Introduction
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The first part of my Memoirs (available here) told the story of my childhood,
education and army life. The second volume related the somewhat
bumpy start of my career as a District Officer in the old Colonial
Service in Tanganyika. This volume records my return there when I did a variety
of jobs in the Colonial Service and then spent two years with the Tanganyika
Tea Growers Association.
Once again, I have simply recorded my life and times as revealed in the
diaries, letters and reports I wrote on the spot. As far as possible, I have tried to
avoid relying on an uncertain memory or using hindsight in viewing the past. I
have done my best to check the facts, but attempted neither to write a history
nor even offer a complete account of what went on around me then.
Some explanations are in order. First, I have to apologise that, as before, I
am addressing two distinct groups of readers. I regret the confusion this may
cause. I hope that my family and friends will be amused by the personal story
of my leisure and social life, while other readers who do not know me and are
indifferent to my personal affairs, will find some interest in the description of
my work and the political developments of the time.
I should also explain that, during my time working at Government House, I
acquired copies of photographs taken by the Tanganyika Information Services
and printed in the daily paper, the Tanganyika Standard. I donated them
some years ago to the British Empire and Commonwealth Museum at Temple
Mead in Bristol. Although that museum has closed its doors, its collections
have been transferred to the Bristol Museums, Galleries and Archives, and I
am immensely grateful to the BMGA team for unearthing several of these
photographs and letting me use them to illustrate this memoir. The BMGA
reference is shown below the caption for each of the photographs thus made
available to me.
I also gave the defunct British Empire and Commonwealth Museum the
annual reports of the Tanganyika Tea Growers Association for the period of my
employment. These documents would have enabled me to write a more accurate
account of the tea industry at that time, but are no longer accessible. As a result,
I have had to rely on an uncertain memory in recalling that period of my life,
and I fear there are gaps and may well be inaccuracies in my account.
In any case, things like the structure of the TTGA, the issues confronting
members in those days and the union negotiations in which we were involved are
unlikely to be of general interest. Accordingly I have relegated my recollection
of such matters to a separate Appendix which readers are very
welcome to skip.
A bibliography is appended of books to which I have referred to check my
facts. I gladly acknowledge my debt to the authors of these works which I have
much enjoyed reading again.
A glossary is also attached. We had our own jargon, and I have used all
the acronyms, initials, abbreviations and Swahili words that were commonly
employed out there then, but they are listed in the glossary in case readers get
lost among them.
A word of explanation about our money. We counted everything in shillings
and cents, and wrote the shillings as ‘Shs’ before the figures. The value of a
Tanganyika shilling was roughly equivalent to an English one, and Shs 20/-
bought very much what £1 would have done in the UK at that date.
The Swahili language requires suffixes to be attached to the names of tribes
to indicate whether one is referring to one person or to many, to their land or to
their tongue. I ask forgiveness of the purists that I have omitted all these suffixes
to simplify the text.
I take this opportunity to acknowledge the help and encouragement I have
received in writing these Memoirs from my wife, Joan who has patiently read
every word as well as sorting out the index, from Sue Key who has been a
huge help in correcting my grammar and making sense of the writing, and
from my godson, Michael March for much good advice on the presentation.
I am immensely grateful, too, to our good friend Lawrence Charlesson for
the admirable maps, to Ben for the first class artwork and turning my old
transparencies into excellent illustrations and, most of all, to Matthew for
overseeing the whole project with cheerful forbearance and great efficiency.
The errors and solecisms that remain despite all this help are of course my sole
responsibility.
Dick Eberlie
Tavistock, May 2015
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Chapter 1: The Race for Independence
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Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
The Recessional: Rudyard Kipling.
Self-Government
The people of Tanganyika were in a hurry. When I flew back to Dar es Salaam
in January, 1961, at the start of my second tour, I was struck by the increasing
stridency of the popular demand for Uhuru (Independence). The first countrywide
general election by Tanganyikan citizens for members of their new National
Assembly had taken place in September 1960. The franchise had been limited to
those in jobs or owning property, and they had returned an enthusiastic, eager and
sometimes aggressive crowd of budding politicians, belonging to the dominant
political party, the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU). This party’s
acknowledged leader was Julius Nyerere, who was negotiating energetically with
the Governor, Sir Richard Turnbull, for the early departure of the colonial power.
The first step was self-government. By the time of my return to the country,
a Council of Ministers had been formed from among the newly-elected TANU
politicians to replace the Governor’s Executive Council; and these Ministers had
taken charge of nearly all departments of state. Not long afterwards, the new
National Assembly met for perhaps the third time and enacted a raft of new
laws in preparation for independence, while the Provincial Commissioners, who
headed the colonial administration up-country, held their annual conference for
the last time to wind up affairs at their level.
Parallel changes were taking place in up-country districts. The Native
Authorities of tribal chiefs were on their way out. They were rapidly being replaced
by elected District Councils with much wider powers over local development
and finances. At the same time, the senior European District Commissioners
(DCs) that had guided the Native Authorities and brought the elected Councils into being were going too. The new DCs were young African graduates; and
the nature of the job was changing in their hands. Experienced members of the
old Colonial Service were no longer wanted up-country and were either retiring
for good or being withdrawn to the Secretariat in Dar. Younger members of
the Colonial Service were still needed in the districts as District Officers (DOs)
to act as junior magistrates and administrators, but their future employment
was uncertain. There was a job to be done; but to my contemporaries, there no
longer seemed any chance of a career in the Colonial Service.
The continuing need for efficient administration was underlined by the
threat of famine in up-country districts. The weather was all wrong in 1961.
By May it was desperately dry up-country; and serious food shortages existed
in at least two provinces at the same time as experienced administrative officers
were leaving. Although thunderclouds loured overhead, the land was dusty and
dry; crops withered in the fields, and any spattering of rain came far too late
in the season to be of any use for the harvest. Food was likely to be in very
short supply until the next rains; and this was a frightening prospect for the
subsistence farmers and their families in the areas of drought.
The Constitutional Conference
In the last week of March, the Rt Hon Iain Macleod, Colonial Secretary of the
Conservative Government then in power in London, flew out to Dar es Salaam
to preside over a Constitutional Conference. I witnessed much excitement at
his coming. Noisy mobs of Africans yelled, ‘Uhuru mara moja!’ (Independence
NOW!), and gathered along the roadside, shouting and waving palm leaves to
greet the ministerial party on the drive from the airport to Government House,
where the Minister was staying.
The first event of the visit was a garden party. The Governor invited over two
and a half thousand guests to the grounds of Government House in honour
of the visiting Secretary of State. In my best tropical suit, I escorted two lady
friends in their hats and white gloves to join the vast crowd of folk enjoying
the Governor’s hospitality. We drank weak, lukewarm tea in marquees, and ate
rather tired sandwiches specially flown in from Nairobi - nobody in Dar could
cater for such a large number of people - and watched the Beating the Retreat by
the 1st Battalion of the Tanganyika Rifles (formerly the King’s African Rifles).
Later that afternoon, without warning, the sky suddenly emptied itself on all the
fashionable hats, smart suits, and colourful tribal robes and headdresses, and we
all ran for cover, squashed together and soaking wet in the marquees. It was a
damp end to a great occasion in the country’s history.
In parenthesis I should explain that, while the rains failed up-country, on
the coast they were heavy and persistent, and the wind blew fi ercely through the
coconut palms all summer. Not only was the Governor’s Garden Party drowned,
but numerous regular sporting fi xtures had to be postponed, including the Dar
es Salaam tennis tournaments, which normally took place in cool, pleasantly
warm weather. The annual cricket match against Kenya was rained off until a
rare dry day when Tanganyika won on the second ball of the last over before a
big crowd. For ten years, no rain had fallen in Dar es Salaam in July, but that
year several inches fell and the heat was intense; mosquitoes continued to breed
in the puddles and were a torment in the evenings. Even at the end of the month
it was still raining heavily. This was incomprehensible; the old men of the town
shook their heads and wondered what witchcraft was behind it.
On the day following the Colonial Secretary’s garden party at Government
House, the principals gathered for their important conference in the Karimjee
Hall, where the National Assembly normally sat. Noisy crowds once again
surged through the city centre clamouring and shouting with constant calls
for ‘UHURU!’, and gathered in the Botanical Gardens and streets around
the conference centre to cheer on their negotiators. The atmosphere in the
town, and doubtless also in the meeting room, was somewhat tense as the Conference opened. With the public applause ringing in their ears, Nyerere
and the other TANU leaders demanded full independence within the year. To
their amazement and delight, Macleod cheerfully announced that they could
have it. He offered no resistance to the proposal, and set the date as 28th
December, later brought forward to 9th December without discussion. So there
was no argument and little negotiation - just lots of platitudes. It began to
appear that the British Government was in just as much of a hurry to shed its
responsibilities in Tanganyika as were the Tanganyikan people to accept them. It
was also apparent that Nyerere and the Governor had between them sorted out
all the problems so that nothing more than a rubber stamp was required from
the British Government.
The press reported that when the Governor had risen to close the proceedings,
he had been unable to speak for several minutes because the Cabinet of hardbitten
Tanganyikan politicians had stood as one man to applaud him. The
Prime Minister, Julius Nyerere, had then taken Sir Richard by the hand and led
him out of the Karimjee Hall, both of them with garlands round their necks,
to receive the cheers of the vast crowd of people gathered outside. When, at the
press briefing that followed, Macleod had announced the date, the crowds had
gone mad, seized Nyerere, hoisted him high on the shoulders of excited young
men, and borne him through a struggling mass of humanity to his car. The
whole of Dar es Salaam, it seemed, then cheered him with great hurrahs, and
escorted him, yelling their heads off, as he drove triumphantly away through the
streets of the city.
The Colonial Secretary gave an address that evening to the great and the
good of Dar es Salaam, who were assembled under the aegis of the Cultural
Society in the Avalon Cinema, the biggest theatre in town. I squeezed in to a
corner seat in the balcony and heard the Minister speak on the Westminster
Model and explain the sort of parliamentary democracy he hoped Tanganyika
would become after achieving independence. The Governor was in the Chair.
The lecture showed how Macleod was thinking, and I was impressed as much by
his attractive style of speaking as by his mastery of the subject. After the lecture
I slipped in at the back of St Alban’s Church where the Governor, his guests and
the Christians among the politicians were attending a service of thanksgiving; it
was a neat end to a successful visit.
Three months later, Tanganyika became fully self-governing, as a long step
towards a complete break with the mother country. Julius Nyerere took the
chair of the Council of Ministers as Prime Minister; and the Governor left the
Council to become the titular Head of State.
At much the same time, all those of us in the Colonial Administration
received a personally addressed and signed letter from Julius Nyerere, writing as
Prime Minister, asking us to stay and continue to work for the new Government.
The letter ran to two full pages, was written in friendly terms and was very
persuasive. The Prime Minister said:
"The first thing I want to make clear is that my Government, and therefore the
great bulk of the people of Tanganyika whom we represent, are really in need of
your help; and we will be for a long time to come… It is not only technical officers
we wish to retain. We need our experienced administrators, our ‘corps d’elite’ as the
Governor called you the other day, because it is they who keep the whole machinery
of Government working.
Stay with us and help in a job, which will be as full and as challenging as
anything you have done hitherto… If you cannot stay indefinitely, then I would ask
you most seriously to consider whether you cannot stay for the next two or three years
with us for it is those years above all which will be our testing time."
The letter helped a great deal to steady expatriate nerves. I was much
impressed by it and responded positively at the time. But events moved fast
in the following months, and Nyerere’s pleas were soon overtaken by the
appointment of Tanganyika Africans to many posts held by Europeans both in
Dar and up-country.
The Compensation Scheme
All of us in the Colonial Administration were to be compensated for loss of
job and career consequent upon Africanisation and the coming of independence
to the country. We belonged to the Tanganyika Expatriate Colonial Service
Association (TECSA), our trade union. I attended its annual general meeting in
mid-March, and sat in on several later meetings that wrestled with drafts of the
Compensation Scheme prepared in the Colonial Office in London. I supported
TECSA in opening a Fighting Fund, to which I contributed my mite, so that
the Association could brief counsel at home to fight Her Majesty’s Government
over unsatisfactory aspects of the first draft of the Scheme. We were particularly
incensed that the Government did not offer a lump sum as compensation,
but only payment by instalments over five years, mockingly called the guano
principle, meaning little driblets every so often. TECSA considered this
inequitable and unacceptable, made a great fuss and obliged the Colonial Office
to think again.
When finally published in late April, the Compensation Scheme was
good for the older men, and offered anything up to £11,200 compensation to the most senior on compulsory retirement; to this could be added a large
proportion of commuted pension. But the Scheme offered young officers
of a few years’ service like me very little compensation. We were told that
the Government at home wanted to encourage us to continue serving in the
country after independence; an idea they called the inducement principle.
I thought this was unfair and wrong, being irrelevant to our contract of
employment, and I became angry. I was almost alone, however, in making a
protest. Just one close colleague, Norman MacLeod, shared my opinion, but
he disappeared on safari and left me to study not only the draft Tanganyika
Scheme but also comparable schemes, such as that agreed with the expatriates
working in Sierra Leone.
At the beginning of June, I sent a long, detailed and carefully argued note
to all the younger administrative staff throughout the Territory, asking if they
shared my views. Norman and I received some support, but not enough to
make a real splash. I found that being a rebel was hard work. We had one small
victory when the Colonial Office admitted they had made a mistake in working
out the figures on which the compensation had been calculated. They altered
them slightly in our favour, but we received little sympathy. We were up against
guilty feelings at the Colonial Office that not enough was being done to help
this newly independent country through its early difficult years.
Six months’ notice was stipulated in the Compensation Scheme, so the
exodus of expatriates was set for the end of the year, although many people
who were due annual leave went off earlier and did not return. In June around
fifty eligible members of the Administration came down from up-country to
sit an exam for entry into the home Civil Service by those between the ages of
thirty and forty. All were contemplating leaving Tanganyika soon. Some were
in despair, others sad, many angry. Despite Nyerere’s pressing invitation to us
all to stay and help the new country find its feet, despite the pressing need
for experienced administrators to tackle the famine, fifty administrative officers
out of a total of two hundred and thirty resigned in two months, and many
more planned to leave at the end of their tours. Yet the resignations in the
Administration were fewer than those in other departments of Government
such as the Medical Department and the Treasury. Most European civil servants
made up their minds to go, and through out that summer there was little other
conversation among my contemporaries. All the liners going back to England
from late November to late January were fully booked with colonial servants
retiring on compensation with their wives and families. We called them the
Uhuru boats.
In July many of the leading political figures were in London, arguing
fiercely over the size of the Government’s financial dowry for the newly
independent country, while in Dar senior figures began to slip away. We said
goodbye to our Deputy Governor, Sir John Fletcher-Cooke, who had been
Chief Secretary and key adviser to the Governor under the old regime, and
we saw the departure of a number of others whose jobs had been Africanised.
The exodus had begun.
The Ministry of Commerce and Industry
At the end of my leave in January, as I was packing to return to
Tanganyika, a letter had arrived from the Dar es Salaam Secretariat, to say I
was not going to work up-country as I had been promised by the top people
the previous summer. Instead I was appointed to the Ministry of Commerce
and Industry in Dar to become a - very junior - member of the dreaded
Secretariat. I was bitterly disappointed; I would have no contact with the
people of Tanganyika, no safaris, and none of the District Office work that
I had found so intensely fulfilling in the first half of my previous tour. I
had already served eighteen difficult months in the big city, and it held few
attractions for me. I knew that DOs were still needed up-country and my
contemporaries were being sent all over the territory to new districts for
their second tour, generally as part of a team sharing authority with African
DCs, and I had earnestly hoped for the same opportunity. Not a bit of it. No
reason was given for this change of plan, though I rather feared the doctors
might have had a hand in it, still concerned over the remote possibility of a
return of my TB.
I could do nothing but grumble while I was still in the UK, but I made a
big fuss as soon as I reached Dar. I went round to the Secretariat to see Beryl
Lake, the Woman Administrative Assistant (WAA) in charge of officers’
postings, and sought an interview with Pip Fraser-Smith who had been
made Permanent Secretary (PS) to the Chief Minister, and was ultimately
in charge of my appointment. As my former boss, and the nicest man for
whom I had worked, I trusted him to do what he could. I asked eagerly to
be allowed to work up-country, even if only for a year or so, but he told me
he could do nothing for the moment. I was advised that Dar es Salaam was
the best place to work from the point of view of getting a job and keeping
it, but I was still eager to see more of the country. It was all very frustrating.
I made up my mind to escape as soon as I could, and formally applied for a
posting up-country, while taking up the desk job in the Secretariat.
So it was that I reported for duty at the Ministry’s air-conditioned block of
offices in a newly-developed street off Acacia Avenue. This was my first experience
of air-conditioning; every day was closer and warmer than the previous, and
while it was very hot out of doors I wore a pullover in the office. It was also my
first experience of a job in which office hours were strictly adhered to - 7.30 a.m.
to 12 p.m. and 1.30 p.m. to 4 p.m.
I found myself one of four Assistant Secretaries (AS). Above us were two Permanent
Assistant Secretaries (PAS), one of whom had bought my beloved old sailing boat,
Greyhound, and above whom was the PS, Willie Wood who ran the show. He was tall
and wiry with enormous experience of the country’s finances and the mysterious ways
of the Secretariat, having been at the heart of the Tanganyika Government for some
years. Above him, was the Minister, Mr. Nsilo Swai, a Tanganyikan politician who
went abroad frequently and was in Germany when I joined the team. Bob Lloyd was
one of the PAS and my direct boss, who was good enough to entertain me at his home
while we got to know each other. Several others among my new colleagues proved to
be old friends, and very nearly everyone in the Ministry was an acquaintance with
whom I had chatted at a drinks party at one time or another.
I was put in the Loans Section and made Secretary of the Loans Funds
Committee with the job of arranging loans to Africans out of Government
funds. Reporting to me were four people: an accountant, a clerk, a typist, and an
Executive Assistant who was a married woman with a great deal of experience,
and who did nearly all the work. There was much to learn, and I did not really
know what I was supposed to be doing at the new office for perhaps six weeks.
Part of the job concerned departmental budgets and writing estimates: a
new, time-consuming and boring job, which never enthused me. Most of my
working life, however, was spent in running the Ministry’s loan programme.
The Ministry had three funds amounting to £260,000, from which to provide
loans to budding Tanganyikan entrepreneurs:
The African Productivity Loan Fund had been funded, from a
generous American grant in 1954, to encourage the participation
of Africans in commerce and industry for the purchase of lorries,
machinery, equipment and industrial buildings.
The Local Development Loan Fund comprised money from
agricultural development reserves. It was intended to enable
farmers to purchase tractors and tools, and fishermen to buy boats
and fishing nets.
The Third Fund was the oldest of the three with the vaguest terms
of reference.
Strict conditions were imposed before loans from any of these funds would
be made:
The project must be sensible and practical.
It must demonstrate a real increase in production and productivity.
The borrower must be formally assessed as credit-worthy.
He must contribute twenty-five percent of the total cost of the
project.
He must produce security in addition to a mortgage.
He must be able to repay the loan within five years so that the total
sum available would never be significantly reduced.
The Loans Fund Committee received applications through DCs, and awarded
loans where it was thought these criteria could be met, where the money would
genuinely increase productivity and output, and where the new capital equipment,
such as a maize mill or a tractor, could be used and looked after properly. Loans to
farmers needed constant oversight because they found it difficult to make repayments
promptly as a result of problems in maintaining their new equipment. When a
tractor broke down on a smallholding in a village deep in the bush it might take
months to obtain the necessary spare parts, and still more time to find and employ a
trained technician to install them. Loans to fishermen were more successful, possibly
because the recipients could always offer the security of their boats, and the coastal
DCs could monitor local fisheries effectively. There were thirty-six large loans for
fishing communities and cooperatives on my books while I was in the office.
My time was spent in correspondence about the loans with DCs all over
the country, receiving new applications through them from farmers, fishermen
and shop-keepers, having them vetted, writing reports about them, putting the
reports to my Committee for approval, and monitoring those that were granted
through their life-cycle. I carried a fair amount of responsibility from the start:
a great deal of money was involved and numerous valuable projects around
the country were financed by these means. But I had no contact with ordinary
people, and what dull work it was!
My Committee was not too worried about the Local Development Loan
Fund. Responsibility for it was in the process of being transferred to the Ministry
of Agriculture and Fisheries because loans under its provisions could be set up
and supervised more efficiently by Agricultural Officers in the field.
As a result, the bulk of my work concerned the granting and monitoring
of loans for commercial and industrial projects. We all realised that the strict
rules made them inaccessible to many of those who applied for them, and we
were told the Minister wanted the loans to be available on demand for almost every conceivable commercial activity, especially the building of hotels, bars and
shops. So we decided to try and persuade the American funders to relax their
standards and widen the sort of projects for which loans could be granted; and,
at the end of February, I was told to write a memorandum to the Ministry on
the matter. I recommended that he should ask the Americans to agree simpler
regulations to govern future borrowing of their money and to allow loans to be
made available to any borrower who was credit-worthy, and for any commercial
or industrial activity that would increase production and was assessed as sound
in the opinion of the local Commercial Officer - a new breed of advisor who
was being appointed in the bigger towns. I warned the Minister that even these
criteria would lead to the rejection of three quarters of all applicants, and he
would be under great pressure to waive them. I urged him to insist on them
in order that the loan fund should be preserved, and the loans should be of
practical benefit to the borrower and his fellow-countrymen.
This memorandum was my first effort at writing an official paper in the
Secretariat style. It went through several drafts, and required much revision and
polishing to meet the strict requirements of the PS. In the end it was probably
not very good, but he accepted it and, as far I know, put it in front of his
Minister at the appropriate time.
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, at the beginning of March, in the middle
of drafting the estimates and before completing the memorandum, I was told
to leave the Ministry at twenty-four hours notice. I was required to move across
town to work in the Attorney General’s Chambers.
The Attorney General’s Chambers
I was given just a weekend to take over the administration of the Chambers
from the incumbent WAA before she went on leave. Some consolation for the
change of job was that my new office on the first floor of the main Secretariat
building commanded a magnificent view of the harbour. The old place, half-timbered
and with red corrugated iron roofs, had been erected by the Germans
and condemned before the war, but it was still a throbbing hive of activity. It was
built around a central courtyard with slatted doors and open verandahs on both
the inner and outer sides of the offices. Around them, brilliant orange jacaranda
and scruffy bougainvillea gave colour to the old buildings; while indoors, giant
fans in the ceilings moved the air around us with constant squeaks and squeals.
Despite the open design, the heat made work uncomfortable in the middle of
the day, and it was hard to concentrate on figures and files as the tropical sun
beat down on the tin roof over our heads.
I found myself in an office headed by two Queen’s Counsels (QCs). John
Cole was the Attorney General (AG), a quiet, self-contained and somewhat self-effacing
Irishman buried in his law-books. Mr Dawson was the Solicitor-General
(SG), a pleasant Scottish lawyer to whom I reported. The AG was a key figure in
the move towards independence, being the legal adviser to the Executive Council
of the colonial era and to the Governor, as well as the leading barrister at the
High Court. His Chambers included a group of highly qualified legal draftsmen
who were all hard-working and very bright folk; they were spending their time
repealing all the legal instruments of former days and drafting legislation suitable
for the newly independent state. Almost single-handedly Paul Fifoot wrote many
of the key documents of the new constitution, and much other drafting was
done by Mike Konstam, a big cheerful chap and keen small-boat sailor, whom
I knew well because we sailed and played squash together. Another group in the
Chambers consisted of half a dozen advocates who combined the roles of solicitor
and barrister, and were led by the AG in his capacity as Crown Counsel and State
Prosecutor in the Tanganyika law-courts and at the East African Court of Appeal.
Several of this team of barristers spent most of their time on circuit, that is to say,
on safari up-country following the itinerant judges in High Court sessions in the
principal towns around the Territory.
Having no legal qualifications, I was firmly barred from work on matters
of law, but was required to deal with all the petty and tedious administrative
and staff matters in this small, high-powered Department. My role was to push
the paper around for them and act as a general bottle-washer. For example, I
processed formal petitions to the Governor, (whom we had to address on paper
as ‘YE’ - Your Excellency, and always called ‘HE’ - His Excellency). I handled
appeals for clemency from the Court of Appeal to him, and I was postman
to ensure the proper disposal of all cases involving lunatics and murderers. In
addition, I was secretary of the Advocates’ Committee which met periodically
with some formality. I handled the Tanganyika end of the work of the East
African Appeals Court and I was secretary of the Advisory Committee on Capital
Cases. The penalty for murder was death by hanging, but after exhausting the
judicial process, convicted murderers had one final opportunity to appeal to
HE for clemency. Only at this last stage in the long procedure was I required to
handle the papers. In each case, following the failure of appeals, the AG made
a formal recommendation to the Governor. Thus several horrific murder cases
went through my hands, and in appropriate cases I had to issue the order for
men to be hanged. I could not help feeling slightly sick when I killed a man by
sending off a telegram embodying HE’s final decision.
Among other things, I was made responsible for arranging the Law Exams to
be sat by candidates in the Administration that July. The High Court Registrar
set the papers; and it was my task to issue them to the invigilators around the
country under confidential cover, while in Dar I arranged the hall and the
invigilation. In the evenings, in order to add a bit of variety to the job, I took
on the role of coach of the Dar candidates, mostly aspiring young African
DOs. Preparing evening lectures for the course was hard work, and kept me
occupied one or two nights a week through June and July. I stuck at it, finding
drinking a pint of beer in advance put me in an eloquent mood, and, as the
exams approached, the candidates and I put in many evening hours together to
prepare them thoroughly.
