop by a deep donga. The native from the resthouse was apologetic. He had mistaken the path, perhaps if we turned back we might find it. George was beyond speech. We lurched back the way we had come and made our camp under the first large tree we could find. Then off went our camp boys on foot to return just before dark with the water. However they were cheerful for there was an unlimited quantity of dry wood for their fires and meat in plenty for their feast. Long after George and I left our campfire and had gone to bed, we could see the cheerful fires of the boys and hear their chatter and laughter. I woke in the small hours to hear the insane cackling of hyaenas gloating over a find. Later I heard scuffling around the camp table, I peered over the tailboard of the lorry and saw George come out of his tent. What are you doing?” I whispered. “Looking for something to throw at those bloody hyaenas,” answered George for all the world as though those big brutes were tomcats on the prowl. Though the hyaenas kept up their concert all night the children never stirred, nor did any of them wake at night throughout the safari. Early next morning I walked across to the camp kitchen to enquire into the loud lamentations coming from that quarter. “Oh Memsahib”, moaned the cook, “We could not sleep last night for the bad hyaenas round our tents. They have taken every scrap of meat we had left over from the feast., even the meat we had left to smoke over the fire.” Jim, who of our three young sons is the cook’s favourite commiserated with him. He said in Ki-Swahili, which he speaks with great fluency, “Truly those hyaenas are very bad creatures. They also robbed us. They have taken my hat from the table and eaten the new soap from the washbowl. Our last day in the bush was a pleasantly lazy one. We drove through country that grew more open and less dry as we approached Arusha. We pitched our camp near a large dam, and the water was a blessed sight after a week of scorched country. On the plains to the right of our camp was a vast herd of native cattle enjoying a brief rest after their long day trek through Masailand. They were destined to walk many more weary miles before reaching their destination, a meat canning factory in Kenya. The ground to the left of the camp rose gently to form a long low hill and on the grassy slopes we could see wild ostriches and herds of wildebeest, zebra and antelope grazing amicably side by side. In the late afternoon I watched the groups of zebra and wildebeest merge into one. Then with a wildebeest leading, they walked down the slope in single file to drink at the vlei . When they were satisfied, a wildebeest once more led the herd up the trail. The others followed in a long and orderly file, and vanished over the hill to their evening pasture. When they had gone, George took up his shotgun and invited John to accompany him to the dam to shoot duck. This was the first time John had acted as retriever but he did very well and proudly helped to carry a mixed bag of sand grouse and duck back to camp. Next morning we turned into the Great North Road and passed first through carefully tended coffee shambas and then through the township of Arusha, nestling at the foot of towering Mount Meru. Beyond Arusha we drove through the Usa River settlement where again coffee shambas and European homesteads line the road, and saw before us the magnificent spectacle of Kilimanjaro unveiled, its white snow cap gleaming in the sunlight. Before mid day we were home. “Well was it worth it?” enquired George at lunch. “Lovely,” I replied. ”Let’s go again soon.” Then thinking regretfully of our absent children I sighed, “If only Ann, George, and Kate could have gone with us too.” Lyamungu 10th November. 1944 Dearest Family. Mummy wants to know how I fill in my time with George away on safari for weeks on end. I do believe that you all picture me idling away my days, waited on hand and foot by efficient servants! On the contrary, life is one rush and the days never long enough. To begin with, our servants are anything but efficient, apart from our cook, Hamisi Issa, who really is competent. He suffers from frustration because our budget will not run to elaborate dishes so there is little scope for his culinary art. There is one masterpiece which is much appreciated by John and Jim. Hamisi makes a most realistic crocodile out of pastry and stuffs its innards with minced meat. This revolting reptile is served on a bed of parsley on my largest meat dish. The cook is a strict Mohammedan and observes all the fasts and daily prayers and, like all Mohammedans he is very clean in his person and, thank goodness, in the kitchen. His wife is his pride and joy but not his helpmate. She does absolutely nothing but sit in a chair in the sun all day, sipping tea and smoking cigarettes – a more expensive brand than mine! It is Hamisi who sweeps out their quarters, cooks delectable curries for her, and spends more than he can afford on clothing and trinkets for his wife. She just sits there with her ‘Mona Lisa’ smile and her painted finger and toe nails, doing absolutely nothing. The thing is that natives despise women who do work and this applies especially to their white employers. House servants much prefer a Memsahib who leaves everything to them and is careless about locking up her pantry. When we first came to Lyamungu I had great difficulty in employing a houseboy. A couple of rather efficient ones did approach me but when they heard the wages I was prepared to pay and that there was no number 2 boy, they simply were not interested. Eventually I took on a local boy called Japhet who suits me very well except that his sight is not good and he is extremely hard on the crockery. He tells me that he has lost face by working here because his friends say that he works for a family that is too mean to employ a second boy. I explained that with our large family we simply cannot afford to pay more, but this didn’t register at all. Japhet says “But Wazungu (Europeans) all have money. They just have to get it from the Bank.” The third member of our staff is a strapping youth named Tovelo who helps both cook and boy, and consequently works harder than either. What do I do? I chivvy the servants, look after the children, supervise John’s lessons, and make all my clothing and the children’s on that blessed old hand sewing machine. The folk on this station entertain a good deal but we usually decline invitations because we simply cannot afford to reciprocate. However, last Saturday night I invited two couples to drinks and dinner. This was such an unusual event that the servants and I were thrown into a flurry. In the end the dinner went off well though it ended in disaster. In spite of my entreaties and exhortations to Japhet not to pile everything onto the tray at once when clearing the table, he did just that. We were starting our desert and I was congratulating myself that all had gone well when there was a frightful crash of breaking china on the back verandah. I excused myself and got up to investigate. A large meat dish, six dinner plates and four vegetable dishes lay shattered on the cement floor! I controlled my tongue but what my eyes said to Japhet is another matter. What he said was, “It is not my fault Memsahib. The handle of the tray came off.” It is a curious thing about native servants that they never accept responsibility for a mishap. If they cannot pin their misdeeds onto one of their fellow servants then the responsibility rests with God. ‘Shauri ya Mungu’, (an act of God) is a familiar cry. Fatalists can be very exasperating employees. The loss of my dinner service is a real tragedy because, being war time, one can buy only china of the poorest quality made for the native trade. Nor was that the final disaster of the evening. When we moved to the lounge for coffee I noticed that the coffee had been served in the battered old safari coffee pot instead of the charming little antique coffee pot which my Mother-in-law had sent for our tenth wedding anniversary. As there had already been a disturbance I made no comment but resolved to give the cook a piece of my mind in the morning. My instructions to the cook had been to warm the coffee pot with hot water immediately before serving. On no account was he to put the pewter pot on the hot iron stove. He did and the result was a small hole in the base of the pot – or so he says. When I saw the pot next morning there was a two inch hole in it. Hamisi explained placidly how this had come about. He said he knew I would be mad when I saw the little hole so he thought he would have it mended and I might not notice it. Early in the morning he had taken the pewter pot to the mechanic who looks after the Game Department vehicles and had asked him to repair it. The bright individual got busy with the soldering iron with the most devastating result. “It’s his fault,” said Hamisi, “He is a mechanic, he should have known what would happen.” One thing is certain, there will be no more dinner parties in this house until the war is ended. The children are well and so am I, and so was George when he left on his safari last Monday. Much love, Eleanor. February 2, 2022 at 12:33 pm #6266 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued part 7 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Oldeani Hospital. 19th September 1938 Dearest Family, George arrived today to take us home to Mbulu but Sister Marianne will not allow me to travel for another week as I had a bit of a set back after baby’s birth. At first I was very fit and on the third day Sister stripped the bed and, dictionary in hand, started me off on ante natal exercises. “Now make a bridge Mrs Rushby. So. Up down, up down,’ whilst I obediently hoisted myself aloft on heels and head. By the sixth day she considered it was time for me to be up and about but alas, I soon had to return to bed with a temperature and a haemorrhage. I got up and walked outside for the first time this morning. I have had lots of visitors because the local German settlers seem keen to see the first British baby born in the hospital. They have been most kind, sending flowers and little German cards of congratulations festooned with cherubs and rather sweet. Most of the women, besides being pleasant, are very smart indeed, shattering my illusion that German matrons are invariably fat and dowdy. They are all much concerned about the Czecko-Slovakian situation, especially Sister Marianne whose home is right on the border and has several relations who are Sudentan Germans. She is ant-Nazi and keeps on asking me whether I think England will declare war if Hitler invades Czecko- Slovakia, as though I had inside information. George tells me that he has had a grass ‘banda’ put up for us at Mbulu as we are both determined not to return to those prison-like quarters in the Fort. Sister Marianne is horrified at the idea of taking a new baby to live in a grass hut. She told George, “No,No,Mr Rushby. I find that is not to be allowed!” She is an excellent Sister but rather prim and George enjoys teasing her. This morning he asked with mock seriousness, “Sister, why has my wife not received her medal?” Sister fluttered her dictionary before asking. “What medal Mr Rushby”. “Why,” said George, “The medal that Hitler gives to women who have borne four children.” Sister started a long and involved explanation about the medal being only for German mothers whilst George looked at me and grinned. Later. Great Jubilation here. By the noise in Sister Marianne’s sitting room last night it sounded as though the whole German population had gathered to listen to the wireless news. I heard loud exclamations of joy and then my bedroom door burst open and several women rushed in. “Thank God “, they cried, “for Neville Chamberlain. Now there will be no war.” They pumped me by the hand as though I were personally responsible for the whole thing. George on the other hand is disgusted by Chamberlain’s lack of guts. Doesn’t know what England is coming to these days. I feel too content to concern myself with world affairs. I have a fine husband and four wonderful children and am happy, happy, happy. Eleanor. Mbulu. 30th September 1938 Dearest Family, Here we are, comfortably installed in our little green house made of poles and rushes from a nearby swamp. The house has of course, no doors or windows, but there are rush blinds which roll up in the day time. There are two rooms and a little porch and out at the back there is a small grass kitchen. Here we have the privacy which we prize so highly as we are screened on one side by a Forest Department plantation and on the other three sides there is nothing but the rolling countryside cropped bare by the far too large herds of cattle and goats of the Wambulu. I have a lovely lazy time. I still have Kesho-Kutwa and the cook we brought with us from the farm. They are both faithful and willing souls though not very good at their respective jobs. As one of these Mbeya boys goes on safari with George whose job takes him from home for three weeks out of four, I have taken on a local boy to cut firewood and heat my bath water and generally make himself useful. His name is Saa, which means ‘Clock’ We had an uneventful but very dusty trip from Oldeani. Johnny Jo travelled in his pram in the back of the boxbody and got covered in dust but seems none the worst for it. As the baby now takes up much of my time and Kate was showing signs of boredom, I have engaged a little African girl to come and play with Kate every morning. She is the daughter of the head police Askari and a very attractive and dignified little person she is. Her name is Kajyah. She is scrupulously clean, as all Mohammedan Africans seem to be. Alas, Kajyah, though beautiful, is a bore. She simply does not know how to play, so they just wander around hand in hand. There are only two drawbacks to this little house. Mbulu is a very windy spot so our little reed house is very draughty. I have made a little tent of sheets in one corner of the ‘bedroom’ into which I can retire with Johnny when I wish to bathe or sponge him. The other drawback is that many insects are attracted at night by the lamp and make it almost impossible to read or sew and they have a revolting habit of falling into the soup. There are no dangerous wild animals in this area so I am not at all nervous in this flimsy little house when George is on safari. Most nights hyaenas come around looking for scraps but our dogs, Fanny and Paddy, soon see them off. Eleanor. Mbulu. 25th October 1938 Dearest Family, Great news! a vacancy has occurred in the Game Department. George is to transfer to it next month. There will be an increase in salary and a brighter prospect for the future. It will mean a change of scene and I shall be glad of that. We like Mbulu and the people here but the rains have started and our little reed hut is anything but water tight. Before the rain came we had very unpleasant dust storms. I think I told you that this is a treeless area and the grass which normally covers the veldt has been cropped to the roots by the hungry native cattle and goats. When the wind blows the dust collects in tall black columns which sweep across the country in a most spectacular fashion. One such dust devil struck our hut one day whilst we were at lunch. George swept Kate up in a second and held her face against his chest whilst I rushed to Johnny Jo who was asleep in his pram, and stooped over the pram to protect him. The hut groaned and creaked and clouds of dust blew in through the windows and walls covering our persons, food, and belongings in a black pall. The dogs food bowls and an empty petrol tin outside the hut were whirled up and away. It was all over in a moment but you should have seen what a family of sweeps we looked. George looked at our blackened Johnny and mimicked in Sister Marianne’s primmest tones, “I find that this is not to be allowed.” The first rain storm caught me unprepared when George was away on safari. It was a terrific thunderstorm. The quite violent thunder and lightening were followed by a real tropical downpour. As the hut is on a slight slope, the storm water poured through the hut like a river, covering the entire floor, and the roof leaked like a lawn sprinkler. Johnny Jo was snug enough in the pram with the hood raised, but Kate and I had a damp miserable night. Next morning I had deep drains dug around the hut and when George returned from safari he managed to borrow an enormous tarpaulin which is now lashed down over the roof. It did not rain during the next few days George was home but the very next night we were in trouble again. I was awakened by screams from Kate and hurriedly turned up the lamp to see that we were in the midst of an invasion of siafu ants. Kate’s bed was covered in them. Others appeared to be raining down from the thatch. I quickly stripped Kate and carried her across to my bed, whilst I rushed to the pram to see whether Johnny Jo was all right. He was fast asleep, bless him, and slept on through all the commotion, whilst I struggled to pick all the ants out of Kate’s hair, stopping now and again to attend to my own discomfort. These ants have a painful bite and seem to choose all the most tender spots. Kate fell asleep eventually but I sat up for the rest of the night to make sure that the siafu kept clear of the children. Next morning the servants dispersed them by laying hot ash. In spite of the dampness of the hut both children are blooming. Kate has rosy cheeks and Johnny Jo now has a fuzz of fair hair and has lost his ‘old man’ look. He reminds me of Ann at his age. Eleanor. Iringa. 30th November 1938 Dearest Family, Here we are back in the Southern Highlands and installed on the second floor of another German Fort. This one has been modernised however and though not so romantic as the Mbulu Fort from the outside, it is much more comfortable.We are all well and I am really proud of our two safari babies who stood up splendidly to a most trying journey North from Mbulu to Arusha and then South down the Great North Road to Iringa where we expect to stay for a month. At Arusha George reported to the headquarters of the Game Department and was instructed to come on down here on Rinderpest Control. There is a great flap on in case the rinderpest spread to Northern Rhodesia and possibly onwards to Southern Rhodesia and South Africa. Extra veterinary officers have been sent to this area to inoculate all the cattle against the disease whilst George and his African game Scouts will comb the bush looking for and destroying diseased game. If the rinderpest spreads, George says it may be necessary to shoot out all the game in a wide belt along the border between the Southern Highlands of Tanganyika and Northern Rhodesia, to prevent the disease spreading South. The very idea of all this destruction sickens us both. George left on a foot safari the day after our arrival and I expect I shall be lucky if I see him occasionally at weekends until this job is over. When rinderpest is under control George is to be stationed at a place called Nzassa in the Eastern Province about 18 miles from Dar es Salaam. George’s orderly, who is a tall, cheerful Game Scout called Juma, tells me that he has been stationed at Nzassa and it is a frightful place! However I refuse to be depressed. I now have the cheering prospect of leave to England in thirty months time when we will be able to fetch Ann and George and be a proper family again. Both Ann and George look happy in the snapshots which mother-in-law sends frequently. Ann is doing very well at school and loves it. To get back to our journey from Mbulu. It really was quite an experience. It poured with rain most of the way and the road was very slippery and treacherous the 120 miles between Mbulu and Arusha. This is a little used earth road and the drains are so blocked with silt as to be practically non existent. As usual we started our move with the V8 loaded to capacity. I held Johnny on my knee and Kate squeezed in between George and me. All our goods and chattels were in wooden boxes stowed in the back and the two houseboys and the two dogs had to adjust themselves to the space that remained. We soon ran into trouble and it took us all day to travel 47 miles. We stuck several times in deep mud and had some most nasty skids. I simply clutched Kate in one hand and Johnny Jo in the other and put my trust in George who never, under any circumstances, loses his head. Poor Johnny only got his meals when circumstances permitted. Unfortunately I had put him on a bottle only a few days before we left Mbulu and, as I was unable to buy either a primus stove or Thermos flask there we had to make a fire and boil water for each meal. Twice George sat out in the drizzle with a rain coat rapped over his head to protect a miserable little fire of wet sticks drenched with paraffin. Whilst we waited for the water to boil I pacified John by letting him suck a cube of Tate and Lyles sugar held between my rather grubby fingers. Not at all according to the book. That night George, the children and I slept in the car having dumped our boxes and the two servants in a deserted native hut. The rain poured down relentlessly all night and by morning the road was more of a morass than ever. We swerved and skidded alarmingly till eventually one of the wheel chains broke and had to be tied together with string which constantly needed replacing. George was so patient though he was wet and muddy and tired and both children were very good. Shortly before reaching the Great North Road we came upon Jack Gowan, the Stock Inspector from Mbulu. His car was bogged down to its axles in black mud. He refused George’s offer of help saying that he had sent his messenger to a nearby village for help. I hoped that conditions would be better on the Great North Road but how over optimistic I was. For miles the road runs through a belt of ‘black cotton soil’. which was churned up into the consistency of chocolate blancmange by the heavy lorry traffic which runs between Dodoma and Arusha. Soon the car was skidding more fantastically than ever. Once it skidded around in a complete semi circle so George decided that it would be safer for us all to walk whilst he negotiated the very bad patches. You should have seen me plodding along in the mud and drizzle with the baby in one arm and Kate clinging to the other. I was terrified of slipping with Johnny. Each time George reached firm ground he would return on foot to carry Kate and in this way we covered many bad patches.We were more fortunate than many other travellers. We passed several lorries ditched on the side of the road and one car load of German men, all elegantly dressed in lounge suits. One was busy with his camera so will have a record of their plight to laugh over in the years to come. We spent another night camping on the road and next day set out on the last lap of the journey. That also was tiresome but much better than the previous day and we made the haven of the Arusha Hotel before dark. What a picture we made as we walked through the hall in our mud splattered clothes! Even Johnny was well splashed with mud but no harm was done and both he and Kate are blooming. We rested for two days at Arusha and then came South to Iringa. Luckily the sun came out and though for the first day the road was muddy it was no longer so slippery and the second day found us driving through parched country and along badly corrugated roads. The further South we came, the warmer the sun which at times blazed through the windscreen and made us all uncomfortably hot. I have described the country between Arusha and Dodoma before so I shan’t do it again. We reached Iringa without mishap and after a good nights rest all felt full of beans. Eleanor. Mchewe Estate, Mbeya. 