1943 July
(All letters headed ‘From Mrs H.P.V.Townend. c/o Standard Bank of S. Africa. Cape Town’ followed by address they were actually staying at)
Family letter from LJT No 26
“Jatinga”
White River.
E. Transvaal
July 3rd, 1943
My Dears,
We are still without a mail from England, though people have been getting papers from Home during the last few days, so perhaps there is still a chance that something may come for us. We had an air-graph from Arla two or three days ago, which gave us the first hint that there has been anything wrong with Bill. Happily it reported that the doctors were satisfied with the progress of his eye, so we hope all is well. A sea-mail letter from Harry tells that our faithful old Mogul has drawn the last of the money we left for him. He has built himself a house at Chinsurah, and is setting up a vegetable shop. I join with Harry in saying “Good-Luck to him”.
This week has been quite a busy one in a small selfish sense, and oh how I wish it had been busy with all out work for the war! However, since small things are our portion for the moment, let me chronicle them for you.
In an earlier letter I told of a Major and Mrs. Graham, and how much we enjoyed seeing their farm, fruit trees, cows, horses and gardens. We lunched with them on Sunday, walking about a mile of downhill to their drive gate, where Major Graham came to meet us with his car and drive us the mile up-hill to the house. Mrs Iron had come from the other side of the village, to spend the week-end with them. We had drinks under the trees in the garden, lunch (with strawberries and cream) on the stoop, and coffee in the garden again. The Grahams say they very nearly live out of doors. They are nice Scotch people, who have adopted Africa as their home and have all the enthusiasm of proselytes. The day happened to be the occasion of the monthly service at Plaston Church so the Grahams wished to attend the service there at 3 o’clock, and dropped Herbert at the nearest point to Jatinga, while I stayed on to spend the afternoon with Mrs Iron. We strolled round about the place, accompanied by the Grahams seven year old son, who was full of information about all the live stock.
The Grahams have a regular compound for their big staff of native boys. It is a big fenced square, with regular native huts, complete with the conical thatch roofs, which are so typical of Africa, and it looks much more picturesque than the usual row of small rooms built of concrete with tin roofs. The Grahams seem to be excellent examples of happy and successful British settlers, but the secret behind it is, no doubt, some private means and capital.
I have been asking about the White River settlement. It was originated by Lord Milner after the Boer War. Ex-soldiers, for the most part with no capital, were put down in this area, which was then still very wild and remote. It is really only suitable for fruit farming, chiefly citrus, and farming of that sort gives no return for five years after the trees are planted The settlement was a complete failure, and the original farmers all drifted away. Later a company from Jo’burg bought up most of the land, improved the irrigation scheme, and sold land mostly to retired people with pensions or private incomes, who wanted pleasant homes, some interest, and possibly the chance of making a little extra money. So it comes that a pleasant community has grown up, many of them English in the exact sense that they were born in England, and the other British South Africans. The district has much in common with Elgin, but the farms there were all started by private enterprise, and had no government scheme or private enterprise behind them.
Yielding to persuasion, I went for a ride with Mrs Ritchie on Monday morning. My mount was a grey pony, standing about thirteen hands, with a nice trot and a good brisk walk. We were out for more than two hours, but our progress was leisurely and we scarcely cantered at all. We rode by cross-country earth roads to a high ridge, from which there are splendid views across low veldt to the Game Reserve, and across rolling country to the high veldt. When one looks across a landscape like that, one begins to understand why South Africans find England too green. During the summer rains the country is green, people say, but during the dry winter an artist would want every sort of yellow, chrome, burnt sienna, Indian red, with greys and something approaching scarlet, to represent the hill-sides and the rock cliffs, with plenty of mauve and blue for the distant mountains. The plantations of gums and pines, where they are only scattered blocks, show up this tawny landscape finely, but in some areas where they cover most of the country, they detract from its beauty.
I enjoyed being on a horse again, and wonderful to relate I was very little stiff the next day. I suppose it was because we went so slowly and did not gallop. Braemar’s short neat trot needed little grip.
The Mr And Mrs Staten, who know so many of our friends in Cape Town, have been very nice to us, and on Wednesday, having saved up a little petrol, they took us for a lunch picnic to a lake, made by damming up the White River a few miles the other side of the village. The dam assures a regular flow of water through the irrigation channels even in the driest season, and in itself is a great pleasure place for the county round. Mr Staten and other keen fishermen, have stocked it with fish, and formed a Fishing Society. They have built a big boat house at one end of it, and a shelter for picnic purposes. They are log cabins with thatched roofs, and add to the picturesqueness of the landscape. There are lots of boats of many sorts, flat bottomed creatures, for fishing from, and canoes of many different types. Mr Staten had taken his rods, though it is late in the season and he had not much hope of getting anything. Mrs Staten was sent with us, and a native boy to row, for a little expedition up the arm of the lake into which the river flows, while Mr S spent the hour before lunch in another boat hoping for a bite, which he did not get. It was lovely on the water; neither too hot nor too cold. The lake is charmingly pretty. Plantations of gums and firs cover many of the hills round it, but there is enough open country to give variety, and fine outcrops of rock. In the days when petrol is plentiful and people are less busy, I dont wonder that it is a popular resort. Unfortunately it cannot be used for bathing, for, like all the rivers round here it is infected with bilharzia.
It was my afternoon for anti-waste work, so I was dropped in the village and put in an afternoon getting the wire clips out of the backs of several sacks full of old school exercise books, before dumping them in our sacks. It was a nice clean job. I was at the same thing again most of Thursday morning.
Herbert has started making a walking map of the area round Jatinga, and it gives a nice added interest to our walks. We have been across the river once or twice, and made some explorations, and yesterday morning, forsaking our usual habit of walking after tea, we got a lift for the mile and a quarter to the main road, and then fetched a circuit coming back by a much shorter approach called “Sandy Lane”. H. counted paces, and I carried the compass and took bearings whenever requested to do so. It was lovely when we started walking at 9.45, but got a bit hot by the time we got home at 11. It so happened we chose one of the warmest days we have had. Its years since Smut, the black spaniel got as many walks as he is getting with us. Because of this he has become affectionate towards us and likes to sit close to one or other of us, which is not all joy, since he smells very doggie.
This is our last quiet week-end. The house fills up again on Monday. An old friend of Mrs Pike’s was here for a night or two at the beginning of the week, and she had a little dinner-party in his honour, for he seems to have many old friends in this neighbourhood. He is a partner in one of S. Africa’s biggest engineering firms, and has started three or four new munitions factories since the beginning of the war. Talk in these days is much tinged with the coming election, now only a few days away. The other evening it also veered to the old days of cricket. Mr Reunert was a keen cricketer, and was a few years junior to Tim at Harrow. He remembers the name Bevington, and talked of Ranji, C.B. Fry and all the old cricketers I used to hear about in my young days.
It was a very warm night last night, and we woke to grey skies and rain, which is not very usual at this time of year, though acceptable for the gardens and the fruit trees. Its holding up the thatching to some extent, but luckily the one rondavel and the bathroom which will be required soon are already finished.
Daily we hurry to the wireless after dinner with the sort of half expectation that it may be the moment when we shall hear that invasion of Europe has started. What an enjoyable thing Winston’s speech at the Guildhall was. He certainly has a knack of putting the simple and the obvious in a way that makes them acceptable, however often one has heard them before.
Best love to you all
LJT
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
July 4th 1943 Sunday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
It may be said of this week that it has passed but how it is hard to say. Among the events I number the coming of a letter from Monsieur Hoogeveen which is couched in terms so handsome that I shall give a translation of it.
---“I have the pleasure to make you know that we are well arrived at our home on the 14th May in the morning and that since then we have taken again our little life normal and our dear habitudes. The journey of return has been very good though tiring. Our leave has done us good, none the less we have been content to reintegrate our lodging. Two days after our arrival I took up again my service with a new dose of vigour and of good will. We recall with much pleasure the moments that we have been able to pass with you; it is a pity that they were not longer and more numerous. Personally I have much appreciated your affability and your simplicity. We both formulate the hope of seeing you again one day. ** Dear Monsieur and Madame, we hope you in good health and we wish that your holidays pursue themselves in good conditions and following your desires. ** I suppose that you will pardon me for having written in French. It takes me too long to correspond in your tongue and I fear to write incorrectly. Monsieur Townend possesses besides French to perfection. Dear Monsieur and Madame, I send you with our memories the assurance of our very sincere sentiments.”
I preserve the literal flavour of the letter in order to let you see how nobly one can express oneself in French. It would be impossible to say such things in English. It may restore our credit with our family to see how fine is the reputation that we have won with our Belgian friends. I have written a long reply but am now in a quandary; if I say anything complimentary to match what has been said to us I shall make myself a puppet show, while I shall appear to be lacking in warmth of friendship if I write as I should to an Englishman.
Joan has mentioned that we have begun to make a sketch map of the vicinity, but not I think that we had the advantage of seeing a blue print of sections of it belonging to the White River Company which developed these parts. We have done two walks during which I busily counted paces and remained silent when spoken to; it is Joan’s one chance of getting her views on life expressed without interruption and it rests my tongue. The eye book as I may remind you says that the first step towards relaxation is to relax the tongue. Of these two walks the first was along the railway across the river (passed with ease because the water was very low; today after two days’ rain it is running full and I doubt if anyone could get across dry shod even by heroic leapings among the rocks) and it now seems that our labour was in vain; perhaps the proximity of the rails threw out the compass but however that may be it is impossible to fit the results in with any sort of plausibility. The data given by the counting of paces and taking compass bearings on the other walk however fit in very well with the scraps of fixed information given by the blue print. Mrs. Pike did yeoman’s work in telling us who owned what houses and where they were in relation to the roads shown on the sketch. The result of the whole thing will be nothing like so good as at Tambourine but we cannot get about so well owing to the existence of so many marshy places across paths which we should like to take and to the dust making many of the long walks not too pleasant.
Among the remarks in the Eye-Exercise book is one that the centre of the eye always sees perfectly if only one could get back into the habit of not striving to see too much at a time and so using a lot more of the eye when reading. The other fine day when I was using the eye shade I noticed that I was seeing through one of the pin-pricks provided in the upper part of it for ventilation; and when I covered the other eye and tried to read through the pin-prick only I found that without glasses I could thus read the smallest print which with the whole eye was a blur. Maybe in this there lies the germ of something good; by reading through a tiny hole in a shade one would be forced to centralize one’s vision and thus might educate the eye to behave itself and read with the best part of itself only.