The most difficult part of my job in the Chambers was running its finances.
I began to learn some of the jargon of the Vote Book, and how to write the
estimates to go in the following year’s budget. I did so at a time when the future
of the office was unclear, for the AG was one of the last remaining expatriate
members of the Council of Ministers, and he officially lost his place at the top
table when the country achieved self-government on 1st May. The Chambers
were then dismembered. Mr Cole was replaced in June by a young, up-and-coming
barrister from London called Roland Brown who had been Nyerere’s
personal legal adviser for some time. Brown was not given a seat in the Tanganyika
Cabinet, and took time to decide how to run his much diminished operation.
I was not necessarily very efficient at my job in the Chambers. One very
hot day I lost the keys of my office safe with all sorts of confidential and official
papers open in it. I searched all through a long, weary evening and spent a
sleepless night anticipating fearful punishments. Next morning I put my hand
straight on the wretched keys under a pile of the secret documents at the back
of the open safe. All in all, the job was not much fun, and I wanted to move
out as soon as possible, but I did not expect simply to be shifted sideways again.
The Ministry of Legal Affairs
Under the self-government constitution, the Ministry of Legal Affairs was
formed to take over numerous functions including some of those formerly
performed in the AG’s Chambers. Late that April, I was told to help set up the
Ministry while continuing to do the administrative work of the Chambers. I
was flattered to be trusted to cope, and fondly hoped the work would become
more interesting in the new environment.
At first I was entirely on my own in the new Ministry. My time was spent
visiting other Ministries and badgering their people for the wherewithal for a completely fresh set-up. I had to prepare supplementary estimates for all
normal office functions, learning as I went along, and persuading reluctant and
unhelpful Treasury officials to release funds to enable me to recruit people and
buy equipment. I was given a suite of rooms around a yard among bougainvillea
in a newish block almost underneath the old Secretariat. I had to equip these
offices from scratch with basic things such as telephones, desks, stationery,
safe, an adding machine and, of course, staff. Trained clerical officers were in
desperately short supply, but I interviewed stenographers, messengers and clerks,
and formed a skeleton team to run the Department. Some of the AG’s people
were transferred downstairs; then the Registrar General brought his team in
with us and I had to provide them with facilities too. I was doing this at a time
when the country’s budget was half a million pounds overspent, and nobody
was sure whence would come the extra funds. When the politicians decreed
that there should be a new Ministry for such and such, they seemed to give no
thought how the bodies and the premises would be financed.
At the Ministry I no longer took my orders from the SG, but reported to
the Minister. He was Chief Abdullah Fundikira, not only a Minister in the
new Government but also recently elected the Mtemi, that is the paramount
chief of the powerful Nyamwezi people of Western Tanganyika. The Chief was
a heavily built young man with quiet authority, who had started his career as
an Agricultural Officer, but on being made Mtemi had thrown in his lot with
TANU and become an important political figure. He moved across to us from
the Ministry of Lands and Water where his speeches had been impressive in
showing a mastery of his subject, and a preference for practical solutions free of
racial bias. He was said to be the most right wing and most pro-British of Nyerere’s
team, but fully in the Prime Minister’s confidence. He was abroad in India for
my first few days. On his return I found him easy to work with, and I attended
his swearing-in. Later I spent a lot of time writing briefs for him about the
Ministry’s finances, and supporting him during the discussions in the National
Assembly on our estimates within the national budget.
After I had been struggling for two or three weeks, Ian Norton took over
as the PAS with me as the AS in the new set-up. Ian had been DC in several
districts, and latterly worked in the Governor’s private office; and he brought
vital secretariat experience to our work. He was tall and lanky, towering over
me at well over six feet in height, and had massive charm. I met Jean, his wife,
enjoyed drinks with them and found them a delightful pair.
The trouble was that the Government of the country was being reorganised
from day to day, and all of us in the Secretariat were feeling our way. In our brand new little Ministry, Ian and I had to make it up as we went along, and,
somehow, Ian was always in a flat spin to get the work done within urgent
deadlines. Papers had to be ready in five minutes, meetings to be fixed in ten.
We moved from one crisis to the next, never seemed to be able to draw breath,
calm down or plan ahead, and were constantly in a panic. Ian was one of the
nicest men, but impossible to work for. We made progress, however. We went
together to the Treasury, and by the middle of June had secured the money
needed to run our operation effectively. We successfully tackled the mysteries
of Exchequer and Audit where I was totally out of my depth, and we sorted out
the senior staff recruitment when I introduced Ian to Pip Fraser-Smith in the
Prime Minister’s Office.
Until early July I continued to work for two masters, the AG upstairs, and the
PAS in Legal Affairs downstairs. Gradually however, the work in the Chambers
eased off, and I was able to appoint my relief and hand over to him. During one
lunch-time I went aboard the liner, the SS Durban Castle, to say goodbye to my
former boss, Mr Dawson; a sad and disappointed Solicitor General, whose post
had disappeared along with Mr Cole’s membership of the Council of Ministers.
Thereafter, I worked entirely downstairs in the Ministry of Legal Affairs.
I was finding the work duller than ever, and was extremely relieved when
I was told officially late one afternoon early in August that I was posted to
Morogoro with immediate effect. I would be staff officer and administrative
assistant to the Provincial Commissioner working in the Provincial Office. I
must be ready to start the job in just three days. This was not the hands-on post
in a distant district that I was looking for, but I was hugely relieved to end my
job at Legal Affairs, which had been so very difficult and dull, and I was more
than ready for the change.
Before I was released, I had to prepare papers for the Minister’s use at the
forthcoming meeting of the National Assembly. As usual, there was a crisis at
the Ministry, and I was kept hard at work until late on my final evening. They
wanted me in the office until the last possible moment, and I had to leave it to my
servants to pack up my possessions. At last I was putting away the confidential
files and writing Handing Over notes for my successor, Doreen Mackay. She
was still in Rome, making her way back from leave in slow stages, and so the
post in Legal Affairs was to be vacant for a fortnight. I left Ian as worried as
ever when my replacement would arrive. I said goodbye to him, the new staff
downstairs and the lawyers in the AG’s shrunken Chambers upstairs, and that
was the end of my service in the Secretariat, the beating heart of Government.
Domestic Life: January to August
Let me go back to the beginning as I stepped off the plane at Dar that
January, tired after a sleepless night. The heat was overpowering, but kind
friends met me and made my arrival easy. Full of news, they took me first of all
to the New Africa Hotel to dump my bags, and thence to Ruby Cabs to hire a
Volkswagen for three days.
On the day after my arrival, I collected the keys of a house to move into
immediately. It belonged to an expatriate family who were on leave and would
return to reoccupy it in a couple of months. In the meantime I was offered the
opportunity to live there, while settling back into the routine of life in the big
city. I drove out in the hired VW to inspect my new home in the company of
an old friend from Luton whom I had not seen for years. Jane Lloyd had been
working at a school in Johannesburg, and was on her way home by sea. Her ship
had sailed up the east coast of Africa and called in at Dar early in the morning
after I had flown in. She had rapidly tracked me down to the hotel where,
happy to see a friendly face from the past, I caught up with her news. Together
we went out to explore Oyster Bay, Dar’s plum residential area, and found my
bungalow no more than a stone’s throw from the beach. The little place looked
comfortable and convenient, and seemed entirely satisfactory. Following the
inspection, I took Jane for a run in the car round the African villages behind
Dar, and finally back down to the beach for a swim before returning her to her
ship.
My next step was to revisit old haunts in my former station of Kisarawe in
order to recruit staff to run my house from among those whom I knew might be
looking for a job. The little place lay in the hills only twenty or so miles west of
Dar, and was accessible over a rough road of sand and stone (known as murram)
that wound up through the thickly-forested jungle of the Pugu Hills. I knew
all the right people at Kisarawe and swiftly engaged Mohamed as cook, Sefu as
houseboy, and Amiri to look after the garden and car. Mohamed was a solid,
middle-aged fellow with a brusque and rather off-hand manner, but he was a
good cook - at times a very good cook. Sefu was a smart, bright young man,
short in stature and tubby, but always smiling, cheerful, sensible and responsive.
Amiri came to me as a rough chap with neither schooling nor understanding
of European ways, but he learned quickly and made himself very useful. Sefu
and Amiri asked for advances on their wages when they started work, in order
to pay the price of their brides and enable them both to start life as married
couples, although they had to accept lower wages for a while in order to repay
their debts.
Mohamed, his wives, children, a large wooden bed, lamps and various
bundles piled into the hired VW that first weekend, and came down
from Kisarawe to Dar with me. He and I then took possession of the
Oyster Bay bungalow I had been allocated, moved the possessions of
the family who normally lived there into a spare bedroom, and quickly
made the place comfortable. My boxes followed in a lorry with the other
two young men, and we unpacked. All in all, the house proved a great
success. The scent of oleander on my verandah was over-powering, and
I slept there under a mosquito net whenever it was not raining. It was
much cooler and fresher out of doors than inside, the garden noises were
friendly, and the flame trees, jacaranda and bougainvillea were all in full
bloom.
My much-loved Peugeot had been in the hold of the SS Kenya Castle,
which had steamed majestically into Dar es Salaam harbour on the same
day that I had arrived by air. The car had been off-loaded the following
day and quickly put in the hands of the clearing agents who had paid the
customs dues for me and handed her over to Tanganyika Motors. There,
within a further twenty-four hours, I was able to pick her up - all set for
the road. She was a lovely car, although by no means as unique as she
had been at home because there were masses of big Peugeots in Dar es
Salaam. The bonnet still had a silly dent in it as a result of a knock I had
stupidly given her driving to the London docks. Worse still, only two
days after her release to me, a side window was forced open whilst she
was parked unattended in the shopping area, and two white shirts were
stolen. Fortunately the damage was slight and insurance covered the loss
and repairs. I had bought her as a workhorse for use on the poor dirt
roads up-country; I had not expected to have to use her as a run-about
in the capital city, but I took the firm decision to hang on to her at all
costs in anticipation of a move away from Dar.
That February, all administrative staff officers were given a pay rise
of thirty per cent on the recommendation of the Flemming Report on
salaries of expatriate civil servants. I received an additional £300 a year,
and some back pay, which went a long way towards paying off the loan
on my car, and helped reduce my debt to my father for his loan that had
seen me through university. I was then worth a cool £1,500 a year. The
Flemming ‘backers’ did a lot to improve morale and confidence among
colleagues in Dar es Salaam.
Social Life
It was only slowly that I got back into the social swing. Several of those I
had known the previous year had left, either on long leave, or for good, but
in due course I found myself among a small and friendly group of men and
women of much my own age. Robin Saville, my friend in the Secretariat,
had married the nursing sister, Pip Boakes, while I had been away, and set up
house in Speke Street close by the Botanical Gardens. David and Patricia Le
Breton had also returned to Dar after their marriage back home. Amongst my
single friends remained Peter Mence, the policeman, and Alan Reese, in Adult
Education, both men being quiet and confident chaps whose company I much
enjoyed. Among the single girls I counted as friends Anne Burkinshaw, a WAA
in the Secretariat with a sunny disposition and a hearty laugh, Sheilagh Bailey,
a secretary in Police Headquarters, and Katie Kyle and several other nursing
sisters who I had know when in hospital. We tended to gather in the evenings
for a drink and a meal, or a visit to the cinema, and occasionally for a dance.
At the weekends we sailed together, or went out to a chosen beach to swim and
snorkel over the reef and picnic on the sand in the shade of the coconut palms.
Government House was kind to me, too. Sir Richard and Lady Turnbull
were as friendly as ever when they invited me to lunch not long after my return
to Dar. It was a quiet family affair with just two other guests and the Aide de
Camp (ADC), and I was flattered when HE said some very kind things about
my article on the Germans in East Africa, which had been published in the
learned journal Tanganyika Notes and Records while I had been at home.
Old friends who turned up unexpectedly were Tim and Anne Ealand. He was
a regular officer of my old Regiment, the Dorsets, seconded to the Tanganyika
Rifles as Training Officer at their base in Colito Barracks outside Dar. We had
served together during my National Service in Dorchester and Hong Kong, and
I was delighted when he got in touch, and Anne invited me to their home and to
concerts organised at the barracks. Miss ‘Rummy’ Rumbold, another good and
dear friend who had been working at my former station of Nzega, re-entered
my life when she came down to Dar by train to board a French liner for a cruise
homeward bound. It was good to see her again although, like so many of us at
that time, she was totally undecided whether to stay under the new regime or
take compensation and leave the country for good.
Sheilagh and I found we were enjoying each other’s company more and
more. We were both keen on sailing and seemed to like the same things. She had
a sweet and gentle manner, a clear, quiet voice and an artistic sense that much
attracted me. I helped her move into a flat in a block near Selander Bridge with superb views out to sea. Amiri worked for her for some days, and helped make
her living room quite charming with its lovely outlook and her many pretty
things. She and her little pekinese used to join me for walks along the Oyster
Bay beach in the evenings, and for some long runs by car on Sundays to explore
more distant beaches like Kisiju on the south coast. She would set up her easel
and paint in oils, while I idled in the sunshine at weekends. Under her guidance
I bought some brushes and oil paints myself and started to paint, at first quite
casually making a silly mess on the canvas, but more seriously as time went on.
I supported Sheilagh when her poor dog was injured in a fight and needed
urgent attention by the vets. It was to me she turned when she hit an African
child who had run headlong into the wing of her little car as she was driving
to work at Police Headquarters. I helped her in visits to the hospital and the
child’s parents; the poor kid was unconscious for some hours, though, happily,
his skull had not been fractured. It was not in the least Sheilagh’s fault, but was
very distressing for her.
She was the genial hostess at many of my evening parties in Oyster Bay, and
invited me to the sundowners she gave in her flat. Her cook was very good at
making delectable curries, and she introduced me to some new and interesting
people. On one occasion I helped her host a visit by the Turnbulls, to admire
the magnificent view from the windows of the flat over Selander Bridge and
across the sparkling Indian Ocean. During those months we saw each other in
the evenings a couple of times a week.
The highlight of my social life over that period was a Saturday night in July
at the opening of The Ocean Breeze, the new Police Officers’ Mess, situated
on the cliff-top at the tip of Oyster Bay. The reception rooms had been freshly
decorated and furnished, and looked very fine with masses of flowers flown up
from the Southern Highlands. Sheilagh and I made up a party with Alan Reese
and his girlfriend, and my long-standing friends, Norman and Jane Macleod,
dancing until 3 a.m. to an excellent police band, with supper at midnight
at which I gorged myself on lobster. Two weekends later we witnessed the
christening of Robin and Pip Saville’s first-born at St Alban’s Church, and went
on to enjoy an excellent party at their Speke Street home. My social life at that
time was very pleasant.
I took every opportunity to escape from Dar whenever possible, and longed
for the cool fresh air of my former station at Kisarawe. On several weekends
after my return, I drove up there to enjoy the drier climate and, in addition to
engaging my staff, spent time with my former colleagues and friends. David
Nickoll was the new DC, whom I knew only slightly, but Andrew Marshall, with whom I had worked closely for many months, was still the DO I. Jim
Campbell was my successor there as DO II, and Stewart Inchbold-Stevens
was the new Forestry Officer, whose buxom wife and giggling daughters used
to invite me to their family tea parties. Deep in the Pugu Hills, not far from
Kisarawe, lay Minaki School, whose headmaster was a fellow Johnian, Dick
Pentney, and I was delighted when he invited me to his school sports and open
days.
On publication of the Compensation Scheme, David Nickoll made up his
mind to retire; and I was invited to a series of farewell parties organised by
Andrew Marshall for the African chiefs and councillors as well as the European
community on their small station. Andrew himself took a boat home on leave
soon after David’s departure, leaving behind a much-depleted administrative
team in the District office.
On several occasions, I called on the father of a young man from a village
behind Kisarawe who had been sent by the British Council to England for a
course at Reading University. Stephen Kirumbi was a likeable fellow whom I had taken out several times during my home leave, and I was glad to be able to
tell his parents how he was doing. At other times, I went further into the hills
behind Kisarawe, to call at the Catholic Mission at Maneromango, return books
on local history to the Mission library, and renew my acquaintance with Mr
Yungi, the local historian, picking his brains about the life and customs of his
people, the Zaramo, whom I was studying at the time.
Moving House
The snag about the pleasant Oyster Bay bungalow which I had occupied on
return to Dar, was that I had to move out again only eight weeks after moving
in. The former occupants wanted it back at the end of their long leave. Worse
still, the housing situation was very tight, and no alternative house was available
to me for at least a fortnight. I was offered a room in a hotel, but decided I
would like to see what it was like living and sleeping in a banda, a palm leaf
shack of the sort in which many coastal Africans spent their lives. So I moved
into one at a place called Magogoni, on the beach south of the city, which had
formerly been a rest house belonging to the Kisarawe District Office. It was one
simple room quite without modern conveniences, but slap on the beach and
utterly peaceful.
I took with me for use in the banda all my safari kit: paraffin fridge, camp
bed and battery wireless - essential for listening to Hancock’s Half Hour. The
weekends at Magogoni were magnificently idle: lazing on the beach with a few
friends and keeping cool in the water. The banda was quite cosy, and would have
made a pleasant retreat were it not for four problems.
Firstly there was minimal accommodation for my staff, so Mohamed and
Sefu had to take lodgings elsewhere in Dar es Salaam. Only Amiri could be at
hand in an even simpler banda beside mine.
Secondly there was serious trouble with the roof. The makuti, (that is the
palm thatch), was thick and looked to be water-resistant, but I soon discovered
it leaked. On nights when the clouds piled up, I had little sleep because I was in
and out of bed constantly blocking up the holes in the thatch, and covering up
the furniture beneath.
The third snag was that I had to take the car to and from the city over the
very slow car-ferry every day. I had to rise each day at 6 a.m. and leave the hut by
6.50 a.m. in order to catch the ferry in time to reach the office when it opened.
Worse still, the ferry closed down at dusk, and, if I wanted to return home late, I
had to drive fifteen miles round the creek over a narrow and bumpy sandy track
to regain my banda.
The fourth disadvantage was that I had to pack up and store all my belongings
that I had so recently unpacked. I was particularly distressed not to have the books
I wanted to read, and the Melaware for the table from Harrods, bought while on
leave, which had arrived from London by sea as I was about to move.
I was greatly relieved, therefore, when a number of expatriates left to go on long
leave in April and a house became vacant in Oyster Bay once again. It was arranged
that I should move into an attractive small bungalow vacated by Doreen Mackay,
the delightful WAA who was later to take over from me at the Ministry of Legal
Affairs. Doreen gave me an enormous curry lunch one Sunday shortly before the
move, and showed me round her pleasant home. In return I took her to the airport
on departure, stowed away her possessions in boxes, and took her servants to Dar
es Salaam railway station to stay with their families up-country while she was away.
Doreen’s house was just off Kingsway, which, together with Queensway, was the
fashionable area of Oyster Bay. I found myself on a small plot tucked in between
the American Consul, the Aga Khan, and the mansions of property owners and
company directors. All the big houses were on the cliffs overlooking the bay: I was
three blocks back, and able to catch a little of the sea breeze during the day - although
the air was stifling and quite still at night.
This bungalow gave me great pleasure. At last I was able to unpack completely, use
all my things including the contents of the Harrods parcels, and make the bungalow
a comfortable home. Following my birthday, yet more useful household equipment
arrived, and was put to good use. There was enough room in the bungalow for
evening drinks parties, and the dining room was ideal for dinner parties. Mohamed
came into his own as my cook, and enabled me to entertain frequently in the
evenings and to serve delicious meals to my guests; I was proud of my cook.
My parents pushed ahead with arrangements for their Round Africa Trip in the
winter. They were living comfortably in retirement at Island Cottage, the Tudor oak-beamed
cottage they had bought at Wittersham in the Isle of Oxney in Kent. My
mother was heavily involved with her grandchildren and had a busy social life while
my father spent his summers as a locum for the local practice of family doctors,
but they had decided to spend the winter travelling, to come out to East Africa and
call on me that Christmas. They booked a cruise on the Union Castle liner, the SS
Kenya Castle, sailing from London to Dar es Salaam in late November, and they
set aside a month to spend with me from early December to early January. They
planned to leave me in the New Year, and continue their voyage south to Cape Town
and round Africa on the SS Rhodesia Castle. I went on board this ship in June on
one of its periodic calls to Dar, inspected the cabins and reported back fully. We kept
up a lively correspondence about their plans.
Local Safaris
My first up-country safari took place over the Idd weekend which fell in
early March at the close of the month-long Ramadhan fast. We had a three day
holiday once the new moon had been sighted, and I joined a party of friends on
a trip to the Mikumi Game Reserve. This is a hot, parched plain that lies perhaps
two hundred miles inland from Dar beyond Morogoro. We left at midnight on
the Sunday and driving through the dark reached the reserve at about 5 a.m.
next morning after an easy trip. Cruising around looking for the rest camp,
we practically ran over a pride of lions including four fine, shaggy and stately
lionesses. Those were the first lions that I had seen in the flesh during three years
in Tanganyika, and what grand beasts they were!
For an hour we rested at the small camp, but stirred ourselves to set off into
the dawn, and immediately came across several mixed herds of zebra, deer and
wildebeest. At a wallow stood a large group of buffalo, covered in glistening
wet mud and flicking their tails at the flies, while the eyes and ears of three
silent hippopotami were visible above the murky water of the pool. Our
route took us through many more herds, more unfriendly-looking buffalo,
and numerous giraffe of various shapes, sizes and colours. After breakfast we
retraced our course, but already the sun was high, and most of the animals
had disappeared to shelter in the shade and the long grass away from the heat
of the day. So we rested, too, in the midst of a herd of gnu grazing around
us. When we set off again, we came upon a family of grey elephants, silently
browsing off the trees, and eating a vast amount of foliage as they swayed and
swung through the bush.
Delighted and satisfied we left them to it, and drove off in the car into the
cool hills behind Morogoro. There we paddled in a mountain stream, ate our
lunch at 4 p.m., and caught up on lost sleep before reluctantly returning to the
damp, sticky, hot-house atmosphere of Dar es Salaam.
My second escape took place one Sunday in April when Sheilagh and I went
up to Bagamoyo. After a fresh look round the old Arab port, with its ruined
mosques and ancient cemeteries along the sands, we went down to the marshes
behind the town where we saw much bird life, particularly some magnificent
black herons. We drove out to the ferry across the Ruvu River, hand-propelled
on chains over a sinister muddy river with high reeds on either side. We called at
the Catholic Mission that had been established in the 1870s in the fight against
the slave trade. I bought some of their home-made cigars, and we were shown
their old salt factory. We found Bagamoyo as sleepy and unspoilt a place as ever;
inaccessible because of the bad road, but always worth a visit.
Haidhuru adventures
I had had the good fortune to be at Oxford in 1956 with seven other men
who had chosen, like me, to serve in the Colonial Service in Tanganyika.
Shortly before the end of our Oxford course, during the course of one merry,
and possibly rather inebriated evening at Oriel College, we had decided to call
ourselves the Haidhuru, which means in Swahili ‘it doesn’t matter.’ I can never
remember the reason for this silly title, for we were, in fact, all deeply interested
in our work and enthusiastic about it. We had all come out on the same ship
in August 1957, at the conclusion of the Devonshire Course, and, enjoying
each other’s company, we had kept in touch even when scattered in up-country
districts across the Territory.
While in Dar, in 1961, I took every opportunity to maintain contact with
my fellow Haidhuru, their spouses and families. The first among them whom I
met on that tour was one of the wisest, and certainly the tallest of us, Charles
Thatcher who, with his wife, Susan, and their young son, turned up at the end
of February. They had come out by sea from England at the end of their long
leave. I could not accommodate them, as I was moving house at the time they
arrived, so they stayed at a hotel for a few days while preparing to go to their
new posting at Kigoma on Lake Tanganyika. I gladly gave them a meal or two
in the house as I was packing it up, lent them my car and showed them the local
sights. It was good to see them, as the other six of our peers were either still on
leave or scattered up-country.
Next, John Illingworth came through in late March, having wangled himself
a short cruise on a Belgian liner. I gave him a bed on his arrival, and had his
car serviced for him in his absence. On his return, we had a convivial evening
in the New Africa Hotel, and he was kind enough to invite Sheilagh and me to
visit him for a weekend at his one-man station at Ifakara in Mahenge District.
It was not until mid-April that Norman and Jane MacLeod arrived by sea at
the end of their long leave. Norman had been given the job he had sought as a
Crown Counsel in the AG’s Chambers in Dar es Salaam, with an office a few
doors away from me, and a house at the far end of Oyster Bay. On the morning
their ship steamed into Dar, I went out to Harbour Point to wave to them as
they lined the ship’s rail and the sun rose over the sea, and I took them home to
stay with me until they had sorted themselves out. Thereafter while I was living
in Dar, I was often in their company and I counted myself fortunate to have
such congenial friends.
I was invited to Mufindi in the Southern Highlands, south of Iringa, to spend
Easter weekend with Hilary and Harry Magnay and their small family. I took Amiri to keep me awake and look after the car, and left at 4 a.m. on Good
Friday reaching Mufindi twelve hours later after a pause for lunch at Iringa.
Averaging fifty miles per hour on the long straight dusty murram road, we
passed through Mikumi at dawn, and, at one point, found ourselves among
a herd of giraffe on the main road. The annual Coronation Safari car rally
had followed the same route a few hours ahead of us, and made a mess of
the road, but the Peugeot ran beautifully. We climbed two steep escarpments
into the highland country where the air became cool, and motored through
fertile and well-stocked farming country, in contrast to the dry and barren
coast that I knew so well.