7th January 1939. Dearest Family, You will be surprised to note that we are back on the farm! At least the children and I are here. George is away near the Rhodesian border somewhere, still on Rinderpest control. I had a pleasant time at Iringa, lots of invitations to morning tea and Kate had a wonderful time enjoying the novelty of playing with children of her own age. She is not shy but nevertheless likes me to be within call if not within sight. It was all very suburban but pleasant enough. A few days before Christmas George turned up at Iringa and suggested that, as he would be working in the Mbeya area, it might be a good idea for the children and me to move to the farm. I agreed enthusiastically, completely forgetting that after my previous trouble with the leopard I had vowed to myself that I would never again live alone on the farm. Alas no sooner had we arrived when Thomas, our farm headman, brought the news that there were now two leopards terrorising the neighbourhood, and taking dogs, goats and sheep and chickens. Traps and poisoned bait had been tried in vain and he was sure that the female was the same leopard which had besieged our home before. Other leopards said Thomas, came by stealth but this one advertised her whereabouts in the most brazen manner. George stayed with us on the farm over Christmas and all was quiet at night so I cheered up and took the children for walks along the overgrown farm paths. However on New Years Eve that darned leopard advertised her presence again with the most blood chilling grunts and snarls. Horrible! Fanny and Paddy barked and growled and woke up both children. Kate wept and kept saying, “Send it away mummy. I don’t like it.” Johnny Jo howled in sympathy. What a picnic. So now the whole performance of bodyguards has started again and ‘till George returns we confine our exercise to the garden. Our little house is still cosy and sweet but the coffee plantation looks very neglected. I wish to goodness we could sell it. Eleanor. Nzassa 14th February 1939. Dearest Family, After three months of moving around with two small children it is heavenly to be settled in our own home, even though Nzassa is an isolated spot and has the reputation of being unhealthy. We travelled by car from Mbeya to Dodoma by now a very familiar stretch of country, but from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam by train which made a nice change. We spent two nights and a day in the Splendid Hotel in Dar es Salaam, George had some official visits to make and I did some shopping and we took the children to the beach. The bay is so sheltered that the sea is as calm as a pond and the water warm. It is wonderful to see the sea once more and to hear tugs hooting and to watch the Arab dhows putting out to sea with their oddly shaped sails billowing. I do love the bush, but I love the sea best of all, as you know. We made an early start for Nzassa on the 3rd. For about four miles we bowled along a good road. This brought us to a place called Temeke where George called on the District Officer. His house appears to be the only European type house there. The road between Temeke and the turn off to Nzassa is quite good, but the six mile stretch from the turn off to Nzassa is a very neglected bush road. There is nothing to be seen but the impenetrable bush on both sides with here and there a patch of swampy ground where rice is planted in the wet season. After about six miles of bumpy road we reached Nzassa which is nothing more than a sandy clearing in the bush. Our house however is a fine one. It was originally built for the District Officer and there is a small court house which is now George’s office. The District Officer died of blackwater fever so Nzassa was abandoned as an administrative station being considered too unhealthy for Administrative Officers but suitable as Headquarters for a Game Ranger. Later a bachelor Game Ranger was stationed here but his health also broke down and he has been invalided to England. So now the healthy Rushbys are here and we don’t mean to let the place get us down. So don’t worry. The house consists of three very large and airy rooms with their doors opening on to a wide front verandah which we shall use as a living room. There is also a wide back verandah with a store room at one end and a bathroom at the other. Both verandahs and the end windows of the house are screened my mosquito gauze wire and further protected by a trellis work of heavy expanded metal. Hasmani, the Game Scout, who has been acting as caretaker, tells me that the expanded metal is very necessary because lions often come out of the bush at night and roam around the house. Such a comforting thought! On our very first evening we discovered how necessary the mosquito gauze is. After sunset the air outside is thick with mosquitos from the swamps. About an acre of land has been cleared around the house. This is a sandy waste because there is no water laid on here and absolutely nothing grows here except a rather revolting milky desert bush called ‘Manyara’, and a few acacia trees. A little way from the house there is a patch of citrus trees, grape fruit, I think, but whether they ever bear fruit I don’t know. The clearing is bordered on three sides by dense dusty thorn bush which is ‘lousy with buffalo’ according to George. The open side is the road which leads down to George’s office and the huts for the Game Scouts. Only Hasmani and George’s orderly Juma and their wives and families live there, and the other huts provide shelter for the Game Scouts from the bush who come to Nzassa to collect their pay and for a short rest. I can see that my daily walk will always be the same, down the road to the huts and back! However I don’t mind because it is far too hot to take much exercise. The climate here is really tropical and worse than on the coast because the thick bush cuts us off from any sea breeze. George says it will be cooler when the rains start but just now we literally drip all day. Kate wears nothing but a cotton sun suit, and Johnny a napkin only, but still their little bodies are always moist. I have shorn off all Kate’s lovely shoulder length curls and got George to cut my hair very short too. We simply must buy a refrigerator. The butter, and even the cheese we bought in Dar. simply melted into pools of oil overnight, and all our meat went bad, so we are living out of tins. However once we get organised I shall be quite happy here. I like this spacious house and I have good servants. The cook, Hamisi Issa, is a Swahili from Lindi whom we engaged in Dar es Salaam. He is a very dignified person, and like most devout Mohammedan Cooks, keeps both his person and the kitchen spotless. I engaged the house boy here. He is rather a timid little body but is very willing and quite capable. He has an excessively plain but cheerful wife whom I have taken on as ayah. I do not really need help with the children but feel I must have a woman around just in case I go down with malaria when George is away on safari. Eleanor. Nzassa 28th February 1939. Dearest Family, George’s birthday and we had a special tea party this afternoon which the children much enjoyed. We have our frig now so I am able to make jellies and provide them with really cool drinks. Our very first visitor left this morning after spending only one night here. He is Mr Ionides, the Game Ranger from the Southern Province. He acted as stand in here for a short while after George’s predecessor left for England on sick leave, and where he has since died. Mr Ionides returned here to hand over the range and office formally to George. He seems a strange man and is from all accounts a bit of a hermit. He was at one time an Officer in the Regular Army but does not look like a soldier, he wears the most extraordinary clothes but nevertheless contrives to look top-drawer. He was educated at Rugby and Sandhurst and is, I should say, well read. Ionides told us that he hated Nzassa, particularly the house which he thinks sinister and says he always slept down in the office. The house, or at least one bedroom, seems to have the same effect on Kate. She has been very nervous at night ever since we arrived. At first the children occupied the bedroom which is now George’s. One night, soon after our arrival, Kate woke up screaming to say that ‘something’ had looked at her through the mosquito net. She was in such a hysterical state that inspite of the heat and discomfort I was obliged to crawl into her little bed with her and remained there for the rest of the night. Next night I left a night lamp burning but even so I had to sit by her bed until she dropped off to sleep. Again I was awakened by ear-splitting screams and this time found Kate standing rigid on her bed. I lifted her out and carried her to a chair meaning to comfort her but she screeched louder than ever, “Look Mummy it’s under the bed. It’s looking at us.” In vain I pointed out that there was nothing at all there. By this time George had joined us and he carried Kate off to his bed in the other room whilst I got into Kate’s bed thinking she might have been frightened by a rat which might also disturb Johnny. Next morning our houseboy remarked that he had heard Kate screaming in the night from his room behind the kitchen. I explained what had happened and he must have told the old Scout Hasmani who waylaid me that afternoon and informed me quite seriously that that particular room was haunted by a ‘sheitani’ (devil) who hates children. He told me that whilst he was acting as caretaker before our arrival he one night had his wife and small daughter in the room to keep him company. He said that his small daughter woke up and screamed exactly as Kate had done! Silly coincidence I suppose, but such strange things happen in Africa that I decided to move the children into our room and George sleeps in solitary state in the haunted room! Kate now sleeps peacefully once she goes to sleep but I have to stay with her until she does. I like this house and it does not seem at all sinister to me. As I mentioned before, the rooms are high ceilinged and airy, and have cool cement floors. We have made one end of the enclosed verandah into the living room and the other end is the playroom for the children. The space in between is a sort of no-mans land taken over by the dogs as their special territory. Eleanor. Nzassa 25th March 1939. Dearest Family, George is on safari down in the Rufigi River area. He is away for about three weeks in the month on this job. I do hate to see him go and just manage to tick over until he comes back. But what fun and excitement when he does come home. Usually he returns after dark by which time the children are in bed and I have settled down on the verandah with a book. The first warning is usually given by the dogs, Fanny and her son Paddy. They stir, sit up, look at each other and then go and sit side by side by the door with their noses practically pressed to the mosquito gauze and ears pricked. Soon I can hear the hum of the car, and so can Hasmani, the old Game Scout who sleeps on the back verandah with rifle and ammunition by his side when George is away. When he hears the car he turns up his lamp and hurries out to rouse Juma, the houseboy. Juma pokes up the fire and prepares tea which George always drinks whist a hot meal is being prepared. In the meantime I hurriedly comb my hair and powder my nose so that when the car stops I am ready to rush out and welcome George home. The boy and Hasmani and the garden boy appear to help with the luggage and to greet George and the cook, who always accompanies George on Safari. The home coming is always a lively time with much shouting of greetings. ‘Jambo’, and ‘Habari ya safari’, whilst the dogs, beside themselves with excitement, rush around like lunatics. As though his return were not happiness enough, George usually collects the mail on his way home so there is news of Ann and young George and letters from you and bundles of newspapers and magazines. On the day following his return home, George has to deal with official mail in the office but if the following day is a weekday we all, the house servants as well as ourselves, pile into the boxbody and go to Dar es Salaam. To us this means a mornings shopping followed by an afternoon on the beach. It is a bit cooler now that the rains are on but still very humid. Kate keeps chubby and rosy in spite of the climate but Johnny is too pale though sturdy enough. He is such a good baby which is just as well because Kate is a very demanding little girl though sunny tempered and sweet. I appreciate her company very much when George is away because we are so far off the beaten track that no one ever calls. Eleanor. Nzassa 28th April 1939. Dearest Family, You all seem to wonder how I can stand the loneliness and monotony of living at Nzassa when George is on safari, but really and truly I do not mind. Hamisi the cook always goes on safari with George and then the houseboy Juma takes over the cooking and I do the lighter housework. the children are great company during the day, and when they are settled for the night I sit on the verandah and read or write letters or I just dream. The verandah is entirely enclosed with both wire mosquito gauze and a trellis work of heavy expanded metal, so I am safe from all intruders be they human, animal, or insect. Outside the air is alive with mosquitos and the cicadas keep up their monotonous singing all night long. My only companions on the verandah are the pale ghecco lizards on the wall and the two dogs. Fanny the white bull terrier, lies always near my feet dozing happily, but her son Paddy, who is half Airedale has a less phlegmatic disposition. He sits alert and on guard by the metal trellis work door. Often a lion grunts from the surrounding bush and then his hackles rise and he stands up stiffly with his nose pressed to the door. Old Hasmani from his bedroll on the back verandah, gives a little cough just to show he is awake. Sometimes the lions are very close and then I hear the click of a rifle bolt as Hasmani loads his rifle – but this is usually much later at night when the lights are out. One morning I saw large pug marks between the wall of my bedroom and the garage but I do not fear lions like I did that beastly leopard on the farm. A great deal of witchcraft is still practiced in the bush villages in the neighbourhood. I must tell you about old Hasmani’s baby in connection with this. Last week Hasmani came to me in great distress to say that his baby was ‘Ngongwa sana ‘ (very ill) and he thought it would die. I hurried down to the Game Scouts quarters to see whether I could do anything for the child and found the mother squatting in the sun outside her hut with the baby on her lap. The mother was a young woman but not an attractive one. She appeared sullen and indifferent compared with old Hasmani who was very distressed. The child was very feverish and breathing with difficulty and seemed to me to be suffering from bronchitis if not pneumonia. I rubbed his back and chest with camphorated oil and dosed him with aspirin and liquid quinine. I repeated the treatment every four hours, but next day there was no apparent improvement. In the afternoon Hasmani begged me to give him that night off duty and asked for a loan of ten shillings. He explained to me that it seemed to him that the white man’s medicine had failed to cure his child and now he wished to take the child to the local witch doctor. “For ten shillings” said Hasmani, “the Maganga will drive the devil out of my child.” “How?” asked I. “With drums”, said Hasmani confidently. I did not know what to do. I thought the child was too ill to be exposed to the night air, yet I knew that if I refused his request and the child were to die, Hasmani and all the other locals would hold me responsible. I very reluctantly granted his request. I was so troubled by the matter that I sent for George’s office clerk. Daniel, and asked him to accompany Hasmani to the ceremony and to report to me the next morning. It started to rain after dark and all night long I lay awake in bed listening to the drums and the light rain. Next morning when I went out to the kitchen to order breakfast I found a beaming Hasmani awaiting me. “Memsahib”, he said. “My child is well, the fever is now quite gone, the Maganga drove out the devil just as I told you.” Believe it or not, when I hurried to his quarters after breakfast I found the mother suckling a perfectly healthy child! It may be my imagination but I thought the mother looked pretty smug.The clerk Daniel told me that after Hasmani had presented gifts of money and food to the ‘Maganga’, the naked baby was placed on a goat skin near the drums. Most of the time he just lay there but sometimes the witch doctor picked him up and danced with the child in his arms. Daniel seemed reluctant to talk about it. Whatever mumbo jumbo was used all this happened a week ago and the baby has never looked back. Eleanor. Nzassa 3rd July 1939. Dearest Family, Did I tell you that one of George’s Game Scouts was murdered last month in the Maneromango area towards the Rufigi border. He was on routine patrol, with a porter carrying his bedding and food, when they suddenly came across a group of African hunters who were busy cutting up a giraffe which they had just killed. These hunters were all armed with muzzle loaders, spears and pangas, but as it is illegal to kill giraffe without a permit, the Scout went up to the group to take their names. Some argument ensued and the Scout was stabbed. The District Officer went to the area to investigate and decided to call in the Police from Dar es Salaam. A party of police went out to search for the murderers but after some days returned without making any arrests. George was on an elephant control safari in the Bagamoyo District and on his return through Dar es Salaam he heard of the murder. George was furious and distressed to hear the news and called in here for an hour on his way to Maneromango to search for the murderers himself. After a great deal of strenuous investigation he arrested three poachers, put them in jail for the night at Maneromango and then brought them to Dar es Salaam where they are all now behind bars. George will now have to prosecute in the Magistrate’s Court and try and ‘make a case’ so that the prisoners may be committed to the High Court to be tried for murder. George is convinced of their guilt and justifiably proud to have succeeded where the police failed. George had to borrow handcuffs for the prisoners from the Chief at Maneromango and these he brought back to Nzassa after delivering the prisoners to Dar es Salaam so that he may return them to the Chief when he revisits the area next week. I had not seen handcuffs before and picked up a pair to examine them. I said to George, engrossed in ‘The Times’, “I bet if you were arrested they’d never get handcuffs on your wrist. Not these anyway, they look too small.” “Standard pattern,” said George still concentrating on the newspaper, but extending an enormous relaxed left wrist. So, my dears, I put a bracelet round his wrist and as there was a wide gap I gave a hard squeeze with both hands. There was a sharp click as the handcuff engaged in the first notch. George dropped the paper and said, “Now you’ve done it, my love, one set of keys are in the Dar es Salaam Police Station, and the others with the Chief at Maneromango.” You can imagine how utterly silly I felt but George was an angel about it and said as he would have to go to Dar es Salaam we might as well all go. So we all piled into the car, George, the children and I in the front, and the cook and houseboy, immaculate in snowy khanzus and embroidered white caps, a Game Scout and the ayah in the back. George never once complain of the discomfort of the handcuff but I was uncomfortably aware that it was much too tight because his arm above the cuff looked red and swollen and the hand unnaturally pale. As the road is so bad George had to use both hands on the wheel and all the time the dangling handcuff clanked against the dashboard in an accusing way. We drove straight to the Police Station and I could hear the roars of laughter as George explained his predicament. Later I had to put up with a good deal of chaffing and congratulations upon putting the handcuffs on George. Eleanor. Nzassa 5th August 1939 Dearest Family, George made a point of being here for Kate’s fourth birthday last week. Just because our children have no playmates George and I always do all we can to make birthdays very special occasions. We went to Dar es Salaam the day before the birthday and bought Kate a very sturdy tricycle with which she is absolutely delighted. You will be glad to know that your parcels arrived just in time and Kate loved all your gifts especially the little shop from Dad with all the miniature tins and packets of groceries. The tea set was also a great success and is much in use. We had a lively party which ended with George and me singing ‘Happy Birthday to you’, and ended with a wild game with balloons. Kate wore her frilly white net party frock and looked so pretty that it seemed a shame that there was no one but us to see her. Anyway it was a good party. I wish so much that you could see the children. Kate keeps rosy and has not yet had malaria. Johnny Jo is sturdy but pale. He runs a temperature now and again but I am not sure whether this is due to teething or malaria. Both children of course take quinine every day as George and I do. George quite frequently has malaria in spite of prophylactic quinine but this is not surprising as he got the germ thoroughly established in his system in his early elephant hunting days. I get it too occasionally but have not been really ill since that first time a month after my arrival in the country. Johnny is such a good baby. His chief claim to beauty is his head of soft golden curls but these are due to come off on his first birthday as George considers them too girlish. George left on safari the day after the party and the very next morning our wood boy had a most unfortunate accident. He was chopping a rather tough log when a chip flew up and split his upper lip clean through from mouth to nostril exposing teeth and gums. A truly horrible sight and very bloody. I cleaned up the wound as best I could and sent him off to the hospital at Dar es Salaam on the office bicycle. He wobbled away wretchedly down the road with a white cloth tied over his mouth to keep off the dust. He returned next day with his lip stitched and very swollen and bearing a resemblance to my lip that time I used the hair remover. Eleanor. Splendid Hotel. Dar es Salaam 7th September 1939 Dearest Family, So now another war has started and it has disrupted even our lives. We have left Nzassa for good. George is now a Lieutenant in the King’s African Rifles and the children and I are to go to a place called Morogoro to await further developments. I was glad to read in today’s paper that South Africa has declared war on Germany. I would have felt pretty small otherwise in this hotel which is crammed full of men who have been called up for service in the Army. George seems exhilarated by the prospect of active service. He is bursting out of his uniform ( at the shoulders only!) and all too ready for the fray. The war came as a complete surprise to me stuck out in the bush as I was without wireless or mail. George had been away for a fortnight so you can imagine how surprised I was when a messenger arrived on a bicycle with a note from George. The note informed me that war had been declared and that George, as a Reserve Officer in the KAR had been called up. I was to start packing immediately and be ready by noon next day when George would arrive with a lorry for our goods and chattels. I started to pack immediately with the help of the houseboy and by the time George arrived with the lorry only the frig remained to be packed and this was soon done. Throughout the morning Game Scouts had been arriving from outlying parts of the District. I don’t think they had the least idea where they were supposed to go or whom they were to fight but were ready to fight anybody, anywhere, with George. They all looked very smart in well pressed uniforms hung about with water bottles and ammunition pouches. The large buffalo badge on their round pill box hats absolutely glittered with polish. All of course carried rifles and when George arrived they all lined up and they looked most impressive. I took some snaps but unfortunately it was drizzling and they may not come out well. We left Nzassa without a backward glance. We were pretty fed up with it by then. The children and I are spending a few days here with George but our luggage, the dogs, and the houseboys have already left by train for Morogoro where a small house has been found for the children and me. George tells me that all the German males in this Territory were interned without a hitch. The whole affair must have been very well organised. In every town and settlement special constables were sworn in to do the job. It must have been a rather unpleasant one but seems to have gone without incident. There is a big transit camp here at Dar for the German men. Later they are to be sent out of the country, possibly to Rhodesia. The Indian tailors in the town are all terribly busy making