As I have indicated above it rained all yesterday and is still raining today, to our grave discontent. The system of detached rondavels is not so good when rain is falling and the paths are mud; so that one carries dirt into the bedrooms all too readily. Also the bedrooms are dark in such weather since the rondavels have smallish windows. I found that in the dim light of a rainy day I could not read without my glasses, except through the pin-prick and this is not a practical method as things are - for the pin-prick is right at the top of the shade and it means squinting upwards to see through it. An experimental shade with a pinhole in the middle was a failure because the edges of the hole were not quite smooth and so the amount of light coming through it was inadequate.
Last night I had a dream that a certain fat man seen in movies had thrown me down and twisted my neck; and sure enough this morning I have quite a stiff neck and move without ease or pleasure. Every night of course I wrestle with my bedclothes and end by throwing most of them on the floor (which is perhaps why my cold hangs on ) but this is the first time that they have had the best of the fight and done me harm.
The kitten has disgraced itself further by establishing itself on a sofa in the drawing room or lounge. And one of the newly thatched rondavels also leaks. The rain has had the sad effect of putting a stop to the thatching and it looks as if the new rooms will not be ready by the date on which they have been booked: on the other hand the bookers have not been able to secure accommodation on the train for the fixed date.
The rain has stopped: the sun is shining; and in effect I am dancing my ribbon – a quotation from an early letter dictated by Annette. I stop this and go out.
(handwritten addition) But nothing came of it: for there was more rain. And today Monday it is raining. Unseasonable but good for the oranges.
Much love
Dad
Air graph No 13 from LJT to Aunt (GCT)
Townend. c/oStandard Bank.Cape Town. July 5th 1943
Dearest Grace, Still no English mail. I do hope one has not been lost. We have enjoyed these quiet days with the house almost empty. There have been unusual heavy rains the last two days, but with a big log fire in the lounge and the room practically to ourselves, staying indoors has not been irksome. I spent the whole of yesterday morning preparing a “talk” for the local equivalent of the W.I, that is the Transvaal Agricultural Union. I said I would speak about women’s lives in India. Later in the month I am to give a “talk” to the S.A.W.A.S. on women’s war work in Calcutta. I hope I shall be able to make both interesting. Its amusing hearing the gossip at the anti-waste. How true to type that sort of thing runs all over the world. There are always such a lot of people who could manage things much better than the people they have elected to be their leaders! We were taken for a delightful lunch picnic last Wednesday. There is a big lake a few miles away formed by a dam across the White River. Besides guaranteeing the supply of water for the irrigation channels in case of drought, it has become a great fishing and boating resort. Our host, Mr Staten, took his rod and went fishing in one boat. Mrs S. took us for about an hour’s row, which was delightful. In the happy way that this country has of avoiding personal exertion, we had a native boy to do the rowing. Actually I would quite liked to have done a bit myself. H has been feeling less slack, so we have done some more nice walks. He has started making a map, & goes along busily counting paces, while I take bearings with the compass when required. It gives him an added interest in walking. I am puzzled about the future. I think he is beginning to feel uneasy and unsatisfied with leading this sort of wandering life, and yet is not strong enough to take up a job that means much work. Between five & six miles is about as much of a walk as he can do without getting overtired, and he gets weary if he does not have a good rest in the afternoon. In England he might be able to do half time voluntary work of some sort. When I have had him overhauled by a doctor in Pretoria, I must discuss with him the advisability of trying to get home next spring whether the war is over or not. Having yours & Barney’s kind promise that we might come to Highways, makes a lot of difference. This is Election Week & voting takes place on Wed. so there is a good deal of excitement about. It will be tantalizing to have to wait till the middle of the month to hear the results. I hope Smuts will have a smashing victory. A woman kindly brought me several books on S. African gardens the other evening. Amongst them is Mrs Cran’s “Gardens of Good Hope”. It would be quite good if it were not quite so winsome. Herbert got hold of it & read bits aloud to us last night. There is a lot about Elgin, and people we knew there, and more about his place, a good deal of which is fairly accurate, but so expressed that it made Mrs Pike shake with laughter. The appeal for a million workers to help with the harvest made me long more than ever to be home. Hope it has been a good garden year. Best love to you both & family. (Mrs H.P.V.Townend)
Family letter from LJT No 27
“Jatinga”
Plaston. E. Transvaal.
July 9th 1943
My Dears,
At last the longed-for mail from England has come. We got 11 letters on Monday and three more on Wednesday. I’ll just enumerate them. G.C.T’s Nos 15, 16, & 18 of May 2nd, 12th & 31st. Annette’s Nos 7 & 9 of May 11th & 31st. May’s of April 17th & May 5th. Also long letters from Bous, Roy, Margaret, Barney, Susie Green, Gwen Petrie & Helen Hamilton. It is difficult to express what a pleasure it is to get letters after such a long gap. I feel quite inside the family circle again. Thank you all very much indeed. I shall answer the letters individually in time!
Its good to hear of gardens growing and good prospects of fruit & vegetable crops. I hope the weather is kind and does not do anything to delay or spoil the harvest. I wish I could be there to help gather it in.
Seeing the great harvest of oranges about us here, makes me just long to be able to send some home. I am writing out in the garden now, and through the line of firs and gums which edge the garden, I can see stretching up the hill, lines of orange trees, laden with golden fruit. That sounds terribly trite, but those words exactly fit the facts. If I turn my head and look down the slope to the river, I see just the same. To me there is always something just a little unreal about an orange tree hung all over with fruit. I cant tell why, but it has a sort of made-up appearance.
Where the papers can spare space from War news and Election news, they have been remarking on the freak weather. It rained all last Saturday and most of Sunday. There were showers on Monday and it was still cloudy on Tuesday. Over two inches of rain fell over most of the Transvaal, whereas the normal rainfall for July should be •29 of an inch, or something of that sort. It was rather fun hearing the rain pour down to begin with, especially as the house was empty and we had the lounge, with a nice log fire burning, more or less to ourselves. By Sunday evening we got a little tired of being indoors, and welcomed a break after tea, in which we got out for a shortwalk. The cloudy day on Monday encouraged us to go out walking after breakfast. We got a lift for a mile and a quarter, to where the private road which serves this and half a dozen other houses, joins the main road to the village. From there we did a good round, linking up more bits of Herbert’s map, and enjoying the beautiful views. The air was so clear. The mountains seemed close and full of lovely colours, and the woods and the veldt gave a nice impression of being newly washed. I think my favourite view is across the Karine valley towards Barberton, behind which the great mountains rise up, which cut off Swaziland. In a book I was reading about the Low Veldt the writer told a little story to illustrate the attitude of the white settlers to the Natives. A special commissioner was going round making an enquiry about the settling of land, and especially about the problem of space for the natives. You probably know that a good deal of government land has been set aside as native reserve. Near Lydenburg, some seventy miles N.N W. of this place, there was one such area. The local farmers complained that the natives were not making good use of the land, and were tiresome neighbours. They asked that the land should be made available for the white people. “And where”, said the Commissioner, “do you suggest that the natives should be settled?”. “Oh” said the Lyden-burg farmers, “There is plenty of suitable land near Barberton”. In due time the commissioner reached Barberton, to be met with the same complaints from the white people there. He asked the same question, and promptly came the reply “There is plenty of suitable land near Lydenburg”. Apparently it is true that the natives are bad cultivators, but driving them off the small amount of land they still have, wont cure the problem. The only answer seems to be to teach them to farm better.
The house is full again now. Most of the guests arrived on Monday. There are some nice people amongst them, including several school children, for the school holidays have just begun. A Mrs Todd with a nice little 11 year old daughter, has arranged to go into the Game Reserve (The Kruger Park) with us next week. We are sharing a car, and have arranged to stay one night at Pretorius Kop Camp, which is the only one now open. I hope we shall have good luck and see plenty of beasts. Mrs Todd came down from Palestine almost two years ago. Her husband is in the army and at present in India. The most interesting amongst the new guests is an engineer, an Afrikaner, de Villiers, who spent nine years in America and has an American wife. His travels have given him wide interests, and a breadth of view, often lacking in the people who have never been outside Africa.
A woman whom I met at one of the sherry parties we have been to, dropped in to see us on Monday evening, and brought me an armful of books on African gardens. Herbert got hold of one, Mrs Gran’s “Gardens of Good Hope”, which, though it has a lot of interesting stuff in it, is also full of beautiful thoughts. It describes a visit to Elgin and people we knew there, as well as a visit to White River and descriptions of people here, which caused much amusement to Mrs Pike, for Herbert insisted on reading selected extracts aloud. The lender of the books wants us to go to see her and her husband, but as they live about four miles on the other side of White River village, and that is four and a half miles from us, so the question of transport there and back is difficult. We should have been able to go to several houses if it had not been for the problem of transport.
We have had a disappointment. Mrs Gordon wired that she will not be able to have us at Elgin. A few days before we had a letter from Mrs. Harvey from Cape Town, saying she had found a very nice sort of Guest House, where they have small suites of rooms, bedroom, sitting-room and possibly bath-room. It is in a very nice suburb, close to Kenilworth, where we spent our first week in Africa, but nearer the Mountain, and consequently nearer pleasant walks. I have written to ask Mrs Harvey to book us there for the month of September, and ask for the first refusal of staying on for some months. This seems rather a contradiction of my statement that I thought Cape Town did not suit Herbert. That is true to some extent, but it is not easy to find accommodation in these days, and Herbert feels he would rather be at a comfortable place at Claremont than risk booking at some country or sea-side hotel which we might not like at all when we got there. Claremont is on the slopes of the mountain. It is near nearly all of the friends we have made. The house has a nice garden. We can get into Cape Town by tram or by electric railway, and will not have to put up with the queuing up for busses which was such a tiresome feature of living at Sea Point. Anyway, we think this is worth trying. If it suits Herbert, and we decide to stay there for some months, I can do some more war work, which would please me very much. I shall look forward to getting Mrs. Harvey’s answer. I shall be glad to get some thing settled, as time is getting on and every place seems to be so full. We could have stayed on here for another month or six weeks, until it begins to get really hot, but that would not have helped very much as it would have run us right into the height of the Cape season.
The papers yesterday were all full of accounts of how there had been record polls everywhere, and it seems to be anticipated that Smuts will get a thumping majority. I hope the prophets are right. We did not go up to the village on the polling day, but Mrs Pike brought back reports that it was full of people and talk. Our Anti-waste afternoon was put off on account of it, but we got to work yesterday morning.
I am writing to-day, because I am going out riding again to-morrow and have to give a “talk” to the local equivalent of the Women’s Institute, the Transvaal Agricultural Union, on Monday, so I want to have a little time on Sunday to go over what I want to say.