Mufindi was situated on a high plateau, in an area of dense rainforest
with heavy rainfall, thick mist and steamy jungle. The constant rain and
humid atmosphere were ideal conditions for growing tea, and the bright
green bushes flourished in endless rows beside the dirt road, which ran up
to the village where the tea planters had their own church, hospital, club and
even a golf course.
Harry Magnay was the DO working on his own there, with a huge area
to cover and an intensely interesting job in those surroundings. The air was
deliciously cool at nights. Sweet-smelling log fires burned in the hearths of
their house. We went for long walks through the tea bushes and the rich
jungle, and talked for hours and hours around the fire before going to bed
underneath three blankets. Nothing could be a more delightful contrast to
Dar. I was intensely jealous of Harry in his peach of a job in an ideal climate
and conditions, and was sad to go back to the dreary heat of Dar after the
weekend.
Tammy
On 6th May Tammy joined my household. A friendly girl named Teresa,
who was leaving the country, gave me a huge, one-year-old, rollicking labrador
crossed with a bit of bull terrier. Tammy had a beautiful, shiny, black coat,
tinged a dark brown and flecked with white on her chest. She was a very
friendly bitch, still young enough to adapt to my house and me. She was
huge, and could be terrifying and obstreperous as she barged about, but was
excessively affectionate to those she knew. All in all, she was a lovely dog, and
a great companion for a bachelor. She ate like a dozen horses, and Teresa gave
me strict instructions to buy Tammy four pounds of raw shin beef every four
days and feed it to her morning and evening with a tin and a half of processed
food as well, to shampoo her once a fortnight, and worm her regularly.
After her arrival, many of my evenings were given over to entertaining
her. She took up a lot of time because she needed an enormous amount
of exercise. We took long walks together after I got home from work. We
went out along the cliff s and down on to the beaches of Oyster Bay and
neighbouring Msasani where we relished the soft breezes in the hour before
sunset. At weekends she accompanied me on many expeditions to the
beaches to the north and south of Dar, where I strolled along the wet sand,
while she dug for crabs.
Regrettably she had not been trained, and would not ‘sit’ or ‘stay’ when
told. On one occasion, in the early days, she bolted across Ocean Road in
front of a car. Fortunately she suffered no more than shock and muscle-strain
as a result of the collision, but I had to spend time, teaching her
to obey the normal commands. Fortuitously a useful book arrived as gift
from my sister, Margaret about the training and care of labradors, and all
went well. Tammy was healthy and passed fi t when she came to me, but
contracted a nasty ear infection soon after joining me, and I had to take her
to the vet several times in July.
Ifakara
Sheilagh and I took the opportunity of the holiday over the Queen’s Official
Birthday in early June to accept John Illingworth’s invitation and drive down
to Ifakara. It was a village on the Kilombero River, lying two hundred and fifty
from Dar es Salaam through Morogoro and Mikumi, and some way south of
the main Iringa road. John’s DC and boss was based at Mahenge, fifty miles
away across the river, which was often impassable because of floods, and John
was in charge of this one-man administrative station, in much the same way as
Harry Magnay was at Mufindi.
Sheilagh and I set off at 2 a.m. on the Saturday, and after pausing at dawn in
the Mikumi Game Reserve reached our destination nine hours later. We arrived
hot, dusty and tired in the middle of the customary cocktail party, thrown by our
host for local dignitaries, to celebrate the Queen’s Birthday. John’s guests were
a very mixed bunch; two settlers who hunted crocodiles, some elderly German
and Swiss missionaries, and two young European doctors who ran the mission
hospital. After lunch in John’s bungalow we were shown round the hospital,
and were much impressed by its size, its two hundred beds and the ultramodern
equipment in the x-ray department and operating theatre. We gathered
that all this state-of-the-art equipment had been paid for by a West German
Government grant, supplemented by American Catholic Mission funds. We
went from the hospital to the football pitch behind the little mud-hut school
to watch John referee a local match between two African teams who played
barefoot on the hard dry earth. Later Sheilagh and I enjoyed a quiet evening
meal with our host in his modest bungalow.
John had a government motor launch to enable him to visit chiefdoms in
his District up and down the river, and on Sunday he took us by launch for a
spin downstream to see game. The Kilombero was a huge, brown flood, as wide
as the Thames at Gravesend, that ran between eight-foot-high elephant grass
and patches of thick, dark green jungle tumbling down to the water’s edge.
Apart from a few very poor fishing villages along the banks, the only life we saw
were hippos snorting in the murky water, and elephants ambling through the
long grass some way back from the water. The bird-life was plentiful: we saw
kingfishers and rollers, curlews and cormorants, cranes and egrets, and many
more exotic birds in an endless display.
After a little while we drew into the bank, scrambled ashore and set off
on foot to explore the jungle, carefully and unarmed. Almost immediately we
walked between some big, old trees and saw, just twenty yards ahead, a massive
bull elephant coolly surveying us from the middle of a clearing in the woodland. Behind him a herd of shadowy beasts slipped silently between the trees across
our path. We stopped stock-still and watched for a few moments, but the bull
was uneasy; we quietly retraced our steps.
We had lunch tied up to the river bank and reluctantly turned back. Shooting
was not allowed in that area, but nearer home we moored again, and I took my
gun into a swamp in search of duck without success. Reaching Ifakara after
dark, we were persuaded to stay for supper. So Sheilagh and I did not leave
John’s rest house until 8 p.m. and only reached Dar in the early hours the next
morning, driving alternately and drinking masses of coffee.
Only two weeks later I was surprised when John appeared in my office one
afternoon to ask for a bed. He had driven in from Ifakara, after receiving a
telegram that his father had had a stroke at the family home in Durham. John
rang his mother from my desk. He learned that his father had just died, and
decided to fl y home at once. It took him two days to fi x his flight, while Sheilagh
and I looked after him as best we could. We saw him off from the airport one
evening, and met him off the Comet a few days later, having attended the
funeral.
The Yacht Club
In January I rejoined the Dar es Salaam Yacht Club, and looked forward
to some sailing. At first, the weather was too uncertain, and the frequent
downpours not only drenched Dar but also turned the sea into turmoil - four
yachts capsized in the harbour one weekend. I had no intention of buying a
share in a boat, as I had done on the previous tour, because I was hoping to
be transferred up-country. I was, however, eager to have the chance to sail in a
smaller boat, a fourteen-footer, which was easier to handle than my dear, old,
nineteen-foot Greyhound.
In mid-February, I was introduced to a nursing sister called Joan Wells who
had just the sort of boat I liked aptly named Ballerina, and who willingly took
me out as her crew. Even though the weather was still poor and the conditions
were challenging, we were on the water four times in one week; one day we
experienced a terrifyingly strong breeze, and on the next, sat and cooked in the
harbour mouth in a fl at calm with our sails flapping idly.
At the end of February I escorted Sheilagh Bailey to the annual Yacht Club
dance, which was held outside on their ‘quarterdeck’. We had tremendous fun,
and on the following day crewed for Joan in the end-of-season regatta. The
weather was as unreliable as ever: hot and airless in the morning, gusty and over-cast in the afternoon. At the climax of the day, thirty boats sailed in a
powerful breeze past the Yacht Club, while the flags were dipped and the crowd
of spectators stood up to applaud. Suddenly the heavens opened and, instead of
cheering us, they ran for cover from the thunderstorm.
As in previous years, during the off season, the yard below the Yacht Club
was full of boats being repaired and repainted in preparation for the resumption
of racing in May. Over several weeks I gave Joan Wells a hand in painting the
keel and decking of her boat. We put her in the water early in May, and enjoyed
excellent sailing even before the official start of the season. I then helped a fellow
member of the Secretariat, Philip Mawhood, with his much bigger boat. Philip
and I did a huge job of stripping his keel, removing all the carbuncles, and
rubbing it down in preparation for painting later on.
The opening regatta of the new season took place on my birthday at the end
of May, and I spent the day on the water. The following weekend I was on the
water again, and able to enjoy an exhilarating sail as Joan’s crew once more. We
started off in a race, but were disqualified near the start. Ballerina had new sails,
and we experimented with the spinnaker in an exciting run home.
In June and July I was on the water less frequently, mainly because it was
such fun taking Tammy to the beach. I managed several good Saturday races,
however, although the sailing was strenuous, for the breezes were strong and the weather changeable. On one occasion we were caught in a fearful squall, which
capsized two boats up the creek and two others outside the harbour. In Joan’s
little boat we lowered the mainsail and weathered the storm, but were soaked
in the process.
The Tanganyika Society
I joined the Editorial Board of Tanganyika Notes and Records, and started work
on a new article for the journal about the Zaramo people of Kisarawe, in whom
I had become interested while working in the area. Research was necessary, and I
enjoyed my occasional Sunday visits to Mr Yungi at the Maneromango Mission
to learn some the history of his people. Then, in June, the editor of the journal
asked me to write a review of the book The White Nile by Alan Moorehead,
which had been published in the United Kingdom the previous year, and I
readily agreed.
I was also gratified to be invited to join the Society’s Committee, perhaps in
recognition of my long article on The German Achievement in East Africa that the journal had
published. Happily little work was involved, as the Committee met only once
a month over tea, but we had, in addition, regular evening lectures that I liked
to attend. An old hand gave an amusing talk about a tame hippo he had once
kept, and Dr Leakey, the archaeologist, spoke about his discoveries of the skulls
and other bones of very early man in the Olduvai Gorge near Ngorongoro.
Although never much excited about old bones, I was enthralled by what he had
found and was planning to do.
The Tanganyika Society for the Blind
I resumed contact with this Society, for which I had done voluntary work on
my previous tour. Immediately I found myself its Secretary. Flag Day, a fete and
the Annual General Meeting had to be planned, and links to be re-established
with the Royal Commonwealth Society for the Blind which was active in
London. I inherited from the previous Secretary a giant metal filing cabinet, full
of the Society’s correspondence. I set this massive, ugly piece of furniture on the
verandah of my new house, but had little chance to sort it out for some weeks as
I moved into my new job; and I had then to buy a typewriter that was essential
for TSB correspondence.
The Society had its Annual General Meeting in mid-May, when we elected
an affable doctor named Dr Daya as the Chairman, and a cheerful, laid-back
fellow called Bill Campbell-Ritchie as Treasurer. I found it easy to work with
them both and filled my evenings with work in connection with the Society. I used to get the Imperial out after supper, and would type away until midnight in
order to keep up with the letter and report writing. Among other tasks, I had to
work out a budget for the School for the Blind at Morogoro, and was frequently
in touch with the Head Teacher, Mr Powell. He came down with his family for a
week at the end of May, to sort out the school’s finances while I accommodated
the family with borrowed cots for the children.
The biggest event of the Society’s year was the Annual Fete planned for the
end of July. As before, we took over the gardens of State House, and the keen,
young African DOs at the Dar es Salaam District Office helped me run the
show. We erected five tents, a marquee, half-a-dozen stalls, and any number of
sideshows. The blind boys from the training centre came to demonstrate their
skill at various crafts. We were lucky with the weather that day and raised even
more money than in previous years. Our team worked solidly for twelve hours
until the early evening and we were all exhausted when I presided over the raffle
draw, and together we packed up the tents.
On the move again
When at last I was given news of my transfer to Morogoro, I was sad to
be leaving behind my friends, especially Sheilagh of whom I had become very
fond, though I knew we would still be able to see each other most weekends. I
was just a little sad, too, to give up my committees, particularly the Society for
the Blind.
I spent my last weekend in the house on the phone, buying crates in which
to put my possessions, and hiring a carpenter to repair and close the old boxes.
In those first few days of August, when it became known I was being moved,
I had time for only one evening drinks’ party for my friends, and a hurried
flurry of farewells. Just before my departure, I joined the nice Kisarawe crowd
on a Lloyd Triestino liner to say goodbye to Andrew Marshall at the start of his
long leave, and I caught up with the Campbells who had been on holiday in
Zanzibar. The house in which I had been living was to be re-occupied by Doreen
Mackay on her return from leave two weeks later. It was to remain empty for
that short time, and I collected her boxes from the store and left Amiri behind
as watchman, with instructions to look after the garden and clean up the place
in readiness for her return.
Sheilagh cared for Tammy until I was ready to take her back again. I drove
out of Dar at 7 a.m. on a Thursday morning with a full load, and reported
for duty at lunchtime that day to the Provincial Commissioner of the Eastern
Province in Morogoro.
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Chapter 2: Independence Day
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This our land of Tanganyika
Born of hope and struggle to be free.
In her hands our Independence
Won from those who live across the sea…
Hymn to Tanganyika: Garth Culham, sung by the Dar es Salaam
Players as finale to 1066 and All That, January, 1962.
Morogoro
Independence was still five months away when I was posted from Dar es
Salaam to Morogoro, after begging and pressing for a long while to be moved
out of the Secretariat. I had hoped for an up-country district in the wilds, but
Morogoro would have to do. It was very different from places where I had worked
since coming to Tanganyika, and I was not particularly looking forward to living
there. The town was not attractive, having no good shops and few amenities;
everybody knew it, but few stayed unless they had business in the town. I had
spent the odd night there, and had driven through on numerous occasions,
but never wanted to stop long. The European community was considered too
large to be close-knit or friendly, and the town was widely held to be unhealthy.
Newcomers were said to be prone to all sorts of minor discomforts and illness,
as I knew to my cost having been very sick when spending Christmas with the
Magnays when he had been a DO there on his first tour. The two hotels were
notorious; the Acropol was famed for its dirty bedrooms, and the Savoy for its
awful food. In ignorance I had chosen the wrong one when I had wanted a meal
after descending exhausted from the Handeni bus on my first visit three years
earlier.
On the plus side, Morogoro had a good Club that was a useful meeting
place and had many facilities including a swimming pool highly valued by the
children of expatriates. The town was also equipped with good sporting facilities,
and its stadium and sports grounds were the venue for provincial athletics and
other sporting matches.
Morogoro’s saving grace was the Uluguru Mountains, which climbed steeply
over seven thousand feet behind the town with rocky summits above slopes
covered in virgin forest and old plantations. The mountains ran south for fifty
miles in towering peaks, and offered an escape from the hot and dusty plains,
notably in rest houses at places like Morningside and Bunduki, that I had
already visited from Dar.
The Provincial Office
Morogoro was the headquarters of the Eastern Province that covered a vast
area in a wide arc round Dar es Salaam, embracing not only Kisarawe that I knew
well but also Bagamoyo that I knew slightly, and Utete on the river Rufiji where I
had gone by air the previous year. The Province also stretched far inland to include
the Districts of Mahenge where Simon Hardwick had served, and Kilosa where
Harry and Hilary Magnay had spent some time. An oddity within the Province
was Mafia Island, in the Indian Ocean some way to the south of Zanzibar.
The Provincial Office was situated at the top of Boma Road which led up
from the main east-west macadam highway on the valley bottom, through a
double line of flourishing mango trees and simple houses and shops under
corrugated iron roofs. On the left at the top of the road lay the PC’s spacious
and airy bungalow, set back in beautiful gardens overflowing with bougainvillea
and jacaranda, where I had been a guest for a night on my way back to Handeni.
A few steps higher up on the right hand side was the Provincial Office; a
long, white-walled building crouched round three sides of an inner courtyard
with a two-storey tower at its eastern end. It was an old German Boma in a
commanding site perched on a spur of the mountains, and dominating the
town and surrounding countryside. The large Union Jack at the masthead was
visible from many miles away.
The offices were on the first floor and approached by a flight of broad steps
up from the internal courtyard. The PC occupied the whole of the tower with
its high ceiling and wide windows on the north and east sides, commanding
magnificent views high over the town and the plains beyond. The office I was
given was a big, airy room next door with an equally high ceiling from which
hung the usual old creaking fan. The wooden floor under coir matting stretched
across the room to a big window looking over the town. My desk was quite the
biggest I have ever used. It had a broad top the size of dining room table, and
masses of drawers on both sides of a spacious kneehole. The office was palatial;
appropriate for someone much more senior than me, and a pleasure to occupy
as locum tenens.
My new job
My boss was John Bradley, a PC of considerable experience and knowledge.
His Deputy (the DPC) had been Dennis O’Callaghan, whom I had first met
in Tanga, and had moved across to Morogoro, but had just been summoned by
the politicians to do a special job in the Dar es Salaam Secretariat. I was sent
up to stand in for him during what was understood to be a temporary absence.
He was another senior man with long service, and I could not pretend to do
his job; I could only fill a gap until he returned or they secured the services of
another man at a similar level. I was told they might find someone in one month
or six months - it depended on who resigned, who continued to serve, who was
promoted and who was otherwise available.
John had high standards and a reputation of being a difficult man in the
office, impatient with his subordinates, not suffering fools particularly gladly.
Socially he was always pleasant, and could be friendly when he chose, and I
decided from the start that I would enjoy working for him. He was living in
the PC’s large house on his own when I arrived; Mavis, his wife, came out from
home a little later on.
I was called the ‘Staff Officer in the Provincial Office’. My job was sedentary
and entirely office-bound, and, sadly, nothing like that of a DO, although
nevertheless most interesting. I was required to undertake simple office jobs,
keep the paper moving, and hold the fort while the PC was on safari round
his Province - which was most of the time. I had also to look after the small
staff in the Provincial Office which existed to serve the PC, and it took me
perhaps a month to find my way around and begin to pull my weight, but
from the first day I was writing letters in the PC’s name to his DCs all over the
Eastern Province all day long. The correspondence covered numerous staff and
salary matters, the District courts, and District Office management, income and
expenditure. Of central importance to the PC were the DCs’ relations with their
recently-elected District Councils, which had emerged with greatly enhanced
powers to replace the old Native Authorities. I was also in regular contact with
the DC on Mafia Island, which had to be administered in a totally different
way from the mainland districts. Another special and time-consuming problem
concerned the Government motor launch, called the Pladda, needed by the DC
Utete for travelling up the Rufiji River and its many tributaries in his district.
The Pladda seemed to break down frequently and required expensive repairs.
A great deal of my work concerned the finances of the Districts, advising
DCs of the procedures for preparing and monitoring estimates, passing on
the Secretariat’s demands and the PC’s instructions, chivvying the DCs to produce their figures on time, passing back the PC’s comments and criticisms,
assembling data for the whole Province and, in general, trying to keep on top of
the Province’s budget. I was, in addition, secretary of the periodic meetings of all
DCs in the Province, and of the Provincial Team, which meant I was in regular
contact with all the Province’s departmental officers - medical, agricultural,
veterinary, public works and so on.
Another part of my job was to help the PC with his engagement diary, make
arrangements for visiting dignitaries, and assist the PC in entertaining our VIPs.
When a High Court judge came on circuit in the Province, or the Minimum
Wage Board toured the area, it was my job to organise a programme for them,
and arrange sundowners or other entertainment for them to meet informally the
officials with whom they were concerned. I saw a good deal of my predecessor,
Dennis O’Callaghan, who came back from Dar on several occasions to sit on
various committees of which he remained a member, and to advise and guide
me on some of the work I was trying to take over from him.
Famine
In my very first week I had to dig out and read up the ‘famine’ files. At the
time of my arrival at Morogoro, the long drought had caused the crops to fail in
large areas in the centre of the country, in the Central Province adjacent to ours,
where one hundred thousand men, women and children were near starvation
and in need of urgent supplies of food. In such situations the Government
required able-bodied men to do communal work, and paid them fifty cents a
day (equivalent to sixpence) with which to buy imported maize for themselves
and their families. Emergency funds were made available to pay for the labour,
and maize was bought from the United States. Known as ‘American yellow
maize’ it was not particularly liked, but acceptable to those who were starving.
DCs who reported the likelihood of famine were required to:
find out the numbers of men who could work
calculate the total number of mouths to be fed
inform the Provincial Office
arrange communal work
organise payments to the labourers
set up a system for distributing the maize in daily rations, known
as posho, to the starving
The villages in great need were inevitably widespread and inaccessible, and
the DCs were constantly on safari identifying the suffering communities and
arranging food to be taken to them in exchange for their meagre wage. Provincial Offices like ours in Morogoro had to collect and collate all the facts and figures,
carefully coordinate all requirements for funds and food, and transmit them to
the Secretariat in Dar es Salaam.
At first in the Morogoro Provincial Office I was simply asked to check on
deliveries of maize for emergency relief going through our railway station on
their way to the areas of crisis in the Central Province. By September the famine
had spread to our doorstep: food supplies were acutely short in the Districts of
Bagamoyo, Morogoro and Kilosa, and, while I could not go out on safari to the
areas concerned, I found myself fulfilling the job of co-ordinator for the whole
Province, receiving the data from the DCs, applying to the Secretariat on their
behalf for finance for relief works and supplies of the life-giving maize, as well as
passing out instructions about transport, wage-rates and so forth.
Bagamoyo District was the first of our districts to be badly hit, and I was
in regular contact with the DC there about the number of people who were
hungry, the amount of maize required, and the emergency aid budget. The DC
paid several thousand men fifty cents a day, and gave out a pound of maize
for each member of the workman’s family for his work on the local roads. In
November the number of villages stricken in the inland parts of the District
increased. More maize was required and more work gangs were established to
enable the villagers to earn pay with which to buy the posho for their families.
At the centre of operations, I had to work longer hours and harder than I had
for many months; the job became fulfilling and thoroughly enjoyable, even
though my lack of experience of District work and of the country was a hopeless
handicap.
Mzumbe
One interesting extra-mural activity that I was persuaded to do was lecturing.
Teddy Kingdon, a former DC, was Principal of the Local Government Training
Centre at Mzumbe, which lay a few miles outside Morogoro on the road to Iringa.
He often had business at the Provincial Office and, when he called by, he invited me
to lunch and sundowners on several social occasions. They were a friendly crowd,
and, at a pleasant luncheon-party there in October, I met Mr Gawthorne, father
of one of the boys who spent his school holidays at Bricklehurst Manor in the care
of my sister, Liz. Gawthorne pere, like many others that winter, had resigned and
was about to leave for England for good. Also present at that luncheon were several
notables including Roland Brown, the new Attorney General and constitutional
adviser to Nyerere. Even though I had worked in Mr Brown’s department a few
months previously, he had nothing to say to me.
Mr Kingdon then persuaded me to give his students a course of lectures
on ‘The History of Tanganyika’ on Thursday afternoons during August and
September. Each lecture had to be properly prepared, and the work kept me
busy in the evenings for some time in advance, but I enjoyed delivering them,
and found it immensely interesting to meet the students. As a sample of the
new ruling class of the country, I valued the chance to discuss aspects of its
history with them. Morogoro Secondary School approached me and asked me
to deliver the same course to their sixth form pupils. I enjoyed visiting the
school very much, although I fear I failed to inspire the younger audience with
my presentation.
Domestic Affairs
While working at the Provincial Office I employed five servants. Although
this seemed excessive, two of them were paid by the Government to look after
the grounds of the house I was allocated which was not my property, but for
which I was responsible. Mohamed, the cook, took some leave and did not
join me in Morogoro with his wife and children until late August. Amiri, the
gardener, remained in Dar es Salaam for three weeks, as night-watchman at
my old house on Kingsway, until its owner returned from leave. Meanwhile
the O’Callaghan’s cook helped out and Sefu looked after the house. The boys’
quarters were of a high standard, and pleased my staff, so, once settled, they
seemed quite happy in their new station.
The climate was very much pleasanter than Dar. Although the sun was hot
at midday, it was delightfully cool in the evenings when I arrived, and it was a
pleasure to wear a pullover or sports jacket in the mornings. Long trousers were
frowned on in the office, so the usual office attire remained white shorts, shirt
and stockings.
I was given the house in which the DPC normally lived, situated behind and
above the Provincial Boma, with similarly long views over the town and country
to the north, and surrounded by virgin jungle. The house was palatial, rather
like a large Swiss chalet, with a big living room designed for entertaining, and
laid out on two levels with sofas and easy chairs on the lower level as a sort of
terrace, and the dining table and sideboards behind on the higher level. Behind
the dining room lay the kitchens while on either side were two wings with a
bathroom in each, three bedrooms on the left hand side and one big bedroom
on the right. The lower area - my sitting room - looked out into the garden
through tall insect-proof gauze windows and double doors that led down wide
steps on to the drive and lawns.
I had many problems finding enough furniture for such a mansion. The
Government supplied the basics, and in Dar es Salaam’s Acacia Avenue I bought
a sweet smelling sandalwood chest from Hong Kong, which had a delicately
carved exterior, in which to store my blankets and linen. I also purchased a
serviceable cupboard for papers and gramophone records. Simon Hardwick
bequeathed me his lampstands and shades when he was posted to the Lake
Province where he found himself working in a District without electricity.
Fortunately for me, but maddeningly for the O’Callaghans, they had been
obliged to stay at the Dar Club and leave their furnishings, curtains, pictures and
much else with me in the Morogoro house. I was able to enjoy the use of their
very nice possessions, and to admire some delightful oil paintings by Sybella,
who was a professional artist, hung on the dining room walls. Meanwhile my
own pictures and furnishings remained in boxes in one of the spare bedrooms.
The house was surrounded by an acre of land including a drive lined with
acacia trees. From the apron in front of the house the lawn sloped down gradually
to jungle and a river bed in a gorge in the forest. The water was very low most
of the time while I was in the house, and bubbled away gently as it threaded
though giant boulders. The area smelt of decaying vegetation, but up in the
house the subdued gurgle of the waters was always audible and cheerful. The
jungle came close to the house at the back where leopards were said to prowl at
night, and I could lie in bed in the early mornings and watch monkeys outside
my window leaping from tree to tree and crashing through the branches with
much flurry and excitement.