Army uniforms, shorts and tunics in khaki drill. George swears that they have muddled their orders and he has been given the wrong things. Certainly the tunic is far too tight. His hat, a khaki slouch hat like you saw the Australians wearing in the last war, is also too small though it is the largest they have in stock. We had a laugh over his other equipment which includes a small canvas haversack and a whistle on a black cord. George says he feels like he is back in his Boy Scouting boyhood. George has just come in to say the we will be leaving for Morogoro tomorrow afternoon. Eleanor. Morogoro 14th September 1939 Dearest Family, Morogoro is a complete change from Nzassa. This is a large and sprawling township. The native town and all the shops are down on the flat land by the railway but all the European houses are away up the slope of the high Uluguru Mountains. Morogoro was a flourishing town in the German days and all the streets are lined with trees for coolness as is the case in other German towns. These trees are the flamboyant acacia which has an umbrella top and throws a wide but light shade. Most of the houses have large gardens so they cover a considerable area and it is quite a safari for me to visit friends on foot as our house is on the edge of this area and the furthest away from the town. Here ones house is in accordance with ones seniority in Government service. Ours is a simple affair, just three lofty square rooms opening on to a wide enclosed verandah. Mosquitoes are bad here so all doors and windows are screened and we will have to carry on with our daily doses of quinine. George came up to Morogoro with us on the train. This was fortunate because I went down with a sharp attack of malaria at the hotel on the afternoon of our departure from Dar es Salaam. George’s drastic cure of vast doses of quinine, a pillow over my head, and the bed heaped with blankets soon brought down the temperature so I was fit enough to board the train but felt pretty poorly on the trip. However next day I felt much better which was a good thing as George had to return to Dar es Salaam after two days. His train left late at night so I did not see him off but said good-bye at home feeling dreadful but trying to keep the traditional stiff upper lip of the wife seeing her husband off to the wars. He hopes to go off to Abyssinia but wrote from Dar es Salaam to say that he is being sent down to Rhodesia by road via Mbeya to escort the first detachment of Rhodesian white troops. First he will have to select suitable camping sites for night stops and arrange for supplies of food. I am very pleased as it means he will be safe for a while anyway. We are both worried about Ann and George in England and wonder if it would be safer to have them sent out. Eleanor. Morogoro 4th November 1939 Dearest Family, My big news is that George has been released from the Army. He is very indignant and disappointed because he hoped to go to Abyssinia but I am terribly, terribly glad. The Chief Secretary wrote a very nice letter to George pointing out that he would be doing a greater service to his country by his work of elephant control, giving crop protection during the war years when foodstuffs are such a vital necessity, than by doing a soldiers job. The Government plan to start a huge rice scheme in the Rufiji area, and want George to control the elephant and hippo there. First of all though. he must go to the Southern Highlands Province where there is another outbreak of Rinderpest, to shoot out diseased game especially buffalo, which might spread the disease. So off we go again on our travels but this time we are leaving the two dogs behind in the care of Daniel, the Game Clerk. Fanny is very pregnant and I hate leaving her behind but the clerk has promised to look after her well. We are taking Hamisi, our dignified Swahili cook and the houseboy Juma and his wife whom we brought with us from Nzassa. The boy is not very good but his wife makes a cheerful and placid ayah and adores Johnny. Eleanor. Iringa 8th December 1939 Dearest Family, The children and I are staying in a small German house leased from the Custodian of Enemy Property. I can’t help feeling sorry for the owners who must be in concentration camps somewhere.George is away in the bush dealing with the Rinderpest emergency and the cook has gone with him. Now I have sent the houseboy and the ayah away too. Two days ago my houseboy came and told me that he felt very ill and asked me to write a ‘chit’ to the Indian Doctor. In the note I asked the Doctor to let me know the nature of his complaint and to my horror I got a note from him to say that the houseboy had a bad case of Venereal Disease. Was I horrified! I took it for granted that his wife must be infected too and told them both that they would have to return to their home in Nzassa. The boy shouted and the ayah wept but I paid them in lieu of notice and gave them money for the journey home. So there I was left servant less with firewood to chop, a smokey wood burning stove to control, and of course, the two children. To add to my troubles Johnny had a temperature so I sent for the European Doctor. He diagnosed malaria and was astonished at the size of Johnny’s spleen. He said that he must have had suppressed malaria over a long period and the poor child must now be fed maximum doses of quinine for a long time. The Doctor is a fatherly soul, he has been recalled from retirement to do this job as so many of the young doctors have been called up for service with the army. I told him about my houseboy’s complaint and the way I had sent him off immediately, and he was very amused at my haste, saying that it is most unlikely that they would have passed the disease onto their employers. Anyway I hated the idea. I mean to engage a houseboy locally, but will do without an ayah until we return to Morogoro in February. Something happened today to cheer me up. A telegram came from Daniel which read, “FLANNEL HAS FIVE CUBS.” Eleanor. Morogoro 10th March 1940 Dearest Family, We are having very heavy rain and the countryside is a most beautiful green. In spite of the weather George is away on safari though it must be very wet and unpleasant. He does work so hard at his elephant hunting job and has got very thin. I suppose this is partly due to those stomach pains he gets and the doctors don’t seem to diagnose the trouble. Living in Morogoro is much like living in a country town in South Africa, particularly as there are several South African women here. I go out quite often to morning teas. We all take our war effort knitting, and natter, and are completely suburban. I sometimes go and see an elderly couple who have been interred here. They are cold shouldered by almost everyone else but I cannot help feeling sorry for them. Usually I go by invitation because I know Mrs Ruppel prefers to be prepared and always has sandwiches and cake. They both speak English but not fluently and conversation is confined to talking about my children and theirs. Their two sons were students in Germany when war broke out but are now of course in the German Army. Such nice looking chaps from their photographs but I suppose thorough Nazis. As our conversation is limited I usually ask to hear a gramophone record or two. They have a large collection. Janet, the ayah whom I engaged at Mbeya, is proving a great treasure. She is a trained hospital ayah and is most dependable and capable. She is, perhaps, a little strict but the great thing is that I can trust her with the children out of my sight. Last week I went out at night for the first time without George. The occasion was a farewell sundowner given by the Commissioner of Prisoners and his wife. I was driven home by the District Officer and he stopped his car by the back door in a large puddle. Ayah came to the back door, storm lamp in hand, to greet me. My escort prepared to drive off but the car stuck. I thought a push from me might help, so without informing the driver, I pushed as hard as I could on the back of the car. Unfortunately the driver decided on other tactics. He put the engine in reverse and I was knocked flat on my back in the puddle. The car drove forward and away without the driver having the least idea of what happened. The ayah was in quite a state, lifting me up and scolding me for my stupidity as though I were Kate. I was a bit shaken but non the worse and will know better next time. Eleanor. Morogoro 14th July 1940 Dearest Family, How good it was of Dad to send that cable to Mother offering to have Ann and George to live with you if they are accepted for inclusion in the list of children to be evacuated to South Africa. It would be wonderful to know that they are safely out of the war zone and so much nearer to us but I do dread the thought of the long sea voyage particularly since we heard the news of the sinking of that liner carrying child evacuees to Canada. I worry about them so much particularly as George is so often away on safari. He is so comforting and calm and I feel brave and confident when he is home. We have had no news from England for five weeks but, when she last wrote, mother said the children were very well and that she was sure they would be safe in the country with her. Kate and John are growing fast. Kate is such a pretty little girl, rosy in spite of the rather trying climate. I have allowed her hair to grow again and it hangs on her shoulders in shiny waves. John is a more slightly built little boy than young George was, and quite different in looks. He has Dad’s high forehead and cleft chin, widely spaced brown eyes that are not so dark as mine and hair that is still fair and curly though ayah likes to smooth it down with water every time she dresses him. He is a shy child, and although he plays happily with Kate, he does not care to play with other children who go in the late afternoons to a lawn by the old German ‘boma’. Kate has playmates of her own age but still rather clings to me. Whilst she loves to have friends here to play with her, she will not go to play at their houses unless I go too and stay. She always insists on accompanying me when I go out to morning tea and always calls 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. Eleanor. Morogoro 16th November 1940 Dearest Family, I much prefer our little house on the hillside to the larger one we had down below. The only disadvantage is that the garden is on three levels and both children have had some tumbles down the steps on the tricycle. John is an extremely stoical child. He never cries when he hurts himself. I think I have mentioned ‘Morningside’ before. It is a kind of Resthouse high up in the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro. Jess Howe-Browne, who runs the large house as a Guest House, is a wonderful woman. Besides running the boarding house she also grows vegetables, flowers and fruit for sale in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam. Her guests are usually women and children from Dar es Salaam who come in the hot season to escape the humidity on the coast. Often the mothers leave their children for long periods in Jess Howe-Browne’s care. There is a road of sorts up the mountain side to Morningside, but this is so bad that cars do not attempt it and guests are carried up the mountain in wicker chairs lashed to poles. Four men carry an adult, and two a child, and there are of course always spare bearers and they work in shifts. Last week the children and I went to Morningside for the day as guests. John rode on my lap in one chair and Kate in a small chair on her own. This did not please Kate at all. The poles are carried on the bearers shoulders and one is perched quite high. The motion is a peculiar rocking one. The bearers chant as they go and do not seem worried by shortness of breath! They are all hillmen of course and are, I suppose, used to trotting up and down to the town. Morningside is well worth visiting and we spent a delightful day there. The fresh cool air is a great change from the heavy air of the valley. A river rushes down the mountain in a series of cascades, and the gardens are shady and beautiful. Behind the property is a thick indigenous forest which stretches from Morningside to the top of the mountain. The house is an old German one, rather in need of repair, but Jess has made it comfortable and attractive, with some of her old family treasures including a fine old Grandfather clock. We had a wonderful lunch which included large fresh strawberries and cream. We made the return journey again in the basket chairs and got home before dark. George returned home at the weekend with a baby elephant whom we have called Winnie. She was rescued from a mud hole by some African villagers and, as her mother had abandoned her, they took her home and George was informed. He went in the truck to fetch her having first made arrangements to have her housed in a shed on the Agriculture Department Experimental Farm here. He has written to the Game Dept Headquarters to inform the Game Warden and I do not know what her future will be, but in the meantime she is our pet. George is afraid she will not survive because she has had a very trying time. She stands about waist high and is a delightful creature and quite docile. Asian and African children as well as Europeans gather to watch her and George encourages them to bring fruit for her – especially pawpaws which she loves. Whilst we were there yesterday one of the local ladies came, very smartly dressed in a linen frock, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. She watched fascinated whilst Winnie neatly split a pawpaw and removed the seeds with her trunk, before scooping out the pulp and putting it in her mouth. It was a particularly nice ripe pawpaw and Winnie enjoyed it so much that she stretched out her trunk for more. The lady took fright and started to run with Winnie after her, sticky trunk outstretched. Quite an entertaining sight. George managed to stop Winnie but not before she had left a gooey smear down the back of the immaculate frock. Eleanor. February 2, 2022 at 11:53 am #6265 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued ~ part 6 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Mchewe 6th June 1937 Dearest Family, Home again! We had an uneventful journey. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We stopped for an hour at Bulawayo where we had to change trains but everything was simplified for me by a very pleasant man whose wife shared my compartment. Not only did he see me through customs but he installed us in our new train and his wife turned up to see us off with magazines for me and fruit and sweets for Kate. Very, very kind, don’t you think? Kate and I shared the compartment with a very pretty and gentle girl called Clarice Simpson. She was very worried and upset because she was going home to Broken Hill in response to a telegram informing her that her young husband was dangerously ill from Blackwater Fever. She was very helpful with Kate whose cheerfulness helped Clarice, I think, though I, quite unintentionally was the biggest help at the end of our journey. Remember the partial dentures I had had made just before leaving Cape Town? I know I shall never get used to the ghastly things, I’ve had them two weeks now and they still wobble. Well this day I took them out and wrapped them in a handkerchief, but when we were packing up to leave the train I could find the handkerchief but no teeth! We searched high and low until the train had slowed down to enter Broken Hill station. Then Clarice, lying flat on the floor, spied the teeth in the dark corner under the bottom bunk. With much stretching she managed to retrieve the dentures covered in grime and fluff. My look of horror, when I saw them, made young Clarice laugh. She was met at the station by a very grave elderly couple. I do wonder how things turned out for her. I stayed overnight with Kate at the Great Northern Hotel, and we set off for Mbeya by plane early in the morning. One of our fellow passengers was a young mother with a three week old baby. How ideas have changed since Ann was born. This time we had a smooth passage and I was the only passenger to get airsick. Although there were other women passengers it was a man once again, who came up and offered to help. Kate went off with him amiably and he entertained her until we touched down at Mbeya. George was there to meet us with a wonderful surprise, a little red two seater Ford car. She is a bit battered and looks a bit odd because the boot has been converted into a large wooden box for carrying raw salt, but she goes like the wind. Where did George raise the cash to buy a car? Whilst we were away he found a small cave full of bat guano near a large cave which is worked by a man called Bob Sargent. As Sargent did not want any competition he bought the contents of the cave from George giving him the small car as part payment. It was lovely to return to our little home and find everything fresh and tidy and the garden full of colour. But it was heartbreaking to go into the bedroom and see George’s precious forgotten boots still standing by his empty bed. With much love, Eleanor. Mchewe 25th June 1937 Dearest Family, Last Friday George took Kate and me in the little red Ford to visit Mr Sargent’s camp on the Songwe River which cuts the Mbeya-Mbosi road. Mr Sargent bought Hicky-Wood’s guano deposit and also our small cave and is making a good living out of selling the bat guano to the coffee farmers in this province. George went to try to interest him in a guano deposit near Kilwa in the Southern Province. Mr Sargent agreed to pay 25 pounds to cover the cost of the car trip and pegging costs. George will make the trip to peg the claim and take samples for analysis. If the quality is sufficiently high, George and Mr Sargent will go into partnership. George will work the claim and ship out the guano from Kilwa which is on the coast of the Southern Province of Tanganyika. So now we are busy building castles in the air once more. On Saturday we went to Mbeya where George had to attend a meeting of the Trout Association. In the afternoon he played in a cricket match so Kate and I spent the whole day with the wife of the new Superintendent of Police. They have a very nice new house with lawns and a sunken rose garden. Kate had a lovely romp with Kit, her three year old son. Mrs Wolten also has two daughters by a previous marriage. The elder girl said to me, “Oh Mrs Rushby your husband is exactly like the strong silent type of man I expected to see in Africa but he is the only one I have seen. I think he looks exactly like those men in the ‘Barney’s Tobacco’ advertisements.” I went home with a huge pile of magazines to keep me entertained whilst George is away on the Kilwa trip. Lots of love, Eleanor. Mchewe 9th July 1937 Dearest Family, George returned on Monday from his Kilwa safari. He had an entertaining tale to tell. Before he approached Mr Sargent about going shares in the Kilwa guano deposit he first approached a man on the Lupa who had done very well out of a small gold reef. This man, however said he was not interested so you can imagine how indignant George was when he started on his long trip, to find himself being trailed by this very man and a co-driver in a powerful Ford V8 truck. George stopped his car and had some heated things to say – awful threats I imagine as to what would happen to anyone who staked his claim. Then he climbed back into our ancient little two seater and went off like a bullet driving all day and most of the night. As the others took turns in driving you can imagine what a feat it was for George to arrive in Kilwa ahead of them. When they drove into Kilwa he met them with a bright smile and a bit of bluff – quite justifiable under the circumstances I think. He said, you chaps can have a rest now, you’re too late.” He then whipped off and pegged the claim. he brought some samples of guano back but until it has been analysed he will not know whether the guano will be an economic proposition or not. George is not very hopeful. He says there is a good deal of sand mixed with the guano and that much of it was damp. The trip was pretty eventful for Kianda, our houseboy. The little two seater car had been used by its previous owner for carting bags of course salt from his salt pans. For this purpose the dicky seat behind the cab had been removed, and a kind of box built into the boot of the car. George’s camp kit and provisions were packed into this open box and Kianda perched on top to keep an eye on the belongings. George travelled so fast on the rough road that at some point during the night Kianda was bumped off in the middle of the Game Reserve. George did not notice that he was missing until the next morning. He concluded, quite rightly as it happened, that Kianda would be picked up by the rival truck so he continued his journey and Kianda rejoined him at Kilwa. Believe it or not, the same thing happened on the way back but fortunately this time George noticed his absence. He stopped the car and had just started back on his tracks when Kianda came running down the road still clutching the unlighted storm lamp which he was holding in his hand when he fell. The glass was not even cracked. We are finding it difficult just now to buy native chickens and eggs. There has been an epidemic amongst the poultry and one hesitates to eat the survivors. I have a brine tub in which I preserve our surplus meat but I need the chickens for soup. I hope George will be home for some months. He has arranged to take a Mr Blackburn, a wealthy fruit farmer from Elgin, Cape, on a hunting safari during September and October and that should bring in some much needed cash. Lillian Eustace has invited Kate and me to spend the whole of October with her in Tukuyu. I am so glad that you so much enjoy having Ann and George with you. We miss them dreadfully. Kate is a pretty little girl and such a little madam. You should hear the imperious way in which she calls the kitchenboy for her meals. “Boy Brekkis, Boy Lunch, and Boy Eggy!” are her three calls for the day. She knows no Ki-Swahili. Eleanor Mchewe 8th October 1937 Dearest Family, I am rapidly becoming as superstitious as our African boys. They say the wild animals always know when George is away from home and come down to have their revenge on me because he has killed so many. I am being besieged at night by a most beastly leopard with a half grown cub. I have grown used to hearing leopards grunt as they hunt in the hills at night but never before have I had one roaming around literally under the windows. It has been so hot at night lately that I have been sleeping with my bedroom door open onto the verandah. I felt quite safe because the natives hereabouts are law-abiding and in any case I always have a boy armed with a club sleeping in the kitchen just ten yards away. As an added precaution I also have a loaded .45 calibre revolver on my bedside table, and Fanny our bullterrier, sleeps on the mat by my bed. I am also looking after Barney, a fine Airedale dog belonging to the Costers. He slept on a mat by the open bedroom door near a dimly burning storm lamp. As usual I went to sleep with an easy mind on Monday night, but was awakened in the early hours of Tuesday by the sound of a scuffle on the front verandah. The noise was followed by a scream of pain from Barney. I jumped out of bed and, grabbing the lamp with my left hand and the revolver in my right, I rushed outside just in time to see two animal figures roll over the edge of the verandah into the garden below. There they engaged in a terrific tug of war. Fortunately I was too concerned for Barney to be nervous. I quickly fired two shots from the revolver, which incidentally makes a noise like a cannon, and I must have startled the leopard for both animals, still locked together, disappeared over the edge of the terrace. I fired two more shots and in a few moments heard the leopard making a hurried exit through the dry leaves which lie thick under the wild fig tree just beyond the terrace. A few seconds later Barney appeared on the low terrace wall. I called his name but he made no move to come but stood with hanging head. In desperation I rushed out, felt blood on my hands when I touched him, so I picked him up bodily and carried him into the house. As I regained the verandah the boy appeared, club in hand, having been roused by the shots. He quickly grasped what had happened when he saw my blood saturated nightie. He fetched a bowl of water and a clean towel whilst I examined Barney’s