Best love to you all
LJT
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
July 10th . 1943. Saturday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
As is my custom before starting to write I have been reading through Joan’s letter to the family in order to see what has happened to us during the week. This prevents repetition and gives me some ideas. She has mentioned the chief news, the arrival of the huge mail from England; it included one letter from Sir Frank Noyce who asked to be given Annette’s address. So I have written to him an airgraph giving it, for he may be useful to her when it comes to getting a job. My letters included one from Mona, discussing her feelings rather than giving news, (a remark which might well be applied to my letters too), and not too clearly written; I mention this in order to add that I read it without my glasses, which makes me wonder whether the labour that has gone into exercises for the eyes has not had some effort.
It is quite an affair to get all exercises, cheiropractic, general and eye, into the day. Small things are always cropping up to interrupt them. But I have managed to do the spoon on the tongue business for four consecutive days, which means 5 minutes twice a day; just before I undress for bed (and then it is a very juicy business, strange to say) and again when I have had morning tea and am still in bed (when, stranger still, there is no inclination to slobberiness). Massage of the corners of the eyes (cheiropractoial; for controlling blood pressure! - but can such things be?) is combined with arching of the back, night and morning, five minutes. The Long Swing, like golf swing but moving the head round, morning after breakfast and before bed; five minutes each time, and once more during the day sometime. Bits of Hornibrook in morning after getting out of bed. Rising on toes, remedy against fallen arches, 50 times morning and night; as to which be it said that my little toes are becoming things almost of beauty. It is to be added that Joan, after reading Monsieur Hoogeween’s letter, said that if anyone in the world had “dear little habitudes” it was I. She assumes that the habitudes must be eccentric.
The map assumes shape. I have combined into one and added to the trace from the blue print the results of several walks with compass and pace-counting. It is not accurate at all but gives a fair idea of the lie of the land. Joan, just back from a ride, has announced that she can add details as to roads beyond any point reached by us on foot. Having left riding things in Cape Town she is riding in her climbing breeches; on her legs she wears a pair of my socks since she has no stockings to match the breeches, and ingeniously she keeps them up by sewing garters onto them. That reminds me that I have several times worn what is now regarded as my “pretty tie”, the one from which I removed the pattern as previously told.
Did you know that it is dangerous to plant parsley because it means an early move? This learnt from hearing Mrs. Pike say that it was all right to take parsley roots to plant in her garden because she would get a guest to do the actual planting. I had gone into the village with her to see if I could borrow a map of the area and the parsley was extracted from the owner of the map ( not then forthcoming but sent to me this morning) who was found in his garden and who repulsed suggestions that gifts of tomatoes or of onions would be welcome.
The dog, a spaniel, attached to this place is one Smut. I read out an advertisement of a specific against smut in wheat, sovereign against Stinking Smut, Black Smut, and ordinary Smut; and the poor beast who does, to tell the truth, stink a bit and who is black and who is a very ordinary animal (not rivalling in merit some that we know) took each word as a compliment and did a lot of tail wagging. He much likes having a ball or stick thrown for him, but instead of bringing it back to be thrown again leaves it on the ground and retires behind a tree stump or clump of grass whence flattened on the ground himself he glares intently at it. This is a sign or indication. Twice on our walks we have met nondescript dogs who flattened themselves in this way and it has turned out that they are his progeny. I am glad to say that since the arrival of school-boys to stay Smut has not been attaching himself to us so faithfully. He is a nuisance on walks, since he is much addicted to leg-lifting and stops for the purpose suddenly in front of one on narrow footpaths so that one stumbles over him. Which reminds me that when I read aloud from Mr. Gifford’s booklet some lines about the constellation Hercules translated from Aratus there was ribald laughter. The lines were not very poetical; they were these.
“That nameless figure, kneeling in the sky,
Now lifts to sight his rising leg and thigh;
Poor Labouring Man, he knows no night of rest . . .
We have had some very hot weather during the last few days after the heavy rain. Joan has been sitting out on the open space (I cannot call it grass) in front of the rondeval where we sleep and has prevented the legs of her chair from sinking into the damp ground by placing beneath them my rake, which is a bit of thin board with one nail stuck in the end of it. This I used to pull leaves and pine-needles out of the euphorbia hedge and it worked surprisingly well; a rake for clearing up flower beds should have perhaps two or perhaps three teeth and when or if I have a garden I shall buy a toasting fork for gardening with. She sits below what I call a buzz-bush; it is a fine leaved bush about lilac-size with a flower inconspicuous but most attractive to bees which simply swarm in its branches. So loud their buzz that one wonders at times whether it is the buzz or the sound of the river in spate that one hears. The water in the river has gone down and today we crossed it and walked on the other bank exploring.
To judge from the talk of Mrs. Gemmil, at whose house we had drinks one night and who takes Joan in her car to the Anti-Waste meetings sometimes, the chief interest of the election was to be two gallons of soup which she had been asked to provide for the refreshment of the voters. Both parties (if one can say this of an election in which there seem to be at least half a dozen) provided refreshments, to all-comers so that no one could allege corruption, and many voters seem to have patronized both supplies; it was a great day for meeting with old friends and for getting the latest gossip, so the thatcher Mr. Stroy who apparently is really Mr. Ströch stayed away for the day. The day before he had stayed away because he had not had a trip to Nelspruit for 18 months; and the day before that he stayed away because it was raining. But this is beside the point, which is that when Mrs. Gemmil’s soup was presented to the voters they rejected it because it was sour; she had been to pains to make it really nice with sherry. Everyone felt for her; felt delighted really, because it was in fact comic. She saved her face by buying tinned soup in the village store and cooking it up with milk. There was soup going from morning till eight o’clock when the voting stopped.
Almost I had forgotten to tell how the old Padre who used to sting me for a subscription for his medical mission in Murshidabad and who retired to England three or four years ago has written to ask if I can subscribe to an endowment fund and told how he has had no news about the mission later than October when a letter was written to him which contained the following paragraph. (It was from the missionary now in charge.)
“The other day we had fourteen visitors: guess who they were! A man came to the gate and asked whether we would provide hospitality for fourteen elephants. Just a casual request, as though elephants happened to everyone every day. I thought about doing things for the least of any of these, and about entertaining angels unawares, and gave a cordial invitation. Rather wondered if I had been hasty later in the day, when I watched a clump of bamboos disappearing before my eyes. It looks good: fourteen elephants just making themselves at home on your property, and not just the little beasts that you have rides on at the zoos but great big lumber elephants going to the War, poor dears! They each wore a sweet bell, which tinkled as they walked . . . .”
These must have been the elephants which we evacuated from the Burdwan and Presidency Divisions so that they should not be available for the Japs if they landed. Four belonging to the Maharaja of Burdwan, one to the Mahant of Tarkweswar, half a dozen to the Nawab of Murshidabad and three or four to the Calcutta Zoo. They were certainly not lumber elephants for we have none such in the south of Bengal and even the Forest Department elephants do not haul timber; they are used only for transport. But is not the phraseology good for a missionary?
P.S Joan says to explain that the euphorbia mentioned is not the soft euphorbia of the English woods. It is one of the spikiest of path-edgings: and I have certainly found it so. Splinters under the nail are frequent when one cleans it up.
(handwritten addition) Splendid to get your letters this week! But I shall not comment on them.
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from LJT to Annette (addressed to Miss Annette Townend PO Box 222. SW 70 Howick Place. London S.W1 England)
No 14 July 13th ‘43
My darling Annette, Behind the immense thrill of the landing in Sicily, the most exciting event of last week for us was the arrival of a huge English mail, after an interval of about six weeks. Thank you for your letters Nos 7 & 9 of 11/3 & 30/5. Your previous letter had been numbered 7, so perhaps there is not one missing, but Aunt’s of the week before 30/5 has not come, so maybe there is another from you on the way. So glad to get a good report of your eye, & hope the eyelashes on the other one have sprouted satisfactorily. Congratulations on having completed your third year at the A.M. I am sure you did right to stick to your job. Its tempting to feel that physical work or danger is more worth while than office work, but its obviously unsound. One of the problems of the future seems to be to find ways of life that will combine the two. Your gardening is a good effort in that direction. Have the old men on the neighbouring allotments got used to you yet? I’m interested to hear that you met Alan Meredith, & that he likes the Gold Coast, which is regarded as the last place on earth by most people. Talking of plans for after-the-war jobs, Sir Frank Noyce K.C.I.E, C.B.E. who was Chairman of the Coal Committee, to which Dad was Secretary years ago, has written that he would like to meet you. He lives at Greyshott House, Greyshott. Surrey, but is a Director of several companies, & Chairman of the Animal Feeding Stuffs Committee, Southern Division. He thinks you are working in London. Dad has sent him your address & told him where you are but that you do go up to London now & again. If you can manage to meet him please do, partly because Dad is fond of him, & partly because he is in touch with Mr Avery & many Government people, & might be able to give you useful help & advice if you want to get a Civil Service job after the war. We hope we shall get an air-graph soon telling about you trip in the Lakes. Fancy being able to sunbathe in May! I don’t know when you find time for mending & making clothes. I seem to have been spending hours mending lately. I think I must be a slow worker. Glad to hear news about the Roscoe & Drake families, & other of your friends. I like to know about the people you are fond of. We have had a disappointment. Mrs Gordon wired that she will not be able to have us at Elgin. Luckily I had just heard from Mrs Harvey that she has found a nice guest house in Claremont, a suburb of Cape Town, near Kenilworth, but closer to the Mountain and so better situated for walks. This place has suites of bed-room sitting room & bathroom. I have asked her too book us there for a month, & get terms for a long stay. Its too long to give all the pros & cons here, but they are in my letter. I should be glad for I could work again. This house filled up completely about a week ago. The new guests are all quite pleasant. One Afrikaner engineer, with an American wife, we find very interesting, & sat up talking to them till past 11 last night. Yesterday I have a “Talk” on Indian Women to the local equivalent of the W.I. It went alright I think, but it was difficult to make it simple for some of the audience & yet interest the rest. Best love. Mother (Mrs H.P.V Townend)
Air Graph No 14 from LJT to Romey
Townend.c/oStandard Bank. Cape Town. July 13th 1943
My darling Romey, Its over a month since we had letters from Canada, so I am hopeful that a mail will come soon. Behind the huge excitement of the landing in Sicily. (How nice that the Canadians did so well) the chief personal excitement for us last week was the arrival of a huge mail from home, after an interval of about six weeks. We got 16 letters, most of them long ones. Everyone is anxious to hear whether you will be allowed to go to the U.S.A. Edward wrote a few days ago that he & Judy will not be able to get here, as we hoped they might, but we shall see them when we go back to Jo’burg at the end of Aug: We had a disappointment a few days ago. Mrs Gordon wired that she cannot have us at Elgin. Luckily I had a letter from Mrs Harvey telling me that she had found a nice sort of guest house in Claremont, a suburb of Cape Town, near Kenilworth, but closer to the Mountain, so more favourably situated for walks. It has suites of sittingroom, bedroom & bathroom. We have asked her to book us there for Sept. & find out their terms for a long let. Dad likes the idea better than going to some country place we don’t know. For many reasons we think this would suit him better than Sea Point did. Personally I shall be glad because I can do war work again. At last Dad’s cold is practically well, & he has been much brisker again this past week. We have been doing good walks, and the map has made a great deal of progress. Soon after I last wrote, we had three days of heavy rain, said to be most unusual at this time of year. It has made the country rather nice, & laid the dust. On Sat. I went another ride, with a party of grown-ups & children. We were out all morning & it was great fun. My hopes of getting Dad on to a bicycle have come to nothing. He is much more cheerful though & likes some of the new people who have filled up the house. We have done several nice things On the last day of June some kind friends, who had saved a little petrol, took us for a delightful lunch picnic to a lake made by a dam, but looking perfectly natural, where we spent an hour or more in a boat. In normal times when cars can be used ad lib we should have been taken to all the beauty spots, but war makes that out of the question. I really wish we had bicycles. I have been doing the one morning & one afternoon at the anti waste regularly each week. Yesterday I gave a “talk” on Indian Women to the local equivalent of the W.I. It went alright, but it was a little difficult to be simple enough to suit one section of the audience & yet not bore the others. On the way home I was taken to see some people who have a most lovely garden. They built their house on top of one of the rocky hills which are such a feature of the Transvaal landscape, and have turned the whole thing into an entrancing rock garden. Another women who is keen on gardening came to visit us one evening, bringing an armful of books on African gardens. Dad got hold of one by Mrs Cran called “Gardens of Good Hope”, which, though there is a lot of interesting stuff in it, is ever so winsome & full of beautiful thought, & these bits he read aloud to the delight of the company. Best love. (Mrs H.P.V.Townend)
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
July 18th 1943. Sunday.