Roses, dahlias and many other flowers flourished in the rich forest soil in
the garden, and a rambler of white roses - badly in need of expert pruning -
straggled over the shrubbery beside the lawn at the top of the drive. Its flowers
had no scent but were a glorious size, much bigger than in England, while the
dahlias were a rich florid red that lent cheerful colour to the garden.
The house was only a few minutes’ walk from the office down the drive
between bougainvillea hedges and a short stretch of Boma Road, and I much
enjoyed the walk. One evening, as I strolled home, I came upon six little
mongooses playing in the grass. They were charming creatures, and I hoped that
their presence would keep snakes away from the house.
Tammy was delighted not only with the cooler air but with the big garden
and the wild smells. As the hillside around the house was steep, it was sometimes
a struggle to take her far for her walks, but the track up to Morningside led past
the house and we were able to have fun for an hour most evenings exploring
the wilderness on the mountainside. Tammy became very excited when she heard monkeys, and would roar out of the house to chase them away, although
they were really quite nice creatures and I did not want them to leave my
neighbourhood. Fortunately she had neither the intelligence nor perseverance to
chase them far, but was always a happy dog in Morogoro and a good companion.
Maddeningly she had an unpleasant eye irritation soon after the move, which
needed treatment, and she frequently picked up ticks, which had to be removed.
She used to accompany me to the office every morning and curl up at my
feet on the matting in the kneehole of my big desk. Occasionally she would go
for a wander round the room before returning to the desk and curling up again.
She was quiet and comfortable there, seemed perfectly happy, and I liked her
company. Th en she disgraced me. I was sitting absorbed in writing at the desk
one November morning, when my legs began itching. Looking down I saw
that Tammy, my stockings and shoes and the whole area of matting under the
desk were covered in large black fl eas crawling all over us. I was horrifi ed to see
hundreds of the most revolting bugs all around me.
We evacuated rapidly, and I took poor Tammy straight home and dowsed her
with all the fl ea powder we had in the house. She was disgusted, but at least it
kept the fl eas out of the bungalow. Th at afternoon I nipped down to the vet and
picked up the biggest pack I could fi nd of poisonous dust. When the office was
closed and the PC had left for home, I stole back in and covered with powder the legs of the desk, the coir matting and the wooden floorboards in which the
creatures must have been breeding busily for some time. This loathsome task
took me all evening, but I feared I had been greatly at fault in failing to care for
my dog more carefully, and it was a lesson I never forgot.
Social Life
On moving to Morogoro, I was sad to leave my friends in Dar es Salaam,
but was in fact able to continue to see them occasionally because obliged to
return from time to time in the early days after my transfer. I drove back the
first weekend to collect Tammy from Sheilagh’s flat, and I returned at the end
of August in order to hand over the Kingsway house where Doreen Mackay was
once more in occupation. I collected Amiri who had looked after the place for
her, picked up the last of my belongings and squared everything up with her
- regrettably, my staff had been over-enthusiastic in washing her living-room
curtains and reduced them to shreds. That weekend I stayed with Alan Reese
and was entertained by Robin and Pip Saville.
In October I had to go down for a session with the dentist, and in November
I was back again, staying with Norman and Jane Macleod, in order to have the
car repaired and serviced, and buy little things for the house in preparation for
my parents’ visit. I was beginning to know the road between Morogoro and Dar;
it was a long, dull run on a straight stretch of asphalt, but it was always pleasant
to see old friends and pick up the threads of my former life in the capital city.
I was lucky that one good friend from my previous tour turned up in my
new station. Katie Kyle had been transferred from Ocean Road Hospital to take
charge of nursing at the Morogoro hospital; and she gave me the entrée to local
society and introduced me to her friends there. I enjoyed her company for tea
or drinks in her bungalow or mine probably once a week during my tour, and,
as she was close friends with several of the Dar nursing sisters, including Stella
Balfe and Pip Saville, I saw something of them too when they came up to stay.
I joined the Morogoro Club and rapidly fitted into its social life; one could
always count on meeting a couple of people one knew on the tennis court or at
the bar, and it had a very useful little library, which I joined to borrow a weekly
thriller. The weather was ideal for a set or two of tennis in the evening, and I
found myself taking a lot of exercise; I was persuaded to play hockey and squash
on several occasions, which was a great way to let off steam.
The DC in Morogoro was Tony Lee, a big, solid, genial chap who, with
his lovely vivacious wife, Thelma, entertained me to sundowners and dinners
at their big house not far from mine on the hillside above the town. I had to change my mind about the pleasures of the town because I found I fitted in well
to the European community, with many of whom I came into regular contact
in my job. I was invited out for curry lunches and evening sundowners, and
became friendly with all sorts of people over the months. In late November
I attended the wedding of Jim Linton, the DO, at Morogoro’s little Anglican
church and afterwards at a first rate reception at the DC’s house.
By the end of August, I was well enough organised to welcome weekend
visitors from Dar. Sheilagh came up when she could and usually got out her easel
and paints and daubed away in my colourful garden. The first couple to stay
were Alan and Nan Brown, whom I had known in Tanga in my early days, not
long before they left Dar for good; and they were followed by the O’Callaghans,
Dennis on business, and Sybella to pack their furniture, linen and furnishings. I
took the opportunity to buy one of her oils, Boma Road, Morogoro, which hangs
on my study wall today.
One weekend, I gave a noisy supper party for six in the house before we went
on to a dance at the Club - a Beatnik Ball that was the excuse for everyone to put
on fairly stupid fancy dress and let their hair down literally and metaphorically.
The following day I took my party up the hills behind my house to revisit the
shabby, but charming, old rest house at Morningside, and we all enjoyed a long
walk up the steep slopes in the high forest above, followed by tea provided
us by the friendly old caretaker. We came back laden with ferns, mimosa and
strawberries for supper, feeling very healthy and just a bit stiff after our day in
the mountains.
A week later Stewart and Fiona Inchbold-Stevens and their three children
came up from Kisarawe. On the Saturday I took all my guests to see the
waterfalls about ten minutes’ climb above the house. The falls were very grand,
and bustling and noisy as they tumbled down the hill side over huge crags and
boulders. We admired them for a while and the children paddled happily. Then
the youngest disappeared: she had slipped over the edge of a waterfall in a rush
of water - it was perhaps an eight-foot drop. I was nearest to the little girl, and,
imagining the worst, threw myself after her. I landed beside her and had just
time to see she was not badly hurt as she had landed in mud, when Stewart came
hurtling down on top of me. He was a large man and squashed the life out of me
on some sharp rocks. So there were the three of us, soaked, bruised and shaken,
but mercifully not otherwise damaged.
We put the girls to bed and stuck to our plan to go out to the game reserve at
Mikumi, leaving the house at 4.30 a.m. and arriving just as dawn broke. As we
turned down the game track we found ourselves among a group of statuesque giraffe, then wildebeest, then zebra. We had a very happy morning spotting
animals while I drove the car across the plains.
The weekend after that, it was the MacLeods’ turn to bring their children
to stay, and on the Sunday we took the path by the river, which ran behind my
house up the steep hillside, and bathed in one of the pools in the rocks. The
water was surprisingly cold, and the bathe greatly invigorating. Much refreshed,
we went out in the car into the foothills of the mountains for a picnic lunch,
and it was here that Tammy shamed me - again. We left the car on the main
road, and, as our party set off on foot across the shambas, she raced off ahead
of us until, two fields away, she pounced on a flock of local chickens from a
nearby village. To my horror, I heard frenzied clucking and saw feathers flying
in all directions, and then Tammy trotted back proudly with a dead bird in
her mouth. Much embarrassed I had to go into the village to apologise to the
people there, mostly a group of old women of the local hill tribe, the Luguru.
I spent a while talking to them about this and that, and paid four shillings in
blood money for the scrawny little bird. Somewhat delayed, we continued on
our climb in the foothills, found a delightful picnic spot and passed an idle
afternoon lazily by another cold mountain stream. Then the girls and children
returned to Dar es Salaam, while Norman stayed with me for the week on duty
doing court-work.
Another weekend John Illingworth drove up from Ifakara on his way to
spend a month as an instructor on the Outward Bound course in Masailand.
He introduced to me to the Mahenge doctor, Gary Butler, and his charming
and lively family who were passing through. A couple of weeks later, Harry and
Hilary Magnay and their family also stopped off. They were on their way from
their station in Mufindi to Bagamoyo for a week’s local leave by the sea.
Preparing for Independence Day
By the beginning of September excitement was mounting about the coming
of Independence on 9th December. Uhuru was on everyone’s lips. It was known
that Prince Philip and several hundred other VIPs from all over the world had
accepted invitations to attend. £300,000 was reported to have been set aside
by the Government and shared out in penny packets to all districts for local
celebrations, with the lion’s share going to the capital for a big party in the
National Stadium. A special Department had been formed in the Secretariat to
organise and coordinate the show country-wide, and committees were called
together in every town and district to make local arrangements to celebrate the
big day. TANU was keen that Independence should be marked with dignity and style; the African politicians were eager to cooperate and their officials were
active everywhere to ensure all went with a swing.
At the end of October it was raining hard, and it seldom let up over the
following six weeks. The rains were unexpected and unwanted; they came far
too late for the crops, washed away stretches of the murram and dirt roads
and flooded large areas. The stream below my garden became a torrent that
thundered through the gorge against the little bridge at the bottom of the drive.
The weather complicated the preparations for Independence and threatened
both the Uhuru celebrations and my parents’ visit. Everyone hoped for the best
over the four days of festivities, and I warned my mother and father to bring
coats and hats as some protection against the rain.
Letters flew to and fro between my mother and me about plans for their
visit which gradually took shape. At the end of October, when in Dar at the
dentist, I took the opportunity to ask Sheilagh to join us on the safari as guide
and mentor, and we planned it carefully together while she arranged for her
leave to coincide with mine. We both fixed ten days break in order to take my
parents on a tour and see some game, and I booked hotels for us on the way
round.
As November came and went, work intensified in the office. I was constantly
passing out the PC’s orders to DCs in circulars, often under confidential
cover, encouraging and supporting them to make thorough local plans for the
festivities, explaining central arrangements, and issuing admonitions about
over-spending. Examples of the circulars I sent out were:
You are advised to plan well ahead to have cut and trimmed stout poles of sufficient
length from which to fly the two flags side by side - the Union Jack alongside the new
flag of Tanganyika.
We are informed that fireworks are available in limited quantities from Messrs
xyz at P. O. Box .., Dar es Salaam.
Late supplementary estimates for DCs’ entertainment allowances will NOT be
approved.
Confidential. To avoid embarrassment and disappointment, non-Africans should
be advised in advance that priority should be given to Tanganyikan citizens at the
football fields where the flag-raising ceremonies are to be held.
The PC regrets there is NO possibility of beer licences being issued for the
celebrations.
The consumption of alcohol during the ceremonies had been banned by law
by the African Ministers, with the agreement of TANU, to avoid any risk of
drunkenness and disorderly conduct among the celebrants.
Meanwhile Tony Lee, Jim Linton and the staff of the Morogoro Boma
arranged for the town’s extensive sports grounds and football stadium to be
prepared for the big day, flag poles erected, the grass to be cut and the stands
refurbished with the help of TANU volunteers. Normal work continued as well,
and I had to put in some hours preparing for a key meeting of the Provincial
Team just three days before Independence Day, when all our minds were on
ensuring the programme went off smoothly.
In November I heard I was to be transferred to Kisarawe at the end of my
local leave. The Secretariat had found an experienced DC called Bill Helean
to take over the job as DPC in the Provincial Office from the beginning of
December. My move was to occur in the middle of my parents’ visit and in the
midst of the Uhuru celebrations, and suddenly life became very complicated.
Over a weekend in late November I went down to Kisarawe, met Danny
Gumbi, the new African DC, and made plans for my transfer, sending my
household effects in a lorry to my new station in advance of my parents’
arrival. To my great good fortune, Mavis Bradley, the PC’s wife, came out
to rejoin her husband at the end of October, and offered to accommodate
my parents and me at the PC’s residence during the period of their stay in
Morogoro.
Shortly before the celebrations started, the Morogoro Club held a special
General Meeting for all members to decide whether or not to admit non-
Europeans as full members. Such gatherings were taking place all over the
country at that time as the old barriers were being broken down. The seriousness
of the matter was indicated by the fact that more than one hundred members
attended the debate, which had never happened before in the Club’s history. I
sat at the back and listened to acrimonious and, at times, bitter discussions as
the old hands argued for the status quo and members aired their prejudices one
way or the other. But the majority of us knew that change had to come, and
when the vote was taken by a show of hands it was 74 for and 29 against. After
that meeting I had little more to do with the Club; I was plunged into final
arrangements for the Morogoro celebrations simultaneous with my parents’
arrival at Dar.
Independence Day
The rains caused major floods in Kenya as well as Tanganyika, and trains
running from Nairobi and Kampala to the port of Mombasa were seriously
delayed when water covered a long stretch of the railway line. As a result, when
the SS Kenya Castle docked on 1st December in Mombasa with my parents on board, the ship was held up awaiting freight and new arrivals from Nairobi
stuck the far side of the floods, and all her passengers’ plans were thrown into
confusion. The agents offered to fly my parents down to Dar rather than let
them wait for the ship to complete its business in Mombasa. After a couple of
days kicking their heels at Nyali Beach, they took advantage of this plan and
flew down early one morning when I was unavoidably tied up unloading my
belongings at Kisarawe. Sheilagh generously stepped into the breach, met them
off the Mombasa flight and looked after them for the day.
When eventually extricated from Kisarawe, I found them at Sheilagh’s flat
looking very well, very comfortable and thoroughly relaxed. We had a most
happy reunion and caught up with each other over dinner at the Palm Beach
Hotel - where my parents had the chance to have a look at the Prime Minister,
Julius Nyerere, who was dining at the next table with his friends. I had to
go back on my own to Kisarawe, while my parents spent their first night in
Tanganyika as Sheilagh’ guests. In Dar the following morning, they had a look
at the shopping centre and harbour; everywhere they were delighted with the
freshly-painted buildings covered in flags and decorations, all ready to greet the
Duke of Edinburgh and the other foreign VIPs attending the Independence
celebrations. The city was looking its best for the great day.
I was able to join my parents for lunch at the Dar Club and, after many
goodbyes and thanks to Sheilagh, I motored them back to Morogoro to be the
guests of the Bradleys. My mother made an odd comment in her diary about the
drive along the road to Morogoro.
The thing that struck me most was the number of Africans walking along the
sides of the road - practically the whole way. Then she added, Not many miles
outside Dar a leopard dashed across the road in front of the car - a thing that didn’t
often happen, we gathered.
My father wrote a full report of the visit in his Memoirs. Let him describe the
arrival in Morogoro and the Independence ceremonies as he saw them:
There was Independence Day at Morogoro, one hundred miles from the coast
where Bradley, the Provincial Commissioner (Dick’s boss and next in precedence to
His Majesty’s Governor) and his handsome wife gave us hospitality in their large
and lovely bungalow in its semi-tropical garden smelling of jasmine, and full of
bougainvillea, with the multi-coloured lizards crawling up and down the walls of
its living rooms.
December 8th was the Day. It started with a service in the Anglican Church
with two priests, one white, one black; the former addressed the big congregation in
Swahili, the latter in English.
Then the airstrip at night brilliantly lit by arc lamps and surrounded by a crowd
of townspeople. The Provincial Commissioner was in his white uniform and helmet
with its golden band and his equally glittering sash, his sword, hanging from it,
standing on a rostrum talking into a microphone. Dick was behind him also in
white but unadorned. At midnight the lights went out, dead silence, lights on and
the Union Jack had gone and in its place flapping in the breeze was the black, green
and yellow Tanganyikan flag. The band played, people cheered, the African mayor
talked, more cheers, a quiet dispersal. The whole ceremony was mild and unexciting.
No one thought their way of life would be changed at all!
Next day, I showed my parents round the Morogoro hospital - miserable
place, noted my mother, mostly built of mud, and took them down to the
airstrip to watch some of the tribal dancing. I don’t think they were happy
in the noisy scrum although I relished the excitement of it. The town was
en fete and crowded both with the townspeople out to enjoy themselves and
large numbers of visitors from surrounding villages. Everywhere people were
singing jubilantly, dancing, laughing and cheering, with drums beating in the
background. In the carnival atmosphere, school children marched through the
town waving flags until they reached the stadium where they played football
and raced around the field to amuse the multitude. In the afternoon a bicycle
race was held and sports continued until the evening when large joints of meat
were roasted over open fires and the crowds fell to as the fireworks boomed in
the sky above the town.
My family and I retreated to the PC’s residence. My father wrote:
To round off the celebrations, Bradley gave a cocktail party followed by a buffet
supper. The notables of the two races were all there, black and white, mixing freely
and cheerfully, outwardly at least, although most of the whites were not really happy.
And, last of all there was a ball at the Morogoro Town Hall. I had three or four
dances with matronly Africans in brilliant tribal gowns. We had little to say to each
other, but I talked a lot to a young black lawyer wearing a Clare College blazer and
proud of it. The chief difference between that dance and those held in English town
halls was the smell - and it was a hot night!
Later, I had a bedtime drink with Dick and a very tired and dispirited Bradley
who both knew that that day spelled the end of their jobs. Poor Bradley, aged fortyfive,
highly - trained and experienced with twenty years of colonial administration
behind him - What did the future hold for him?
The celebrations continued across the country for two more days. On the
Sunday, Morogoro held a grand fete in the town centre and a concert in the
town hall. On the Monday, an ngoma display (dancing with the drums going full blast) in the morning was followed by a football competition in the afternoon.
The DC and his team must have been exhausted at the end of it.
Instead of enjoying the party, I took another load of household goods down
to Kisarawe. I left Tammy there in the care of my staff and showed my parents
where they would be staying with me on our return from the game reserves. I
then rushed them back to Morogoro to hand over office, house and my work
to Bill Helean, the new DPC, before taking my parents on safari to the game
reserves in the north.
Safari to the Game Reserves
I leave it to my father to tell the story of our trip:
Dick took fourteen days’ leave, and our tour of Tanganyika began in his big
Peugeot estate car well laden with baggage and four passengers (Sheilagh, a friend of
Dick’s came with us - a tough young woman and a skilful driver). The driving was
shared, unequally, for Dick bore the brunt of it; the car after all was his.
It was a hair-raising three hundred mile drive northwards to Lushoto. A
macadam road petered out five miles from Morogoro; it became a mud-covered sand
road with gluey yellow mud, inches deep for long stretches where even thirty miles
an hour was a dangerous speed. We skidded round bends; passing another car was
a hazard; the good-looking blue car became a dirty brown one; cleaning windows
frequently to get any vision at all was a necessity. One early obstacle was a collapsed
bridge, being repaired by a gang of Africans with a white foreman. We waited an
hour. Only three other cars were with us and just one on the other side, which showed
how few dared to be on the road.
Undoubtedly the worst hazard was a short steep hill, perhaps two hundred and
fifty yards, a foot deep in sandy mud, four cars were stuck in its ditches and one in the
middle of the road. An enterprising farmer with a large tractor at the top of the hill
was, with the aid of a long wire hawser, in process of dragging it out of the way, with
the help of some Africans wallowing about in the thick slush laughing like children
at play. No-one could have driven up that hill but we, however, were going down,
and down Dick drove in bottom gear, the car slithering from side to side but keeping
straight enough, helped by an occasional shove to right or left from the cheerful blacks
trudging alongside. With sighs of relief we reached the bottom where surprisingly the
road was much firmer, the going more comfortable and faster.
Lushoto
The weather was very hot and sultry. After the little township of Korogwe, we
reached the foothills and began the long spiral ascent (I was driving that stretch)
between tea and coffee plantations, getting cooler as we climbed until over the
brow of the hill on to a plateau we crossed a common that would have done credit
to any village in Kent. Around it was spread the large village of Lushoto with its
rambling old-fashioned hotel (built by the Germans before World War I) with roses
growing up its walls. There was a very cordial welcome from the Welsh proprietor, an
acquaintance of Dick’s. (This was Col Alleyn of the Lawns Hotel.) We had a wood
fire in our hotel bedroom that night - it had become really cold.
A short drive the next morning took us past the Governor’s summer residence,
a beautiful English style country house and garden, overlooking a golf course that
might have been Wentworth, with immense views that stretched to the edge of
the distant plains. I walked with Dick to the hospital and met its Scottish doctor,
whom Dick knew and its English matron, and I was impressed. (The doctor was
Rex Bailey, who had transferred from Nzega where I had played bridge with
him on many evenings and who had treated me in the early stages of my TB).
The weekly market on the common next day was fascinating. It was crowded with
African women in their brilliant and flamboyant dresses. The men in white cotton
shirts or singlets, bare-legged and unshod, looked neat and clean in spite of the work
they were doing, humping vegetables and fruit in baskets and sacks, cutting up meat,
and carrying pots and pans. We walked among them. There was plenty of chattering
and excitement. I saw no bad temper. They seemed a very happy crowd.
My mother added in her diary, Very hot…eventful and exciting trip, and later noted,
we saw a red-winged paradise fly-catcher with a long red tail and blue-black head.
Arusha
My father continued:
The second biggest town in Tanganyika, after Dar-es-Salaam, was our next stop,
a two hundred mile drive. The road surface was happily quite firm although with
frequent fearsome potholes. Vast flat bush was on either side on which one could see
small herds of cattle, rather miserable and thin beasts, in the charge of a herd boy
with a big stick with which he thumped them to keep them on the move. We also saw
a flock of vultures feeding on a carcass and the grand sight of giraffes stalking slowly
through the bush. While having our lunch in the shade of a big baobab tree - the
sun was fierce - we took snapshots of a couple gazing at us in curiosity without fear.
At the hotel in Arusha in the cool, tiled floor, palm-decorated dining room, it
was a surprise to see a party of some dozen Japanese. The following day after buying
one or two Christmas presents, we continued on our way, making a detour through
well cultivated land of farms, coffee and tea plantations, sisal fields, trees and hedges,
to the foot of Kilimanjaro. And there outside a pretty little hotel in a well-treed and flowery garden was our Japanese party, getting ready for the long trudge up the
mountain towering above us with snow gleaming in the sun on its crest.
Another detour, from our main road led us over some miles of really desolate moor
along a narrow rutted lane, alongside which, but well away from the road, we saw
occasional encampments of Masai, miserable hutments clustered together surrounded
by a decrepit wooden fence. We smelt them before we saw them! But the Masai men
were well worth looking at; deep yellow rather than black, tall, thin, naked except for
a loin- cloth, with a shaven head. They marched along the roadside with long strides
carrying the traditional long spear and eyeing us apparently with scorn! We saw no
females - they remained incommunicado behind their fences.
At the dead end of this lane a small hamlet stood with African dwellings poorer
than any we had seen, and just one decent bungalow, the District Officer’s, a colleague
of Dick’s, who gave us tea. A tough young man he was; he had to be for he ruled a
district some three hundred miles square and the Masai were not easy to control.
Lake Manyara
Eventually we reached Manyara, the last stage of that day’s journey. We ran into
an alarming obstacle at the foot of the hill, which led up to the hotel, a fifty-yard
wide stretch of flood; Dick walked through it barelegged to test its depth. It only came
as far as his knees so the car was able to creep through and up the steep curling hill
to a bath, a change, a drink or two and a meal.
The Manyara Hotel is famous as a centre for seeing African wildlife, especially
with Americans; it is only two hundred miles from Nairobi airport. Four-fifths of our
fellow quests were American. From a pathway along the edge of the high escarpment
on which the hotel stood, one could look over the thick forest to Lake Manyara and,
with the naked eye, see the lovely pink of the flocks of flamingoes standing along its
shores, and with field glasses pick out details, a beautiful sight. In the forest below one
could catch glimpses of elephants and follow their passage, singly or in families as they
plodded ponderously along from glade to glade - a most impressive sight.
Ngorongoro Crater
Thwarted the following day by a crossroad which had become a raging torrent,
we made it the day after to the Ngorongoro crater, thirty miles away, in a Rangerover
with a cheery African driver, the four of us, and two other hotel guests. At the
cliff top on the brink of the crater there was a game warden’s encampment, two pretty
bungalows with flower gardens and a few pleasant thatched huts for the African
orderlies. We were expected, but we should not have been allowed to proceed if we
had been in the Peugeot; the wheels and tyres were wrong; we should not have been able to drive down (or more important to get up) the steep spiral rutted track leading
down into the crater; we might have lost our bearings, driven too fast or got stuck in
marshy ground. Our African driver was, however, well known. He had been in the
crater many times. He drove us slowly over the vast flat bush-land covered by coarse
grass, but undulating in places with hillocks and mounds; there were large copses here
and there, several small lakes with sandy banks, full of water after the heavy rain.
We passed through herds of zebra and wildebeest, which apart from ambling away
from our path took no notice of us. For several minutes we stopped (but with the engine
still running just in case) some thirty yards away from a lion and lioness who with two
cubs were lazing on a mound under some trees following their meal of zebra; they were
quite unconcerned by the car’s presence. Photographs were taken from inside the car;
getting out was forbidden, not only for our safety but equally important for the lioness’s
peace of mind! While later we picnic-lunched with the car stationary a jackal appeared
from almost under our wheels stalking a white bird, 1 think, a stork. The jackal was
creeping on its belly through the tall grass; its final mad rush was unavailing, the
bird flew off in plenty of time. There were hyenas scuffling and quarrelling as they
disembowelled an antelope, making obscene snarls and grunts.