wounds. These were severe, the worst being a gaping wound in his throat. I washed the gashes with a strong solution of pot permang and I am glad to say they are healing remarkably well though they are bound to leave scars. Fanny, very prudently, had taken no part in the fighting except for frenzied barking which she kept up all night. The shots had of course wakened Kate but she seemed more interested than alarmed and kept saying “Fanny bark bark, Mummy bang bang. Poor Barney lots of blood.” In the morning we inspected the tracks in the garden. There was a shallow furrow on the terrace where Barney and the leopard had dragged each other to and fro and claw marks on the trunk of the wild fig tree into which the leopard climbed after I fired the shots. The affair was of course a drama after the Africans’ hearts and several of our shamba boys called to see me next day to make sympathetic noises and discuss the affair. I went to bed early that night hoping that the leopard had been scared off for good but I must confess I shut all windows and doors. Alas for my hopes of a restful night. I had hardly turned down the lamp when the leopard started its terrifying grunting just under the bedroom windows. If only she would sniff around quietly I should not mind, but the noise is ghastly, something like the first sickening notes of a braying donkey, amplified here by the hills and the gorge which is only a stones throw from the bedroom. Barney was too sick to bark but Fanny barked loud enough for two and the more frantic she became the hungrier the leopard sounded. Kate of course woke up and this time she was frightened though I assured her that the noise was just a donkey having fun. Neither of us slept until dawn when the leopard returned to the hills. When we examined the tracks next morning we found that the leopard had been accompanied by a fair sized cub and that together they had prowled around the house, kitchen, and out houses, visiting especially the places to which the dogs had been during the day. As I feel I cannot bear many more of these nights, I am sending a note to the District Commissioner, Mbeya by the messenger who takes this letter to the post, asking him to send a game scout or an armed policeman to deal with the leopard. So don’t worry, for by the time this reaches you I feel sure this particular trouble will be over. Eleanor. Mchewe 17th October 1937 Dearest Family, More about the leopard I fear! My messenger returned from Mbeya to say that the District Officer was on safari so he had given the message to the Assistant District Officer who also apparently left on safari later without bothering to reply to my note, so there was nothing for me to do but to send for the village Nimrod and his muzzle loader and offer him a reward if he could frighten away or kill the leopard. The hunter, Laza, suggested that he should sleep at the house so I went to bed early leaving Laza and his two pals to make themselves comfortable on the living room floor by the fire. Laza was armed with a formidable looking muzzle loader, crammed I imagine with nuts and bolts and old rusty nails. One of his pals had a spear and the other a panga. This fellow was also in charge of the Petromax pressure lamp whose light was hidden under a packing case. I left the campaign entirely to Laza’s direction. As usual the leopard came at midnight stealing down from the direction of the kitchen and announcing its presence and position with its usual ghastly grunts. Suddenly pandemonium broke loose on the back verandah. I heard the roar of the muzzle loader followed by a vigourous tattoo beaten on an empty paraffin tin and I rushed out hoping to find the dead leopard. however nothing of the kind had happened except that the noise must have scared the beast because she did not return again that night. Next morning Laza solemnly informed me that, though he had shot many leopards in his day, this was no ordinary leopard but a “sheitani” (devil) and that as his gun was no good against witchcraft he thought he might as well retire from the hunt. Scared I bet, and I don’t blame him either. You can imagine my relief when a car rolled up that afternoon bringing Messers Stewart and Griffiths, two farmers who live about 15 miles away, between here and Mbeya. They had a note from the Assistant District Officer asking them to help me and they had come to set up a trap gun in the garden. That night the leopard sniffed all around the gun and I had the added strain of waiting for the bang and wondering what I should do if the beast were only wounded. I conjured up horrible visions of the two little totos trotting up the garden path with the early morning milk and being horribly mauled, but I needn’t have worried because the leopard was far too wily to be caught that way. Two more ghastly nights passed and then I had another visitor, a Dr Jackson of the Tsetse Department on safari in the District. He listened sympathetically to my story and left his shotgun and some SSG cartridges with me and instructed me to wait until the leopard was pretty close and blow its b—– head off. It was good of him to leave his gun. George always says there are three things a man should never lend, ‘His wife, his gun and his dog.’ (I think in that order!)I felt quite cheered by Dr Jackson’s visit and sent once again for Laza last night and arranged a real show down. In the afternoon I draped heavy blankets over the living room windows to shut out the light of the pressure lamp and the four of us, Laza and his two stooges and I waited up for the leopard. When we guessed by her grunts that she was somewhere between the kitchen and the back door we all rushed out, first the boy with the panga and the lamp, next Laza with his muzzle loader, then me with the shotgun followed closely by the boy with the spear. What a farce! The lamp was our undoing. We were blinded by the light and did not even glimpse the leopard which made off with a derisive grunt. Laza said smugly that he knew it was hopeless to try and now I feel tired and discouraged too. This morning I sent a runner to Mbeya to order the hotel taxi for tomorrow and I shall go to friends in Mbeya for a day or two and then on to Tukuyu where I shall stay with the Eustaces until George returns from Safari. Eleanor. Mchewe 18th November 1937 My darling Ann, Here we are back in our own home and how lovely it is to have Daddy back from safari. Thank you very much for your letter. I hope by now you have got mine telling you how very much I liked the beautiful tray cloth you made for my birthday. I bet there are not many little girls of five who can embroider as well as you do, darling. The boy, Matafari, washes and irons it so carefully and it looks lovely on the tea tray. Daddy and I had some fun last night. I was in bed and Daddy was undressing when we heard a funny scratching noise on the roof. I thought it was the leopard. Daddy quickly loaded his shotgun and ran outside. He had only his shirt on and he looked so funny. I grabbed the loaded revolver from the cupboard and ran after Dad in my nightie but after all the rush it was only your cat, Winnie, though I don’t know how she managed to make such a noise. We felt so silly, we laughed and laughed. Kate talks a lot now but in such a funny way you would laugh to her her. She hears the houseboys call me Memsahib so sometimes instead of calling me Mummy she calls me “Oompaab”. She calls the bedroom a ‘bippon’ and her little behind she calls her ‘sittendump’. She loves to watch Mandawi’s cattle go home along the path behind the kitchen. Joseph your donkey, always leads the cows. He has a lazy life now. I am glad you had such fun on Guy Fawkes Day. You will be sad to leave Plumstead but I am sure you will like going to England on the big ship with granny Kate. I expect you will start school when you get to England and I am sure you will find that fun. God bless my dear little girl. Lots of love from Daddy and Kate, and Mummy Mchewe 18th November 1937 Hello George Darling, Thank you for your lovely drawing of Daddy shooting an elephant. Daddy says that the only thing is that you have drawn him a bit too handsome. I went onto the verandah a few minutes ago to pick a banana for Kate from the bunch hanging there and a big hornet flew out and stung my elbow! There are lots of them around now and those stinging flies too. Kate wears thick corduroy dungarees so that she will not get her fat little legs bitten. She is two years old now and is a real little pickle. She loves running out in the rain so I have ordered a pair of red Wellingtons and a tiny umbrella from a Nairobi shop for her Christmas present. Fanny’s puppies have their eyes open now and have very sharp little teeth. They love to nip each other. We are keeping the fiercest little one whom we call Paddy but are giving the others to friends. The coffee bushes are full of lovely white flowers and the bees and ants are very busy stealing their honey. Yesterday a troop of baboons came down the hill and Dad shot a big one to scare the others off. They are a nuisance because they steal the maize and potatoes from the native shambas and then there is not enough food for the totos. Dad and I are very proud of you for not making a fuss when you went to the dentist to have that tooth out. Bye bye, my fine little son. Three bags full of love from Kate, Dad and Mummy. Mchewe 12th February, 1938 Dearest Family, here is some news that will please you. George has been offered and has accepted a job as Forester at Mbulu in the Northern Province of Tanganyika. George would have preferred a job as Game Ranger, but though the Game Warden, Philip Teare, is most anxious to have him in the Game Department, there is no vacancy at present. Anyway if one crops up later, George can always transfer from one Government Department to another. Poor George, he hates the idea of taking a job. He says that hitherto he has always been his own master and he detests the thought of being pushed around by anyone. Now however he has no choice. Our capitol is almost exhausted and the coffee market shows no signs of improving. With three children and another on the way, he feels he simply must have a fixed income. I shall be sad to leave this little farm. I love our little home and we have been so very happy here, but my heart rejoices at the thought of overseas leave every thirty months. Now we shall be able to fetch Ann and George from England and in three years time we will all be together in Tanganyika once more. There is no sale for farms so we will just shut the house and keep on a very small labour force just to keep the farm from going derelict. We are eating our hens but will take our two dogs, Fanny and Paddy with us. One thing I shall be glad to leave is that leopard. She still comes grunting around at night but not as badly as she did before. I do not mind at all when George is here but until George was accepted for this forestry job I was afraid he might go back to the Diggings and I should once more be left alone to be cursed by the leopard’s attentions. Knowing how much I dreaded this George was most anxious to shoot the leopard and for weeks he kept his shotgun and a powerful torch handy at night. One night last week we woke to hear it grunting near the kitchen. We got up very quietly and whilst George loaded the shotgun with SSG, I took the torch and got the heavy revolver from the cupboard. We crept out onto the dark verandah where George whispered to me to not switch on the torch until he had located the leopard. It was pitch black outside so all he could do was listen intently. And then of course I spoilt all his plans. I trod on the dog’s tin bowl and made a terrific clatter! George ordered me to switch on the light but it was too late and the leopard vanished into the long grass of the Kalonga, grunting derisively, or so it sounded. She never comes into the clearing now but grunts from the hillside just above it. Eleanor. Mbulu 18th March, 1938 Dearest Family, Journeys end at last. here we are at Mbulu, installed in our new quarters which are as different as they possibly could be from our own cosy little home at Mchewe. We live now, my dears, in one wing of a sort of ‘Beau Geste’ fort but I’ll tell you more about it in my next letter. We only arrived yesterday and have not had time to look around. This letter will tell you just about our trip from Mbeya. We left the farm in our little red Ford two seater with all our portable goods and chattels plus two native servants and the two dogs. Before driving off, George took one look at the flattened springs and declared that he would be surprised if we reached Mbeya without a breakdown and that we would never make Mbulu with the car so overloaded. However luck was with us. We reached Mbeya without mishap and at one of the local garages saw a sturdy used Ford V8 boxbody car for sale. The garage agreed to take our small car as part payment and George drew on our little remaining capitol for the rest. We spent that night in the house of the Forest Officer and next morning set out in comfort for the Northern Province of Tanganyika. I had done the journey from Dodoma to Mbeya seven years before so was familiar with the scenery but the road was much improved and the old pole bridges had been replaced by modern steel ones. Kate was as good as gold all the way. We avoided hotels and camped by the road and she found this great fun. The road beyond Dodoma was new to me and very interesting country, flat and dry and dusty, as little rain falls there. The trees are mostly thorn trees but here and there one sees a giant baobab, weird trees with fantastically thick trunks and fat squat branches with meagre foliage. The inhabitants of this area I found interesting though. They are called Wagogo and are a primitive people who ape the Masai in dress and customs though they are much inferior to the Masai in physique. They are also great herders of cattle which, rather surprisingly, appear to thrive in that dry area. The scenery alters greatly as one nears Babati, which one approaches by a high escarpment from which one has a wonderful view of the Rift Valley. Babati township appears to be just a small group of Indian shops and shabby native houses, but I believe there are some good farms in the area. Though the little township is squalid, there is a beautiful lake and grand mountains to please the eye. We stopped only long enough to fill up with petrol and buy some foodstuffs. Beyond Babati there is a tsetse fly belt and George warned our two native servants to see that no tsetse flies settled on the dogs. We stopped for the night in a little rest house on the road about 80 miles from Arusha where we were to spend a few days with the Forest Officer before going on to Mbulu. I enjoyed this section of the road very much because it runs across wide plains which are bounded on the West by the blue mountains of the Rift Valley wall. Here for the first time I saw the Masai on their home ground guarding their vast herds of cattle. I also saw their strange primitive hovels called Manyattas, with their thorn walled cattle bomas and lots of plains game – giraffe, wildebeest, ostriches and antelope. Kate was wildly excited and entranced with the game especially the giraffe which stood gazing curiously and unafraid of us, often within a few yards of the road. Finally we came across the greatest thrill of all, my first view of Mt Meru the extinct volcano about 16,000 feet high which towers over Arusha township. The approach to Arusha is through flourishing coffee plantations very different alas from our farm at Mchewe. George says that at Arusha coffee growing is still a paying proposition because here the yield of berry per acre is much higher than in the Southern highlands and here in the North the farmers have not such heavy transport costs as the railway runs from Arusha to the port at Tanga. We stayed overnight at a rather second rate hotel but the food was good and we had hot baths and a good nights rest. Next day Tom Lewis the Forest Officer, fetched us and we spent a few days camping in a tent in the Lewis’ garden having meals at their home. Both Tom and Lillian Lewis were most friendly. Tom lewis explained to George what his work in the Mbulu District was to be, and they took us camping in a Forest Reserve where Lillian and her small son David and Kate and I had a lovely lazy time amidst beautiful surroundings. Before we left for Mbulu, Lillian took me shopping to buy material for curtains for our new home. She described the Forest House at Mbulu to me and it sounded delightful but alas, when we reached Mbulu we discovered that the Assistant District Officer had moved into the Forest House and we were directed to the Fort or Boma. The night before we left Arusha for Mbulu it rained very heavily and the road was very treacherous and slippery due to the surface being of ‘black cotton’ soil which has the appearance and consistency of chocolate blancmange, after rain. To get to Mbulu we had to drive back in the direction of Dodoma for some 70 miles and then turn to the right and drive across plains to the Great Rift Valley Wall. The views from this escarpment road which climbs this wall are magnificent. At one point one looks down upon Lake Manyara with its brilliant white beaches of soda. The drive was a most trying one for George. We had no chains for the wheels and several times we stuck in the mud and our two houseboys had to put grass and branches under the wheels to stop them from spinning. Quite early on in the afternoon George gave up all hope of reaching Mbulu that day and planned to spend the night in a little bush rest camp at Karatu. However at one point it looked as though we would not even reach this resthouse for late afternoon found us properly bogged down in a mess of mud at the bottom of a long and very steep hill. In spite of frantic efforts on the part of George and the two boys, all now very wet and muddy, the heavy car remained stuck. Suddenly five Masai men appeared through the bushes beside the road. They were all tall and angular and rather terrifying looking to me. Each wore only a blanket knotted over one shoulder and all were armed with spears. They lined up by the side of the road and just looked – not hostile but simply aloof and supercilious. George greeted them and said in Ki-Swahili, “Help to push and I will reward you.” But they said nothing, just drawing back imperceptibly to register disgust at the mere idea of manual labour. Their expressions said quite clearly “A Masai is a warrior and does not soil his hands.” George then did something which startled them I think, as much as me. He plucked their spears from their hands one by one and flung them into the back of the boxbody. “Now push!” he said, “And when we are safely out of the mud you shall have your spears back.” To my utter astonishment the Masai seemed to applaud George’s action. I think they admire courage in a man more than anything else. They pushed with a will and soon we were roaring up the long steep slope. “I can’t stop here” quoth George as up and up we went. The Masai were in mad pursuit with their blankets streaming behind. They took a very steep path which was a shortcut to the top. They are certainly amazing athletes and reached the top at the same time as the car. Their route of course was shorter but much more steep, yet they came up without any sign of fatigue to claim their spears and the money which George handed out with a friendly grin. The Masai took the whole episode in good heart and we parted on the most friendly terms. After a rather chilly night in the three walled shack, we started on the last lap of our journey yesterday morning in bright weather and made the trip to Mbulu without incident. Eleanor. Mbulu 24th March, 1938 Dearest Family, Mbulu is an attractive station but living in this rather romantic looking fort has many disadvantages. Our quarters make up one side of the fort which is built up around a hollow square. The buildings are single storied but very tall in the German manner and there is a tower on one corner from which the Union Jack flies. The tower room is our sitting room, and one has very fine views from the windows of the rolling country side. However to reach this room one has to climb a steep flight of cement steps from the court yard. Another disadvantage of this tower room is that there is a swarm of bees in the roof and the stray ones drift down through holes in the ceiling and buzz angrily against the window panes or fly around in a most menacing manner. Ours are the only private quarters in the Fort. Two other sides of the Fort are used as offices, storerooms and court room and the fourth side is simply a thick wall with battlements and loopholes and a huge iron shod double door of enormous thickness which is always barred at sunset when the flag is hauled down. Two Police Askari always remain in the Fort on guard at night. The effect from outside the whitewashed fort is very romantic but inside it is hardly homely and how I miss my garden at Mchewe and the grass and trees. We have no privacy downstairs because our windows overlook the bare courtyard which is filled with Africans patiently waiting to be admitted to the courtroom as witnesses or spectators. The outside windows which overlook the valley are heavily barred. I can only think that the Germans who built this fort must have been very scared of the local natives. Our rooms are hardly cosy and are furnished with typical heavy German pieces. We have a vast bleak bedroom, a dining room and an enormous gloomy kitchen in which meals for the German garrison were cooked. At night this kitchen is alive with gigantic rats but fortunately they do not seem to care for the other rooms. To crown everything owls hoot and screech at night on the roof. On our first day here I wandered outside the fort walls with Kate and came upon a neatly fenced plot enclosing the graves of about fifteen South African soldiers killed by the Germans in the 1914-18 war. I understand that at least one of theses soldiers died in the courtyard here. The story goes, that during the period in the Great War when this fort was occupied by a troop of South African Horse, a German named Siedtendorf appeared at the great barred door at night and asked to speak to the officer in command of the Troop. The officer complied with this request and the small shutter in the door was opened so that he could speak with the German. The German, however, had not come to speak. When he saw the exposed face of the officer, he fired, killing him, and escaped into the dark night. I had this tale on good authority but cannot vouch for it. I do know though, that there are two bullet holes in the door beside the shutter. An unhappy story to think about when George is away, as he is now, and the moonlight throws queer shadows in the court yard and the owls hoot. However though I find our quarters depressing, I like Mbulu itself very much. It is rolling country, treeless except for the plantations of the Forestry Dept. The land is very fertile in the watered valleys but the grass on hills and plains is cropped to the roots by the far too numerous cattle and goats. There are very few Europeans on the station, only Mr Duncan, the District Officer, whose wife and children recently left for England, the Assistant District Officer and his wife, a bachelor Veterinary Officer, a Road Foreman and ourselves, and down in the village a German with an American wife and an elderly Irishman whom I have not met. The Government officials have a communal vegetable garden in the valley below the fort which keeps us well supplied with green stuff. Most afternoons George, Kate and I go for walks after tea. On Fridays there is a little ceremony here outside the fort. In the late afternoon a little procession of small native schoolboys, headed by a drum and penny whistle band come marching up the road to a tune which sounds like ‘Two lovely black eyes”. They form up below our tower and as the flag is lowered for the day they play ‘God save the King’, and then march off again. It is quite a cheerful little ceremony. The local Africans are a skinny lot and, I should say, a poor tribe. They protect themselves against the cold by wrapping themselves in cotton blankets or a strip of unbleached sheeting. This they drape over their heads, almost covering their faces and the rest is wrapped closely round their bodies in the manner of a shroud. A most depressing fashion. They live in very primitive comfortless houses. They simply make a hollow in the hillside and build a front wall of wattle and daub. Into this rude shelter at night go cattle and goats, men, women, and children. Mbulu village has the usual mud brick and wattle dukas and wattle and daub houses. The chief trader is a Goan who keeps a surprisingly good variety of tinned foodstuffs and also sells hardware and soft goods. The Europeans here have been friendly but as you will have noted there are only two other women on station and no children at all to be companions for Kate. Eleanor. Mbulu 20th June 1938 Dearest Family, Here we are on Safari with George at Babati where we are occupying a rest house on the slopes of Ufiome Mountain. The slopes are a Forest Reserve and George is supervising the clearing of firebreaks in preparation for the dry weather. He goes off after a very early breakfast and returns home in the late afternoon so Kate and I have long lazy days. Babati is a pleasant spot and the resthouse is quite comfortable. It is about a mile from the village which is just the usual collection of small mud brick and corrugated iron Indian Dukas. There are a few settlers in the area growing coffee, or going in for mixed farming but I don’t think they are doing very well. The farm adjoining the rest house is owned by Lord Lovelace but is run by a manager. George says he gets enough exercise clambering about all day on the mountain, so Kate and I do our walking in the mornings when George is busy, and we all relax in the evenings when George returns from his field work. Kate’s favourite walk is to the big block of mtama (sorghum) shambas lower down the hill. There are huge swarms of tiny grain eating birds around waiting the chance to plunder the mtama, so the crops are watched from sunrise to sunset. Crude observation platforms have been erected for this purpose in the centre of each field and the women and the young boys of the family concerned, take it in turn to occupy the platform and scare the birds. Each watcher has a sling and uses clods of earth for ammunition. The clod is placed in the centre of the sling which is then whirled around at arms length. Suddenly one end of the sling is released and the clod of earth flies out and shatters against the mtama stalks. The sling makes a loud whip like crack and the noise is quite startling and very effective in keeping the birds at a safe distance. Eleanor. Karatu 3rd July 1938 Dearest Family, Still on safari you see! We left Babati ten days ago and passed through Mbulu on our way to this spot. We slept out of doors one night beside Lake Tiawa about eight miles from Mbulu. It was a peaceful spot and we enjoyed watching the reflection of the sunset on the lake and the waterhens and duck and pelicans settling down for the night. However it turned piercingly cold after sunset so we had an early supper and then all three of us lay down to sleep in the back of the boxbody (station wagon). It was a tight fit and a real case of ‘When Dad turns, we all turn.’ Here at Karatu we are living in a grass hut with only three walls. It is rather sweet and looks like the setting for a Nativity Play. Kate and I share the only camp bed and George and the dogs sleep on the floor. The air here is very fresh and exhilarating and we all feel very fit. George is occupied all day supervising the cutting of firebreaks around existing plantations and the forest reserve of indigenous trees. Our camp is on the hillside and below us lie the fertile wheat lands of European farmers. They are mostly Afrikaners, the descendants of the Boer families who were invited by the Germans to settle here after the Boer War. Most of them are pro-British now and a few have called in here to chat to George about big game hunting. George gets on extremely well with them and recently attended a wedding where he had a lively time dancing at the reception. He likes the older people best as most are great individualists. One fine old man, surnamed von Rooyen, visited our camp. He is a Boer of the General Smuts type with spare figure and bearded face. George tells me he is a real patriarch with an enormous family – mainly sons. This old farmer fought against the British throughout the Boer War under General Smuts and again against the British in the German East Africa campaign when he was a scout and right hand man to Von Lettow. It is said that Von Lettow was able to stay in the field until the end of the Great War because he listened to the advise given to him by von Rooyen. However his dislike for the British does not extend to George as they have a mutual interest in big game hunting. Kate loves being on safari. She is now so accustomed to having me as her nurse and constant companion that I do not know how she will react to paid help. I shall have to get someone to look after her during my confinement in the little German Red Cross hospital at Oldeani. George has obtained permission from the District Commissioner, for Kate and me to occupy the Government Rest House at Oldeani from the end of July until the end of August when my baby is due. He will have to carry on with his field work but will join us at weekends whenever possible. Eleanor. Karatu 12th July 1938 Dearest Family, Not long now before we leave this camp. We have greatly enjoyed our stay here in spite of the very chilly earl mornings and the nights when we sit around in heavy overcoats until our early bed time. Last Sunday I persuaded George to take Kate and me to the famous Ngoro- Ngoro Crater. He was not very keen to do so because the road is very bumpy for anyone in my interesting condition but I feel so fit that I was most anxious to take this opportunity of seeing the enormous crater. We may never be in this vicinity again and in any case safari will not be so simple with a small baby. What a wonderful trip it was! The road winds up a steep escarpment from which one gets a glorious birds eye view of the plains of the Great Rift Valley far, far below. The crater is immense. There is a road which skirts the rim in places and one has quite startling views of the floor of the crater about two thousand feet below. A camp for tourists has just been built in a clearing in the virgin forest. It is most picturesque as the camp buildings are very neatly constructed log cabins with very high pitched thatched roofs. We spent about an hour sitting on the grass near the edge of the crater enjoying the sunshine and the sharp air and really awe inspiring view. Far below us in the middle of the crater was a small lake and we could see large herds of game animals grazing there but they were too far away to be impressive, even seen through George’s field glasses. Most appeared to be wildebeest and zebra but I also picked out buffalo. Much more exciting was my first close view of a wild elephant. George pointed him out to me as we approached the rest camp on the inward journey. He stood quietly under a tree near the road and did not seem to be disturbed by the car though he rolled a wary eye in our direction. On our return journey we saw him again at almost uncomfortably close quarters. We rounded a sharp corner and there stood the elephant, facing us and slap in the middle of the road. He was busily engaged giving himself a dust bath but spared time to give us an irritable look. Fortunately we were on a slight slope so George quickly switched off the engine and backed the car quietly round the corner. He got out of the car and loaded his rifle, just in case! But after he had finished his toilet the elephant moved off the road and we took our chance and passed without incident. One notices the steepness of the Ngoro-Ngoro road more on the downward journey than on the way up. The road is cut into the side of the mountain so that one has a steep slope on one hand and a sheer drop on the other. George told me that a lorry coming down the mountain was once charged from behind by a rhino. On feeling and hearing the bash from behind the panic stricken driver drove off down the mountain as fast as he dared and never paused until he reached level ground at the bottom of the mountain. There was no sign of the rhino so the driver got out to examine his lorry and found the rhino horn embedded in the wooden tail end of the lorry. The horn had been wrenched right off! Happily no excitement of that kind happened to us. I have yet to see a rhino. Eleanor. Oldeani. 19th July 1938 Dearest Family, Greetings from a lady in waiting! Kate and I have settled down comfortably in the new, solidly built Government Rest House which comprises one large living room and one large office with a connecting door. Outside there is a kitchen and a boys quarter. There are no resident Government officials here at Oldeani so the office is in use only when the District Officer from Mbulu makes his monthly visit. However a large Union Jack flies from a flagpole in the front of the building as a gentle reminder to the entirely German population of Oldeani that Tanganyika is now under British rule. There is quite a large community of German settlers here, most of whom are engaged in coffee farming. George has visited several of the farms in connection with his forestry work and says the coffee plantations look very promising indeed. There are also a few German traders in the village and there is a large boarding school for German children and also a very pleasant little hospital where I have arranged to have the baby. Right next door to the Rest House is a General Dealers Store run by a couple named Schnabbe. The shop is stocked with drapery, hardware, china and foodstuffs all imported from Germany and of very good quality. The Schnabbes also sell local farm produce, beautiful fresh vegetables, eggs and pure rich milk and farm butter. Our meat comes from a German butchery and it is a great treat to get clean, well cut meat. The sausages also are marvellous and in great variety. The butcher is an entertaining character. When he called round looking for custom I expected him to break out in a yodel any minute, as it was obvious from a glance that the Alps are his natural background. From under a green Tyrollean hat with feather, blooms a round beefy face with sparkling small eyes and such widely spaced teeth that one inevitably thinks of a garden rake. Enormous beefy thighs bulge from greasy lederhosen which are supported by the traditional embroidered braces. So far the butcher is the only cheery German, male or female, whom I have seen, and I have met most of the locals at the Schnabbe’s shop. Most of the men seem to have cultivated the grim Hitler look. They are all fanatical Nazis and one is usually greeted by a raised hand and Heil Hitler! All very theatrical. I always feel like crying in ringing tones ‘God Save the King’ or even ‘St George for England’. However the men are all very correct and courteous and the women friendly. The women all admire Kate and cry, “Ag, das kleine Englander.” She really is a picture with her rosy cheeks and huge grey eyes and golden curls. Kate is having a wonderful time playing with Manfried, the Scnabbe’s small son. Neither understands a word said by the other but that doesn’t seem to worry them. Before he left on safari, George took me to hospital for an examination by the nurse, Sister Marianne. She has not been long in the country and knows very little English but is determined to learn and carried on an animated, if rather quaint, conversation with frequent references to a pocket dictionary. She says I am not to worry because there is not doctor here. She is a very experienced midwife and anyway in an emergency could call on the old retired Veterinary Surgeon for assistance. I asked sister Marianne whether she knew of any German woman or girl who would look after Kate whilst I am in hospital and today a very top drawer German, bearing a strong likeness to ‘Little Willie’, called and offered the services of his niece who is here on a visit from Germany. I was rather taken aback and said, “Oh no Baron, your niece would not be the type I had in mind. I’m afraid I cannot pay much for a companion.” However the Baron was not to be discouraged. He told me that his niece is seventeen but looks twenty, that she is well educated and will make a cheerful companion. Her father wishes her to learn to speak English fluently and that is why the Baron wished her to come to me as a house daughter. As to pay, a couple of pounds a month for pocket money and her keep was all he had in mind. So with some misgivings I agreed to take the niece on as a companion as from 1st August. Eleanor. Oldeani. 10th August 1938 Dearest Family, Never a dull moment since my young companion arrived. She is a striking looking girl with a tall boyish figure and very short and very fine dark hair which she wears severely slicked back. She wears tweeds, no make up but has shiny rosy cheeks and perfect teeth – she also,inevitably, has a man friend and I have an uncomfortable suspicion that it is because of him that she was planted upon me. Upon second thoughts though, maybe it was because of her excessive vitality, or even because of her healthy appetite! The Baroness, I hear is in poor health and I can imagine that such abundant health and spirit must have been quite overpowering. The name is Ingeborg, but she is called Mouche, which I believe means Mouse. Someone in her family must have a sense of humour. Her English only needed practice and she now chatters fluently so that I know her background and views on life. Mouche’s father is a personal friend of Goering. He was once a big noise in the German Airforce but is now connected with the car industry and travels frequently and intensively in Europe and America on business. Mouche showed me some snap shots of her family and I must say they look prosperous and charming. Mouche tells me that her father wants her to learn to speak English fluently so that she can get a job with some British diplomat in Cairo. I had immediate thought that I might be nursing a future Mata Hari in my bosom, but this was immediately extinguished when Mouche remarked that her father would like her to marry an Englishman. However it seems that the mere idea revolts her. “Englishmen are degenerates who swill whisky all day.” I pointed out that she had met George, who was a true blue Englishman, but was nevertheless a fine physical specimen and certainly didn’t drink all day. Mouche replied that George is not an Englishman but a hunter, as though that set him apart. Mouche is an ardent Hitler fan and an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth Movement. The house resounds with Hitler youth songs and when she is not singing, her gramophone is playing very stirring marching songs. I cannot understand a word, which is perhaps as well. Every day she does the most strenuous exercises watched with envy by me as my proportions are now those of a circus Big Top. Mouche eats a fantastic amount of meat and I feel it is a blessing that she is much admired by our Tyrollean butcher who now delivers our meat in person and adds as a token of his admiration some extra sausages for Mouche. I must confess I find her stimulating company as George is on safari most of the time and my evenings otherwise would be lonely. I am a little worried though about leaving Kate here with Mouche when I go to hospital. The dogs and Kate have not taken to her. I am trying to prepare Kate for the separation but she says, “She’s not my mummy. You are my dear mummy, and I want you, I want you.” George has got permission from the Provincial Forestry Officer to spend the last week of August here at the Rest House with me and I only hope that the baby will be born during that time. Kate adores her dad and will be perfectly happy to remain here with him. One final paragraph about Mouche. I thought all German girls were domesticated but not Mouche. I have Kesho-Kutwa here with me as cook and I have engaged a local boy to do the laundry. I however expected Mouche would take over making the puddings and pastry but she informed me that she can only bake a chocolate cake and absolutely nothing else. She said brightly however that she would do the mending. As there is none for her to do, she has rescued a large worn handkerchief of George’s and sits with her feet up listening to stirring gramophone records whilst she mends the handkerchief with exquisite darning. Eleanor. Oldeani. 20th August 1938 Dearest Family, Just after I had posted my last letter I received what George calls a demi official letter from the District Officer informing me that I would have to move out of the Rest House for a few days as the Governor and his hangers on would be visiting Oldeani and would require the Rest House. Fortunately George happened to be here for a few hours and he arranged for Kate and Mouche and me to spend a few days at the German School as borders. So here I am at the school having a pleasant and restful time and much entertained by all the goings on. The school buildings were built with funds from Germany and the school is run on the lines of a contemporary German school. I think the school gets a grant from the Tanganyika Government towards running expenses, but I am not sure. The school hall is dominated by a more than life sized oil painting of Adolf Hitler which, at present, is flanked on one side by the German Flag and on the other by the Union Jack. I cannot help feeling that the latter was put up today for the Governor’s visit today. The teachers are very amiable. We all meet at mealtimes, and though few of the teachers speak English, the ones who do are anxious to chatter. The headmaster is a scholarly man but obviously anti-British. He says he cannot understand why so many South Africans are loyal to Britain – or rather to England. “They conquered your country didn’t they?” I said that that had never occurred to me and that anyway I was mainly of Scots descent and that loyalty to the crown was natural to me. “But the English conquered the Scots and yet you are loyal to England. That I cannot understand.” “Well I love England,” said I firmly, ”and so do all British South Africans.” Since then we have stuck to English literature. Shakespeare, Lord Byron and Galsworthy seem to be the favourites and all, thank goodness, make safe topics for conversation. Mouche is in her element but Kate and I do not enjoy the food which is typically German and consists largely of masses of fat pork and sauerkraut and unfamiliar soups. I feel sure that the soup at lunch today had blobs of lemon curd in it! I also find most disconcerting the way that everyone looks at me and says, “Bon appetite”, with much smiling and nodding so I have to fight down my nausea and make a show of enjoying the meals. The teacher whose room adjoins mine is a pleasant woman and I take my afternoon tea with her. She, like all the teachers, has a large framed photo of Hitler on her wall flanked by bracket vases of fresh flowers. One simply can’t get away from the man! Even in the dormitories each child has a picture of Hitler above the bed. Hitler accepting flowers from a small girl, or patting a small boy on the head. Even the children use the greeting ‘Heil Hitler’. These German children seem unnaturally prim when compared with my cheerful ex-pupils in South Africa but some of them are certainly very lovely to look at. Tomorrow Mouche, Kate and I return to our quarters in the Rest House and in a few days George will join us for a week. Eleanor. Oldeani Hospital. 9th September 1938 Dearest Family, You will all be delighted to hear that we have a second son, whom we have named John. He is a darling, so quaint and good. He looks just like a little old man with a high bald forehead fringed around the edges with a light brown fluff. George and I call him Johnny Jo because he has a tiny round mouth and a rather big nose and reminds us of A.A.Milne’s ‘Jonathan Jo has a mouth like an O’ , but Kate calls him, ‘My brother John’. George was not here when he was born on September 5th, just two minutes before midnight. He left on safari on the morning of the 4th and, of course, that very night the labour pains started. Fortunately Kate was in bed asleep so Mouche walked with me up the hill to the hospital where I was cheerfully received by Sister Marianne who had everything ready for the confinement. I was lucky to have such an experienced midwife because this was a breech birth and sister had to manage single handed. As there was no doctor present I was not allowed even a sniff of anaesthetic. Sister slaved away by the light of a pressure lamp endeavouring to turn the baby having first shoved an inverted baby bath under my hips to raise them. What a performance! Sister Marianne was very much afraid that she might not be able to save the baby and great was our relief when at last she managed to haul him out by the feet. One slap and the baby began to cry without any further attention so Sister wrapped him up in a blanket and took Johnny to her room for the night. I got very little sleep but was so thankful to have the ordeal over that I did not mind even though I heard a hyaena cackling and calling under my window in a most evil way. When Sister brought Johnny to me in the early morning I stared in astonishment. Instead of dressing him in one of his soft Viyella nighties, she had dressed him in a short sleeved vest of knitted cotton with a cotton cloth swayed around his waist sarong fashion. When I protested, “But Sister why is the baby not dressed in his own clothes?” She answered firmly, “I find it is not allowed. A baby’s clotheses must be boiled and I cannot boil clotheses of wool therefore your baby must wear the clotheses of the Red Cross.” It was the same with the bedding. Poor Johnny lies all day in a deep wicker basket with a detachable calico lining. There is no pillow under his head but a vast kind of calico covered pillow is his only covering. There is nothing at all cosy and soft round my poor baby. I said crossly to the Sister, “As every thing must be so sterile, I wonder you don’t boil me too.” This she ignored. When my message reached George he dashed back to visit us. Sister took him first to see the baby and George was astonished to see the baby basket covered by a sheet. “She has the poor little kid covered up like a bloody parrot,” he told me. So I asked him to go at once to buy a square of mosquito netting to replace the sheet. Kate is quite a problem. She behaves like an Angel when she is here in my room but is rebellious when Sister shoos her out. She says she “Hates the Nanny” which is what she calls Mouche. Unfortunately it seems that she woke before midnight on the night Johnny Jo was born to find me gone and Mouche in my bed. According to Mouche, Kate wept all night and certainly when she visited me in the early morning Kate’s face was puffy with crying and she clung to me crying “Oh my dear mummy, why did you go away?” over and over again. Sister Marianne was touched and suggested that Mouche and Kate should come to the hospital as boarders as I am the only patient at present and there is plenty of room. Luckily Kate does not seem at all jealous of the baby and it is a great relief to have here here under my eye. Eleanor. January 28, 2022 at 9:30 pm #6264 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued ~ part 5 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Chunya 16th December 1936 Dearest Family, Since last I wrote I have visited Chunya and met several of the diggers wives. On the whole I have been greatly disappointed because there is nothing very colourful about either township or women. I suppose I was really expecting something more like the goldrush towns and women I have so often seen on the cinema screen. Chunya consists of just the usual sun-dried brick Indian shops though there are one or two double storied buildings. Most of the life in the place centres on the Goldfields Hotel but we did not call there. From the store opposite I could hear sounds of revelry though it was very early in the afternoon. I saw only one sight which was quite new to me, some elegantly dressed African women, with high heels and lipsticked mouths teetered by on their way to the silk store. “Native Tarts,” said George in answer to my enquiry. Several women have called on me and when I say ‘called’ I mean called. I have grown so used to going without stockings and wearing home made dresses that it was quite a shock to me to entertain these ladies dressed to the nines in smart frocks, silk stockings and high heeled shoes, handbags, makeup and whatnot. I feel like some female Rip van Winkle. Most of the women have a smart line in conversation and their talk and views on life would make your nice straight hair curl Mummy. They make me feel very