My dearAnnette (name handwritten)
Contrary to my custom I start this letter before Joan has finished or even done more than begun hers. There may be overlapping therefore. But my habit of forgetting the events of the week may help to avoid this.
The week started well for me. Spurred by a remark of Joan’s about the impossibility of getting to sleep quickly if I slept in the afternoon and then went to bed early (I have not been sleeping well of late), I refrained from sleep in the afternoon and stayed up till past eleven; in fact it was midnight before I got into bed. Also I did several Hornibrook exercises and, as Joan was busy over her lecture, I went a brisk walk by myself. The next day also was started with similar enthusiasm. In the afternoon we got a chance of a lift as far as Plaston village immediately after lunch; and though I was bit limp it seemed too good to miss, especially as I wanted to extend my map to that direction.
It was a lovely walk that we did. First south to the top of an isolated kopje from which there is a view and then out in a big circle and back by a short cut across orchards to the Plaston road again and so over the stream and up through the trees to the front of this place. I counted steps the whole way and that meant two hours; also we took rough compass bearings. Alas! when I count steps I walk faster and faster; with the idea of finishing a lap before I forgot the count, I suppose. And this was my undoing, I suppose again. For though I started the next day bright and energetic, doing all the various exercises and setting myself down to making up the map I ended the morning by feeling as limp as ever I have done and so continued.
A major setback; not yet have I altogether revived. For two days I slacked about and we went no walks, barring very short strolls a few hundred yards from the gate. On Thursday I went up to the village with Mrs Pike in her car to get money and buy a pair of shoes; and afterwards foolishly I set myself to clean her typewriter. An old, very old, Blick; solid but much worn; and beyond belief dirty. An unsatisfactory job. For after all my efforts I failed to get it to work satisfactorily. May-be it was the day before that I did the laborious pruning of the crepe flower trees, maybe the day before that. Anyhow there was much weariness and with it a growing lack of enthusiasm for the visit to the Game Reserve.
Monday
However things worked out wonderfully well when the time came. We arose in time for breakfast at 7.30 and were off very soon after eight. The child Caroline had no luck to start with, in spite of the barley sugar with which I sought to fortify her; in due course after we entered the reserve she had to incur the risk of the 40 fine payable by any found outside a car in that area and to descend by the roadside. Afterwards she revived and at the camp bought peanuts, a sick-making food which helped her quite a lot to avoid recurrence of disaster, and on the strength of it bargained with her mother to be allowed an avocado pear sandwich and a hard-boiled egg which for precaution’s sake she had not been allowed at lunch. Among the strangest animals seen in the reserve were a fat couple who spread themselves to sleep under our car at the Hippo Pool picnic spot; in shape much, in noise (snores) completely, resembling the hippos. They had a girl child, small but in inverse proportion noisy, who wandered howling because apparently two small boys, strangers, would not stand to be beaten by her with a stick. Marvelous the power of the human eye or voice - Joan said the former, I the latter: for when I called out, ever so kindly (as I say, but the witnesses forswear themselves) “Oh! what is it?”, this uncouth object remained silent with her mouth open for the space of five minutes. Caroline referred to the hippos, in the manner of one alluding to a family joke, as Hit-a-bottom-uses. This pleased me. The fat female of the fat couple flopped her head on the buxom stomach f the fat male ditto, in the relaxed sprawl of the hippo tangle to which Joan has made reference: her description moreover is true. The only things more abandoned to intertwining of necks are worms as strung together for the fishing of eels.
But it is to be admitted that the hippos were as seen in the mass even stranger than the couple; twenty four massed together were stupendous; I had to strengthen myself with a bit of barley sugar in order to face it. The giraffes consoled us for the absence of lions (yesterday’s visitors saw twelve altogether) and like several other things were in themselves worth the trip; things seen are stronger than things heard, as Tennyson so aptly puts it; the only thing that will give uninitiated folk an idea of the gait of a giraffe in the bush is the back view of the reluctant dragon, which must have been taken from a giraffe. The figure is the same; the twiddle of the legs is the same; the pattern of the skin the same too. But this last statement is a howling lie; I was going to say the reverse and add that the pattern was like that on the skin of a bicoloured python rock-snake. Which reminds me to say that the fever trees and nice-looking trees and by no means sickly to look upon; they get their name from the kind of place they grow in.
Caroline lamented more than the lions the ant-bear of which she had an exaggerated idea. We started a list of animals that we should not see, and put into it the duck-billed platypus; shortly after referred to as an ant-billed platypus and so eventually as a plait-billed antipuss. It would have been fine to see a sable antelope but they are very rare this year.
I think that our stay of one night was long enough; it would be unpleasant to stay long at the rest-camp because it is too small for a walk (though as a camp enormous) and one is not allowed to go out of it. The restrictions on getting down from cars and so on are rather in the interests of the game than for the safety of the visitors. It was found that people took pleasure in frightening buck and such in order to see them run, and this caused them to leave the neighbourhood of roads and spoilt the sights for others.
Needless to say there was competition in the matter of seeing animals first, and even though I renounced participation in this sport I was not immune to a feeling that I ought to be upholding the honour of the family. My score was small. I deadheated with Dan in the matter of the first giraffe and I saw the first big kudu stag. Joan did much better. Caroline needless to say acquitted herself well; she did not inaugurate the sport till she had already a good score. Among birds seen, honour to the “sparrow” - - - a little bright blue bird with glowing red eyes of gret size. It was strange that there should be so many birds after we had been told that a strange feature of the park was the absence of bird-life.
I have been into the “town” and settled the bill with the motor-firm which provided for us. And I ran about doing various errands against time, at different ends of the very straggling street; the place is large as distances go, like Great Leighs. On my return I was landed with a defective typewriter, which was not to be repaired without dismantling the roller; and that I refused to do, in case something went wrong. Thus by lunch time I was tired. It is to be added that on Sunday we went out to lunch with the Grahams, and thus I lost the after-lunch lie-back to which I am addicted.
Furthermore it may be said that on our return from the reserve on Saturday I was dead-beat, though I had slept right through the night in the camp. The only animal noise that I heard during the night was a mewing. I whispered “Joan, would that be a Lion?” and she, awake already, replied “Yes”; but it was a mere cat.
My map is wearying me. I found that one of the things copied from the blue-print is wrong; and Major Graham gave me some wrong details which luckily I have not yet inked in. Curious how positive people are about things in maps when they are really hazy about them.
Since Joan finished her letter we have received another from H.D. and one from Poppy Dunn. But enough!
P.S. Joan says that I am all wrong about the sparrow. It is half way between royal and peacock blue, is starling size (being indeed a starling) and its eyes are not red but amber-coloured, exactly the colour of real proper barley sugar. Anyhow it was a striking sight.
(handwritten addition) It was good to get so much news from England again. Particularly talk about you in Doris Holmes’ letter.
Much love
Dad
Family letter from LJT No 28
“Jatinga.”
White River. E. Trsvl
July 18th 1943.
My Dears,
There are so many exciting things milling about in my mind, that I don’t know where to begin. This morning’s war news of the Russian’s advance, the gains in Sicily, sinkings of seven Jap vessels in the Pacific, and other good things from here and there, is enough to keep one happy and excited for quite a time. Yesterday we got back from an entrancing day and a half in the Kruger Park, to find a big English mail. Thanks to all the senders of letters. There was Grace’s No 17 of 22.5 (the missing link in the last bunch) Arla’s of 25/5 (telling us about Bill being wounded) Long letters from Hilda and from Bill Townend and a welcome one* from our old Friend Peter Waddell, who was Herbert’s collector in those far off days in Asansol. Several letters had come earlier in the week from India. Winsome and Harry both wrote and so did other old friends. To add to our pleasures we got a long letter from our dear American friends, the Rankens, who gaily talk of plans for us to go and stay with them “on our way home, when we go to fetch Romey”! Oh! May’s gift of the book “H.M’s Mine Sweepers” also turned up. When the rest of the world is sleeping again after lunch, I plan to read my letters again. To all those who write, I want to say again, you do give us such real joy, and we are grateful in special degree because most of you are so busy, that it means a real bit of self sacrifice to give up the time to write a long letter.
*This sounds as though the others were not welcome – Of course I dont mean that, but just that it was good to have news of an old friend after so long.