There was one most unexpected sight. A small naked black boy, perhaps twelve years
old, with a big stick sitting, quite unconcerned by a wildebeest lying down; this bull
had been shot with an anaesthetic and had been branded; the boy was there to guard
it until it woke up. He would be picked up by a game warden later. He was quite safe
said our driver. The carnivorous animals were not hungry at that time of day. Well, we
had just seen some hyenas and one jackal hunting: and where there was one jackal there
would be others. Of course the wardens knew what they were doing, but nevertheless,
rather him than me!
Our driver kept a hundred yards away from a couple of rhinoceroses standing on
the slope of a hillock, huge and menacing gazing balefully (so it seemed) at us. They
were unpredictable, he said, the only animal in the crater likely to charge a car. A small
copse sheltered us while we drank tea, stretched our legs and attended to nature’s needs.
Soon after we restarted we got stuck in a marsh. Vigorous pushing by all of us;
(there were no beasts in sight) and skilful driving got us out. A few minutes later we
halted again to allow four lions, two of each sex, to cross our path only some thirty yards
away; magnificent beasts they were, padding majestically towards a bush-encircled
pond, which we had just passed. Their afternoon siesta was over; they were thirsty. At
dusk, soon to be with us, they would be hunting again. As we drove up the gentle slope
leading to the steep exit track a small herd of impala flashed past, a beautiful sight and
a fitting end to seven hours of pleasure which had passed too quickly.
The Dodoma road
After we left the forest, we drove in the Peugeot down to Dodoma. Our road was
at fi rst through bush with cultivated land alongside becoming more noticeable and
tiny villages more frequent. We made good speed for there was little mud on the road
surface. However, an unexpected patch was our undoing. Win was driving along a
straight stretch of road when crossing a small bridge we met inch-deep mud which
slewed the car to the right through the thin concrete parapet into the wide, dry ditch
six feet below.
Th e Peugeot landed upright on its four wheels. No one had uttered a sound. We
were all sitting in our seats dumbfounded, and I was wondering why we were still
alive. It took us many seconds to recover and get moving and inspect the damage. The
bumper was bent and there was a crumpled wing - jamming the front wheel; otherwise
the car seemed undamaged. But nothing was going to get us out of that ditch except a
breakdown lorry and a crane. We were forty miles from Dodoma; no village was near
and only one car had we seen in the last thirty minutes. However, there was nothing to
do until one did come along so that we could send a message to the town and it seemed
very probable that we should nave to spend the night in the car.
However, our luck was in. After not many minutes a bus came rattling along. It
was loaded with African workers from the railway yards at Dodoma going home to
their villages for the weekend (it was Friday evening). Th ey all got off and chattering
excitedly came down into the ditch to inspect the car. Dick and the driver talked together
in Swahili, the driver shouted to them, their chattering became orderly chanting as they
gathered round the car and at the command of the driver, lifted it waist high and
moving step by step in unison Ho-ho, Aye-ya, Ho-ho, Aye-ya carried it up the steep
gradient beside the bridge and planted it down in the middle of the road. A wrench
and a crowbar freed the wheel.
Dick started the engine, drove a hundred yards along the road, reversed and
returned. The steering was safe. The bus and its passengers waving and cheering went
on its way and, with Win again in the driving seat, so did we. No lorry or crane had
been needed after all. It was very revealing what manpower in bulk can do. I was still
a bit shaky when we reached Dodoma. Win was also anxious although her confidence
and usual skilled driving had returned. However, much needed alcohol and a good
dinner worked wonders.
Christmas at Kisarawe
I drove the four of us back to my new station on the 23rd December, calling
at the home of my friend, Katie Kyle, in Morogoro to pick up my mail. We then
dropped Sheilagh off at her flat in Dar with our grateful thanks for all her help and support, and the three of us went up the hill to receive a warm welcome
from my dear Tammy and the boys who had put the bungalow in good order
while we had been away.
This is what my father wrote:
We spent Christmas and the following fourteen days at Dick’s house in Kisarawe.
It was an unprepossessing three-bedroomed bungalow with a large lounge and
veranda overlooking vast acres of forest in which could be seen patches of cultivated
farmland and huts and the bright lights of Dar-es-Salaam in the distance at night.
The bungalow fronted a big village green on which were five golf holes (and I amused
myself spending an hour there from time to time with a driver, six iron and a putter).
The sand and gravelled road encircled it with other bungalows irregularly spaced
along the ridge, and on the far side the native village was sited, extending into the
forest along narrow rutted lanes because Kisarawe was a dead end village. Cars could
not negotiate these lanes but of course land rovers could.
My staff gave my parents and me a very happy and easy Christmas. We were
all three tired after the long drive and relaxed in the garden with the dog a good
deal. We went back into Dar only on Boxing Day when the Macleods gave us
lunch and tea.
When the holiday was over, I was heavily tied up because I had applied
to sit the Civil Service exam, and it took two full days at the beginning of
January. An unexpected visit from John Illingworth also complicated our
plans. I had to leave my parents to their own devices, and was embarrassed
because although the servants were first class in looking after us all, things
kept on going wrong in the house. The lavatory failed to work for two days,
which was very awkward with three of us living in the bungalow. Then we
were invaded by a swarm of bees that occupied a tree by the garage, and it
became difficult to approach the car until the boys gallantly moved the swarm
to the bottom of the garden.
I gave my mother lots of shopping to do for the house; our Tilley lamps
were defective and needed new mantles, and lots of little things were required
to make the house more comfortable. Besides my mother wanted to buy
things like anti-bug powder to protect the plants in the garden of which she
took charge, and she wanted to help pay for repairs to the car that she had
driven into the ditch on the Dodoma road. So I sent them off into town in the
car most mornings. My father wrote:
Win and I drove into Dar three or four times. We did household shopping for
Dick and some personal. Acacia Avenue, the main street, wide and tree-lined,
contained many top grade shops mostly owned by Asians; among them were banks and offi ces, all clean looking and shining in the very hot sunshine. We did
have some drenching showers but dried out very quickly. When tired we rested
at the Dar es Salaam Club (Dick had made us temporary members) sitting on
its cool verandah overlooking well-kept sea-front gardens with the blue waters
of the bay beyond and its silvery sand beaches, palm trees, fl ame trees and other
foliage behind them. And in the bay itself were small yachts milling about with
brilliantly coloured, sails. In their midst was the grand sight of a British cruiser
at anchor in a blaze of lights at night. We lunched at the Club, had tea there, or
just sat refreshing ourselves with cold drinks passing the time of day with other
members.
In the cool of the evening in Kisarawe, I used to stretch my legs. I did not
go far afield because on my first stroll down one of the forest paths, passing a
derelict house, I saw a leopard stalk out of the front door, stare at me for long
seconds, growl menacingly and then slink away round the back. I retreated fast
and dared not risk the forest again!
I was pleased to be able to arrange some entertainment for them in
the afternoons and evenings. We had tea at Minaki School hosted by the
Pentneys, and dinner with new neighbours at Kisarawe, the Chaplins. On
New Year’s Eve, Sheilagh organised tickets for us at the Police Mess Ball out
at the Ocean Breeze, and that was a great success. My father commented:
We had been to the famous police ball on New Year’s Eve in a brilliantly lit hall
on the shore of the bay well out of town. It was grand, when the heat of the dance
floor became too much, strolling up and down the firm silver sand, the flame trees
colourless in the bright moonlight.
A week later we had drinks with Sheilagh, dined at the Club and went on
to 1066 and All That at The Little Theatre in Oyster Bay, which was a first class
production that we all enjoyed hugely. On my parents’ last day, they were
invited to Government House for lunch. My father wrote:
Win and I with Dick went to lunch at Government House one day. The residence
was a large handsome white stonewalled mansion overlooking the bay in a spacious
immaculately kept garden, the gate of which sentries from the Tanganyika Rifles
guarded. We lunched with the family only, Sir Richard Turnbull, his plump,
motherly Scottish wife who had encouraged and then taught Dick how to paint,
their daughter, the Private Secretary, and the Governor’s ADC. There were no other
guests. Turnbull, I was already aware, had been born in St Albans and knew Luton
well; his father the senior of a firm of accountants, well thought of in the City. So
there was a common ground for light conversation and he was easy to talk with. It
was a pleasant lunch with only three of the Swahili dining-room staff waiting on
us - others were having a day off!
And then, all too soon, they were off. I arranged with Vayle Springs, the
florist I knew so well, for an armful of flowers to be put in their cabin to greet
them on arrival aboard the SS Rhodesia Castle when they embarked on the
Sunday afternoon, and I dined with them on board that night. The ship had
been scheduled to sail the next day, but for some reason remained in harbour
until the afternoon of the following day. I was then able to nip down to Harbour
Point and wave them off as their majestic liner sailed past me out of Dar es
Salaam and turned in a long stately curve south towards the Cape of Good
Hope. The ship looked grand in the evening light. It was the end of a very
special holiday. Then at last I was able to turn my mind to catch up with local
politics and to the work that needed doing at Kisarawe.
The Political Scene
That January the newly independent Government flexed its muscles. They
announced they would expel five Europeans and close their businesses for acts
allegedly ‘offensive to Africans’. Among those ordered to leave the country was
the owner of the Palm Beach Hotel in Dar es Salaam, opposite Sheilagh’s flat,
where I had entertained my parents on the evening of their arrival in Dar. Over
Christmas the hotel owner had ejected a drunken TANU politician from his property and this was held to be cause enough for peremptory expulsion. The
owners of the Travellers’ Inn at Korogwe were also given seven days to pack and
go, alleged to have been offensive to some other politicians. The expulsions shook
the European community in Dar es Salaam, and seemed to be an unnecessary
setback to what most of us saw as generally amicable relations between the races.
A few days later, TANU’s leaders met in their National Executive, and, much
to his surprise, Nyerere found he had lost control. He promptly resigned as Prime
Minister, saying he intended to go back to the people to regain their support for
his policies. Rashidi Kawawa was chosen as Prime Minister in his place, and a new
man was appointed as Finance Minister in the Cabinet when Sir Ernest Vasey was
obliged to resign - one of very few men who understood the nation’s finances at
that time. Then, in February, the National Assembly met for the first time since
Independence, and the Government that had seemed so strong on Independence
Day found itself sitting on a volcano liable to erupt at any moment. TANU had
behaved well up to and over Independence, but wanted something more.
The next official announcement was that all Provincial Commissioners were
to be replaced by political appointments called ‘Regional Commissioners’. John
Bradley and the other experienced PCs were to lose their authority and be removed
from their offices and houses. Further rapid ‘Africanisation’ took place in the
Ministries and at the expense of efficiency and quality. The highly respected Kim
Meek was required to resign and leave the country; and his position of Head of the
Civil Service and Permanent Secretary to the Prime Minister’s Office was awarded
to an African with nothing like Kim’s dedication, experience or intelligence.
Rumours were rife. Dar was suddenly humming that the Government was
planning further serious discrimination against Europeans and more expulsions;
and it was clear the more extreme politicians were gaining strength, asserting their
views freely and behaving aggressively towards Europeans. They were popularly
known as wabenzi, that is to say the owners of large high-powered, opulent
Mercedes Benz cars. The ordinary people, with whom one came into contact
in the villages and in the bush, were as friendly and easy-going as ever. At the
same time they were so wretched, poor and in need of advice and help that I
wanted to stay on for a little longer. I was enjoying the life too much to worry for
myself, but I did ask the Standard Bank to send home the remains of my savings
in case we were all required to leave in a hurry. I happened to meet several of
my Haidhuru colleagues in late January; Harry Magnay, Simon Hardwick and
Norman Macleod, and found them all distressed and disturbed by political events
- the atmosphere was unhappy among the expatriates of Dar.
Natural Disasters
Famine that had ravaged many Districts of the Eastern Province while I
had been working at the Provincial Office, returned again in the winter. In the
coastal districts, food shortages were caused mainly by the heavy, unexpected
and unsought rains in December that not only washed away bridges and roads
but also swamped large tracts of the country and prevented the villagers from
planting seeds or nurturing seedlings for the new season. Up in our eyrie at
Kisarawe, the temperature dropped, a pleasant breeze blew in the evenings,
the clouds thickened daily and rain fell regularly. The trip to Dar es Salaam
was fraught with the hazards of deep mud, slippery surfaces and bogged-down
lorries. The situation was much more serious in the Rufiji district where large
areas were swamped and villages were isolated on the higher ground. The new
African DC was knocked out of his canoe by a hippo while inspecting the
damage and sprained his ankle. Shortly before John Bradley was obliged to
leave Morogoro, he flew over the flood and said he saw nothing but water. He
organised drops of food parcels from the air on to the distressed villages up river,
and sent Bill Helean, my successor at Morogoro, down there to take food by
canoe across the waters to the District Office at Utete and neighbouring villages
that were cut off. Other air drops of sacks of maize and food supplies were made
over the same period in Northern Province, at Loliondo and elsewhere in the
south of the Masai steppe.
Yet inland, in the hills behind and beyond our station, the expected Long
Rains did not materialise. No rain fell in January and February when the farmers
desperately needed water to enable the seed to grow in their shambas. Down at
Utete there was too much rain; in the plains between Kisarawe and Morogoro
there was none. Once again drought threatened to bring famine; the dreaded
word, njaa, (hunger) was on the lips of the farmers, their families and the village
elders and leaders. What was the use of Uhuru if the seedlings withered in the
dry earth? The cassava root was the stand-by food, but even it needed some rain
to grow and fatten, and when it was finished there would be nothing left with
which to feed the children.
Back to Work in Kisarawe District
In this uneasy atmosphere, both political and natural, I resumed work at
Kisarawe. I was gazetted as a Grade V District Officer, and became, in effect,
the DOI in succession to Andrew Marshall, although my salary did not go up
and the rapid changes in organisation made such titles meaningless. On 8th
January, in my new capacity I attended my first District Team meeting with Danny Gumbi in the Chair. He was a tubby chap, with plenty of good sense
and a relaxed style, and made a pleasant colleague. For a while, a valuable
member of the team included a fellow expatriate DO named Peter Stevens. I
fitted in easily with them, and found my previous knowledge of the District,
especially the coastal chiefdoms, made me useful while enabling me to slip
back easily into my new role.
I was operating at a more senior level than on my previous tour in the
District. Instead of simply chasing after tax defaulters, I could offer relevant
advice and assistance to the farming communities about planting and
cultivating their crops on which their livelihoods depended. I could plan
ahead the development of the little scattered trading centres and markets; I
was able to organise the road repairs and building programmes; I could assist
in the formation of local cooperative societies and I had the authority and
experience to support the running of the little local councils in the chiefdoms.
I felt I was able to do a good deal more in the District than I had before.
I did my share of court work as a magistrate, often at weekends after a
week on safari. I took two or three cases even before my parents had left. My
father wrote:
In a cul-de-sac extending into the common in a well tended shrubbery was the
police station with its few cells and a Court House, with Dick’s office in it, where
he dispensed justice daily to Africans accused of minor misdemeanours such as
assault or robbery, or drunk and disorderly, and mediated in villagers’ complaints.
He talked in Swahili; the Africans there had no English. I watched the proceedings
twice. I admired the smartness and efficiency of the black policemen and noticed
the respect and, in a way, affectionate regard with which they treated the British
officer.
Kisarawe Boma
My job was out and about; I spent little time in the Boma, apart from
weekends when I caught up with the paperwork in the office, and two weeks
in March, when I was required to support the newly elected Zaramo District
Council. It had spawned committees on Finance and Establishments, which
met frequently, and it was my task to advise their members on their budget,
and their income and spending plans, and on matters such as internal audits
and financial statements, and the recruitment and management of staff. I
had also to arrange and advise various other new committees, such as the
Agricultural Credit Committee, the Kisarawe Housing Committee, the
District Road Board and so on.
Workmen building our new hospital went on strike, and I was obliged to
hold a series of hurried meetings in the Boma with the strike-leaders, the builders
and the police. I had then to prepare for a special meeting of our full District
Council, known as the Baraza Kuu (literally ‘the big meeting’) in the middle
of the month. Julius Nyerere came in his capacity as President of TANU - no
longer Prime Minister - on his first visit to our District Headquarters, and this
was the only occasion on which I met him formally. He was accompanied by
several African Ministers for the opening session of the Council meeting, and
addressed the serried ranks of councillors and TANU officials representing the
people of the District. Both white and African officials were required to attend,
headed by Danny Gumbi, and we sat on one side of the big hall while Nyerere
spoke. We turned out as smartly dressed as we could in honour of the occasion
in our ‘uniform’ of white stockings, shirts and shorts.
Addressing the assembly, Nyerere mocked us, the keen young officials, for
looking so smart, and he encouraged his audience to laugh at us. I thought
this was cheap and thoroughly unfair of him, but his long speech went down
well and cemented his popularity in our area. The Baraza Kuu was followed
by an evening reception for all the bigwigs arranged by the DC, and a series of
committee meetings, which ran on for several days and involved me whenever
‘my subjects’ were under discussion by the Assembly members. In general we
thought it to be a successful launch to local self-government in the District.
In April I was called back from safari to meet our new Regional
Commissioner, the politician who had replaced John Bradley at Morogoro, on
his familiarisation tour of the District. I regret my mind was on the problems I
had brought back from the recent tour of the coast, and this interview made no
impression on me. With only a weekend at home I was off again. The following
month I did a rather similar short trip back to the Boma for two nights simply
to attend a special Palm Sunday service and the consecration of a new church
at the Lutheran Mission near Kisarawe. I dashed straight back to the coast the
next day.
Safaris to the coast
It thus transpired that most of my time was spent out in the District, and
much of it in the coastal chiefdoms south of Dar es Salaam. In early January I
went out there as soon as I could escape from the office and the courtroom. It
was my first safari for a long time; the car had been repaired following its bash on
the Dodoma road, and made as good as new, but the roads were worse than ever.
When the tarmac ended five miles beyond the city, the rest was corrugations, loose sand and potholes. I spent nights in the rest houses at Mkuranga, and
Mkamba, renewing my acquaintance with the whole area, meeting the chiefs
at local level, the watawala, wandewa and the elders in each chiefdom, and
travelling widely to villages all over the area as I bumped and struggled up and
down the coast road.
One big job concerned an Indian who wanted to occupy and cultivate a
large tract of land deep in the bush, and it was my task to consult the Ndewa
and local Wakili, and, at their request, to hold meetings with the elders to make
sure everyone was content with the Indian’s plans. My main business, however,
was with the cashew growers around Mkuranga who were busy harvesting their
crop for sale and looking for a worthwhile price. The quality of their nuts had
been poor before Christmas, but they hoped it would improve so that they
could obtain loans from the bank against future sales in order to develop their
husbandry. It was fascinating and thrilling to be back among the people again.
Th ey had not changed in nature nor lost one bit of their natural friendliness and
charm.
Further south, near Kisiju, I met George, the Greek manager of a sisal estate
at a place called Njianne, who was in dispute with squatters over his boundaries.
I stayed two nights with him, and, armed with advice from both the Land Officer in Dar and the Kisiju Mtawala, inspected the boundaries and the many miles of
sisal in all stages of growth and cultivation. I was shown round his factory and
was interested to learn that the decorticators that stripped the sisal leaves had
been made in Germany before the Great War. I had to go back to Njianne twice
to try and settle the boundary dispute. Then on my final visit, I found myself
involved in a long-standing and violent shauri between neighbouring villages
over use of the waters of a stream that ran between them - a typical and insoluble
row over access to scarce water supplies.
The main purpose of my second safari to the coastal chiefdoms was to oversee
repairs to their roads and bridges. I had to organise the delivery of tools and
bridge-building equipment, and recruit labourers to do the work. I went for a
long walk over two days to visit hamlets isolated following the collapse of several
bridges over a flooded stream. With the Wakili’s help I found men to start work
repairing their roads, and at the same time dealt with local shauris and noted
problems at every village on our route.
I returned a week or so later, spending three nights under canvas and three
days on a bicycle in the Mkamba chiefdom, paying the wages of road-workers,
directing their work, planning new bridges, and persuading people to pay their
taxes - cycling was no fun in the heavy rain which continued to fall in the coastal
area. The safari took me out to the coastal village of Buyuni, where we camped
in a little school and tramped through the coconut plantations towards the
coast.
My next trip was of the more conventional type of two weeks in tents and
rest-houses, attending gatherings of elders and villagers. It was my job to listen
to innumerable complaints and shauris, and, more importantly, apply common
sense to local farming and marketing problems. I supervised tax-collection
and interviewed the elderly seeking remission of tax, while making the round
of courthouses, reviewing local court cases, and checking village schools and
dispensaries. When I called at the Mkuranga dispensary, the dresser had neither
bandages nor medicines; when I inspected the Shungubweni courthouse, the
clerk had neither paper nor ink.
On this safari, for the very first time, the sturdy Peugeot let me down. In
fierce heat and often driving rain it had carried me seven hundred miles over
the appalling roads, with a lot of stopping, restarting, reversing and ploughing
through deep mud with high revs on really dreadful bush tracks. It was hardly
surprising therefore when one afternoon the engine died while we were deep in
the bush and we found the coil had burnt out. I had to abandon the car, walk
back to the main road and send a messenger in to Dar to purchase the necessary spare leads, but I could not complain as the car had enabled me to do a great
deal of work across the District in a short space of time.
I had two further trips to Mkuranga with the Wakili and a tax clerk in the
office Land Rover while my car was under repair, touring the villages in order to
sort out local problems and attend the area Council meetings. Immediately after
the Baraza kuu, I went out to Shungubweni to encourage the farmers to take
advantage of the rain to plant more coconut seedlings. I abandoned the Land
Rover at the limit of dry land, and waded up to my waist across a flooded river
and swamp before pitching a tent in the rain miles from anywhere. Down there,
the villagers welcomed the wet weather and saw their coconut palms, cashew
and mango trees flourishing and their rice shooting up in the paddy fi elds. Th ey,
at least, could look forward to harvesting their crops in the fullness of time, even
though all too often the rains washed away the roads by which they hoped to
take the produce to market.
For the second year running, a stream had burst its banks and washed away
a wooden bridge. I tried to design and direct the construction of a more robust
bridge that would resist the periodic violent spates after heavy rain. My fi nal act
in Shungubweni was to open the new bridge by driving across it to the cheers
of the workmen.
Ruvu
In February, concern was growing at the failure of the crops inland where
the rains were late and sparse following the long dry season. Peter Stevens and
the DC went out to the borders of the District across the Ruvu in the Morogoro
direction to answer of calls for help, and in one remote area they engaged three
hundred men on road repairs to earn money for maize for their families.
I was then asked to go back there to make further enquiries about food
supplies. On the first occasion I went by train, a short distance along the
Morogoro line from Dar station. I spoke to the Ruvu Wakili who was seriously
worried and confirmed the likelihood of famine in his area. Not only had the
rains failed, but a plague of monkeys had stolen the villagers’ stores of maize.
Thankfully the wild pigs, which were normally an even worse pest, had been
frightened away by lions.
I took the opportunity to hear an appeal in a civil case, and talked to the
farmers in the local cooperative who were in trouble because their tractor had
broken down. Finally I revisited the baraza where I found the clerks were keeping
their books in good order.
A few weeks later I went back in a car for two nights and heard fresh concerns
about the failure of the crops. I was also required to address a meeting of villagers and inspect the bridge over the river which I had planned the previous year.
In the Peugeot I motored on south, stopped each day at one or two villages,
checked on food supplies and farming prospects, paid out workmen on the
roads, visited the schools and dealt with personal and tax problems. By the end
of the week I was back in the coastal area at Kisiju where the rest house on the
seashore was in a bad state and needed major repairs.
Leisure and social life
I had new neighbours on the station, and saw lots of them. Peter Stevens
occupied the adjacent DO’s bungalow, and the Chaplin family had one of the
bigger bungalows on the other side of our little hilltop. We had plenty of visitors
too, including Peter Bowden, a geologist, and Mary, his young wife, who moved
down from Dodoma for six months to survey for clay (used in brick-making)
in the Pugu Hills.
As the rains gradually eased, the atmosphere was much less humid and
became very pleasant. The grass on the Kisarawe ‘common’ could be cut neatly,
and the circular road was repaired and tidied. The station looked clean and
smart with the colourful shrubs and brilliant, striking red flame trees. My own
garden was a delight. My mother had planted window boxes along the low
verandah, and tall yellow and orange canna in several scattered flower beds
around my lawn. Religiously I sprinkled all the shrubs and hibiscus with DDT
dust in accordance with her instructions, and they, too, flourished with bright
scarlet flowers. Tammy settled in well and seemed to like the company of the
two noisy ducks, which were given me on my first safari. Despite the problems
the bees caused when we wanted to get the car out of the garage, we hoped they
would stay to swarm in the garden and give us some honey but in due course
they disappeared.
In the house we made improvements too, following much help from my
parents. My mother made some long yellow curtains for the French windows
along the front of the living room, and the walls of the bathroom and bedrooms
were washed down for they had been showing signs of fungus and damp. The
lavatory cistern, which had caused trouble when my parents were staying over the
New Year, collapsed at the end of February in a welter of rubble and bent pipes.
Despite such mishaps it was a comfortable house and gave me much pleasure.
When not on safari, my weekends were spent partly in Dar and partly
lazing in and around my bungalow at Kisarawe, often entertaining visitors who
fled the heat and bustle of the coast. When the roads were dry I managed to
drive down to Dar on late weekday afternoons, and was thus able to revive my friendships with the Dar folk. I renewed my contacts with the Tanganyika
Society, the Society for the Blind and the Dar es Salaam Cultural Society, and
enjoyed odd weekend evenings with the Le Bretons, the Savilles and Alan
Reese. Occasionally a group of us went to Twiga, the new nightclub in the city.