unsophisticated and dowdy but George says he has a weakness for such types and I am to stay exactly as I am. I still do not use any makeup. George says ‘It’s all right for them. They need it poor things, you don’t.” Which, though flattering, is hardly true. I prefer the men visitors, though they also are quite unlike what I had expected diggers to be. Those whom George brings home are all well educated and well groomed and I enjoy listening to their discussion of the world situation, sport and books. They are extremely polite to me and gentle with the children though I believe that after a few drinks at the pub tempers often run high. There were great arguments on the night following the abdication of Edward VIII. Not that the diggers were particularly attached to him as a person, but these men are all great individualists and believe in freedom of choice. George, rather to my surprise, strongly supported Edward. I did not. Many of the diggers have wireless sets and so we keep up to date with the news. I seldom leave camp. I have my hands full with the three children during the day and, even though Janey is a reliable ayah, I would not care to leave the children at night in these grass roofed huts. Having experienced that fire on the farm, I know just how unlikely it would be that the children would be rescued in time in case of fire. The other women on the diggings think I’m crazy. They leave their children almost entirely to ayahs and I must confess that the children I have seen look very well and happy. The thing is that I simply would not enjoy parties at the hotel or club, miles away from the children and I much prefer to stay at home with a book. I love hearing all about the parties from George who likes an occasional ‘boose up’ with the boys and is terribly popular with everyone – not only the British but with the Germans, Scandinavians and even the Afrikaans types. One Afrikaans woman said “Jou man is ‘n man, al is hy ‘n Engelsman.” Another more sophisticated woman said, “George is a handsome devil. Aren’t you scared to let him run around on his own?” – but I’m not. I usually wait up for George with sandwiches and something hot to drink and that way I get all the news red hot. There is very little gold coming in. The rains have just started and digging is temporarily at a standstill. It is too wet for dry blowing and not yet enough water for panning and sluicing. As this camp is some considerable distance from the claims, all I see of the process is the weighing of the daily taking of gold dust and tiny nuggets. Unless our luck changes I do not think we will stay on here after John Molteno returns. George does not care for the life and prefers a more constructive occupation. Ann and young George still search optimistically for gold. We were all saddened last week by the death of Fanny, our bull terrier. She went down to the shopping centre with us and we were standing on the verandah of a store when a lorry passed with its canvas cover flapping. This excited Fanny who rushed out into the street and the back wheel of the lorry passed right over her, killing her instantly. Ann was very shocked so I soothed her by telling her that Fanny had gone to Heaven. When I went to bed that night I found Ann still awake and she asked anxiously, “Mummy, do you think God remembered to give Fanny her bone tonight?” Much love to all, Eleanor. Itewe, Chunya 23rd December 1936 Dearest Family, Your Christmas parcel arrived this morning. Thank you very much for all the clothing for all of us and for the lovely toys for the children. George means to go hunting for a young buffalo this afternoon so that we will have some fresh beef for Christmas for ourselves and our boys and enough for friends too. I had a fright this morning. Ann and Georgie were, as usual, searching for gold whilst I sat sewing in the living room with Kate toddling around. She wandered through the curtained doorway into the store and I heard her playing with the paraffin pump. At first it did not bother me because I knew the tin was empty but after ten minutes or so I became irritated by the noise and went to stop her. Imagine my horror when I drew the curtain aside and saw my fat little toddler fiddling happily with the pump whilst, curled up behind the tin and clearly visible to me lay the largest puffadder I have ever seen. Luckily I acted instinctively and scooped Kate up from behind and darted back into the living room without disturbing the snake. The houseboy and cook rushed in with sticks and killed the snake and then turned the whole storeroom upside down to make sure there were no more. I have met some more picturesque characters since I last wrote. One is a man called Bishop whom George has known for many years having first met him in the Congo. I believe he was originally a sailor but for many years he has wandered around Central Africa trying his hand at trading, prospecting, a bit of elephant hunting and ivory poaching. He is now keeping himself by doing ‘Sign Writing”. Bish is a gentle and dignified personality. When we visited his camp he carefully dusted a seat for me and called me ‘Marm’, quite ye olde world. The only thing is he did spit. Another spitter is the Frenchman in a neighbouring camp. He is in bed with bad rheumatism and George has been going across twice a day to help him and cheer him up. Once when George was out on the claim I went across to the Frenchman’s camp in response to an SOS, but I think he was just lonely. He showed me snapshots of his two daughters, lovely girls and extremely smart, and he chatted away telling me his life history. He punctuated his remarks by spitting to right and left of the bed, everywhere in fact, except actually at me. George took me and the children to visit a couple called Bert and Hilda Farham. They have a small gold reef which is worked by a very ‘Heath Robinson’ type of machinery designed and erected by Bert who is reputed to be a clever engineer though eccentric. He is rather a handsome man who always looks very spruce and neat and wears a Captain Kettle beard. Hilda is from Johannesburg and quite a character. She has a most generous figure and literally masses of beetroot red hair, but she also has a warm deep voice and a most generous disposition. The Farhams have built themselves a more permanent camp than most. They have a brick cottage with proper doors and windows and have made it attractive with furniture contrived from petrol boxes. They have no children but Hilda lavishes a great deal of affection on a pet monkey. Sometimes they do quite well out of their gold and then they have a terrific celebration at the Club or Pub and Hilda has an orgy of shopping. At other times they are completely broke but Hilda takes disasters as well as triumphs all in her stride. She says, “My dear, when we’re broke we just live on tea and cigarettes.” I have met a young woman whom I would like as a friend. She has a dear little baby, but unfortunately she has a very wet husband who is also a dreadful bore. I can’t imagine George taking me to their camp very often. When they came to visit us George just sat and smoked and said,”Oh really?” to any remark this man made until I felt quite hysterical. George looks very young and fit and the children are lively and well too. I , however, am definitely showing signs of wear and tear though George says, “Nonsense, to me you look the same as you always did.” This I may say, I do not regard as a compliment to the young Eleanor. Anyway, even though our future looks somewhat unsettled, we are all together and very happy. With love, Eleanor. Itewe, Chunya 30th December 1936 Dearest Family, We had a very cheery Christmas. The children loved the toys and are so proud of their new clothes. They wore them when we went to Christmas lunch to the Cresswell-Georges. The C-Gs have been doing pretty well lately and they have a comfortable brick house and a large wireless set. The living room was gaily decorated with bought garlands and streamers and balloons. We had an excellent lunch cooked by our ex cook Abel who now works for the Cresswell-Georges. We had turkey with trimmings and plum pudding followed by nuts and raisons and chocolates and sweets galore. There was also a large variety of drinks including champagne! There were presents for all of us and, in addition, Georgie and Ann each got a large tin of chocolates. Kate was much admired. She was a picture in her new party frock with her bright hair and rosy cheeks. There were other guests beside ourselves and they were already there having drinks when we arrived. Someone said “What a lovely child!” “Yes” said George with pride, “She’s a Marie Stopes baby.” “Truby King!” said I quickly and firmly, but too late to stop the roar of laughter. Our children played amicably with the C-G’s three, but young George was unusually quiet and surprised me by bringing me his unopened tin of chocolates to keep for him. Normally he is a glutton for sweets. I might have guessed he was sickening for something. That night he vomited and had diarrhoea and has had an upset tummy and a slight temperature ever since. Janey is also ill. She says she has malaria and has taken to her bed. I am dosing her with quinine and hope she will soon be better as I badly need her help. Not only is young George off his food and peevish but Kate has a cold and Ann sore eyes and they all want love and attention. To complicate things it has been raining heavily and I must entertain the children indoors. Eleanor. Itewe, Chunya 19th January 1937 Dearest Family, So sorry I have not written before but we have been in the wars and I have had neither the time nor the heart to write. However the worst is now over. Young George and Janey are both recovering from Typhoid Fever. The doctor had Janey moved to the native hospital at Chunya but I nursed young George here in the camp. As I told you young George’s tummy trouble started on Christmas day. At first I thought it was only a protracted bilious attack due to eating too much unaccustomed rich food and treated him accordingly but when his temperature persisted I thought that the trouble might be malaria and kept him in bed and increased the daily dose of quinine. He ate less and less as the days passed and on New Years Day he seemed very weak and his stomach tender to the touch. George fetched the doctor who examined small George and said he had a very large liver due no doubt to malaria. He gave the child injections of emertine and quinine and told me to give young George frequent and copious drinks of water and bi-carb of soda. This was more easily said than done. Young George refused to drink this mixture and vomited up the lime juice and water the doctor had suggested as an alternative. The doctor called every day and gave George further injections and advised me to give him frequent sips of water from a spoon. After three days the child was very weak and weepy but Dr Spiers still thought he had malaria. During those anxious days I also worried about Janey who appeared to be getting worse rather that better and on January the 3rd I asked the doctor to look at her. The next thing I knew, the doctor had put Janey in his car and driven her off to hospital. When he called next morning he looked very grave and said he wished to talk to my husband. I said that George was out on the claim but if what he wished to say concerned young George’s condition he might just as well tell me. With a good deal of reluctance Dr Spiers then told me that Janey showed all the symptoms of Typhoid Fever and that he was very much afraid that young George had contracted it from her. He added that George should be taken to the Mbeya Hospital where he could have the professional nursing so necessary in typhoid cases. I said “Oh no,I’d never allow that. The child had never been away from his family before and it would frighten him to death to be sick and alone amongst strangers.” Also I was sure that the fifty mile drive over the mountains in his weak condition would harm him more than my amateur nursing would. The doctor returned to the camp that afternoon to urge George to send our son to hospital but George staunchly supported my argument that young George would stand a much better chance of recovery if we nursed him at home. I must say Dr Spiers took our refusal very well and gave young George every attention coming twice a day to see him. For some days the child was very ill. He could not keep down any food or liquid in any quantity so all day long, and when he woke at night, I gave him a few drops of water at a time from a teaspoon. His only nourishment came from sucking Macintosh’s toffees. Young George sweated copiously especially at night when it was difficult to change his clothes and sponge him in the draughty room with the rain teeming down outside. I think I told you that the bedroom is a sort of shed with only openings in the wall for windows and doors, and with one wall built only a couple of feet high leaving a six foot gap for air and light. The roof leaked and the damp air blew in but somehow young George pulled through. Only when he was really on the mend did the doctor tell us that whilst he had been attending George, he had also been called in to attend to another little boy of the same age who also had typhoid. He had been called in too late and the other little boy, an only child, had died. Young George, thank God, is convalescent now, though still on a milk diet. He is cheerful enough when he has company but very peevish when left alone. Poor little lad, he is all hair, eyes, and teeth, or as Ann says” Georgie is all ribs ribs now-a-days Mummy.” He shares my room, Ann and Kate are together in the little room. Anyway the doctor says he should be up and around in about a week or ten days time. We were all inoculated against typhoid on the day the doctor made the diagnosis so it is unlikely that any of us will develop it. Dr Spiers was most impressed by Ann’s unconcern when she was inoculated. She looks gentle and timid but has always been very brave. Funny thing when young George was very ill he used to wail if I left the room, but now that he is convalescent he greatly prefers his dad’s company. So now I have been able to take the girls for walks in the late afternoons whilst big George entertains small George. This he does with the minimum of effort, either he gets out cartons of ammunition with which young George builds endless forts, or else he just sits beside the bed and cleans one of his guns whilst small George watches with absorbed attention. The Doctor tells us that Janey is also now convalescent. He says that exhusband Abel has been most attentive and appeared daily at the hospital with a tray of food that made his, the doctor’s, mouth water. All I dare say, pinched from Mrs Cresswell-George. I’ll write again soon. Lots of love to all, Eleanor. Chunya 29th January 1937 Dearest Family, Georgie is up and about but still tires very easily. At first his legs were so weak that George used to carry him around on his shoulders. The doctor says that what the child really needs is a long holiday out of the Tropics so that Mrs Thomas’ offer, to pay all our fares to Cape Town as well as lending us her seaside cottage for a month, came as a Godsend. Luckily my passport is in order. When George was in Mbeya he booked seats for the children and me on the first available plane. We will fly to Broken Hill and go on to Cape Town from there by train. Ann and George are wildly thrilled at the idea of flying but I am not. I remember only too well how airsick I was on the old Hannibal when I flew home with the baby Ann. I am longing to see you all and it will be heaven to give the children their first seaside holiday. I mean to return with Kate after three months but, if you will have him, I shall leave George behind with you for a year. You said you would all be delighted to have Ann so I do hope you will also be happy to have young George. Together they are no trouble at all. They amuse themselves and are very independent and loveable. George and I have discussed the matter taking into consideration the letters from you and George’s Mother on the subject. If you keep Ann and George for a year, my mother-in-law will go to Cape Town next year and fetch them. They will live in England with her until they are fit enough to return to the Tropics. After the children and I have left on this holiday, George will be able to move around and look for a job that will pay sufficiently to enable us to go to England in a few years time to fetch our children home. We both feel very sad at the prospect of this parting but the children’s health comes before any other consideration. I hope Kate will stand up better to the Tropics. She is plump and rosy and could not look more bonny if she lived in a temperate climate. We should be with you in three weeks time! Very much love, Eleanor. Broken Hill, N Rhodesia 11th February 1937 Dearest Family, Well here we are safe and sound at the Great Northern Hotel, Broken Hill, all ready to board the South bound train tonight. We were still on the diggings on Ann’s birthday, February 8th, when George had a letter from Mbeya to say that our seats were booked on the plane leaving Mbeya on the 10th! What a rush we had packing up. Ann was in bed with malaria so we just bundled her up in blankets and set out in John Molteno’s car for the farm. We arrived that night and spent the next day on the farm sorting things out. Ann and George wanted to take so many of their treasures and it was difficult for them to make a small selection. In the end young George’s most treasured possession, his sturdy little boots, were left behind. Before leaving home on the morning of the tenth I took some snaps of Ann and young George in the garden and one of them with their father. He looked so sad. After putting us on the plane, George planned to go to the fishing camp for a day or two before returning to the empty house on the farm. John Molteno returned from the Cape by plane just before we took off, so he will take over the running of his claims once more. I told John that I dreaded the plane trip on account of air sickness so he gave me two pills which I took then and there. Oh dear! How I wished later that I had not done so. We had an extremely bumpy trip and everyone on the plane was sick except for small George who loved every moment. Poor Ann had a dreadful time but coped very well and never complained. I did not actually puke until shortly before we landed at Broken Hill but felt dreadfully ill all the way. Kate remained rosy and cheerful almost to the end. She sat on my lap throughout the trip because, being under age, she travelled as baggage and was not entitled to a seat. Shortly before we reached Broken Hill a smartly dressed youngish man came up to me and said, “You look so poorly, please let me take the baby, I have children of my own and know how to handle them.” Kate made no protest and off they went to the back of the plane whilst I tried to relax and concentrate on not getting sick. However, within five minutes the man was back. Kate had been thoroughly sick all over his collar and jacket. I took Kate back on my lap and then was violently sick myself, so much so that when we touched down at Broken Hill I was unable to speak to the Immigration Officer. He was so kind. He sat beside me until I got my diaphragm under control and then drove me up to the hotel in his own car. We soon recovered of course and ate a hearty dinner. This morning after breakfast I sallied out to look for a Bank where I could exchange some money into Rhodesian and South African currency and for the Post Office so that I could telegraph to George and to you. What a picnic that trip was! It was a terribly hot day and there was no shade. By the time we had done our chores, the children were hot, and cross, and tired and so indeed was I. As I had no push chair for Kate I had to carry her and she is pretty heavy for eighteen months. George, who is still not strong, clung to my free arm whilst Ann complained bitterly that no one was helping her. Eventually Ann simply sat down on the pavement and declared that she could not go another step, whereupon George of course decided that he also had reached his limit and sat down too. Neither pleading no threats would move them so I had to resort to bribery and had to promise that when we reached the hotel they could have cool drinks and ice-cream. This promise got the children moving once more but I am determined that nothing will induce me to stir again until the taxi arrives to take us to the station. This letter will go by air and will reach you before we do. How I am longing for journeys end. With love to you all, Eleanor. Leaving home 10th February 1937, George Gilman Rushby with Ann and Georgie (Mike) Rushby: NOTE We had a very warm welcome to the family home at Plumstead Cape Town. After ten days with my family we moved to Hout Bay where Mrs Thomas lent us her delightful seaside cottage. She also provided us with two excellent maids so I had nothing to do but rest and play on the beach with the children. After a month at the sea George had fully recovered his health though not his former gay spirits. After another six months with my parents I set off for home with Kate, leaving Ann and George in my parent’s home under the care of my elder sister, Marjorie. One or two incidents during that visit remain clearly in my memory. Our children had never met elderly people and were astonished at the manifestations of age. One morning an elderly lady came around to collect church dues. She was thin and stooped and Ann surveyed her with awe. She turned to me with a puzzled expression and asked in her clear voice, “Mummy, why has that old lady got a moustache – oh and a beard?’ The old lady in question was very annoyed indeed and said, “What a rude little girl.” Ann could not understand this, she said, “But Mummy, I only said she had a moustache and a beard and she has.” So I explained as best I could that when people have defects of this kind they are hurt if anyone mentions them. A few days later a strange young woman came to tea. I had been told that she had a most disfiguring birthmark on her cheek and warned Ann that she must not comment on it. Alas! with the kindest intentions Ann once again caused me acute embarrassment. The young woman was hardly seated when Ann went up to her and gently patted the disfiguring mark saying sweetly, “Oh, I do like this horrible mark on your face.” I remember also the afternoon when Kate and George were christened. My mother had given George a white silk shirt for the occasion and he wore it with intense pride. Kate was baptised first without incident except that she was lost in admiration of a gold bracelet given her that day by her Godmother and exclaimed happily, “My bangle, look my bangle,” throughout the ceremony. When George’s turn came the clergyman held his head over the font and poured water on George’s forehead. Some splashed on his shirt and George protested angrily, “Mum, he has wet my shirt!” over and over again whilst I led him hurriedly outside. My last memory of all is at the railway station. The time had come for Kate and me to get into our compartment. My sisters stood on the platform with Ann and George. Ann was resigned to our going, George was not so, at the last moment Sylvia, my younger sister, took him off to see the engine. The whistle blew and I said good-bye to my gallant little Ann. “Mummy”, she said urgently to me, “Don’t forget to wave to George.” And so I waved good-bye to my children, never dreaming that a war would intervene and it would be eight long years before I saw them again. January 28, 2022 at 3:13 pm #6262 In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories Tracy Participant From Tanganyika with Love continued ~ part 3 With thanks to Mike Rushby. Mchewe Estate. 