Any other things we did last week have been overshadowed by the thrill of the visit to the Kruger Park. Our companions were Mrs Todd, whose husband was in command of (I think) The Scots Greys, and who is now a Brigadier in India, and her eleven year old daughter Caroline. We had a car from a garage in the village. Our driver was a young Africaner, who when not engaged in garage work, performs feats of strength, such as lifting 25 lbs more than his own weight with his teeth. He was an excellent guide to the Reserve for he worked in it for two years, and he has an eye like a hawk for spotting animals. It is a drive of 25 miles through lovely country to the nearest gate, and another four or five on to the big camp at Pretoriuskop. It is forbidden to get out of your car, to camp, or picnic in the Park, though there are one or two exceptions such as the Hippo pool on the Sabi river, where there are native guards, who show the way to wherever the hippos happen to be basking, and whose kraal is near the end of the road where the cars stop and where one is allowed to picnic.
Pretoriuskop camp will house 700 people. It is made up of a number of circles of rondavels of different sizes. Through the gateway one enters the inner circle consisting of the office, post-office, tea-room, dining-room, store and three or four houses for the staff. There is a pretty garden in the middle. Behind this is the original camp, a lot of rondavels set down rather haphazard, but on either side there are big circles. The older one on the right is a double circle, in the middle of which is a big open air cooking stove, and washing-up places, for most of the people who go to the camp, take their own bedding and cook their own food. We were in the circle on the left, which at present has only the outer circle, with the cooking facilities in the middle. There are bath rooms and lavatories & bathrooms, all of the most modern in a separate big building. I thought the place most picturesque and impressive, and very well run. We got our bedding there, and also our tea, dinner and breakfast. We left Jatinga at 8 a.m., reached the Camp at 9 a.m. having already seen plenty of Wildebeest and some far-away zebras in the few miles between the gate and the camp. We booked our accommodation, enjoyed the inevitable cup of tea, which is always to the fore in S. Africa, and then set forth to see what we could see. There are many circular roads looping round the camp, with sub-circles round the three rocky hills which lie close to the camp, and loops past specially favourable outcrops of rock or drinking pools, where lions are likely to be found. There are other roads running right through the great length of the Park, which is some 250 miles from north to south, but for most of that distance, only about 30 to 40 miles wide. It is only in the southern fifty miles that the width increases to about 60 miles. At the moment most of it is shut. Only a small area in the south western section round Pretoriuskop is open. Various reasons to do with the war have made this necessary, one probably being that the eastern boundary runs with Portuguese Africa.
When we set out on ‘Friday morning we neglected the circular roads for the time being, and set off northwards for about twenty miles to the Hippo pool on the Sabi river. The country is prettier than I expected. The immediate foreground is just what you have all seen pictured in such films as “Trader Horn” and “Life of Living Stone.” It is typical bushveldt: grass country, dotted with low thorn trees and rather scrubby bushes, varied by occasional bigger trees, and rocky outcrops, and small streams, almost dry at this time of year. In other places the bush is quite thick, and the grass tall and exactly “lion-colored”. In other places the grass is low and showing green after the recent rain. It is mostly undulating. What I did not expect were the splendid distant views. To the east and to the south one gets peeps across low valleys to the mountains which lead up to the High Veldt while to the north and east there are isolated high hills in the Reserve itself, and the Lembobo Hills on the Portuguese border. Further north the Reserve is flat by all accounts, and not as pretty as the southern section, but there are certain beasts there which do not come to the south, such as the elephants.
As we drove slowly along, we saw wildebeest fairly often, and an occasional zebra or two. The zebras often graze alongside the wildebeest because the wildebeeste have a better sense of smell and sense the presence of lion quicker than do the zebras. Our first real highlight were a pair of cheetas. Dan, the driver spotted them, just two round heads sticking up amongst the high tawney grass. He stopped the car, and the animals gave us an excellent show. They strolled along in front of some bushes where the grass was lower, and looked at us with some disdain, switching their splendid long tails so thick and fluffy, with big powder-puff ends. They strolled on a little, turning their heads to look, as Dan slipped in his gear and crept along parallel to them. Presently one threw itself down under the shade of a bush, while the mate walked on. Then he turned and came back, evidently to say he was going for a further walk, for he soon disappeared into the bushes. We were lucky to see this, for cheetas are rare. Dan says they are far more dangerous than lion. He said that you would not catch him getting out of the car with those customers about, whereas he would not mind chasing a lion off the road with a stone.
We began seeing groups of kudhu and impala and always wildebeeste, but it was a great thrill when our attention was called to a strange object amongst the trees. As you surmise, it was a giraffe. We saw its legs below a thorn tree, and its head sticking out above. Then we saw that there were four, and as Dan slid the car slowly back and forth, we got glimpses of the animals from all sorts of angles, and from time to time saw the whole of the huge, improbable body. Superior looking creatures. They dont seem to mind much what happens on the earth so far away from them.
As we neared the Sabi river, we saw a huge herd of impala, stretching away and away into the bush. Major Graham, with whom we have been lunching to-day, says that recently there has been a herd thought to number about five hundred grazing in that district, and this must have been it. Mostly the buck took no notice of the cars, (for there was another close behind us) though now and again one or two youngsters would give a few tremendous bounds, and then turn and stare. The wildebeest ( which I gather is another name for gnu immortalized by Hilair Belloc) is a sad looking beast even when in beautiful condition, and a young wildebeest has a preternaturally aged look. I suppose it is the long face and the beard that does it.
At the end of the road by the Sabi river, there were two or three cars, owned by stout Afrikaner families, who did not feel that a walk of 1 ½ or two miles was worth facing for the sake of a sight of the hippos, who had moved that distance down stream. We were all for going, and guessed that the native guard had probably exaggerated the distance, as indeed he had. The walk took us exactly 23 minutes, easy going, and was a delightful trail. The river at places is deep and swift, and at others spreads out between rocks, with high tufted reeds on the banks, and many big “fever trees” such as we have always known existed on the banks of “the grey-green greasy Limpopo river” further north. I saw several rounded shiny black rocks which had a hippo-like appearance, and when finally I saw some that looked very lifelike I refrained from saying anything. I was deceived. They were hippos. When we came opposite them and quite close, we stopped to watch and count them. There were twenty-four, including babies. A big group of them were in mid-stream, with backs and heads above water, using each other as head-rests. It was an elaborate interlocking system, and when the key man decided to move, there was an awful disturbance, before the rest could once more find suitable neighbours to rest their heads on.
A little way up-stream two huge old fellows were lying almost submerged. Every now and again they would disappear completely for a while. Suddenly there would be a great commotion. Spray would be blown high into the air. An enormous pink cavern of an open mouth would emerge above the surface. A strange noise, a mixture between a donkey’s bray and the hooting of a steam-boat. Immediately all the rest of the troop answered and for a few moments a most extraordinary cacophony of sounds went on. Mrs Todd carried the steam-boat simile further and said it was like a boat hooting on the Thames on a misty morning, and answering hoots coming from all round. It was fun watching these odd prehistoric survivals, but lunch was waiting in the car, so back we went, and spread our rug and unpacked our baskets. Mrs Pike had provided a tremendous meal, including avocado pear sandwiches, which were delicious. Dan suggested that as all animals more or less lie up between twelve and three, we should rest under the trees and not start our drive back till about three o’clock. This was agreed. I left the others and went off to watch for birds near the river bank and saw quite a lot, throughly enjoying myself.
We had an amusing sight on our homeward drive. Six zebras were standing in a neat row, as if fastened to pickets, presenting their sterns to the road, legs and the rest of them being more or less veiled in long grass. Zebras are the fattest, most prosperous-looking and best groomed animals you can imagine. We were much pleased by a youngster who was with some of his own kind and a herd of wildebeest a little further on. There seemed so little room to fit in the elaborate arrangement of stripes on his small person, but it was perfectly done. As we were stationary, watching him, a huge party of baboons crossed the road in single file. They were of all sizes, and made a most amusing freize as they galloped in front of us. In front an old male must have stood as high as a big collie, but must have weighed twice as much as a dog of that size. Following him were ordinary sized ones; mothers with babies riding on their backs, young ones bounding and tiny ones scuttling along for fear of getting left behind. The rear was brought up by two more very big males. Dan moved forward, but the two grandpas refused to be hurried, and continued to walk in a most dignified fashion. We were pleased with them. We saw plenty of different sorts of buck again, and also the pretty little steenbuck. I wont attempt to describe the creatures, for if any of you are interested you probably can look in some natural history book to refresh your memories of what you have seen in the zoo. Of course we were hoping for lions, but had no luck. We got back to the camp for tea, and went out again for about ¾ of an hour afterwards, circling one of the rocky hills, and other good lion places, but without success as far as they were concerned. We saw lots of buck including water-buck, which we had not seen on the other road, and a magnificent group of six kudu bulls, nibbling the young leaves off some high bushes. They were in their prime, with magnificent horns, and we got them well silhouetted against the bright western sky. As we were coming home in the failing light, we saw a pair of silver jackals, handsome creatures beside our Indian ones.
Dinner in the camp was at six o’clock. It was a mild night and the moon almost full. We strolled about the camp afterwards, and thought it looked like a Walt Disney town. The rows of little round thatched houses, with lights showing through doors and windows, occasional poinsettia bushes in full flower, glowing fires in the cooking ranges under gnarled thorn trees, made one feel that the Seven Dwarfs or relations and friends of theirs, might pop out at any moment. What we actually found was a car with its wireless going and the war news coming through, so we stayed to listen to the messages of good hope.
Soon after eight o’clock we retired to our rondavel and went to bed, intending to read for a while, but by nine o’clock we were too sleepy and put out the light.
A Zulu boy brought us excellent tea at six o’clock, and we were out in the car again at 6:45, still hoping to see lion. We crept slowly round all the best places that Dan could think of, but as far as lion were concerned, our luck was out. We went some way down the road that was the old trail followed by Jock of the Bushveldt, and got a splendid close up of a giraffe having his breakfast. We also saw a pretty family party of meerkats, small animals something between a squirrel and a mongoose. The parents were sitting on a branch in the sun, with the baby between them! We added a secretary bird to our list of things we had not seen before, but otherwise only got more views of zebra and buck. No! I am wrong! A big iguana was spread across the top of a rock, and the tail of a smaller one was hanging out of a crack lower down. We had a nice view of another giraffe as well, as were a good deal more fortunate than many others. As far as we could hear no one saw lion that morning, and most people did not see the giraffe. After breakfast we did another short round skirting some of the little hills, from which we had glorious views, called at the camp for a final cup of tea, and so left for home, adding one more animal to our list on our way to the gate, a klipspringer, which Dan spotted a long way off on some rocks. The visit was a wonderful experience, and I only wish conscience, petrol and money permitted us to take advantage of Mrs Graham’s offer to ring up Col and Mrs Stevenson Hamilton, Warden of the Reserve since its beginning in 1902, and his wife, and ask if we might go to lunch with them. They live at Skakuza rather more than thirty miles beyond Pretoriuskop. It would be interesting to meet them, and we should be going into a part of the Reserve now not open to the public where, so Dan says, there are always lion to be seen. It is one of those fascinating little things which the war makes us give up, but I like just to think how nice it would have been.