On other Saturdays I lunched or dined with old Haidhuru friends such as the
Macleods and the Magnays, who were living in Dar.
Simon Hardwick, stationed in Geita in the far north west of the country,
had a serious smash while out on safari and was obliged to come down to Dar es
Salaam to visit a physiotherapist. Apparently he hit a wash-away when driving
his Land Rover at about fifty miles per hour; the vehicle turned over and was
completely destroyed together with most of his belongings. Luckily he was
thrown out, but his shoulder blade was broken, as were some of his fingers,
and he was shocked and severely bruised. However he kept his poise and came
up to stay with me for a quiet weekend in his old house. Happily, after further
physiotherapy, he was able to return to Geita within a few weeks.
The Inchbold-Stevens family who had stayed with me at Morogoro had been
posted elsewhere, but came back en masse to stay one weekend. Mohamed gave
them a huge lunch of roast chicken and an even bigger tea. The Chaplins joined
us with their young son, and we all sat in my deck chairs under the big shady
tree in the cool breeze, which blew up from the valley below.
Day and night over the Idd holidays at the end of Ramadhan, drums throbbed
and thundered in the villages around Kisarawe. The customary ngomas were in
full swing, and noisy dancing and drinking could be heard in the neighbouring
villages to celebrate the new moon. I stayed at home, Sheilagh came up during
the daytime to do some painting, and we had two restful days together.
In April I dined in Dar with the Webbs, my Nzega friends, and waved them
farewell the following day when they flew home for good on the Comet from
Dar airport. That night I went to see The Yeomen of the Guard sung by the Dar
Musical Society, where I met John and Mavis Bradley, and learned that they,
too, were about to leave the country on retirement. Two expatriate DCs left the
Eastern Province that month: our number grew fewer week by week.
Selection for the Home Civil Service
At the end of February I was told I had passed the exam for the Home Civil
Service, sat amid all the confusion at the beginning of January. It was, however,
only the first hurdle. There were two sets of Selection Boards to be attended in
London and passed before one was offered a job. On the advice of the new UK
High Commission in Dar es Salaam, I wrote a tactful letter thanking the Civil Service Commissioners for passing me, but asking if they would either postpone
my interviews for a year, or perhaps exempt me from the next winter’s written
exams.
They rejected my request and said I must attend their interviews between 25th
and 27th April, or miss my chance. Everyone advised me that I would be foolish
to let slip the opportunity of landing a decent job so I decided to go home despite
the cost and the likelihood that I would be turned down at the first interview. My
airfare was reduced by one quarter because the Government accepted the flight as
official business, but, even so, it was £160 out of my compensation.
I rushed back from safari just before Easter to catch a Saturday evening Comet
from Dar, which deposited me in London at 7a.m. on Easter Sunday. I caught
the train to Ashford where my parents met me, and took me back to Wittersham
to put my feet up for a few days and share my mother’s birthday on the 23rd
of the month. From Island Cottage I went up to London and was guest of my
sister Margaret in her gorgeously chaotic and delightful home in Willow Road in
Hampstead. I then travelled down to Westminster over three days, to be tested
and interviewed by the Civil Service Commissioners and sundry serving and
retired civil servants.
I passed the first round, and was asked to stay on another ten days and attend
a second set of interviews with the top brass. This gave me the chance to travel to
Norwich to see my brother John and his family where I was spoiled by Doreen’s
cooking and the children’s attention. The second round was, however, much
tougher and more penetrating than the first. It seemed hopeful when I was asked
which branch of the Civil Service I would like to join. I replied that my first choice
would be the Foreign Office, second the Colonial Office, and third the Home
Office. It seems I was aiming too high. Everybody was very pleasant and friendly,
but at the end of it I was told I had failed. I had fallen at the final hurdle and
would not be invited to join the Civil Service in London.
It was a discouraging and thoroughly disappointing result. Many of my
contemporaries from the Colonial Service were being accepted; They were finding
their way into the Diplomatic Service and big ministries at home with ease that
I greatly envied. I had wasted three weeks at a time when Kisarawe was badly in
need of help to tackle the famine, and I had thrown away £200 to no purpose.
Kisarawe again
My parents dropped me off at Maidstone railway station on a Friday
afternoon. On reaching London I picked up the coach from the Victoria Air
Terminal and sped out to London airport. The plane left on schedule at 9.45 p.m. with no more than ten passengers to occupy sixty seats. The stewardesses
were helpful and attentive, and there was plenty of room to stretch out in
my comfortable corner seat with a new Agatha Christie. After refuelling at
Benghazi and a twenty-four hour flight, the plane touched down at Nairobi,
and the airline gave me a free trip into town for a bath and shave at the New
Stanley Hotel.
Nairobi was bustling on Saturday morning; bigger than Dar in all directions
with far more Europeans still enjoying a pleasant life. Dar es Salaam, which
I reached late that afternoon, was a great contrast; in mud and rain, I picked
up my car and drove out through dirt and scruffiness, along narrow, ill-kempt
streets with uninteresting little shops. The road to Kisarawe was worse than
ever. I took over an hour to struggle back to my bungalow, sploshing through
the mud in the dear old car. The boys all came to meet me, and had made the
house look grand with masses of cut flowers, and clean curtains, covers and
carpets. It was home.
Tammy
Sheilagh had been looking after Tammy while I had been away and had had
a lot of trouble with her. The poor dog had had a severe and sudden attack of
trypanosomiasis - ‘tryp’, an infection borne by the tsetse fly - and been taken
to the vet who had given her drastic injections and a saline drip. Sheilagh
met me at the airport with the news that my poor dog was with the vet and I
must collect her the next morning. When I arrived early to pick her up, I was
relieved that the treatment had revived her; she seemed to have survived the
attack and was able to walk to greet me, her tail wagging furiously.
So I brought her back to Kisarawe, but she was still groggy and sick, and
rapidly became very ill indeed. She was never still and obviously in pain. All
that day I spent with her, walking round and round the garden, trying to
calm and cool her and get her to eat and drink, but I could do nothing for
her. Finally she went berserk, and limped and dragged himself onto the grass
in driving rain. Sefu, Amiri and I were with her, but quite helpless in the face
of her evident distress and agonies. She died exhausted in my arms soon after
nightfall, as I sat hugging her, trying to shelter her from the driving rain,
crouched on the soaking grass while rain dripped on to her from my head and
shoulders.
The three of us buried dear Tammy late that night in a quiet corner of the
garden among the canna flowers.
A bigger job at Kisarawe
On the Sunday after I got back from the abortive London trip, I was asked
to take on a bigger role. I was given charge of:
The court - a number of criminal cases were waiting to be heard
with several accused were languishing in the lock-up on remand.
Local courts and appeals from them
preparations for National Presidential Elections on 18th June -
polling districts and polling stations had to be identified, and staff
found and trained to register voters - a huge job in itself.
District Council’s finances and staffing
famine relief
taking Daniel, the new DOII, on a week’s safari to the coastal
chiefdoms, to introduce him to the chiefs, the wandewa, wakilis
and village jumbes and elders, and handing responsibility over to
him.
There was a mass of work to do. Worst of all, the car was in trouble - the
exhaust cracked on the appalling roads on the drive back from the airport, and
I had to borrow the station Land Rover again for another fortnight.
Clearly famine relief was the priority. Emergency food supplies had been
made available at Ruvu for some time, but the problem had widened and
reports of severe shortages had come in from Chole beyond Ruvu, and from
the chiefdoms of Mzenga, and Maneromango. Early each morning I set off
along the inland roads, calling at each village on the way, gathering together
the chiefs, elders and TANU members to learn the situation and the amount of
food supplies either growing in the fields or held in store. Wherever a serious
shortage was apparent, I asked for the number of able-bodied men in the village,
the number of women, children and elderly they supported, and the total
number of mouths to be fed. I collected facts and figures, sought to arrange
work for the able-bodied, made arrangements for paying them for their labour,
and planned the distribution of maize at convenient temporary depots. Back in
the District Office we telephoned the Regional headquarters in Morogoro, that
had replaced the Provincial Office, and contacted the Secretariat in Dar, to ask
for sufficient maize to be brought out from the Dar warehouses and taken to
the agreed depots near the stricken villages. Operating the same system which
had prevailed when I had been at the Provincial Office the previous year, we
arranged for the men to receive fifty cents a day for their labour and to exchange
the money for posho at the rate of one and a quarter pounds of maize in weight
per head per day.
At Chole and Mzenga I found there was no food at all, nothing was growing in
the parched shambas and nothing was in reserve. We worked out that emergency
food aid would have to be imported into the District for a minimum of two
months until local supplies became available again. I calculated as follows:
| Chole | Mzenga | Total |
Men able to work | 3,100 | 1,500 | 4,600 |
Money required daily in Shs | 1,550 | 750 | 2,300 |
Total Money required in Shs | 90,000 | 45,000 | 135,000 |
Mouths to feed | 9,000 | 5,000 | 14,000 |
Maize required daily in lbs | 11,250 | 6,250 | 17,500 |
Maize required daily in tons | 5.25 | 2.75 | 8 |
Total Maize required in tons | 300 | 68 | 368 |
Peter Stevens went round the Maneromango chiefdom and reckoned that an
additional ten thousand people required to be fed; in total we calculated we
required ninety-four tons of maize each week for ten weeks to be available for
distribution in depots at Maneromango and Mzenga to keep 24,000 people
from starving.
When the sums were done, the headmen, elders and I went round each
village sorting out the work that needed doing, mainly road-mending and
dam-building; we organized temporary camps for the workmen with necessary
facilities, tools and food; we recruited fundis (skilled carpenters and craftsmen)
to measure, plan and design the work; and we arranged proper supervision. This
was a complex operation across these large areas. Somehow everybody able to
work had to be found work, and fundis and supervisors had to be employed to
oversee every gang of labourers. I struggled home at 8 or 9 each night for a scrap
supper and few hours rest before setting out again to another part of the district.
The Summons
I had a couple of days in the office to let Dar es Salaam know of our
requirements and sort out our transport to back up the work plan. As I was
wrestling with the paperwork in the Boma, Richard Clifford, the Private
Secretary to the Governor General (as he had become on Independence) caught
me on the phone.
Richard said, "The Governor General wants you to become his ADC. He wants
you to come down to Government House and start work for him here as soon as
possible."
I spluttered and protested, "But I’m up to my ears here. We have a major famine
on our hands. There are people out there starving and it is my job to feed them. The
other Boma staff are working very hard and very keen, but they’re all new to the job.
I’m the only one with any experience, and we have elections to arrange as well." I was
getting very worked up.
Besides, I added, "I’m off on safari early tomorrow for five days which I can’t
possibly cancel."
Richard answered, "I’ll ring you again on your return. Please give it serious
thought. We would like you to start here on 1st June."
I was alarmed and horrified at the prospect, and wondered if I could possibly
duck it. I was entirely happy doing the job at Kisarawe which I thought would
be much more useful than being a flunkey in Government House.
Then I was off with Daniel for another week’s safari down the coast. We paid
visits to all the markets, trading centres and villages in the coastal plain that I had
come to know so well. I took him round the usual circuit of barazas, checking
the court books and tax registers, and remitting tax for the old and infirm; I
introduced him to all the wandewa, wakilis, elder statesmen and young TANU
activists; I explained the work I had done in trying to develop the agriculture,
improve the roads and bridges, and raise the standards of the courts, schools and
dispensaries for the villagers.
The two of us came across serious flooding. Where two streams had overflowed
their banks, we reckoned eighty-five thatched and mud-walled houses, had been
inundated in five locations, together with livestock, cassava stores and adjacent
shambas, and we had to call for emergency help. A game scout was missing
and believed killed while hunting marauding elephant, and we had to send out
search parties - without success. I spent five happy and rewarding days working
each night until late, in order to try and pay a final call at every place, resolve the
outstanding shauris and leave affairs as tidy as possible for my successor.
I returned from safari on the Friday night to find my transfer to Government
House was confirmed. It was another of those ‘royal commands’, and I had one
week in which to pack up and hand over my work. I had to be on duty and start
learning the new job at the Queen’s Birthday Reception at Government House
on Saturday, 2nd June.
I nipped out again to Ruvu on two days in my last week, getting back to base
after dark and trying to cover as much ground as possible in the famine area
around Chole. I was able to sort out arrangements for distributing the maize
and starting the work to be done by the men in the affected villages. The Ndewa,
elders and I worked out a programme for all villagers in the famine area. They were to be summoned to a meeting in six days’ time to be addressed by a DO, so
that a little committee could be elected to run the operation, and clerks from the
Boma could make a list of able-bodied men prepared to labour in order to earn
posho for their families. Work should then start in the selected sites, the maize
should arrive by lorry from Dar to the depot two days after the meeting, and the
first distribution should take place the day after that. That was the programme,
but I had to leave it to others to implement.
In the courtroom, two cases of robbery with violence had to be dealt with
over my last weekend. I was working full tilt until 8 o’clock on the morning of
my departure. There was no chance to celebrate my birthday - I had hoped to
give my colleagues on the station a drink or two, but that had to be abandoned.
I had also planned to have a farewell meal with my Haidhuru friends, Harold
and Hilary Magnay, who were leaving Dar es Salaam for good that weekend on
the S.S. Kenya Castle, as was my former Kisarawe colleague, Peter Stevens. All I
could manage were brief goodbye phone calls.
I was not replaced at the Kisarawe Boma. I left behind a despondent Danny
Gumbi, who was hoping to go on leave himself. Two inexperienced and
unenthusiastic young African DOs would be in charge of the District, and most
of the jobs I failed to complete were unlikely ever to be done. My final task was
to give my loyal personal staff notice, tip the ever-willing Boma messengers and
junior staff, crate my furniture - to be stored eventually in Government House
lumber rooms - pack my bags in a great hurry, vacate my beloved bungalow, and
say my goodbyes.
It was a miserable business as I had become very fond of Kisarawe and its
people. The other Europeans on the station, the Chaplins, were kind enough to
look after and feed me on my last day when my bungalow was in turmoil. Then
I clambered into my faithful Peugeot and waved goodbye. And that was that.
|
Chapter 3: The Governor General
|
They that dig foundations deep,
Fit for realms to rise upon,
Little honour do they reap
Of their generation,
Any more than mountains gain
Stature till we reach the plain.
The Pro-consuls: Rudyard Kipling
A Reluctant Move
As I drove down from Kisarawe to Government House in Dar es Salaam to
start my new job as ADC on 2nd June, I was horrified at what lay ahead of me.
I had little idea what an Aide de Camp did, but I had been entirely happy as a
DO at Kisarawe which I thought was a much more useful role than anything
I could do for the Governor General. Sir Richard (whom we all knew as ‘HE’)
had the reputation of being a hard taskmaster and a difficult man to get on with,
and ADCs did not last long in his service. Besides I was not suited to that sort
of job; I was useless at detail and neither punctual nor precise. I was not the
extrovert hail-fellow-well-met type who would throw himself into every party.
I had no interest in protocol, did not enjoy big social occasions, and disliked
ceremony. I would have to live on the premises, buy a whole wardrobe of new
clothes, lose my lovely home on the Kisarawe hilltop, and let down my young
colleagues who were a pleasure to work with. Finally I had no idea what would
happen to my servants who had been so loyal and helpful, and who deserved
well of me. I was not in the least thrilled at the prospect before me.
On reporting to Government House (GH), it was, however, some relief to
find I need not start my new duties until the Monday when Bob Graham,
my predecessor as ADC, disappeared on leave. He was required to perform his
usual duties while the Governor General celebrated the Queen’s Birthday with
parades and parties, but Bob then departed in somewhat of a hurry. He gave me
just half a day’s hand-over and two days to sort myself out.
The Governor General
For what sort of man was I required to work? Sir Richard Turnbull was a tall,
lean man, with a gaunt hawk-like face. He possessed a towering personality, an
awesome presence, piercing intelligence, a profound affection for the peoples of
Africa, and total dedication to his task. His whole career had been in colonial
administration, having been a DC, and later a PC, over long periods in Kenya,
mostly in the Northern Frontier Province (the NFP), and many tales were told
of his enormous foot safaris and his special affinity for the Somali people of the
area, whose clans he knew and language he spoke. He had a fair knowledge of
Swahili, too, and, unlike his predecessor, was able to communicate effectively
and make powerful speeches to African audiences - though I reckoned I must
have been one of very few ADCs who knew the language as well, if not better,
than he did.
A staunch defender of British colonial policy, HE had early the previous
year made an important speech to the Tanga Branch of the Royal Society of St
George, which I had cut out of the paper at the time, and many of us thought
expressed the purpose of our work in Tanganyika. He had said:
"Colonialism is out of fashion these days and it is natural that it should be, but
though its day is over and though it tends to be spoken of with a marked air of
disapproval, it has indeed a splendid job to its credit and we could no more have
done without it in our earlier days than we could have dispensed with the homely
disciplines of our youth.
I know all the arguments against the colonial system; how it prevented the voice
of the people from being heard, stifled development, frustrated progress and imposed
an irremovable alien government on the territory. And viewed in the bright light of
1961, these seem pretty cogent criticisms.
But in the cloudy ill-lit years between the wars, when every country in the world
was faced with grave economic troubles and when there were none of these missions,
trusts, bequests and foundations… things were very different. What we had to do
was to get some kind of industry established - however precariously - and then tax it
and tax the men it employed so that one could lay one’s hands on just a little money
with which to make the roads, build the schools and set up the hospitals with which
the needs of the people could be met.
In the days of which I speak there was, except for the colonial system just no
way of priming the economic pump and of getting off the dead centre of unrelieved
poverty and malnutrition, and the resulting apathy that stultified the progress of
the country. The regime of old-fashioned colonialism is all but over and we move
into independence, but colonialism goes, not because it is discredited but because
its mission is complete. For myself I am proud to have been so long a member of
the Colonial Service, and in the past thirty years in East Africa been able to play a
part in the development of the great design. For those of us who have joined in the
adventure it has been an honourable task, honourably fulfilled.
Well known for his love of good company, food and wine, HE had
nevertheless an innate shyness and an austere and somewhat reserved manner.
In conversation he was always entertaining, and he could often be erudite,
caustic and amusing; and he was frequently eager to display the breadth and
brilliance of his knowledge with more than a touch of intellectual arrogance.
Under a veneer of cynicism he often appeared sardonic and sometimes gave
the impression of indifference, but below the surface he was always intensely
interested and had a deep sense of duty. His humour could be rugged and rude;
he had a nice sense of fun and relished a few choice swear words. He could
be fiercely sarcastic and sometimes took pleasure in shocking his audience
with exaggerated language. He was famed for cultivating certain eccentricities
such as his early morning hill-climbs, his love of music on his antiquated horn
gramophone, and his passion for Scottish dancing.
To his great credit HE had always looked after the Administrative Service
in the Territory. To young DOs and to his DCs he was well known as a
thoughtful and generous host. He was also widely admired for his immensely
hard and skilful work with both the nationalists and the British Government in
leading Tanganyika to a peaceful independence. The successful Constitutional Conference of March the previous year had been as much his triumph as it
had been that of the TANU leaders. Julius Nyerere had acknowledged this
situation when, with his waspish sense of humour, much given to back-handed
compliments, he had commented after the event:
"My most serious complaint against the British is that they never locked me up.
A reasonable Governor is a sufficiently rare phenomenon to unsettle even the most
orthodox of nationalists."
So I was terrified when I started working for this man, knowing that I was
to spend many mornings, and most evenings and weekends in his company,
required to obey his word promptly and implicitly, to support him, to work
alongside him in his public duties, and to join him in entertaining his guests.
Th ere was no question but I had to work very hard and think very carefully
about all I said and did in his company.
It was not long, however, before I achieved a relatively relaxed modus vivendi
in his presence. To me he was always polite and correct. When ‘on parade’
he was aloof and reserved, and spoke with a firm authority. When on safari,
at the beach hut or up in his beloved hills, he unbent and became a pleasant
companion. I was treated as one of the family and ate nearly all my meals en
famille. Neither he nor Lady Turnbull (Lady T as she was known), when she
came out to join him, were ever brusque, sharp or indiscreet with me, and they
were both amazingly patient with my mistakes. (I guess they had had to put
up with some pretty poor ADCs in their time.) On one occasion I put on my
best dark suit and college tie ready to go out with the Turnbulls for an evening
reception. A minute or two before the appointed time, I ran down the stairs
from my quarters to meet them in the hall as arranged, and there was HE in his
dinner jacket and black tie, and Lady T in a resplendent evening dress. It would
never do for the ADC to be in a different outfit.
"But," I said aghast, "the invitation clearly said we should wear suits."
"Never mind that," said HE. "I felt like putting on a DJ."
So I had to ask them to wait while I ran back upstairs and changed into my
dinner suit, which I did in less than five minutes. Such were the trials of being
an ADC.
Rapidly I learned his habits and the way he liked things done. He could
drink any alcohol at any time of day: frequently he told me to have champagne
cocktails ready when his guests arrived in the evening and happily followed this
with a gin and tonic or two. His preferred evening tipple was Famous Grouse
whisky, of which there was large stock in the cellar and a decanter full on the
drinks tray. He was equally eclectic in his smoking habits. He would smoke
anything at most times of the day: cigarettes, of which a box must always be at
hand, cheroots and cigars, and, perhaps for preference and perfect relaxation, a
pipe.
I always knew where I was with both of them, and I hope they found me
responsive and sensible. I had no problem with HE’s posturing. I worked for an
intensely interesting and stimulating man; my life revolved around him, and a
large part of the fascination of the job was trying to understand his personality,
so that I could do the best for him.
New colleagues
Four European members of staff served the Governor General: a Private
Secretary, a Social Secretary, the Housekeeper and me, the ADC. The Private
Secretary, Dick Clifford, was slim in build and quiet in manner, correct and discreet in the office, talking little about his work. It was he who had
recruited me. He sat in an office next door to the Governor General and
passed across the corridor those of his intentions and plans that concerned
me. Dick and I saw little of each other socially as he spent relatively little time
in Government House after working hours. He lived in a pleasant bungalow,
conveniently situated opposite GH main entrance, with his wife, Mary, who
was Secretary of the Tanganyika Society, and whom I knew quite well. She had
been very good to me when I had been in hospital, and had recruited me to
the Committee and Editorial Board of the Society as well as taking me sailing
in their boat when I was convalescing.
The Social Secretary was Fiona Grant, a warm, bouncy and bubbly girl
with a round and smiling face and lots of fair, wavy hair. She had arrived early
the previous year and fitted in perfectly to GH life. She had mad ideas and a
hectic social life, sailed, rode and played hockey, but was cheerfully efficient in
her office next door to mine with an open door between us. She looked after
HE’s social diary and planned his entertainments and parties, and frequently
acted as hostess at his table when Lady T was absent in the UK. Once Fiona
had sorted out the invitations, and the dates and times, it became my job to
put her schemes into effect. We worked closely together; she was always a
delightful colleague and soon became my friend.
The Housekeeper, with whom I also worked closely, was a lady named
Nancie Vincent - why she spelt her Christian name so strangely I have no idea.
She was highly experienced and thoroughly competent at her job. She had run
Government Houses elsewhere around the world, in particular Jamaica and
Cyprus where the Governor had been Sir Hugh Foot (later Lord Caradon).
With unassuming competence Nancie ran our GH, oversaw its kitchens, and
trained and managed its indoor and outdoor staff of fifty.
She helped me a great deal in easing myself into my new job in the early
days, and I had much respect for her ability to meet the needs of the Turnbulls
and their guests. I was much relieved when she responded positively to my
request that she employ my Kisarawe staff. She sent Mohamed, my cook,
to be caretaker of the Governor’s rest house on the beach down the coast
at Mjimwema, ten miles or so south of Dar, which I think suited him well.
Sefu filled a vacancy among the GH indoor staff, donned their uniform in
which he looked very smart, fitted in contently as my valet, and did his best
to keep me smartly dressed and properly turned out on the job - at a higher
wage and with much better living quarters than I could ever have offered. He
was pleased at the move, and I was well looked after. The garden handyman, Amiri, could not be placed in GH so I dismissed him, but helped him to buy
a new wife at the cost of £15. He, too, was satisfied, and I kept in touch with
him in case I needed his help at a later date.
My Quarters
GH had been solidly built in the Moorish style by the Germans for their
Governor on a superb site by the sea, and it had been rebuilt by the British
after bombardment and capture during the Great War. It was a massive,
fortress-like stone building, with long verandahs on the upper storey below
the battlements, all painted in white, sparkling and shining in the bright
sunlight like icing-sugar. The central block enclosed a series of dining rooms
and small drawing rooms below spacious bedrooms and dressing rooms on the
landward side, while on the seaward side a fine high-ceilinged reception room
opened on to steps leading down to the gardens.
On the north side of this central block, a wing had been added many years
previously for offices and meetings rooms. On the south side, a wing had been
erected for Princess Margaret’s visit in 1956, and Prince Philip had occupied
it when he had represented the Queen at the Independence Celebrations. The
new wing comprised a large ballroom below several suites of guest bedrooms
and sitting rooms. Beyond this wing were to be found the extensive kitchens,
servants’ accommodation, and garages, which housed a fleet of cars (and my
Peugeot for the duration of my service).
I was quartered in a suite on a corner at the northern end of GH. On
three sides a broad, covered balcony enclosed my bedroom and was divided
by arches into three reasonable-sized rooms, which served as hall, dining room
and sitting room. Behind the bedroom were a bathroom and a storeroom for
trunks. I was able to install my own furniture, books, pictures and ornaments.