22nd March 1935 Dearest Family, I am feeling much better now that I am five months pregnant and have quite got my appetite back. Once again I go out with “the Mchewe Hunt” which is what George calls the procession made up of the donkey boy and donkey with Ann confidently riding astride, me beside the donkey with Georgie behind riding the stick which he much prefers to the donkey. The Alsatian pup, whom Ann for some unknown reason named ‘Tubbage’, and the two cats bring up the rear though sometimes Tubbage rushes ahead and nearly knocks me off my feet. He is not the loveable pet that Kelly was. It is just as well that I have recovered my health because my mother-in-law has decided to fly out from England to look after Ann and George when I am in hospital. I am very grateful for there is no one lse to whom I can turn. Kath Hickson-Wood is seldom on their farm because Hicky is working a guano claim and is making quite a good thing out of selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi. They camp out at the claim, a series of caves in the hills across the valley and visit the farm only occasionally. Anne Molteno is off to Cape Town to have her baby at her mothers home and there are no women in Mbeya I know well. The few women are Government Officials wives and they come and go. I make so few trips to the little town that there is no chance to get on really friendly terms with them. Janey, the ayah, is turning into a treasure. She washes and irons well and keeps the children’s clothes cupboard beautifully neat. Ann and George however are still reluctant to go for walks with her. They find her dull because, like all African ayahs, she has no imagination and cannot play with them. She should however be able to help with the baby. Ann is very excited about the new baby. She so loves all little things. Yesterday she went into ecstasies over ten newly hatched chicks. She wants a little sister and perhaps it would be a good thing. Georgie is so very active and full of mischief that I feel another wild little boy might be more than I can manage. Although Ann is older, it is Georgie who always thinks up the mischief. They have just been having a fight. Georgie with the cooks umbrella versus Ann with her frilly pink sunshade with the inevitable result that the sunshade now has four broken ribs. Any way I never feel lonely now during the long hours George is busy on the shamba. The children keep me on my toes and I have plenty of sewing to do for the baby. George is very good about amusing the children before their bedtime and on Sundays. In the afternoons when it is not wet I take Ann and Georgie for a walk down the hill. George meets us at the bottom and helps me on the homeward journey. He grabs one child in each hand by the slack of their dungarees and they do a sort of giant stride up the hill, half walking half riding. Very much love, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 14th June 1935 Dearest Family, A great flap here. We had a letter yesterday to say that mother-in-law will be arriving in four days time! George is very amused at my frantic efforts at spring cleaning but he has told me before that she is very house proud so I feel I must make the best of what we have. George is very busy building a store for the coffee which will soon be ripening. This time he is doing the bricklaying himself. It is quite a big building on the far end of the farm and close to the river. He is also making trays of chicken wire nailed to wooden frames with cheap calico stretched over the wire. Mother will have to sleep in the verandah room which leads off the bedroom which we share with the children. George will have to sleep in the outside spare room as there is no door between the bedroom and the verandah room. I am sewing frantically to make rose coloured curtains and bedspread out of material mother-in-law sent for Christmas and will have to make a curtain for the doorway. The kitchen badly needs whitewashing but George says he cannot spare the labour so I hope mother won’t look. To complicate matters, George has been invited to lunch with the Governor on the day of Mother’s arrival. After lunch they are to visit the newly stocked trout streams in the Mporotos. I hope he gets back to Mbeya in good time to meet mother’s plane. Ann has been off colour for a week. She looks very pale and her pretty fair hair, normally so shiny, is dull and lifeless. It is such a pity that mother should see her like this because first impressions do count so much and I am looking to the children to attract attention from me. I am the size of a circus tent and hardly a dream daughter-in-law. Georgie, thank goodness, is blooming but he has suddenly developed a disgusting habit of spitting on the floor in the manner of the natives. I feel he might say “Gran, look how far I can spit and give an enthusiastic demonstration. Just hold thumbs that all goes well. your loving but anxious, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 28th June 1935 Dearest Family, Mother-in-law duly arrived in the District Commissioner’s car. George did not dare to use the A.C. as she is being very temperamental just now. They also brought the mail bag which contained a parcel of lovely baby clothes from you. Thank you very much. Mother-in-law is very put out because the large parcel she posted by surface mail has not yet arrived. Mother arrived looking very smart in an ankle length afternoon frock of golden brown crepe and smart hat, and wearing some very good rings. She is a very handsome woman with the very fair complexion that goes with red hair. The hair, once Titan, must now be grey but it has been very successfully tinted and set. I of course, was shapeless in a cotton maternity frock and no credit to you. However, so far, motherin- law has been uncritical and friendly and charmed with the children who have taken to her. Mother does not think that the children resemble me in any way. Ann resembles her family the Purdys and Georgie is a Morley, her mother’s family. She says they had the same dark eyes and rather full mouths. I say feebly, “But Georgie has my colouring”, but mother won’t hear of it. So now you know! Ann is a Purdy and Georgie a Morley. Perhaps number three will be a Leslie. What a scramble I had getting ready for mother. Her little room really looks pretty and fresh, but the locally woven grass mats arrived only minutes before mother did. I also frantically overhauled our clothes and it a good thing that I did so because mother has been going through all the cupboards looking for mending. Mother is kept so busy in her own home that I think she finds time hangs on her hands here. She is very good at entertaining the children and has even tried her hand at picking coffee a couple of times. Mother cannot get used to the native boy servants but likes Janey, so Janey keeps her room in order. Mother prefers to wash and iron her own clothes. I almost lost our cook through mother’s surplus energy! Abel our previous cook took a new wife last month and, as the new wife, and Janey the old, were daggers drawn, Abel moved off to a job on the Lupa leaving Janey and her daughter here. The new cook is capable, but he is a fearsome looking individual called Alfani. He has a thick fuzz of hair which he wears long, sometimes hidden by a dingy turban, and he wears big brass earrings. I think he must be part Somali because he has a hawk nose and a real Brigand look. His kitchen is never really clean but he is an excellent cook and as cooks are hard to come by here I just keep away from the kitchen. Not so mother! A few days after her arrival she suggested kindly that I should lie down after lunch so I rested with the children whilst mother, unknown to me, went out to the kitchen and not only scrubbed the table and shelves but took the old iron stove to pieces and cleaned that. Unfortunately in her zeal she poked a hole through the stove pipe. Had I known of these activities I would have foreseen the cook’s reaction when he returned that evening to cook the supper. he was furious and wished to leave on the spot and demanded his wages forthwith. The old Memsahib had insulted him by scrubbing his already spotless kitchen and had broken his stove and made it impossible for him to cook. This tirade was accompanied by such waving of hands and rolling of eyes that I longed to sack him on the spot. However I dared not as I might not get another cook for weeks. So I smoothed him down and he patched up the stove pipe with a bit of tin and some wire and produced a good meal. I am wondering what transformations will be worked when I am in hospital. Our food is really good but mother just pecks at it. No wonder really, because she has had some shocks. One day she found the kitchen boy diligently scrubbing the box lavatory seat with a scrubbing brush which he dipped into one of my best large saucepans! No one can foresee what these boys will do. In these remote areas house servants are usually recruited from the ranks of the very primitive farm labourers, who first come to the farm as naked savages, and their notions of hygiene simply don’t exist. One day I said to mother in George’s presence “When we were newly married, mother, George used to brag about your cooking and say that you would run a home like this yourself with perhaps one ‘toto’. Mother replied tartly, “That was very bad of George and not true. If my husband had brought me out here I would not have stayed a month. I think you manage very well.” Which reply made me warm to mother a lot. To complicate things we have a new pup, a little white bull terrier bitch whom George has named Fanny. She is tiny and not yet house trained but seems a plucky and attractive little animal though there is no denying that she does look like a piglet. Very much love to all, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 3rd August 1935 Dearest Family, Here I am in hospital, comfortably in bed with our new daughter in her basket beside me. She is a lovely little thing, very plump and cuddly and pink and white and her head is covered with tiny curls the colour of Golden Syrup. We meant to call her Margery Kate, after our Marj and my mother-in-law whose name is Catherine. I am enjoying the rest, knowing that George and mother will be coping successfully on the farm. My room is full of flowers, particularly with the roses and carnations which grow so well here. Kate was not due until August 5th but the doctor wanted me to come in good time in view of my tiresome early pregnancy. For weeks beforehand George had tinkered with the A.C. and we started for Mbeya gaily enough on the twenty ninth, however, after going like a dream for a couple of miles, she simply collapsed from exhaustion at the foot of a hill and all the efforts of the farm boys who had been sent ahead for such an emergency failed to start her. So George sent back to the farm for the machila and I sat in the shade of a tree, wondering what would happen if I had the baby there and then, whilst George went on tinkering with the car. Suddenly she sprang into life and we roared up that hill and all the way into Mbeya. The doctor welcomed us pleasantly and we had tea with his family before I settled into my room. Later he examined me and said that it was unlikely that the baby would be born for several days. The new and efficient German nurse said, “Thank goodness for that.” There was a man in hospital dying from a stomach cancer and she had not had a decent nights sleep for three nights. Kate however had other plans. I woke in the early morning with labour pains but anxious not to disturb the nurse, I lay and read or tried to read a book, hoping that I would not have to call the nurse until daybreak. However at four a.m., I went out into the wind which was howling along the open verandah and knocked on the nurse’s door. She got up and very crossly informed me that I was imagining things and should get back to bed at once. She said “It cannot be so. The Doctor has said it.” I said “Of course it is,” and then and there the water broke and clinched my argument. She then went into a flat spin. “But the bed is not ready and my instruments are not ready,” and she flew around to rectify this and also sent an African orderly to call the doctor. I paced the floor saying warningly “Hurry up with that bed. I am going to have the baby now!” She shrieked “Take off your dressing gown.” But I was passed caring. I flung myself on the bed and there was Kate. The nurse had done all that was necessary by the time the doctor arrived. A funny thing was, that whilst Kate was being born on the bed, a black cat had kittens under it! The doctor was furious with the nurse but the poor thing must have crept in out of the cold wind when I went to call the nurse. A happy omen I feel for the baby’s future. George had no anxiety this time. He stayed at the hospital with me until ten o’clock when he went down to the hotel to sleep and he received the news in a note from me with his early morning tea. He went to the farm next morning but will return on the sixth to fetch me home. I do feel so happy. A very special husband and three lovely children. What more could anyone possibly want. Lots and lots of love, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 20th August 1935 Dearest Family, Well here we are back at home and all is very well. The new baby is very placid and so pretty. Mother is delighted with her and Ann loved her at sight but Georgie is not so sure. At first he said, “Your baby is no good. Chuck her in the kalonga.” The kalonga being the ravine beside the house , where, I regret to say, much of the kitchen refuse is dumped. he is very jealous when I carry Kate around or feed her but is ready to admire her when she is lying alone in her basket. George walked all the way from the farm to fetch us home. He hired a car and native driver from the hotel, but drove us home himself going with such care over ruts and bumps. We had a great welcome from mother who had had the whole house spring cleaned. However George loyally says it looks just as nice when I am in charge. Mother obviously, had had more than enough of the back of beyond and decided to stay on only one week after my return home. She had gone into the kitchen one day just in time to see the houseboy scooping the custard he had spilt on the table back into the jug with the side of his hand. No doubt it would have been served up without a word. On another occasion she had walked in on the cook’s daily ablutions. He was standing in a small bowl of water in the centre of the kitchen, absolutely naked, enjoying a slipper bath. She left last Wednesday and gave us a big laugh before she left. She never got over her horror of eating food prepared by our cook and used to push it around her plate. Well, when the time came for mother to leave for the plane, she put on the very smart frock in which she had arrived, and then came into the sitting room exclaiming in dismay “Just look what has happened, I must have lost a stone!’ We looked, and sure enough, the dress which had been ankle deep before, now touched the floor. “Good show mother.” said George unfeelingly. “You ought to be jolly grateful, you needed to lose weight and it would have cost you the earth at a beauty parlour to get that sylph-like figure.” When mother left she took, in a perforated matchbox, one of the frilly mantis that live on our roses. She means to keep it in a goldfish bowl in her dining room at home. Georgie and Ann filled another matchbox with dead flies for food for the mantis on the journey. Now that mother has left, Georgie and Ann attach themselves to me and firmly refuse to have anything to do with the ayah,Janey. She in any case now wishes to have a rest. Mother tipped her well and gave her several cotton frocks so I suspect she wants to go back to her hometown in Northern Rhodesia to show off a bit. Georgie has just sidled up with a very roguish look. He asked “You like your baby?” I said “Yes indeed I do.” He said “I’ll prick your baby with a velly big thorn.” Who would be a mother! Eleanor Mchewe Estate. 20th September 1935 Dearest Family, I have been rather in the wars with toothache and as there is still no dentist at Mbeya to do the fillings, I had to have four molars extracted at the hospital. George says it is fascinating to watch me at mealtimes these days because there is such a gleam of satisfaction in my eye when I do manage to get two teeth to meet on a mouthful. About those scissors Marj sent Ann. It was not such a good idea. First she cut off tufts of George’s hair so that he now looks like a bad case of ringworm and then she cut a scalp lock, a whole fist full of her own shining hair, which George so loves. George scolded Ann and she burst into floods of tears. Such a thing as a scolding from her darling daddy had never happened before. George immediately made a long drooping moustache out of the shorn lock and soon had her smiling again. George is always very gentle with Ann. One has to be , because she is frightfully sensitive to criticism. I am kept pretty busy these days, Janey has left and my houseboy has been ill with pneumonia. I now have to wash all the children’s things and my own, (the cook does George’s clothes) and look after the three children. Believe me, I can hardly keep awake for Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I do hope I shall get some new servants next month because I also got George to give notice to the cook. I intercepted him last week as he was storming down the hill with my large kitchen knife in his hand. “Where are you going with my knife?” I asked. “I’m going to kill a man!” said Alfani, rolling his eyes and looking extremely ferocious. “He has taken my wife.” “Not with my knife”, said I reaching for it. So off Alfani went, bent on vengeance and I returned the knife to the kitchen. Dinner was served and I made no enquiries but I feel that I need someone more restful in the kitchen than our brigand Alfani. George has been working on the car and has now fitted yet another radiator. This is a lorry one and much too tall to be covered by the A.C.’s elegant bonnet which is secured by an old strap. The poor old A.C. now looks like an ancient shoe with a turned up toe. It only needs me in it with the children to make a fine illustration to the old rhyme! Ann and Georgie are going through a climbing phase. They practically live in trees. I rushed out this morning to investigate loud screams and found Georgie hanging from a fork in a tree by one ankle, whilst Ann stood below on tiptoe with hands stretched upwards to support his head. Do I sound as though I have straws in my hair? I have. Lots of love, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 11th October 1935 Dearest Family, Thank goodness! I have a new ayah name Mary. I had heard that there was a good ayah out of work at Tukuyu 60 miles away so sent a messenger to fetch her. She arrived after dark wearing a bright dress and a cheerful smile and looked very suitable by the light of a storm lamp. I was horrified next morning to see her in daylight. She was dressed all in black and had a rather sinister look. She reminds me rather of your old maid Candace who overheard me laughing a few days before Ann was born and croaked “Yes , Miss Eleanor, today you laugh but next week you might be dead.” Remember how livid you were, dad? I think Mary has the same grim philosophy. Ann took one look at her and said, “What a horrible old lady, mummy.” Georgie just said “Go away”, both in English and Ki- Swahili. Anyway Mary’s references are good so I shall keep her on to help with Kate who is thriving and bonny and placid. Thank you for the offer of toys for Christmas but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have some clothing for the children. Ann is quite contented with her dolls Barbara and Yvonne. Barbara’s once beautiful face is now pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle having come into contact with Georgie’s ever busy hammer. However Ann says she will love her for ever and she doesn’t want another doll. Yvonne’s hay day is over too. She disappeared for weeks and we think Fanny, the pup, was the culprit. Ann discovered Yvonne one morning in some long wet weeds. Poor Yvonne is now a ghost of her former self. All the sophisticated make up was washed off her papier-mâché face and her hair is decidedly bedraggled, but Ann was radiant as she tucked her back into bed and Yvonne is as precious to Ann as she ever was. Georgie simply does not care for toys. His paint box, hammer and the trenching hoe George gave him for his second birthday are all he wants or needs. Both children love books but I sometimes wonder whether they stimulate Ann’s imagination too much. The characters all become friends of hers and she makes up stories about them to tell Georgie. She adores that illustrated children’s Bible Mummy sent her but you would be astonished at the yarns she spins about “me and my friend Jesus.” She also will call Moses “Old Noses”, and looking at a picture of Jacob’s dream, with the shining angels on the ladder between heaven and earth, she said “Georgie, if you see an angel, don’t touch it, it’s hot.” Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 17th October 1935 Dearest Family, I take back the disparaging things I said about my new Ayah, because she has proved her worth in an unexpected way. On Wednesday morning I settled Kate in he cot after her ten o’clock feed and sat sewing at the dining room table with Ann and Georgie opposite me, both absorbed in painting pictures in identical seed catalogues. Suddenly there was a terrific bang on the back door, followed by an even heavier blow. The door was just behind me and I got up and opened it. There, almost filling the door frame, stood a huge native with staring eyes and his teeth showing in a mad grimace. In his hand he held a rolled umbrella by the ferrule, the shaft I noticed was unusually long and thick and the handle was a big round knob. I was terrified as you can imagine, especially as, through the gap under the native’s raised arm, I could see the new cook and the kitchen boy running away down to the shamba! I hastily tried to shut and lock the door but the man just brushed me aside. For a moment he stood over me with the umbrella raised as though to strike. Rather fortunately, I now think, I was too petrified to say a word. The children never moved but Tubbage, the Alsatian, got up and jumped out of the window! Then the native turned away and still with the same fixed stare and grimace, began to attack the furniture with his umbrella. Tables and chairs were overturned and books and ornaments scattered on the floor. When the madman had his back turned and was busily bashing the couch, I slipped round the dining room table, took Ann and Georgie by the hand and fled through the front door to the garage where I hid the children in the car. All this took several minutes because naturally the children were terrified. I was worried to death about the baby left alone in the bedroom and as soon as I had Ann and Georgie settled I ran back to the house. I reached the now open front door just as Kianda the houseboy opened the back door of the lounge. He had been away at the river washing clothes but, on hearing of the madman from the kitchen boy he had armed himself with a stout stick and very pluckily, because he is not a robust boy, had returned to the house to eject the intruder. He rushed to attack immediately and I heard a terrific exchange of blows behind me as I opened our bedroom door. You can imagine what my feelings were when I was confronted by an empty cot! Just then there was an uproar inside as all the farm labourers armed with hoes and pangas and sticks, streamed into the living room from the shamba whence they had been summoned by the cook. In no time at all the huge native was hustled out of the house, flung down the front steps, and securely tied up with strips of cloth. In the lull that followed I heard a frightened voice calling from the bathroom. ”Memsahib is that you? The child is here with me.” I hastily opened the bathroom door to find Mary couched in a corner by the bath, shielding Kate with her body. Mary had seen the big native enter the house and her first thought had been for her charge. I thanked her and promised her a reward for her loyalty, and quickly returned to the garage to reassure Ann and Georgie. I met George who looked white and exhausted as well he might having run up hill all the way from the coffee store. The kitchen boy had led him to expect the worst and he was most relieved to find us all unhurt if a bit shaken. We returned to the house by the back way whilst George went to the front and ordered our labourers to take their prisoner and lock him up in the store. George then discussed the whole affair with his Headman and all the labourers after which he reported to me. “The boys say that the bastard is an ex-Askari from Nyasaland. He is not mad as you thought but he smokes bhang and has these attacks. I suppose I should take him to Mbeya and have him up in court. But if I do that you’ll have to give evidence and that will be a nuisance as the car won’t go and there is also the baby to consider.” Eventually we decided to leave the man to sleep off the effects of the Bhang until evening when he would be tried before an impromptu