Looking at the sheets of paper I have covered, I feel I ought to apologise. I have been self indulgent. I wanted to sum up what we had seen for myself, and I have inflicted it on all of you. Some of you may like it. The others I hope have skipped it!
What we did before we went to the Park seems now remote. My talk to the Womens branch of the Transvaal Agricultural Union last Monday went off satisfactorily, I think. It was a little difficult to suit both the British Settlers, and the rather simple farmers wives, the same sort of dilemma which forces itself on the preachers in village churches, I suppose.
Herbert and I have done some good walks, in fact he rather overdid it on Tuesday, and got a bit overtired. We must be careful. I abandoned him and went out riding all one morning, with great pleasure. I wish he felt inclined to use a horse for getting about on.
Barring lunch with the Grahams to-day, and my visits to anti-waste everything has been much to routine, except the great days in the Park.
Best love to you all
LJT
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
My darling Annette –
We did so wish you, Romey and Aunt could have been with us in the Kruger Park – I know you would all have loved it –
I see I have not acknowledged your air-graph of 22nd June in this letter – It was in Jo’burg on 7th July and reached us here on the 14th. I hope it wont be long now before your long letter describing your Lakes trip, reaches us. I am looking forward to it. How well I know that feeling of getting splendidly into training and feeling fit to face anything just as the holiday ends.
I was very sorry to her that the Uncle Len family have had so many troubles. I hate to hear that Uncle Len has osteo-arthritis. Anything of the arthritis nature is so terribly painful and hard to cure. Its been bad luck on Yvonne too, being so ill – and I suppose they were all upset about saying goodbye to John, since they are not much used to partings.
Doris has written me such a nice letter and so like herself. It was ages since I had written or heard from her, so I am specially glad to have this. She says lots of very nice things about you –
Well! I must get on with putting the letters into their envelopes.
Best love
Mother
P.S. The enclosed photo shows you what Rondavels are like – Please send it on to Aunt -
Air Graph No 14 from LJT to Aunt (GCT)
Townend.c/oStandard Bank.Cape Town. July 21st 1943
Dearest Grace, H. acknowledged the splendid mail in his A.G. last week, including your Nos 15, 16, & 18. No 17 came this week. Thanks so much for all. The description of the raid on Chelmsford was most interesting, yet sad. An air-graph from Anne came on 14/7, written on 22/6. How thrilling the present war news. Our private thrill last week was a visit to the Kruger Park. We spent one night at the Pretoriuskop “camp”, and saw masses of animals, zebras, cheetas, giraffe, hippos, all sorts of buck & wildebeests, but unfortunately no lions, though there are lost about. We kept on thinking how you would have loved it. The “Talk” I gave to the S.A.W.A.S. yesterday seemed to go well. It was easy for they were all of the same class, and asked lots of questions. Its disappointing that we cannot go to Elgin, and we have had another disappointment. The guest-house in Claremont, suburb of Cape Town, which Mrs Harvey told me of, has no accomodation. We are waiting till the end of the month, before doing anything else, in case something falls vacant there. We leave here on the 9th Aug: & stay a fortnight with Edward Groth. I have written to Cousin Carleton Jones to ask if we may spend the last week of Aug. with them. If we cant get satisfactory accomodation in Cape Town, we might consider going into the Northern Transvaal for a time, or to the National Park area of Natal, which is amongst the Drakensbergs. (Not to be confused with the Kruger Park) I would like to see more of the country, but would prefer to be in C.T. where I could work. We did some good walks last week, one rather too long, for H. found himself very tired after it. The map has gone well & is practically finished now. I think H is getting slowly stronger, in spite of these minor set backs. He looks very well. So interested to hear of Andrew Cowan’s visit & his account of Romey. He used to figure much in her letters. Will you allow us to pay for his entertainment when he comes to stay at Highways? Josephine looks a pet in the snaps. Congratulations to Joey on having work on show at the Botany School’s 50th birthday. Sorry I forgot Peg’s birthday again. Will you send her 10/- from me, & give the same to Gav & to Joey when the time comes. I ought to have plenty of time for writing letters to them all, but even here I seem busy. Lately there has been a lot of mending to do. I have just sewed up a re-knitted yellow jumper & it is quite successful. We have had no news from Romey for about seven weeks, & are so anxious to hear if she is to be allowed to go to the States. After a very warm spell, it has turned colder again & there was some frost last night, but the days are perfect. I like it best when there is a little sharpness in the air like this. The cold nights don’t matter because Mrs Pike is so generous with fires. An otherwise dull woman, was interesting last night when I got her talking about her young days on a remote farm in Zululand. She can do the Zulu “click” sound perfectly, & it makes her stories about the natives extra entertaining. Such nice letters came from our dear friends, the Rankens, from Washington last week. They want us to go to stay with them “on our way to fetch Romey” after the war. Best love (Mrs H.P.V.Townend)
Family letter from LJT No 28
“Jatinga”
White River. E. Transvaal
July 24th 1943
My Dears,
While such splendid news has been coming from all the war fronts, we have spent a quiet week, almost as if we were living on a different star, only then I suppose we should not be able to listen in to the B.B.C.
Herbert has recovered from his fatigue &, on the whole, has been in rather good form this week. Last Sunday, when we went to lunch at the Grahams, we were given a lift by a certain lady, much travelled, who often spends part of the winter here. She is an arch snob, and has made herself unpopular and much laughed at in these parts on that account. Herbert got on like a house on fire with her, and says he found her amusing. I have to keep strict watch on my tongue when talking to her, for she makes any number of entirely untrue statements about the countries she has been in, & its frightfully difficult not to correct her, when one happens to know she is wrong. Mrs. Todd tells a tale relating to her, which is worth repeating. A charming old Englishwoman in Pretoria, a snob of the old school, so to speak, said to Mrs. Todd of Mrs C. “Of course, my dear, she is a most frightful snob, but one must confess, she does know the people one knows.” Almost Punch-worthy, I think.
It would be interesting, if not too painful, if one could study one’s own portrait in the gallery one collects as one goes about. We find other people entertaining. For instance, there is a good kind woman here, wife of a school master, and I am sure the ideal school master’s wife, who gives her thought and energy to looking after the small boys. Of her, Herbert commented with a sigh: “How brightly she drags any conversation down to the dullest possible level.” It was sadly true on the first few days of her stay, but I have found out how to make her quite interesting. She has an amusing knack of telling about her young days on a remote farm in Zululand, where her mother brought up a family of nine children. The tales are simple, but quite vivid and interlarded with Zulu words, including the famous “clicks” of that language, give one a real back-veldt atmosphere. Herbert has a comical way of saying things sometimes. Sipping his tea in bed yesterday morning, he suddenly said: “How terrible the mooing of the doves would be if they were as big as ostriches”. It is indeed an alarming thought, if vocal power increased in exact ratio to size, for the cooing of the doves or wood pigeons might almost be called the signature tune of S. Africa. Another population, is the shouting or singing noise made by any native who is moving about at dusk. As they walk or trot along, they shout two or three words in a sort of sing-song. Our suspicion that it is to keep away the ghosts, Mrs. Nott says, is quite correct.
Although most of the natives who work on the estates and in the village wear disreputable European clothes, one always sees plenty about the roads and in the village wrapped in bright coloured blankets or cotton shawls of gaudy print. (Often much toned down by dirt.) The women build their hair up into a sort of egg-shaped excrescence with a dressing of red clay, and stick ornamental pins into it. They are rather picturesque, but I wish they looked cleaner. I believe they are not at all dirty in their persons, but since civilization has compelled them to wear clothes of some sort, the clothes just go on as long as they will hang to-gether, without much washing. We are close to the edge of a Native Reserve, and White River is probably their great shopping centre.
The excitement over the postponement of the Election count, on a point of law, has caused tremendous excitement, and bitter comments, by the S. Africans, about the senseless politics of their country. Both in politics and law, the Afrikaner seems to be a worse hair-splitter than the Indian. Herbert glances through the law news occasionally, and made this comment, adding that in India, if lawyers brought forward some of the points which are allowed out here, they would be told not to waste the time of the court. One cannot be surprised at the bitterness felt by many of the natives, who are not mentally up to such tricks, and when they are the victims of them, not unreasonably feel they have not had a fair deal. This is well described in a book called “ I am Black”, which Mr. Ritch lent us saying that it was a profoundly true picture of native life. Stupidly I have forgotten the name of the author.
It was on Tuesday afternoon that I had to give my talk on Women’s war work in Calcutta to the local S.A.W.A.S. This was a much easier meeting to address than the Transvaal Agricultural Union, because the members were all of the same sort of class. They made it easy too, by asking questions. On the way home, we met Herbert about half a mile from the house, so we picked him up, and the kind neighbour, who had given me a lift, hearing that we had not met our immediate neighbours, a retired railway engineer from India and his wife, insisted on taking us to call on them. They are nice folk, Mr & Mrs Stevenson, who left Chittagong a dozen years or more ago, but they knew lots of people we know, and were pleased to get some news of their old haunts. We left, promising to come again.
At the beginning of the week we got the disappointing news that the guest house we hoped to get into in Claremont (Cape Town) has no vacancies. They hold out a faint hope that there may be something going at the end of the month, so we have told Mrs Harvey we will wait till then. Meantime, she is on the lookout for suitable accomodation for us. If we cant hear of anything in the Cape, we shall consider spending some time either in the northern Transvaal, or in the Natal National park district of the Drakensbergs. Ladysmith is the nearest big town to that district, and the river Tugela rises in the mountains. Both districts are said to be most beautiful, and there are good hotels. Personally I would rather get back to Cape Town, where I can do some work, much as I should like to see some more of S. Africa.
We can scarcely complain that we have had no more mails in this week, except that we still have nothing from Canada, after more than one and a half months. It should be a lovely budget when it does come.
There has been another cold snap this week. For three nights in succession there was frost, a most unusual thing in this part of the world. The days have been just perfection, because the few extra degrees of cold, make the air brisk, and walking with sun well up not too hot.