With high ceilings, wide windows, cool white walls, and stylish wooden floors
covered in Arab rugs, they were beautiful rooms. The balcony looked out over
the endless Indian Ocean with Honeymoon Island in the middle distance. In
these rooms, I was able to sit, read and take my meals when off-duty, while
beneath me the colourful well-watered gardens stretched down to Ocean
Road that bordered the beach. It was a magnificent prospect and never ceased
to give me pleasure. In the evenings, when the sun went down and the big
ships passed to and fro, it was a very lovely outlook. I was a prisoner in a very
comfortable gilded cage.
My Quarters
After showing me my office, garages and cellar, Bob, my predecessor, slipped
away. I never saw the job description of an ADC, and had to pick my functions
up as I went along - and learn them fast. It emerged that I was required to:
supervise the indoor staff - jointly with the Housekeeper
run the cars and the manage the fi ve drivers
stock the cellar
receive and look after all our house guests
receive and look after all visitors
accompany H.E. everywhere in public
act as general dogsbody
The first thing I had to do was buy a dark grey light-weight suit, a white
monkey jacket and a lightweight black dinner jacket, together with new
cummerbund, new studs and the like. I spent a large sum on clothes in the early
weeks in order to be properly turned out, and all my older clothes were altered to
fi t me better by a sewing girl who worked on the premises. Eventually I probably
looked quite smart when on duty beside HE. My salary was unchanged, and
I received no clothing allowance, but I could not complain because I had no other expenses; and my grocery bills, food, beer, whisky, servants’ wages, water,
electricity and the rest were all paid by the Government.
Along with Dick Clifford my pay was also found by the Government, but I
was ‘seconded’ to the Governor General’s establishment. HE, Dick and I were
the only three people permanently employed in the country who owed our duty
and loyalty not to the new Tanganyika flag but to the Queen. I needed a uniform
for ceremonial parades and official functions; nearly all my predecessors as ADCs
had been seconded from one of the armed services and had worn military dress
suitable for the tropics on formal occasions. I had no such advantage, and nor
could I put on the full dress white uniform with badges and buttons that DCs in
the Colonial Service had been accustomed to don for official events. It smacked
too much of the country’s colonial past.
So the three of us invented a unique uniform for me to wear when required.
Tight, white lightweight trousers went under a high-necked tunic with blue
tabs at the neck. Over my right shoulder were the threaded aiguillettes in corded
yellow braid with pointed tassels that were the traditional insignia of the ADC.
A narrow sword in its black scabbard was found for me - though happily I was
never obliged to draw it nor do any of that horrible sword drill we so disliked
in the Dorset Regiment. With my new white uniform I wore black shoes, and the ensemble was completed by a fairly smart, blue, peaked cap with white
cover and non-descript badge with the royal crown. I did look a bit like a
commissionaire, but wore this outfit with, I hope, some swagger; it served its
purpose in indicating my function in the show.
The GH Cars
One of the most interesting parts of my job was the care of the GH cars
and drivers. Kampota was the Head Driver who looked after his charges with
some pride. He was an enormous help to a new ADC as he knew the Dar roads
backwards, and understood the preferences of his passengers and the vagaries
of the internal combustion engine much better than I did. Under him, I found
our five drivers to be well trained, competent and responsive. The Governor
General always sat behind the driver with his wife or a lady guest on his left
hand, and the ADC customarily perched in front beside the driver. Like most
backseat drivers HE used to grumble about the chauffeurs and they had to bear
a good deal of criticism, but I thought they were good and went to some trouble
with them to work out routes and timings with frequent rehearsals. In my view
they did a first class job in taking the Governor General to his engagements
comfortably, and very nearly always at the right place and time.
The pride of the fleet was the giant, old, black Rolls Royce. It was cleaned
and polished with loving care, and had a deep, hairy carpet in the back, wide
windows and a roof that could be folded back. When the roof was closed,
the Governor General’s pennant flew from the roof above a silver crown on a
crimson shield and when the roof was open the pennant was mounted on the
nose of the sleek black bonnet. It was a beautiful vehicle that ran silently and
stylishly, and was truly a pleasure to ride. In my early days as ADC, when I
asked the Head Driver to turn it out for some special occasion, I was assured
HE did not like to motor in it when in uniform. I subsequently received a firm
instruction not to use it, partly because the spurs on HE’s uniform boots tangled
in the long hairs of the carpet and partly because his plumed hat caught in the
roof when it was closed. So this lovely car was seldom used.
The GH cellars
One of the attractions of my job was responsibility for the GH wine cellars.
Situated under the kitchens, and always kept at an even temperature, they were
a treasure trove of fine wines and port. The story went that HE had bought
the entire cellar from Mr Williamson, the diamond prospector, millionaire
and wine connoisseur, on a visit to his mine at Mwadui shortly before he had left Tanganyika. HE knew his wine, and was particularly keen on vintages of
the best clarets from Pauillac, St Julien and Margaux. I was enthralled by my
visits to the cellars where I could handle - with enormous care - bottles of a
good age of the greatest Bordeaux and Burgundy wines and carry them upstairs
to be decanted and enjoyed with great pleasure in the evenings. Half a dozen
chateaux were justly HE’s favourites; Pichon-Longueville, Beychevelle, Calon-
Segur, Haut-Batailley, Lynch-Bages and Pontet-Canet, and, of course, among
the pudding wines, the incomparable d’Yquem. Prince Philip was reputed to
have been surprised and delighted when served a bottle on his visit the previous
December, and declared he had not drunk dessert wine of such quality outside
Buckingham Palace. Charge of the GH cellar, and the chance to drink a few of
the great wines at HE’s table, was one of the perks of my job I valued the most.
The Constitutional Situation
When Tanganyika had achieved its independence the previous December,
Sir Richard had relinquished the position of Governor with responsibility for
the government of the mandated territory. At the Constitutional Conference of
March 1961, Nyerere had demanded that on Independence Day Tanganyika
should become a Republic with no allegiance to the Queen and no Governor
General, but this demand had been the only one that Iain Macleod had refused.
I was never clear about the reason for Macleod’s refusal. He seemed to
believe that, if Tanganyika remained a monarchy, it would reassure expatriate
civil servants and encourage them to stay on. Perhaps, also, he thought the
Governor General could act as a brake on the more extreme policies of the
new Government. At the conference he ducked the argument and merely said
he would have to refer the matter back to the Cabinet in London. In any case
Nyerere did not press the point, doubtless because Macleod had conceded all
his other demands regarding the timing of independence, and possibly, also,
because the Prime Minister looked on Turnbull as something of a disinterested
friend and counsellor in the early days of independence.
One way or the other, Turnbull had been elevated to the position of Governor
General for one year from 9th December 1961, and given the honour of the
GCMG by the Queen. He was thus condemned to be a figurehead for a year
of unproductive and fairly futile ceremonial as the Queen’s representative in the
country. He possessed, in theory, the same role that Her Majesty had in relation
to the Governments of the United Kingdom and the Dominions. His personal
standard flew above the tower at GH, and any car in which HE rode sported
his pennant with the royal crown. His wife became ‘Her Excellency’ and we could call the pair of them ‘Their Excellencies’ (TE), though we seldom did.
On being presented, people were supposed to bow or curtsey to either of Their
Excellencies, as if to the Queen, though I think few did.
At the time of my arrival at GH, Lady T’s son-in-law, Paul Weller, was
serving in the Army in Germany, and she was staying with him and her daughter,
Alison, awaiting the birth of a grandchild. She returned in late August, however
and took her place in GH for our last four months.
Against this background HE saw his role limited to:
give advice to the Government when it was sought
represent Tanganyika to other countries
entertain and accommodate important visitors to the country
do his best for the former members of the Colonial Service who
remained in the country.
Representing the Queen
On arrival in Dar es Salaam, the first task of High Commissioners representing
Commonwealth countries and Ambassadors of foreign countries was to present
their credentials to HE before taking up their posts. Every second week or so,
the staff of an incoming Ambassador or High Commissioner would contact
GH with a request to call on HE for this purpose. He and I would dress up in
our uniforms, and he would stand waiting in solitary state in the centre of the
empty ballroom whilst I would welcome the newcomer, wife, and his deputy
and wife at the front door and usher them in to an ante-room to be greeted
by Dick Clifford. There Dick would make a show of checking the Letters of
Credence and then, sometimes with the help of an interpreter, introduce to HE
the senior diplomat, who would step forward, bow, hand over the official piece
of paper and shake hands. Champagne would appear; HE would engage the
new Ambassador and his party in small talk for ten minutes, then off they would
go. A couple of weeks later an invitation would arrive to attend a reception at
the embassy in question, and I would accompany HE there for more champagne
and small talk. Letters of Recall were given the same treatment.
Contact with foreign diplomats involved a great deal of dressing up and polite
conversation with those who spoke little English (and may well have despised
us as relics of colonialism). HE positively disliked wearing his uniform because
he would not wear glasses with it and he could see little without them. He
probably cordially loathed the whole business, but receiving the accreditation of
all these dignitaries was very much part of the job, and enabled him to remind
the diplomats that the British Government still had a presence in Tanganyika.
The Iron Curtain countries lost no time in making contact with the new
Government in its first few months, and rapidly set up shop in Dar, buying
some of the most select properties in prime positions in Oyster Bay. On behalf
of the new Government, we were required to welcome all the newcomers,
notably the Russians and Chinese, as well as the High Commissioners from the
other independent African states like Ghana and Nigeria. Of the new embassies,
the Chinese was the most striking and extensive. They bought a big house in
a superb position on the promontory overlooking the ocean beyond Selander
Bridge, with the Russian embassy on one side and the Chief Justice’s home on
the other. The Chinese were, perhaps, the first to ring their property with a high
wall and barbed wire on top, thus shutting themselves away from the outside
world. It looked ugly, but they were soon followed by other embassies, including
the United States, that felt the need for tight security.
HE saw it as his duty to entertain members of the corps diplomatique from
time to time and in return we were entertained by them on any excuse. In
two weeks in July for example, HE and I attended a formal reception at the
Canadian High Commission on Canada Day on the 1st of the month, the
American Embassy’s big party on the 4th, a French Embassy’s enthusiastic
celebration of Bastille Day on the 14th, and a similar diplomatic affair at the
Ghanaian High Commission. Quite separately the Tanganyika Government
did its own entertaining, and had far wider contacts with African and socialist
visitors than did we at GH. For instance, the UN Anti-Colonialist ‘Committee
of Seventeen’ came to Tanganyika in June, saw a good deal of the Cabinet, but
did not call at GH.
Later in the year, embassy parties seemed to intensify, and one of the largest we
attended was in celebration of The Great October Socialist Revolution as guests of
Mr Timoshenko, the Russian Ambassador. He organised a huge reception in the
Karimjee Hall on 7th November, and it seemed as if the whole of Tanganyika had
been invited that evening. The Russians were making their mark.
HE’s advisory role
In the negotiations preceding independence, Nyerere may have foreseen
the possibility of working fruitfully with the Governor General, but a working
relationship between them never materialised after Independence. Following
strong pressure from TANU that spring, Nyerere had been obliged to relinquish
the job of Prime Minister, and the post went to Rashidi Kawawa. Having sworn
in the new Cabinet in December, HE had then been obliged to swear in a new
Prime Minister and new team of Ministers only a few weeks later.
HE made a practice of being in his office all morning and every morning when
in Dar es Salaam. He told me he felt he had to make himself available should
the Prime Minister wish to seek his counsel, but I am not aware Kawawa or his
Cabinet under ever did consult the Governor General. If they did, or if Nyerere did
in his capacity as Leader of TANU, it was either in secret or during the course of
some social event, and I never knew about it. Nothing was left of the old bustling
ceremonial and formal government business. There were no long telegrams to
the Colonial Office to draft and despatch, and no detailed replies to answer and
implement; nor were there any more speeches to write and translate into Swahili
for HE to deliver. All the extraordinarily large amount of work involved in the
independence negotiations had drawn to a sudden and complete closure.
Soon after I joined GH, the National Assembly met to discuss the country’s
budget. HE had nothing to do with their work, and was powerless to influence the
changes that the new Government was working out with Assembly members. He
did not even have the duty to report them to London. The newly appointed British
High Commissioner, Sir Neil Pritchard, was the person who briefed Ministers at
home and dealt directly with HMG through the Foreign and Commonwealth
Office. Neither the Governor General nor the Colonial Office was any longer
involved.
By June, there was little official work of any sort for HE to do. He knew most
of what was going on, but could do nothing about it. From the point of view
of his career, 1962 has been described as ‘an empty year’. He must have been
immensely frustrated and chafed at his days wasted in Dar on ceremonial and
social duties - he would probably have been much happier back in the hot deserts
of the NFP. Government House was in every sense an ivory tower - though he
made sure it was a luxurious and very civilized one.
Despondent about the behaviour of the new Government, in his first
conversation with me after my arrival HE deplored the swift deterioration of
standards. I wrote home early in July a comment, which probably reflected my
conversations with him. I said;
"In January they started to deport Europeans, and Nyerere was sacked. Subsequently
they have set up what amounts to a fascist dictatorship, and they have declared
themselves openly anti-imperialist and anti-white-civil-service. They are kicking old
civil servants out as fast as they dare; two old permanent secretaries leave this week.
Our Commissioner of Police has already gone, his Deputy also goes this week; there is
not one white DC left now. I am told that over 40% of all white civil servants have
already resigned, which is a higher number than under any previous compensation
scheme."
In October worse was to come. The National Assembly passed the Preventive
Detention Act to permit imprisonment for up to a year without trial on the
word of an African Minister. This was in close emulation of Ghana, and in the
expected direction of policy towards one-party dictatorship. Never before had
the Tanganyikan Cabinet been quite so blatant and frank about their intention
to set aside the rule of law. The Governor General was powerless to interfere,
and believed it worse than useless to offer advice. While the Bill was being
debated in the Chamber he decided to absent himself from the capital so that
he could in no way be seen to condone the direction of national policy. He had
me book the plane and flew off on his own to Mbulu District beyond the Masai
Steppe. With some friends he organized one of his more ambitious climbs up
one of the extinct volcanoes in the area - I think it was the notorious Mount
Hanang - and thus removed himself from the unsavoury events in Dar over
which he had no control. It was, perhaps, his last chance to climb the mountain
and he seized on the opportunity while he left me behind to relax and hold the
fort. In one way I was sorry not to be allowed to join him on the climb, but at
that stage I was longing for a complete break and a chance to live my own life
again; so I was glad of a couple of days off.
Morale among the remaining European officials sank to new depths. Many
of those who had been prepared to accept independence and help the new
country were becoming disillusioned, and talk was renewed of the virtues of the
old colonial system as the best way to secure habeas corpus, personal liberty, and
the peaceful and free development of the country.
Early Mornings at GH
At least once a week my day started before dawn. Before Bob left, he had
assured me that HE’s famous early morning tours of the city on a bicycle were
a thing of the past. Though well known for rising at 5.30 a.m. to cycle round
the town with his ADC and house-guests, HE had disposed of his bicycle by
the time of my arrival. I assumed he felt the Government might consider he was
snooping if they heard that he was out and about the town in the mornings.
In place of a cycle ride, HE went for at least one strenuous walk each
week before breakfast, regardless of the weather or work programme. On the
appointed day I was required to arrange a driver to leave Government House
as the sun rose and take HE and me in a Land Rover out of town into the
Pugu Hills. After climbing for a few miles up the Kisarawe road we would turn
off along a likely looking forestry track into the jungle. There he and I would
dismount and immediately plunge up hill into the forest, often through old German plantations. The steeper the hillside the better, the thicker the jungle
and the rougher the going, the more he enjoyed the challenge. Well-shod with
strong boots and armed only with a long cleft stick of the sort used by Indian
guides - doubtless a relic of his NFP days - HE strode and struggled ahead as fast
he could, regardless of the thick scrub, bamboo, climbers and creepers across his
path.
After half an hour or so, as the sun climbed in the sky, we would emerge
on to another track at a much higher level where the Land Rover would be
waiting for us. This was neither walking nor climbing; it was a hectic scramble,
deliberately done with the purpose of perspiring heavily and returning home in
a muck sweat for a bath before breakfast. We would be drenched in perspiration
and covered in mud from ditches we had fallen into and blood from scratches
from thorn bushes we had thrust through, but HE loved it. I hated the early
rising, but was always able to keep up with him and to share his pleasure at the
exercise. Back in GH, I would much enjoy a beer, a steaming bath and a large
breakfast before the day’s work began.
GH Sundays
One of HE’s habits, of which I thoroughly approved, was to spend Sunday
mornings at the beach hut at Mjimwema down the coast. He would have me
arrange for his house-guests, one or two friends, Fiona and me, to travel in a
convoy of Land Rovers over the ferry at Harbour Point and on down a long,
sandy track to this remote spot. Nancie would pack up two big, hot boxes
of various curries, and cold boxes of stubby bottles of Carlsberg lager, plus
poppadoms, fruit, trimmings and hot pickles. After a bathe and a little exercise
the party would enjoy her curries sitting on the verandah of the beach hut,
looking out over the sands and coral reef. In the afternoon, some of us would
take a quiet snooze, whilst others would go for a stroll along the beach or a
wander through the coconut palms. When Lady T was back she would set up
her easel under a parasol and paint away with quiet satisfaction. As was natural,
the Turnbulls much enjoyed the absence of protocol and relaxation of those days
by the sea. I had little to do except pass round the beer and enjoy the company
and the sunshine - and I, too, would try my hand at painting in those long,
drowsy afternoons.
Sir Richard worshipped at St Albans church from time to time where the
preacher was the Reverend Capper, known as the Provost. On a couple of
occasions we heard Father Trevor Huddleston preach during one of his visits
to Dar. He was then the Bishop of Masasi in the Southern Province and a big man, both in frame and personality. Author of Naught for your Comfort, he was a
passionate opponent of apartheid in South Africa and found Tanganyika a more
congenial environment for his work, where he delivered stirring sermons. HE
was also invited from timed to time to attend services at the vast German-built
Roman Catholic cathedral in the middle of the city. On one occasion, the Mass
was some form of commemoration and went on a very long time. The church
was packed and very hot, the prayers were delivered in Latin and required clouds
of heavy incense and the ringing of bells. I remember it as a gloomy affair.
The Turnbulls tried hard to spend Sunday evenings on their own. They liked
a simple family meal in the small dining room close to the kitchens, and we
generally ate easy things like smoked salmon sandwiches and drank a bottle of
Chablis. On one of those relaxed occasions I was floored. Lady T had chosen a
duck for our dinner, and it was always the ADC’s job to carve the joint, but I
had no idea how to tackle this particular bird - its shape was not in the least like
that of a chicken. I struggled to produce a respectable plateful for HE and Lady
T as they looked on with amusement to see how I would cope.
Weekday mornings
On most weekday mornings, HE went down to his office very early, flung
open the French windows looking on to the gardens and worked at his papers
without interruption until breakfast and through the morning until required to
receive guests for lunch. While waiting for a call from the Prime Minister which
never came, he was able to give time to the history of the Turkana and NFP
clans which he knew well. His work The Narod Invasion is considered by experts
to be an important document. He had written it in the late 1940s, and revised
it while sitting at his desk in GH that summer of 1962.
Meanwhile Dick Clifford, Fiona and I gathered in our own offices after
breakfast, and sorted out HE’s future social and entertainment arrangements.
I had also to look after our house-guests and greet those coming to lunch each
day. None of this was particularly onerous, and I sometimes filled in my time
by writing letters home, preparing job applications and making plans for my
holiday after the Turnbulls’ departure.
The afternoons
GH afternoons were generally quiet and HE was much more relaxed. Once
or twice a week, he and I would go out to do easy and fairly useful things like
inspecting the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides Troops, visiting charities, presenting
prizes or watching a little sport. It might be the Red Cross AGM one afternoon, a hockey match a day or two later, and the finals of the cricket at the weekend.
From time to time HE was invited out for a sail on a big yacht, but I don’t think
he enjoyed the sea much. More often, at the back of the principal reception
room, he would sit beside his huge wind-up gramophone with its antique
trumpet speaker, enjoying classical music. It was a very old fashioned but stylish
machine, which seemed able to relax him completely. He loved music and was
very knowledgeable about it, as about many other things. I understood that
Mozart was his favourite composer and Mozart’s operas his favourite listening.
Sometimes Fiona sat with him, for her taste in music was similar to his. Any
house-guests who cared to join him were bidden to keep silent - I was sent away
whenever he decided on a musical afternoon, which suited me very well.
As the Governor General’s representative, there were certain jobs I had to do
on my own that sometimes filled my afternoons and evenings. I was required
to greet numerous VIPs when they changed planes at Dar es Salaam airport.
On HE’s behalf I saw them through customs and gave them a drink in the
VIP lounge as they waited for their flight. One such was an Indian millionaire
off the London plane on his way to his sisal estates. Another was the President
of Madagascar named Tsiranana, who arrived late on a Saturday evening on
an Air France flight from Tananarive with three heavyweight Ministers of his newly-independent government. They taxed my French which they spoke as a
second language and needed liquid refreshment on their way to pay a state visit
to West Germany.
I had to attend the occasional funeral in HE’s place. On one occasion I
went to the interment of two prominent ladies who had been attending an ‘All
African Women’s Conference’ then taking place in Dar es Salaam. In one of
the city’s biggest mosques, I sat barefoot beside members of the Tanganyikan
Cabinet, national TANU figures and some hundreds of townspeople. I then
joined a long procession that filed out slowly from the mosque and wound over
dusty sandy tracks to the burial ground. It was a very hot day and the crowd
was immense, and I was glad to escape to rejoin HE watching hockey on the
Gymkhana sports fields.
The evenings at GH
The more I did the job, the more extraordinary I found it. Throughout
all normal people’s working hours I had little to do but write letters and read
the papers, whereas in the evenings, at meal-times and at weekends I was fully
occupied looking after HE’s guests and the man himself. A lot of my new job
turned out to be quite as dull and soul-destroying as I had feared it would be,
and there was certainly far more to being a social butterfly than I would ever
have imagined possible. In a dinner jacket and black tie, I spent much of my
time acting as a professional host, arranging cars, theatre tickets, luggage and
invitations, handing round drinks and cigarettes, welcoming people at the front
door, and seeing off departing guests, in an endless social whirl. In Lady T’s
absence, HE was not too keen to entertain on his own, but even in that quiet
period he went to at least one evening reception a week and sometimes two or
three; and in return he gave sundowners and dinner parties at least once a week.
We would often rush back to GH from evening receptions in order to receive
guests for dinner. Sometimes they were friends and at other times they were
senior African politicians, diplomats, officials or business people. HE made a
point of keeping in touch with members of the old Administration, and met
and entertained many of the retiring civil servants. He knew all the up-country
DCs, and most came to pay their respects to him, and were invited to lunch
or stay a night before boarding their boat or plane homeward bound. On my
first day, I was on the doorstep one afternoon to welcome and look after one
of these retiring DCs and his wife. They had come down from a distant station
to spend their last night in the country at GH before leaving on retirement the
next day aboard the liner, the SS Kenya Castle. After seeing them comfortably accommodated, I found myself looking after them and other guests at a small
GH dinner party.
HE used to invite his personal friends to dine regularly at GH or joined him
for a film, the theatre, or, perhaps at the beach hut on a Sunday. The most eminent
were the Chief Justice, Sir Ralph Windham and his wife, Lady Kathleen. He was
a quiet and gentle man, famous for having been abducted and taken hostage by
the Irgun gangs when a District Court judge in Tel Aviv in Palestine in 1947,
and a key figure in demonstrating that the rule of law continued to prevail in
Tanganyika. Sir Ralph acted as Governor General whenever Richard Turnbull
was absent from the country, and I got to know him and his wife when serving
as his ADC on a number of occasions.
Other personal friends included Desmond and Pam O’Hagan, a former
Kenya colleague and his wife, with whom he took special pleasure in meeting
and talking over old times. Desmond had taken a retirement job in Dar, and, at
the end of June the O’Hagans came to live not far from GH, in one of the cool,
old German residences in the Botanical Gardens.
John and Elinor Walsh were also regularly invited to GH. John was a retired
tea planter from Assam in North India and ran the Tanganyika Tea Growers
Association from a small office in the city; while his wife managed a beautiful
house and lovely garden in Massie Road just off Kingsway in Oyster Bay.
From time to time HE relished the opportunity to go to a private house for an
evening among his friends, and the Walshes sometimes gave him dinner at their
home which I believe he much enjoyed. Other members of the Dar business
community, such as the Wheelers, would invite him to their sundowners to
meet their own friends and important visitors from home. (The Wheelers’
children happened to spend their Christmases at the holiday home run by my
sister, Liz, and gave me a new slant on her work at Bricklehurst Manor.)
The Turnbulls liked to entertain people by inviting them to drinks or to
dinner followed by an evening show. In my first week HE formed a large party
to attend one of the big secondary schools where the British Council had staged
an inter-school drama competition. In the front row of the audience, HE’s
party included the Prime Minister and Mrs Kawawa and Sir Ralph Windham
and Lady Windham whom I met for the first time. A few days later, HE took
another big party to the world premiere of the film Hatari, which was set in
Lake Manyara Game Park. It concerned a group of Americans who caught
animals for zoos, and should have been fascinating. The acting turned out to
be poor, however; we all thought the directing was downright bad, and the
film rotten publicity for Tanganyika. Another failure was the first visit I paid as ADC, to The Little Theatre in Oyster Bay, escorting HE and a large group of
his guests for what should have been an excellent evening. Unfortunately once
again a weak performance dampened our pleasure. We made up for it on the
following night as we served champagne cocktails to another mixed group of
guests including a couple of Ministers and took them all off to a big charity ball
in town.