court consisting of George, the local Jumbe(Headman) and village Elders, and our own farm boys and any other interested spectators. It was not long before I knew the verdict because I heard the sound of lashes. I was not sorry at all because I felt the man deserved his punishment and so did all the Africans. They love children and despise anyone who harms or frightens them. With great enthusiasm they frog-marched him off our land, and I sincerely hope that that is the last we see or him. Ann and Georgie don’t seem to brood over this affair at all. The man was naughty and he was spanked, a quite reasonable state of affairs. This morning they hid away in the small thatched chicken house. This is a little brick building about four feet square which Ann covets as a dolls house. They came back covered in stick fleas which I had to remove with paraffin. My hens are laying well but they all have the ‘gapes’! I wouldn’t run a chicken farm for anything, hens are such fussy, squawking things. Now don’t go worrying about my experience with the native. Such things happen only once in a lifetime. We are all very well and happy, and life, apart from the children’s pranks is very tranquil. Lots and lots of love, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 25th October 1935 Dearest Family, The hot winds have dried up the shamba alarmingly and we hope every day for rain. The prices for coffee, on the London market, continue to be low and the local planters are very depressed. Coffee grows well enough here but we are over 400 miles from the railway and transport to the railhead by lorry is very expensive. Then, as there is no East African Marketing Board, the coffee must be shipped to England for sale. Unless the coffee fetches at least 90 pounds a ton it simply doesn’t pay to grow it. When we started planting in 1931 coffee was fetching as much as 115 pounds a ton but prices this year were between 45 and 55 pounds. We have practically exhausted our capitol and so have all our neighbours. The Hickson -Woods have been keeping their pot boiling by selling bat guano to the coffee farmers at Mbosi but now everyone is broke and there is not a market for fertilisers. They are offering their farm for sale at a very low price. Major Jones has got a job working on the district roads and Max Coster talks of returning to his work as a geologist. George says he will have to go gold digging on the Lupa unless there is a big improvement in the market. Luckily we can live quite cheaply here. We have a good vegetable garden, milk is cheap and we have plenty of fruit. There are mulberries, pawpaws, grenadillas, peaches, and wine berries. The wine berries are very pretty but insipid though Ann and Georgie love them. Each morning, before breakfast, the old garden boy brings berries for Ann and Georgie. With a thorn the old man pins a large leaf from a wild fig tree into a cone which he fills with scarlet wine berries. There is always a cone for each child and they wait eagerly outside for the daily ceremony of presentation. The rats are being a nuisance again. Both our cats, Skinny Winnie and Blackboy disappeared a few weeks ago. We think they made a meal for a leopard. I wrote last week to our grocer at Mbalizi asking him whether he could let us have a couple of kittens as I have often seen cats in his store. The messenger returned with a nailed down box. The kitchen boy was called to prize up the lid and the children stood by in eager anticipation. Out jumped two snarling and spitting creatures. One rushed into the kalonga and the other into the house and before they were captured they had drawn blood from several boys. I told the boys to replace the cats in the box as I intended to return them forthwith. They had the colouring, stripes and dispositions of wild cats and I certainly didn’t want them as pets, but before the boys could replace the lid the cats escaped once more into the undergrowth in the kalonga. George fetched his shotgun and said he would shoot the cats on sight or they would kill our chickens. This was more easily said than done because the cats could not be found. However during the night the cats climbed up into the loft af the house and we could hear them moving around on the reed ceiling. I said to George,”Oh leave the poor things. At least they might frighten the rats away.” That afternoon as we were having tea a thin stream of liquid filtered through the ceiling on George’s head. Oh dear!!! That of course was the end. Some raw meat was put on the lawn for bait and yesterday George shot both cats. I regret to end with the sad story of Mary, heroine in my last letter and outcast in this. She came to work quite drunk two days running and I simply had to get rid of her. I have heard since from Kath Wood that Mary lost her last job at Tukuyu for the same reason. She was ayah to twin girls and one day set their pram on fire. So once again my hands are more than full with three lively children. I did say didn’t I, when Ann was born that I wanted six children? Very much love from us all, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 8th November 1935 Dearest Family, To set your minds at rest I must tell you that the native who so frightened me and the children is now in jail for attacking a Greek at Mbalizi. I hear he is to be sent back to Rhodesia when he has finished his sentence. Yesterday we had one of our rare trips to Mbeya. George managed to get a couple of second hand tyres for the old car and had again got her to work so we are celebrating our wedding anniversary by going on an outing. I wore the green and fawn striped silk dress mother bought me and the hat and shoes you sent for my birthday and felt like a million dollars, for a change. The children all wore new clothes too and I felt very proud of them. Ann is still very fair and with her refined little features and straight silky hair she looks like Alice in Wonderland. Georgie is dark and sturdy and looks best in khaki shirt and shorts and sun helmet. Kate is a pink and gold baby and looks good enough to eat. We went straight to the hotel at Mbeya and had the usual warm welcome from Ken and Aunty May Menzies. Aunty May wears her hair cut short like a mans and usually wears shirt and tie and riding breeches and boots. She always looks ready to go on safari at a moments notice as indeed she is. She is often called out to a case of illness at some remote spot. There were lots of people at the hotel from farms in the district and from the diggings. I met women I had not seen for four years. One, a Mrs Masters from Tukuyu, said in the lounge, “My God! Last time I saw you , you were just a girl and here you are now with two children.” To which I replied with pride, “There is another one in a pram on the verandah if you care to look!” Great hilarity in the lounge. The people from the diggings seem to have plenty of money to throw around. There was a big party on the go in the bar. One of our shamba boys died last Friday and all his fellow workers and our house boys had the day off to attend the funeral. From what I can gather the local funerals are quite cheery affairs. The corpse is dressed in his best clothes and laid outside his hut and all who are interested may view the body and pay their respects. The heir then calls upon anyone who had a grudge against the dead man to say his say and thereafter hold his tongue forever. Then all the friends pay tribute to the dead man after which he is buried to the accompaniment of what sounds from a distance, very cheerful keening. Most of our workmen are pagans though there is a Lutheran Mission nearby and a big Roman Catholic Mission in the area too. My present cook, however, claims to be a Christian. He certainly went to a mission school and can read and write and also sing hymns in Ki-Swahili. When I first engaged him I used to find a large open Bible prominently displayed on the kitchen table. The cook is middle aged and arrived here with a sensible matronly wife. To my surprise one day he brought along a young girl, very plump and giggly and announced proudly that she was his new wife, I said,”But I thought you were a Christian Jeremiah? Christians don’t have two wives.” To which he replied, “Oh Memsahib, God won’t mind. He knows an African needs two wives – one to go with him when he goes away to work and one to stay behind at home to cultivate the shamba. Needles to say, it is the old wife who has gone to till the family plot. With love to all, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 21st November 1935 Dearest Family, The drought has broken with a bang. We had a heavy storm in the hills behind the house. Hail fell thick and fast. So nice for all the tiny new berries on the coffee! The kids loved the excitement and three times Ann and Georgie ran out for a shower under the eaves and had to be changed. After the third time I was fed up and made them both lie on their beds whilst George and I had lunch in peace. I told Ann to keep the casement shut as otherwise the rain would drive in on her bed. Half way through lunch I heard delighted squeals from Georgie and went into the bedroom to investigate. Ann was standing on the outer sill in the rain but had shut the window as ordered. “Well Mummy , you didn’t say I mustn’t stand on the window sill, and I did shut the window.” George is working so hard on the farm. I have a horrible feeling however that it is what the Africans call ‘Kazi buri’ (waste of effort) as there seems no chance of the price of coffee improving as long as this world depression continues. The worry is that our capitol is nearly exhausted. Food is becoming difficult now that our neighbours have left. I used to buy delicious butter from Kath Hickson-Wood and an African butcher used to kill a beast once a week. Now that we are his only European customers he very rarely kills anything larger than a goat, and though we do eat goat, believe me it is not from choice. We have of course got plenty to eat, but our diet is very monotonous. I was delighted when George shot a large bushbuck last week. What we could not use I cut into strips and the salted strips are now hanging in the open garage to dry. With love to all, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 6th December 1935 Dearest Family, We have had a lot of rain and the countryside is lovely and green. Last week George went to Mbeya taking Ann with him. This was a big adventure for Ann because never before had she been anywhere without me. She was in a most blissful state as she drove off in the old car clutching a little basket containing sandwiches and half a bottle of milk. She looked so pretty in a new blue frock and with her tiny plaits tied with matching blue ribbons. When Ann is animated she looks charming because her normally pale cheeks become rosy and she shows her pretty dimples. As I am still without an ayah I rather looked forward to a quiet morning with only Georgie and Margery Kate to care for, but Georgie found it dull without Ann and wanted to be entertained and even the normally placid baby was peevish. Then in mid morning the rain came down in torrents, the result of a cloudburst in the hills directly behind our house. The ravine next to our house was a terrifying sight. It appeared to be a great muddy, roaring waterfall reaching from the very top of the hill to a point about 30 yards behind our house and then the stream rushed on down the gorge in an angry brown flood. The roar of the water was so great that we had to yell at one another to be heard. By lunch time the rain had stopped and I anxiously awaited the return of Ann and George. They returned on foot, drenched and hungry at about 2.30pm . George had had to abandon the car on the main road as the Mchewe River had overflowed and turned the road into a muddy lake. The lower part of the shamba had also been flooded and the water receded leaving branches and driftwood amongst the coffee. This was my first experience of a real tropical storm. I am afraid that after the battering the coffee has had there is little hope of a decent crop next year. Anyway Christmas is coming so we don’t dwell on these mishaps. The children have already chosen their tree from amongst the young cypresses in the vegetable garden. We all send our love and hope that you too will have a Happy Christmas. Eleanor Mchewe Estate. 22nd December 1935 Dearest Family, I’ve been in the wars with my staff. The cook has been away ill for ten days but is back today though shaky and full of self pity. The houseboy, who really has been a brick during the cooks absence has now taken to his bed and I feel like taking to Mine! The children however have the Christmas spirit and are making weird and wonderful paper decorations. George’s contribution was to have the house whitewashed throughout and it looks beautifully fresh. My best bit of news is that my old ayah Janey has been to see me and would like to start working here again on Jan 1st. We are all very well. We meant to give ourselves an outing to Mbeya as a Christmas treat but here there is an outbreak of enteric fever there so will now not go. We have had two visitors from the Diggings this week. The children see so few strangers that they were fascinated and hung around staring. Ann sat down on the arm of the couch beside one and studied his profile. Suddenly she announced in her clear voice, “Mummy do you know, this man has got wax in his ears!” Very awkward pause in the conversation. By the way when I was cleaning out little Kate’s ears with a swab of cotton wool a few days ago, Ann asked “Mummy, do bees have wax in their ears? Well, where do you get beeswax from then?” I meant to keep your Christmas parcel unopened until Christmas Eve but could not resist peeping today. What lovely things! Ann so loves pretties and will be delighted with her frocks. My dress is just right and I love Georgie’s manly little flannel shorts and blue shirt. We have bought them each a watering can. I suppose I shall regret this later. One of your most welcome gifts is the album of nursery rhyme records. I am so fed up with those that we have. Both children love singing. I put a record on the gramophone geared to slow and off they go . Georgie sings more slowly than Ann but much more tunefully. Ann sings in a flat monotone but Georgie with great expression. You ought to hear him render ‘Sing a song of sixpence’. He cannot pronounce an R or an S. Mother has sent a large home made Christmas pudding and a fine Christmas cake and George will shoot some partridges for Christmas dinner. Think of us as I shall certainly think of you. Your very loving, Eleanor. Mchewe Estate. 2nd January 1936 Dearest Family, Christmas was fun! The tree looked very gay with its load of tinsel, candles and red crackers and the coloured balloons you sent. All the children got plenty of toys thanks to Grandparents and Aunts. George made Ann a large doll’s bed and I made some elegant bedding, Barbara, the big doll is now permanently bed ridden. Her poor shattered head has come all unstuck and though I have pieced it together again it is a sad sight. If you have not yet chosen a present for her birthday next month would you please get a new head from the Handy House. I enclose measurements. Ann does so love the doll. She always calls her, “My little girl”, and she keeps the doll’s bed beside her own and never fails to kiss her goodnight. We had no guests for Christmas this year but we were quite festive. Ann decorated the dinner table with small pink roses and forget-me-knots and tinsel and the crackers from the tree. It was a wet day but we played the new records and both George and I worked hard to make it a really happy day for the children. The children were hugely delighted when George made himself a revolting set of false teeth out of plasticine and a moustache and beard of paper straw from a chocolate box. “Oh Daddy you look exactly like Father Christmas!” cried an enthralled Ann. Before bedtime we lit all the candles on the tree and sang ‘Away in a Manger’, and then we opened the box of starlights you sent and Ann and Georgie had their first experience of fireworks. After the children went to bed things deteriorated. First George went for his bath and found and killed a large black snake in the bathroom. It must have been in the bathroom when I bathed the children earlier in the evening. Then I developed bad toothache which kept me awake all night and was agonising next day. Unfortunately the bridge between the farm and Mbeya had been washed away and the water was too deep for the car to ford until the 30th when at last I was able to take my poor swollen face to Mbeya. There is now a young German woman dentist working at the hospital. She pulled out the offending molar which had a large abscess attached to it. Whilst the dentist attended to me, Ann and Georgie played happily with the doctor’s children. I wish they could play more often with other children. Dr Eckhardt was very pleased with Margery Kate who at seven months weighs 17 lbs and has lovely rosy cheeks. He admired Ann and told her that she looked just like a German girl. “No I don’t”, cried Ann indignantly, “I’m English!” We were caught in a rain storm going home and as the old car still has no windscreen or side curtains we all got soaked except for the baby who was snugly wrapped in my raincoat. The kids thought it great fun. Ann is growing up fast now. She likes to ‘help mummy’. She is a perfectionist at four years old which is rather trying. She gets so discouraged when things do not turn out as well as she means them to. Sewing is constantly being unpicked and paintings torn up. She is a very sensitive child. Georgie is quite different. He is a man of action, but not silent. He talks incessantly but lisps and stumbles over some words. At one time Ann and Georgie often conversed in Ki-Swahili but they now scorn to do so. If either forgets and uses a Swahili word, the other points a scornful finger and shouts “You black toto”. With love to all, Eleanor. December 12, 2016 at 10:48 pm #4245 In reply to: Seven Twines and the Dragon Heartwoods Flove Participant Glynis woke to the sound of wind and rain. Heavy still with sleep, she stared at the cracked and yellowed bedroom ceiling and noticed a large damp patch had formed where the thatched roof needed repairs. Drip by relentless drip, it was slowly but surely creating a puddle on the wooden floor below. Her lemon and puce floral window curtains billowed majestically into the room. Strange, I must have left the sash open last night. There was a loud crash in the kitchen. Leaping out of bed with an agility which belied her sleepiness, Glynis rushed to investigate. A large ornately framed print of a bowl of fruit had fallen from its hanging place above the mantlepiece. Glynis stared in amazement. She thought the dark renaissance colours of the painting were depressing but had found it too cumbersome to remove from the wall. Now, as if by magic, the picture lay shattered and defeated on the tiles below. It took her a few seconds to take in that there was a small opening in the wall behind where the picture had hung. Putting on her sturdy work boots and gloves she swept up the glass so she could safely approach the opening. It wasn’t that big, just a square which had been neatly cut into a wooden beam to form a hiding space. She peered inside the darkness of the cavity and then explored the interior with her hand. Nothing! She felt oddly disappointed and chastised herself, wondering what it was she had been expecting. Anyway, at least I can get rid of that damned bowl of fruit now. She carefully removed the rest of the glass and pulled the picture from its frame. Turning it over, Glynis discovered what she thought at first glance was an oil spill on the back, but after more careful inspection she realised it was a roughly drawn map. November 21, 2016 at 7:01 am #4190 In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler Tracy Participant Liz was aghast. What had her characters been writing about her now? If there was one thing Elizabeth had learned while unleashing characters into the reality experience, was that there was no such thing as control. You could not expect the expected when it came to characters. It was almost as if they had a mind of their own. “Not so fast!” she shouted to Felicity who was trying to climb the fence with the help of a sturdy old vine. She glared at Godfrey. “Now look what you’ve started.” August 17, 2014 at 1:11 pm #3456 In reply to: The Time-Dragglers’ Extravaganzas Tracy Participant Trudging along being Sanso and the others on the way to the coast, Lisa’s feet began to blister. “Lazuli, how much further is it? What I don’t understand is why aren’t we teleporting there? I mean, why are we walking when we could just teleport?” “Yeah!” agreed Fanella, limping from the dog bite on her foot. She had accidentally trodden on the little mongrel while traipsing around the ruins of the tile factory. “Why aren’t we teleporting?” “That’s a good question!” answered Sanso. “And there is a very good answer! If we teleported everywhere, we would never encounter strangers on the journey, nor would be find any unexpected clues.” “Not only that,” added Lazuli, “We will soon be coming to some watery lowlands with plenty of bamboo growing, and we need some sturdy canes to make a raft to sail across the bay.” “I thought we’d just hire a boat!” said Lisa with some surprise. “We have to make our own raft? I’m starting to wish I’d stayed home.” “You can teleport back home whenever you want to, Lisa” said Sanso. “But then, your island game would be over. Are you finished playing yet?” Lisa thought about it. Eventually she replied: “ No. But I’ve had enough of all this walking. Why don’t you and Lazuli shapeshift into something useful that Fanella and I can ride?” and continued to mutter something under her breath about chivalry and the good old days. There was a slight disturbance like a whirlwind of dust, and then Fanella clapped her hands in delight. “What a lovely pair of asses!” May 21, 2009 at 1:42 am #2599 In reply to: Strings of Nines Tracy Participant “That would depend” Gordon replied “On whether you wish to create plain white functional cotton or an elaborate brocade tapestry. You may wish to create strong reliable durable corduroy with it’s dependable grooves, or something eye catching in contrasting black and white. Gossamer fine colours, or sturdy weaves, lace and beadwork, traditional designs, and new ones, always new ones, take your pick!” “I’ve forgotten what it was I was choosing now, Gordon” replied Ann. “Pass the walnuts.” December 5, 2007 at 4:43 pm #506 In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories Tracy Participant Beattie and Leonora had finished unpacking their belongings, and had rearranged the meager furnishings of the little white washed cottage. There was one item as yet unpacked: a sturdy wooden crate. What are we going to do with them, Bea? Hmmm? Beattie looked up from the computer. Oh, the bloody skulls. Well, not on the mantelpiece that’s for sure! We’ll have to hide them again. How about in the old bread oven outside? There’s an idea, replied Leonora. Give us a hand then, Bea… But Beattie was busy tapping away at the keyboard. Well, what a coincidence! she cackled, turning round to face Leo. Bert’s found another one! Author Search Results Viewing 11 results - 1 through 11 (of 11 total) Latest Activity Family Stories From The Other Side ~ Book Two comment by Tracy 3 days, 4 hours ago Scrying the Word Cloud comment by Tracy 1 week, 6 days ago The Sexy Wooden Leg comment by Tracy 2 weeks, 5 days ago The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories comment by Tracy 1 month, 1 week ago The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler comment by Flove 4 months, 2 weeks ago Daily Random Quote Mandrake love of chasing pigeons almost got the best of him, but he managed to keep on track in the whirlportal that opened doors within places. The Cat had gone for errands to the Doline, the only place that the Voodoo witch’s portals couldn’t reach. Only the underground streams led to it, as some sort of enchantment ... · ID #4601 (continued) (next in 21h 10min…) WordCloud says occupied luck far ran whether snoot hoping lawn iron locked safe prior boy efficient shoulder locally clock bang final putting april Search Forums Search for: Log In Username: Password: Keep me signed in Log In Volume 1 | Volume 2 Also available as an ebook (on the iBook store, or Barnes & Noble). Find us on Facebook. The Books Wisp e-zine Wisp 14 Wisp 13 Wisp 12 © 2007 - 2022 Focusphere All Rights Reserved