After giving you such a dose of a letter last week, I think this is enough for this week, so I’ll say good-bye and bless you all.
LJT
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa
Cape Town
July 25th 1943. Sunday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
The week has passed quickly; perhaps it has not been a full week since last I wrote. Most of my time, such as was not given to exercises and to the making of the map, has gone on the typing of an enormous, overdeveloped letter to Mrs. Ranken, “Louise”, the compiler of the cookery book mentioned some months ago, who wrote us a long chatty letter a little while ago. My reply covered our history for the past year and included interludes on such things as the nature of Jews, the habits of dogs and so on. Too much.
The other event of importance to my spiritual development was a failure to go to a film of the most interesting, on Soil Erosion in South Africa, and a talk on the even more interesting subject of compost. I really wanted to go; and should have been taken by a neighbour to the Town Hall for the purpose; but the hour fixed was eight at night, my vitality has been low and the nights have been cold. I feared that it would mean sitting in an icy cold hall and becoming chilled; and I cried off. We called in at the neighbour’s to say so and there I had an agreeable discourse with him about his compost-making, which appears to fall short of excellence in the same way as that made Cape Town direction. No earth; no wood-ash; not enough aeration. Some time I hope to take up to his place various notes and writings and to wrestle with him. Like Jacob and the angel; or more exactly like Abraham Lincoln fighting his duel “with cow-pats at ten paces” - though history does not say if that challenge was followed by combat.
On Thursday I went into White River with Mrs Pike in the car and was told that I might as well post the air-graph which was ready. It was not till we were near the village and I had asked Joan (who was on her way to the anti-waste work) for the air-graph that I learnt that I was supposed to have brought it. Mrs Pike was some time in the village; I spent it in verifying certain things about my map - which, alas!, is wrong where I copied from the blueprint. This must have shown roads as they were expected to be; and they must have been made otherwise. We went to the local hotel for 11 o’clock tea and found all the inhabitants on the front verandah; within two minutes Mrs. Nott who was of our party had learned all the gossip of the hotel - the cook had just been sacked after being foully drunk for four days on end and so on. The inhabitants of whom the superior lady mentioned in Joan’s letter had spoken with such appreciation seemed very mere after all. Tea finished, we were taken some six miles round the north to get some cabbages, which worked out expensive by the time they reached the table; but Mrs. Pike says that it is the principle which matters and she has at any cost to have ample supplies of vegetables. It seemed to me a waste of petrol but it was a pleasant trip. When we arrived at Jatinga (the house where we are staying, in case you forget), I got the airgraph and walked down to Plaston to post it. A penitential pilgrimage. But an agreeable one, for the air was fresh and the countryside pretty to see. 50 minutes. As Mrs. Iron came in to tea it proved just as well that I had done a walk in the morning.
There were other walks during the week. One round to the east, mainly to fix for map-purposes a path across an orchard and a stream which Joan had traversed on horseback some days ago; but it proved to be well worth it for its own sake, since the views given by it were lovely. I think highly of this country from a scenic point of view.
Excellent also were the views, but these were near ones of the river, on the stroll that we did yesterday. Across the river, at a place where we failed to cross a couple of weeks ago when there was a lot of water coming down; then up along its bank, through three barbed wire fences and over rough ground; thence across the river at a place where there were convenient rocks and a long line of stepping stones; and so home. The sole blemish was that in getting under barbed wire at a place where they had been burning off the grass I covered myself with soot. I was tired last night; but was an unduly long time in getting off to sleep.
Of course I type better now than ever I dreamt of doing when I first started to learn; but the appetite grows; and I am not reconciled to my habit of making mistakes. As I lay awake last night I contemplated fixing some sort of pad on the space bar so that it would not be necessary to hit so hard to get spaces between words, but by daylight the enterprise does not seem so promising.
Still no letters from Canada. Crop figures from my pal near Chinsurah seem to show that I was right when I told the Ministers last August that the chances of more than a poor harvest were rotten. A matter of interest to me because afterwards the Agricultural Department was promising a full harvest on the strength of good late rain. My beautiful graphs and figures showed that nothing can make up for early failure.
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from LJT to Annette (addressed to Miss Annette Townend PO Box 222 S.W 70 Howick Place London S.W.1. England)
No 15 July 26th 1943
Darling Annette, All other thoughts this morning are smothered by the news that Mussolini has resigned. Mrs Pike heard it on the 7.a.m news this morn: & rushed round in her dressing gown to tell us. Its one of the occasions on which one feels that one wants to listen to every bulletin. I feel it has rather intensified the feeling of futility which has been gripping me the last few days. Its maddening to be frittering away time as I am doing when there is so much work to be done. Perhaps this feeling has been engendered by the necessity of worrying about future plans, & I am getting rather bothered about them. I have just taken a decision. I have written to Mrs Harvey in Cape Town & asked her to wire to me if she has not been able to fix anything for us by the end of the month. By that time I hope I shall have heard from Guest Houses near Louis Trichardt (N. Travl) & near Bergville. Natal. If there is a negative answer from C.T. I shall book at one of those for Sept, which will give a breathing space. The complication is that one has to book accomodation on the railways about a month ahead, so one cant just leave things to chance at the last moment.
Life has gone quietly ahead here, with our usual walks, small outings to neighbouring houses, sewing, writing & reading. Dad has gone to Nelspruit this morning with Mrs Pike, to get his hair cut: a lucky chance for him, since it was getting distinctly long. Thank you for your A.G. of 22/6 which reached us on 14/7. We still have nothing from Romey & are getting so impatient to hear what is going to happen to her. Most of the guests here are clearing out to-day & others come to-morrow. A nice couple from Uganda arrived a few days ago, bride & bridegroom, & it turns out that she has been for many years in Calcutta working in Imperial Airways, & knows heaps of people we know. What is much better is that both she & her husband are intelligent & interesting people. I hope the new guests are nice. It makes a big difference in a place like this. There are signs that spring is on the way – The peach blossom is out & jonquils are flowering & those trees which lose their leaves are showing signs of sprouting. I shall be sorry if we do not get back to the Cape in time for the famous spring wild flowers there. There is nothing comparable to them in the Transvaal. There has been a good deal of excitement about the postponement of the count of the election votes on a technical point, & great annoyance by all the Government party, who see in it just a ruse to try to inconvenience the Govt. The politics in this country are in even a sadder state than they are in most others, not excluding India. The great moment arrived on Sat: when the thatching of the new group of Rondavels was finished. The Thatcher has been getting very sick of them, so we gathered & gave a cheer when he clipped the grass for the final crown. I have written to Dot Bromley to try to get us an Italian phrase book, so that we may be able to exchange idea with the servants in Pretoria, where we go a fortnight to-day.
With best love and thoughts from Mother. (Mrs H.P.V. Townend)
Air Graph from LJT to Romey No 15
Townend, c/o Standard Bank. Cape Town. July 28th 1943
Darling Romey, Its strange that still no letters have come from you. I do hope mails have not been lost. Perhaps you have decided that air-mail was too expensive & have sent your letters by sea, in which case they take several months. To write of our own small affairs when such thrilling events are taking place in Italy & Russia, seems out of proportion, but being human individuals, we still like to know the little things that are happening to the people we love, dont we? Our biggest private thrill has been a visit to the Kruger National Park. We left here after an early breakfast one morning; stayed one night at the Pretoriuskop “Camp”, and got back here for lunch the next day. We saw masses of animals: Zebras, cheetas, giraffe, hippos, and all sorts of buck and wildebeest, but unfortunately, no lions, though there are lost about. It is disappointing that we cannot go to Elgin & we have had another disappointment. The guest-house at Calremont (Cape Town) has no vacancies at present. They will let us know if anything becomes available at the end of this month. If Mrs Harvey cannot find us anything suitable in C.T. we may go either to the Northern Transvaal or to the Natal National Park in the Drakensbergs near Ladysmith. I have been told of good guest houses in both these places. It would be nice to see more of the country, but I would prefer to settle in C.T. where I can work. The “talk” I gave to the local S.A.W.A.S. last week was much easier than the one to the T.A.U. as the audience were all the same sort of people & they asked lots of questions. A fortnight to-day we shall be with Edward Groth. We go to the Carleton Joneses on Aug 23rd. Unfortunately we have chosen a date when they can only keep us for three days, as they have friends coming early on the 27th. They wanted us to go there before Pretoria, so that we could spend longer with them, but we had already altered our dates once & did not like to do so again. On the whole life has been going on much as usual. We walk, read, write & pay occasional visits to neighbours. I do a good deal of sewing & knitting, but I get great waves of dissatisfaction at the futility of living like this in war-time. I so long to be working & working really hard at some useful job. Dad has been pretty well & fairly cheerful. He has made a good jobs of the sketch maps of walks round “Jatinga”. At the moment he is filling in the twelve forms necessary to apply for the continuence of your allowance during 1944. I used to do them in India & only give them to him to sign. Its so nice to hear from Aunt that Andrew Cowan has been to Highways & hopes to go there again. She enjoyed hearing about you & passed the gist of it on to me. He was quite complimentary. We are just having a change-over of guests, & the house is almost empty to-day, which is nice for a change. There are signs of Spring the last few days. The peach blossom & the golden wattle (of which there is a great deal) are out, trees are budding & wild flowers are beginning to show themselves, but there is nothing in the Transvaal comparable to the wild flowers of the Cape. Best love (Mrs H.P.V.Townend)
Family letter from LJT No 29
“Jatinga”
White River.
E. Transvaal.
July 31st 1943.
My Dears,
What a week of excitement & keenness for more news it has been. Mrs Pike heard of Musso’s collapse on the 6.30 a.m. broadcast, & came to our window to tell us. Naturally it has rather stolen the thunder of the election results, still there is great rejoicing that Gen. Smuts has got such splendid backing from his people.
I’ve been conscious of a small undercurrent of worry about our future plans. Yesterday evening I got a wire from Mrs Harvey to say that she has not been able to fix up anything for us in Cape Town for Sept. but is hopeful for October. I am hoping I may get answers from some of the guest houses I wrote to shortly. This morning Herbert & I walked through gentle rain to Plaston station to get information about the journeys to Louis Trichardt (N. Travl) & Bergville (Natal) and there is not much in it as far as money or expense goes, so that wont help us very much with decision.
There does not seem much to write about this week. Our life here has fallen into a pleasant routine. The weather has been variable. After the cold snap last week, it turned very hot; too hot, the residents said for the time of year. Yesterday we woke to a grey sky and a chilly breeze. Herbert & I decided to do what we have often thought of but never accomplished, because it is usually so hot walking late in the morning, when the sun is high. We went into White River in the car when Mrs Pike went for her household shopping, & walked back across country. The road makes a big loop between the village & this house, and we cut an arc across the circle, but it was decidedly a zigzag arc, and the exploration revealed that the blue-print map of the White River estates was not up to date. About half way on our journey, we were picked by a Mrs Bains, Commandant of the local S.A.W.A.S, given a lift for about a mile to her house, and regaled with morning tea, and lots of local information about neighbouring estates, & why the roads marked on the old map, had not been developed or had gone out of use. It was a perfect day for walking & we enjoyed our outing. The grey skies to-day turned to rain, rather nice for a change, but distressing for the big fete in aid of war funds, which is taking place at the neighbouring town of Nelspruit. In a climate where it normally only rains for two or three days during the winter months, it is bad luck that they should have struck one of those days.
For the past month we have noticed many signs of spring. The lovely golden wattles are in full flower. The s. Africans have invented a legend that it is unlucky to bring it into the house: odd, because I never heard of it in the wattles’ home country. Peach and almond blossom are out, & the deciduous trees are showing a flush of young green. There are quantities of red-flowering aloes of many different sorts in flower, some of them with blossoms like red-hot-pokers. Scrambling along a little path by the river the other evening, we looked up a big hill-side which was a pale reddish mist of an open branched variety, whose colour is something between a pale scarlet and pink. Across a pool in the river, growing out of the crannies of a fine rock cliff, there were big bushes of one of the red-hot-poker-like sort: very handsome. It was a nice pool that, with a pair of wild duck swimming majestically, and lots of other birds in the bushes amongst the rocks. One of the most remarkable trees in the landscape at this time of year is the brilliant “kaffirbaum” which is an erythrina, almost identical with the erythrina indica, common in India and generally known there as dadup. It does make fine points of brilliant colour, for it loses all its leaves before it covers its self with scarlet blossom. Just as in India, spring here brings feeling of regret that the lovely winter is over. Most of the residents loyally maintain that the summer is not at all bad, but visitors say it is tryingly hot.
At the S.A.W.A.S. meeting last week I discovered the sister of a man, Brigadier Tute, whom we used to know in India, & she invited us to morning tea, (that being the easiest thing for us to get transport for) Mrs. Pike dropped us not far from their house on her way to the village, and the Bakers kindly brought us back. They were such nice people, and I am sorry we did not discover them before.
I see the paper is drawing to an end and I shall not go on to a second sheet this week. I have been writing a lot of personal letters, and have perhaps made myself a bit stale.
Annette’s air-graph of July 8th reached us on the 27th, and is the only thing we have had from over-seas since I last wrote. We are still without anything from Romey. Dearest love to you all,
LJT
Family letter from HPV
C/O Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
July 31st 1943 Saturday.
My Dear Annette (name handwritten)
This week the luck has been in two pieces as in Captains Courageous. On the one hand I have by avoidance of anything strenuous retained a certain energy, which has been a pleasant change, but on the other, not being able to get any pepsin to take with my acid, I have returned to the habit of having wind, of this sort and of that but neither sort good. It looks as if the cheiropractor did not succeed as he hoped. But I have this week jotted down happenings and shall devote my letter to these, trifles though they be.
Such as two anecdotes of Willie the chief of the table servants. He wears a blue sash round his coat. Namely, first: when Mrs. Todd was leaving she gave him a tip, which drew from him the remark “Thank you, Madam! Good bye, Madam! Thank God!” and, second: he greeted the Uganda boy brought down by the Scott Barretts who live there, in English because the two boys have no common African language. “Good-morning, I hope you have slept well.” to which the other replied, in English again, “Yes, thank you; I have slept very well”. Funny? no, perhaps. It was necessary to see the earnest black faces and the Uganda boy clad as to the legs in a transparent robe like a night dress, for this he wears always. It has a pointed yoke front and back.
I invented some or many days ago the slogan “Mum for hum!” of which I think well even on reflection; others less.
Last week I forgot to mention that as I walked through long grass I saw something rustle through it not far away and then leap forward some nine inches in the air; it was like a fat yellowish-green snake and, since all say that there are no large lizards with no apparent legs in these parts (how large? - say, two feet), it must have been a snake. Or an invention, say the people, but it was none such.
Joan was much pleased and impressed by the cunning of an old cow, which advanced quietly towards Major Graham’s paddock fence and unhitched the fastening of the gate with a careless toss of the head, as of one who knew all about such things and held them in despision. Also (pleased only) with the equipment of a coloured boy on a bicycle, who had for the carrying of bottles of milk a sort of bib with a backpiece to match containing three bottles in pockets front and back. Practical; and heavy.
She is knitting another big seaman’s pullover; and I have been winding the wool for her. Before this I have told how I wound it on a straw, attempting to get it as neat as if wound by machine; but lately I have been trying also to wind it flat, two inches or less thick and maybe seven across. To unwind from the centre; like a Chelsea bun, so to speak, though one eats that from the outside. Not too successful for purposes of use; it would be all right if it had not to muck about for days in a knitting bag.
Mrs. Scott Barrett tried to buy some soft wool in Rhodesia; the girl behind the counter asked severely “Are you a pregnant mother?” and she got none. I am wondering what she should have said to such a query had I gone to buy wool anywhere; or rather there. All that occurs to me is to use some variant of the definition of an Irish bull “one pregnant with wit”; but it doesn’t seem to work out well.
The departure f Mrs. Todd and Caroline, the incorrigible child, was quite an affair. They went by train from the little terminus, Plaston, though this meant a couple of hours’ journeying for the 16 miles or so to the junction, Nelspruit. We were pledged to go down and wave as their train passed along the river-bank opposite the bottom of the garden. As we were at tea, we heard a rumble and a clatter; and we all tore madly down, only to find that it was an officious motor-trolley. Scarce back at tea when there was a fresh alarm; but this time I had stayed on the rocks of the river and Joan was on the bank. So there was a very proper send-off. Caroline had begun to teach the guard backgammon on the way up from Nelspruit when they first came and she had made preparations to continue the course and had also some replies to puzzles ready for him, propounded by him in return for the backgammon. At Plaston station they learnt that they would not have time at Nelspruit to get anything to eat; and gloom was thick. But Mrs. Pike was inspired with the idea of having sandwiches cut and of driving after the train in the car, with a view to provisioning them at White River where there was to be nearly an hour’s wait. When she came onto the platform there as no sign of either of them and it appeared that boredom had driven them to try to get in touch with this place on the phone and they were at that very moment talking from the station-masters office to the boy, Elijah. Up to that moment the journey had been a flop, barring the salutations from across the river; the backgammon-learning guard was not on the train after all. With joy they received the sandwiches; and telling the engine-driver on no account to start without them they went off in Mrs. Pike’s car to the hotel for drinks. But they will be tired of that little train before they see the end of the trip to Nelspruit.
Sunday
Mrs. Stubbs told us the following. “Do you know Eloff?” – “Eloff who?” - “Eloffs last who loffs longest.” Bad. Her brother’s and told as exemplifying the worst instincts. Also a conversation between her mother and babyish sister. “And Jews believe that a Messiah will come, the son of God.” - “But suppose that God’s next baby was a girl?” This Joan said that she would use in her letter, because it deserved the wider publicity: but I see that she has not put it in.
The mattress of Mrs. Stubbs’ little boy is covered with chintz-stuff on which are patterns of animals and birds and the like; pictures rather. It was out airing and Joan said admiringly “Did you ever see anything more exciting on a mattress?!!” To this I said, abstractedly, “Some might reply, a girl on the mattress might be more exciting . . . . ”and she at once told this to Mrs. Stubbs who was sitting on the verandah. Afterwards I said to Joan that she should not have repeated that sort of thing because it might arouse opinions of me that it would be embarrassing to have to justify, and she went off and repeated that too. Thus the reputations of the good are destroyed.
The new rondavels are finished to all intents and purposes. When Mr. Stroy cut the last loose straws off the top before putting on the cement cap which crowns all thatch, almost, in this country, those of us sitting on the grass nearby raised a great cheer and waved, - so far as four can raise great cheers. He was delighted; his gloom fell from him and he told us again that he should call in the police if asked to do another thatch anywhere. Then beer was provided to him and to the builder man. Very festive. All looks very well; and no one mentions that the whole work took more than a month longer to do than estimated by them.
Another great work finished (or almost so - for there is a correction to be made) is my map. Joan has told how we walked back from White River town and how we learned that the blueprint of the area was not a correct representation of things as they now are; but she did not say that I had copied the blue print onto my map, how all who saw it said that it was all right, and how I had fair-copied the whole out in ink. On an inferior paper which does not take erasions kindly. Also Mrs. Pike had sketched in a road from the town which seemed to cut a great corner; and so we were much misled. It added a couple of miles onto the walk as meditated by us; and we were lucky to be picked up, taken a mile, and given morning tea by Mrs. Baines. The break in the two hours’ walk saved me from exhaustion. We were back just in time for lunch. In the evening we walked down to Mrs. Page’s to get some violets promised by her to Joan; you have never, even in a frame seen so many violets flowering; the bed was blued with them.
It rained yesterday and we walked to Plaston to post parcels for Johannesburg and to make enquiries about trains. Then I did my maps and started writing this, sitting on a sofa at a reasonably high table and being thus far too low for the work. I lost my temper completely with the miserable Tuppence who smote me sharply with a wooden train on the wrist-bone, meaning no harm but merely wishing to hit something; and spoke to him with such fury that I was completely ashamed and perhaps for this reason was unable to sleep after lunch. Or perhaps it was that I was tired already. As I have certainly been since.
There are now three persons here in the neighbourhood who have professed great interest in compost. I feel that I ought to pass on to them my garnered knowledge about it. But it would be a labour to copy out notes. Twice I have done so, for the Elgin people and for Mrs. Theron in Cape Town. Mrs. Burnaby (how can anyone be at once so lovely and so dumb? asked Mrs. Stubbs’ father; but lovely is too strong a word) says that she is sick of the sound of the word “compost” because everyone on the Ceylon tea-estates (not “gardens” as in India) talks of nothing else; and yet she knows absolutely nothing about it! Incidentally she asked if I knew a firm called Shaw Wallace in Calcutta; the Colombo Shaw Wallace sell the tea made by her father.
(handwritten addition at end of letter) Much love. The worst of writing circulars is that by the time one is finished I lack energy to write you personal letters. Forgive it.
Yours
Dad
(handwritten addition at end of letter to Romey) Still no word from you in Canada. Alas! All planes must have ceased flying from Canada. Perhaps petrol-saving?
Much love,
Dad