Life at GH, continuing on its strange course, became busier when Lady T
returned from Germany and made more extensive plans for entertaining and
travelling. The dinner parties were more frequent and bigger, and the circle of
guests was widened to include more Asian and African dignitaries, and more of
Lady T’s own contacts among the city’s charities and women’s societies. In the
cooler months, Scottish dancing was arranged on occasions for dinner guests,
generally organised by Fiona who was an adept manager of such affairs, as well
as a skilful dancer. Happily I was able to keep my end up despite being put in
my place, in every sense of the term, by HE who loved the exercise as well as
the music. Ian Turnbull stayed with us in the school holidays and had a good
time, playing rugger and joining in the activities of the teenagers in Dar for the
summer. Soon, however, all the young people disappeared on their way back to
school in Kenya, or home to a university.
Leisure
When HE travelled on his own, as he did a couple of times in my early days,
he left me in the office with little to do. It so happened on the first occasion
that I was unwell and was able to take to my bed without falling down on
my job. Generally, however, I relished my time off. I soon found that nothing
much happened at GH between four and seven in the evening, and was able to
relax, play some squash or go for a sail. I resumed my friendship with Sheilagh,
bought a share in another smaller boat and sailed with her from time to time.
The Yacht Club was very close and convenient; the harbour was glorious in the
evenings and wonderfully refreshing with lots of wind and a choppy sea.
Sheilagh took me out painting on several occasions and advised me on
buying the necessary equipment and an easel, which I used to set up beside
hers out of doors among the coconut palms and daub away myself. She was
sometimes invited to join HE’s weekend parties at the Mjimwema beach hut,
when she, Lady T and I used to work away at our canvasses while the other
guests took a siesta through the warm afternoons. Thus I started to paint again,
learned useful techniques from them both and enjoyed the battle of trying to
express myself on canvas.
Dar was very cool that June and July. It was difficult to imagine how hot the
town grew later in the year; the bougainvilleas were in full bloom, and when
there was nothing else to do I could sit in the GH gardens in the shade of a
flame tree and read a book, admire the purple and orange jacaranda around me
and watch the proud peacocks strutting along the balustrades.
I began to meet new people and was befriended by both the Windhams
and the Walshes. In my second week I accompanied Fiona to a private party
at the Windhams to meet Sir Ralph’s niece, and found Lady Windham to be a
delightful person, with a nice young family, whom I quickly got to know and
came to like very much.
Early that summer, not long after starting at GH, I received formal
confirmation that my job at GH would end effectively on 8th December,
when the Turnbulls were to leave and Tanganyika would become a republic.
Accordingly I put in my papers tendering my resignation from the Colonial
Service with effect from 15th December, one week after their departure,
giving me just enough time to pay the bills and settle accounts before taking
a holiday.
At the same time I began to hunt seriously for future work and sent in
applications for two distinct methods of entry into the Foreign and Diplomatic
Service at home. I was not hopeful after the earlier rejection, but felt I had to
keep all avenues open and take such steps as I could to look for a new career.
In any event, I was given the opportunity to sit the written exams for a second
time in Nairobi in mid January, which was convenient for various reasons.
So I arranged to stay with friends in Kenya in early January and at a hotel in
Nairobi during the exams. I booked to sail from Mombasa to Venice on the
24th January on the MV Africa thus allowing myself a full month for a long
tour of Tanganyika and southern Kenya.
In my leisure hours that June, I composed a letter for my father to send to his
Member of Parliament, Bill Deedes (later editor of the Daily Telegraph), about
the iniquities of the Tanganyika Public Service Compensation Scheme for loss
of office. I sent them the TECSA paper that I had written and submitted the
previous summer, and argued: "The Colonial Office’s idea to induce young men to
stay in the Service has been proved to be not only wrong but pointless, because of
course the new Government doesn’t want us, and even if it did, we cannot stay where
we are actively disliked, where we cannot obtain promotion and under a dictatorship
which is the negation of all we have lived and worked for. We are not staying whether
we can afford it or not. The Colonial Office’s trust last June was misplaced and the
junior Colonial Officers were needlessly sacrificed in our Compensation Scheme."
More of my friends were leaving the country, and I said goodbye to Katie
Kyle and several other nurses who left for the UK on a Union Castle liner in
late August. In the reverse direction, Mr and Mrs Bromley arrived by sea from
the UK. They were the parents of Jane Macleod, and in-laws of Norman, my
haidhuru friend, who was then based at the other end of the country in Mwanza
on Lake Victoria. The Bromleys had travelled out to stay with the Macleods on
holiday, and were a charming couple, and I was happy to show them round and
help them on their way.
In October, Sheilagh and Fiona took ten days’ leave and borrowed my car to
drive up to Kenya and across the game reserves. I wished heartily I could have
gone with them, for they visited a number of wonderful places and saw masses
of game in the Northern Province. My car served them well until the clutch had
to be replaced at Moshi on the way home after some 27,000 miles.
House Guests
GH often seemed to be rather like a hotel with guests constantly coming
and going - we must have treated to five-star hospitality two or three individuals
and couples a week. Probably the biggest perk and pleasure of my job was the
opportunity to meet not only all the notables of Tanganyika but also a number
of remarkable and influential people who stayed with us as they passed through
Dar. Sadly I remember only a few of them.
Emily Hahn: Mrs Mickie Boxer was staying at GH when I arrived. A much travelled
lady in her fifties, and a prolific author then writing for an American
newspaper, she was known by her maiden name of Emily Hahn. She had
attained notoriety when living in China before the war. Although married to an
eminent Chinese, she had fallen in love with Captain Boxer and had a daughter
by him. Interned during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong, she had had a
very bad time, but had been able to marry Captain Boxer in America after the
war (as she related in China to Me, published in 1944). The Boxers had made
their home in England, but Mrs Boxer was constantly on the move as a roving
correspondent.
On my first day as ADC, I met her as she left GH following a few days as
HE’s guest. I did little more than escort her to our front door after she had said
her goodbyes to HE in his office. I was sad to have had no time to talk to her
about her fascinating life and her Hong Kong days before she was whisked away
to the airport in a GH car.
Judith Listowel: Another important authoress who stayed at GH in my time
was Lady Listowel. She was Hungarian by birth, had a strange accent, had gone to England in her youth to study, married a peer and subsequently travelled
the world, writing and publishing numerous books. At that moment she was
planning to write about the coming of independence to Tanganyika and spent a
good deal of time talking to Julius Nyerere and other senior TANU figures. She
was, I think, fascinated by the closeness of the relationship that had developed
between Nyerere and HE whom she also much admired, and she spent hours
interviewing HE in his office while enjoying our hospitality. Her scholarly book,
The Making of Tanganyika, appeared in 1965.
Margaret Lane: A third important authoress who came and went through
GH was Lady Huntingdon. She wrote and travelled widely, using her maiden
name, Margaret Lane, and spent a while as guest of the eccentric ‘snake man’,
Ionides (whom we all called ‘Iodine’). He was something of a recluse, and had
buried himself in the bush in Newala District in the Southern Province where
he studied and collected snakes. In The Snake Man, she accurately described him
as "looking like a faun, with an aura of strangeness, dressed in threadbare clothes,
with blue eyes in an emaciated face."
She wrote of a visit she paid to GH, when she discussed Iodine’s odd
appearance and off-ball character with HE. She recorded:
"I remember with pleasure that Sir Richard Turnbull had told me how touched
he had been on an occasion when Ionides had stayed at Government House and had
so far compromised his principles as to provide himself with a dinner jacket and tie
and even patent leather pumps, which the Governor would never have suspected
Iodine possessed; little knowing that these garments had been urgently lent half an
hour before dinner by the Governor’s own scandalized ADC."
The ADC in question could well have been me. I do not recollect Iodine
staying overnight at GH, but I do remember him arriving for a formal luncheon
party in a pair of dirty gym shoes and my lending him some black shoes to wear
for the duration of his visit.
Harry Oppenheimer: At that time Oppenheimer was one of the richest men
in the world, and the first millionaire I ever met. Early in July this legendary
South African, heir to a vast fortune and owner of the Kimberley diamond
mines, came to Dar. He was Chairman of the Anglo-American Corporation
and the De Beers Consolidated Mines, and also had an interest in the Mwadui
Diamond Mines in central Tanganyika. He flew down from there to Dar with
two colleagues in his private plane and was invited to stay with us at GH.
Oppenheimer was an easy guest, and I was impressed with his practical and
modest manners. He was also a generous host, and threw a big sundowner for
all his Mwadui contacts and friends in Dar es Salaam to which HE was invited The reception took place on the roof of the Twiga nightclub, which was the
most expensive and luxurious venue in Dar at that time; and after the party, he
took a few of his guests including HE and me to dinner at the Dar Club.
George and Mary Ivan-Smith: The Ivan-Smiths were probably the nicest
people who came to stay at GH. George was the chief UN representative for
the whole of East and Central Africa including the Rhodesias. An Australian
of much experience, and one-time director of the Australian Broadcasting
Corporation, he had worked as the right-hand man of Dag Hammarskold in
the Congo where he had been severely beaten up by some guerrillas. In Dar he
walked with a marked limp as a result of his injuries. Unlike some UN people,
George was no fool politically, and had very balanced views. He was also a
good talker and a warm-hearted man, and I think HE took to him as much as
did I, and we found it a pleasure to entertain him and his wife. Mary was very
artistic, and proud of her daughter living in New York, whose fascinating avant
garde paintings Mary showed me one evening. The Ivan-Smiths stayed on in
Dar, took a house for a time and remained frequent guests at GH for convivial
luncheons and leisurely Sundays at the beach hut.
Sir Donald MacGillivray: In July Sir Donald flew down from Nairobi with
HE following a short visit there. Sir Donald had been our High Commissioner
in Malaya in the run-up to Merdeka, that is the grant of independence there,
and was another tall, beaky-nosed fellow with a dry humour and charming
manners. After Malaya he had moved to Kenya to take up the post of Chairman
of the Kenya State Council, which was evolving into the national representative
assembly. Sir Donald was doubtless eager to pick HE’s brains about personalities
in Nairobi when he stayed with us for several days.
Field Marshal Viscount Slim: If Harry Oppenheimer was the richest man I
met at GH in Dar es Salaam, Lord Slim was the greatest, esteemed both as one
of the most successful army commanders of the age, and as a huge personality.
After spending several years as Governor General of Australia following his
distinguished military career, he was passing his time as a director on the board
of several major British companies including one that possessed and farmed
land in Tanganyika (I think it was Tate and Lyle, the giant sugar cane growers
and sugar producers).
Bill Slim was a big man in every sense of the word, with a calm bluff manner,
though by no means gruff, and he was a disarmingly normal person with no
pretensions. His son, John, all smiles and oozing charm, accompanied him as
his ADC. We gave them the Princess Margaret suite and made it as comfortable
for them as we could. To our horror, however, the Field Marshal came down to breakfast on the morning after his arrival somewhat shame-faced and apologetic,
holding a shiny chrome handle which had been fixed to the wall as a support
above the Princess’ bath. He explained with a smile that he had heaved on it
while getting out of his bath early that morning, and it had come away in his
hands. We all laughed, but it must have been an unpleasant moment for the
great man, and I doubt if he thought much of our hospitality when he flew out
to visit his company’s estates.
Lord Howick: One of the guests whose company HE most enjoyed was his
old friend Sir Evelyn Baring, then Lord Howick. He was every inch a patrician,
with fair hair and a strikingly handsome appearance, though somewhat shy and
quiet, and always courteous. He came to Tanganyika in his capacity as Chairman
of the Commonwealth Development Corporation, having been Governor
of Kenya when HE had been a leading member of his Executive Council, as
Minister of Defence and latterly Chief Secretary.
The two men had much in common having worked together through
the immensely difficult and dangerous period of the Mau Mau insurgency;
and they talked animatedly about the many personalities in the Kenya
administration with whom they had served, and particularly the great figures
of the early days in the NFP. I gathered HE had learned the craft of District
Commissioner in those vast deserts before the war under Vincent Glenday
who had been his PC, guide and mentor. The man whom he called ‘the great
Glenday’ had, apparently, been a dominant figure, a skilful administrator and
an exacting taskmaster, and was one of the very few men whom HE was ready
to admit he admired and held in affection. Another great character, Gerald
Reece had been his PC at a later stage, and I heard many stories about him
too. I enjoyed listening to HE and Lord Howick in the evening, whisky in
hand and puffing at pipes, talking with enthusiasm and transparent love of the
NFP and its peoples, and of Glenday, Reece and others with whom they had
worked in Kenya over the years.
Jenny and Patrick Cross: I received a flattering and amusing letter from one
of our guests in early November. She was Jenny Cross, daughter of the poet and
author, Robert Graves, and wife of Patrick Cross, the Reuters correspondent in
East Africa. No other guest ever bothered to write to the ADC, but Jenny sent
me a letter from the New Stanley Hotel in Nairobi on GUY FORKS DAY, 1962,
as follows:
First: thank you, thank you for your exceptionally kind attentions to us; for
smoothing our bumpy way so swiftly and soundlessly (like the Horcher restaurant,
now in Madrid, where they claim that the service is so perfect that if you actually detect a waiter bringing or removing a plate they will not let you pay!) We were
conscious throughout your thoughtful ministrations that it was a cruel waste that
we should be profiting by them; that your dedication and ability would have been
better used in some large and difficult area of human muddle. Undoubtedly in
some form or other, your chance (I mean other chaps’ lucky chance) will turn up.
… ...
What else? Oh yes - I know you have too much to do anyway but we would
love the rules of that game. And were you still in the dining room when HE
asked Judge Weston about different human reactions to certain pieces of music. I’d
love to remember exactly what he said, but unless I write things down, the best
information falls through the holes in my head. However you might tell him that
the Bar Lady (teetotal incidentally) of Covent Garden, Mrs Audrey Johnson, has
made a statement, which has a stumbling bearing on the subject. She says: “On
Wagner nights, the customers are very heavy drinkers. Mostly beer. Carmen brings
in more spirit drinkers. La Boheme is all sherries and gins. The ballet fans prefer
coffee and sandwiches. On a Mozart night the bar does hardly any business at all!
… Meanwhile thank you again and again, Yours, Jenny.
Safaris from GH
Tanga: It was not until the beginning of August that I went on my first safari
out of Dar with HE, and it was my introduction to the little three-seater plane
he used - a tiny machine which generally flew close to the ground with masses
to observe whether over the endless bush or the brilliantly coloured reefs and
the sea. On this occasion, we flew up the shoreline northwards to Tanga to
attend the annual lunch of the Tanganyika Sisal Growers Association. We met
the sisal planters in the hotel and HE gave an entertaining and elegant speech. It
was good to see Tanga again with its pretty town nestling around the sparkling
bay, and I happily renewed my acquaintance with the Tanga airstrip, whence I
had flown on East African Airways several times, and where I had first met the
previous Governor, Sir Edward Twining.
Morningside: In late September, with Lady T back in GH, I had to organize
the Land Rovers and commissariat for two long weekends at Morningside above
Morogoro, an area I already knew well. We stayed in the cool comfortable rest
house high up the mountainside, and were all delighted with the freshness of the
air in the sparkling mornings. Accompanied by a couple of his friends, HE
and I spent each morning climbing in the hills, going up and down very fast
and energetically in the manner he enjoyed. We rose very early, took a lot of
hectic exercise, and came back down to the rest house to enjoy some of the fresh vegetables which grew in profusion up there. Some of our guests went to watch
game on the Mikumi plains while Lady T got out her easel and painted, and
arranged piles of strawberries for tea. On the last day of our second visit, perhaps
as a result of too many strawberries, I went down with tummy-ache. Nancie
Vincent and Lady T were always delighted to ‘mother’ someone, and I was in
excellent hands.
The Kilombero Valley: One of the most interesting safaris HE took in the
autumn was to fly to the Kilombero Valley in the heart of the country, two
hundred miles beyond Morogoro. We left mid-morning. and the little plane
took an hour to reach our destination in the low-lying plains far inland. The
temperature was very high, the windless air was stifling, and we were not keen
to stay long, but HE had to attend and speak briefly at the opening of a big
sugar factory on a vast Dutch-owned estate. We were guests of the Board
of Directors, consisting of half a dozen Dutchmen and the same number of
prominent Tanganyikans. Prince Bernhardt of the Netherlands was present to
grace the occasion - looking rather glum, I thought. We toured acres of sugar
cane, and were shown round the smart factory with a large quantity of brand
new machinery, which compressed and processed the cane into brown sugar. It
was an impressive operation though the smell of decaying vegetable matter was
disgusting. The Dutch had sunk a great deal of capital into the enterprise, to
provide both jobs for local people and a valuable home-grown product. It was
noisy in the factory as well as hot and smelly, and we were glad to be able to fly
home in time for a late tea.
Chandes’ Flour Mills: Soon after the Kilombero trip, we were invited by Mr
‘Andy’ Chande to visit his flour mills in an industrial suburb of Dar es Salaam. It
was hardly a safari, but we were in a different world from our accustomed GH.
The Chande brothers had started their business in Bukene in Nzega District
where as one of the local DOs, I had visited their plant and cotton ginnery on
several occasions. They had subsequently brought their money to Dar and built
state-of-the-art mills. A scion of a family of successful and hard-working Indian
businessmen, ‘Andy’ Chande had been a member of the Legislative Council
and the Governor’s Executive Council some time before Independence, as well
as Chairman of the Round Table, Chairman of the Tanganyika Red Cross, and
a senior member of the East African Freemasons. He was well known to both
Lady T and HE, and was indeed a remarkable man. While I was ADC, HE was
seldom keen to visit factories, but he made an exception in this instance, and
we were given an impressive tour of the Chandes’ well-equipped plant by our
delightful host.
Minaki School: Another brief, local trip I arranged for HE and Lady Turnbull
was to Minaki School in the Pugu Hills below Kisarawe. I was delighted when
Dick Pentney asked me to invite the Turnbulls to pay his school a visit. He was
keen to show them the improvements he was making to the school buildings, and
the progress he had achieved in raising standards on the lines of a good British
public school. He was indeed making great strides, and recent developments
at the school were impressive. Dick took the opportunity to enquire after my
parents who had spent some time at the school on their visit to Kisarawe that
January.
Oldeani: The first long trip I undertook with HE and Lady T was a flight
north and west from Dar, over Lake Manyara into Mbulu District in the
Northern Province. We went to stay at Tipperary Estate at Oldeani, among a
group of settlers’ farms on the edge of the wide Serengeti Plains. Bob Tisdall,
our host, managed a wheat farm of many acres and was a warm and genial
Irishman, though something of a rolling stone. He had been an Olympic athlete
in his day, had knocked around the world, and like many Irishmen had a fund
of amusing stories but seemed never to have settled to a profitable career.
He had attended the Olympic Games in 1960 and written a little book
about them of which he gave me a copy. HE had written the Foreword, and
heaped praise on Bob, writing, inter alia;
Bob Tisdall is distinguished not only by a love of athletics and by a rare knowledge
of its history, its psychology and its techniques, but also by those personal qualities
which are found in all great sportsmen. At every page one is struck by his enthusiasm,
his generosity and his modesty.
The conclusion of HE’s piece was a quotation from a book which described
the occasion when Tisdall had captained the Cambridge team in the interuniversity
sports. He had won four events, and, when the trials were over, reporters
gathered around him and asked him, as was their custom, for a message. He turned
to them and said, ‘Tell Lady Astor I trained on beer.’
Lady Astor was then an aggressive temperance campaigner and reporting this
iconoclastic and witty comment was typical of the man I served.
As for Bob Tisdall, he happily showed us his wheat which grew right up
to his farm windows; his wife gave us a very good meal and they lodged us
in a comfortable guesthouse on the estate. Bob was a cheerful host and the
Turnbulls’ visit to their rambling, cool hillside farm was a great success.
Moshi: At the end of October, we were able to fit in one intensely interesting
trip. The Governor General was invited to speak at the Annual Meeting of
the Tanganyika Coffee Growers’ Association whose plantations were clustered round Mount Kilimanjaro with offices in Moshi at the foot of the mountain.
So we flew to Arusha airport one morning, joined the Association members for
lunch, and went on to stay as guests of the Chairman of the Association and
his wife. They were a Dutch couple who were leading growers and managed
a large estate at Machame on the slopes of Kilimanjaro - and I think this was
the very first time that I saw the snow-capped top of the mountain and made
up my mind to climb it when opportunity allowed. Our host entertained us
generously, took us round his estate and proudly showed us his coffee bushes,
heavy with masses of fat green beans slowly ripening and turning yellow and
soon to glow a bright red. On the morning after our arrival HE opened the
TCGA conference in the Livingstone Hotel in Moshi, and delivered one of
his best speeches at their lunch. We stayed to attend a big dinner party that
evening as guests of another senior man in the Association, and went on to their
reception and dance at the hotel. Then around 11 o’clock that night we said our
goodbyes and slipped away.
For our return to Dar, I arranged for the Governor General’s special train
to be waiting for us at Moshi station to board after the dance. The train was of
two carriages, and had been built for the Governor’s personal use many years
earlier with no expense spared - along the lines of the Orient Express. Late that
night, the top management of the railway from Tanga welcomed HE and Lady
T formally and effusively on the station platform, and went to a great deal of
trouble to make their last journey on the train as comfortable as possible. So we
slept in luxurious compartments as the train travelled through the night down
the line towards the coast.
We were served breakfast on board at Korogwe station, and transferred with
our baggage to a rail motor trolley. From there we followed an old single-track
railway line, built by the Germans, through virgin bush to link the Tanga Railway
in the north to the Dar-Kigoma Line in the middle of the country. By the time we
made the journey this single track was much neglected, heavily over-grown along
its entire length and completely blocked between Mile 41 and Mile 75 on the
Wami River in Pangani District. Only the railway engineer’s trolleys could use it
and we clambered on to them for the trip. While they were fairly uncomfortable,
the opportunity to see the unspoilt countryside was not to be missed. It was a
fascinating journey through the wildest uninhabited miombo bush where few
Africans ever ventured and lots of birds and small animals abounded.
Where the branch line was broken at Mile 41 the railway managers had
Land Rovers waiting to carry us the next thirty miles south, on a very rough
road through more untamed country to the River Wami. Here we were given a picnic lunch on the river bank and crossed by a footbridge to pick up the branch
line again and resume our journey on trolleys. Eventually we linked up with the
Central Line and disembarked at Ruvu station, where GH cars collected a weary
party for the run home along the main road.
Morningside for the last time: At the beginning of November we paid a fi nal
visit to the bracing air of Morningside on the mountain above Morogoro. A
delightful couple, Pat and Peter Johnston, joined the party. Peter had been
a DC and was working out his time in the Secretariat. Pat, his wife, was a
tall, dark, athletic lady and a strong climber who frequently joined HE in his
mountain escapades. My friend, Robin Saville, was working as an instructor at
the Mzumbe Local Government Training School, living with Pip in a bungalow
under the lee of the mountains, and arranged for the party to attack Mount
Lupanga. At about 8,000 feet above sea level, it was the highest peak that was
accessible from the main road. It was a hard, steep scramble through a dense,
soaking-wet tropical jungle, and took over eight hours in all, but we made it and
were proud of our efforts as we slipped and slithered back down the hillside to
our strawberries and tea. HE was so pleased with this feat that he flew back by
air at dawn ten days later to look down on our route from above. Once more we
congratulated ourselves on our achievement.
Uganda Independence Celebrations
The flight from Dar to Entebbe in Uganda on 8th October with HE and
Lady T was by far the longest I experienced in a little plane. Mirabel Walker,
Lady T’s cheerful and friendly goddaughter, had been recruited as lady-in-waiting,
and became my companion for the visit. There was just room for the
four of us and the pilot, and we crossed Tanganyika from east to west over many
miles of bare scrubland, and thence northeast over Lake Victoria to reach our
destination.
We touched down at Entebbe Airport in mid afternoon. The Turnbulls were
whisked off to the Deputy Governor’s house, while I was taken to the home
of some kind folk who lived in the beautiful residential district of Kampala. I
was given a comfortable bed and base, together with a big Citroen in which to
ferry our party about the place. HE and Lady T intended to be present at all
the important functions over the following few days, and happily, as ADC and
lady-in-waiting to two of the principals, Mirabel and I found that we were also
considered VIPs and guests of the Uganda Government for the duration of our
visit.
On the evening of our arrival, our party’s first engagement was the
Independence Tattoo at the Kololo Stadium. Here we met our hosts, the
new Prime Minister of the country, Mr Milton Obote, and his wife, and the
Governor and his wife, Sir Walter and Lady Coutts, who were escorting the
Duke and Duchess of Kent. According to protocol, my boss was the most senior
guest at the celebrations after the royal party, and took precedence over the
Governors - all lesser mortals - and even hereditary peers of the realm such
as Lord Carrington, First Lord of the Admiralty, who represented the British
Government. Thus it was that the Turnbulls sat in the front row on the left of
the Royal Enclosure while Mirabel and I were placed immediately behind them.
The tattoo began with an impressive display of dancing to drums by tribal
groups. In marched the Uganda Rifles who received their Colours from the Kings
African Rifles in the ceremony of the Trooping the Colour, with the support of
the pipes and drums of the Scots Guards and the Gordon Highlanders (on
loan for the occasion). The ceremony followed the pattern set by other former
colonies and Tanganyika a year earlier. The Union Jack was slowly lowered and
the lights were extinguished at the first stroke of midnight, only to be re-lit at
the twelfth stroke and to reveal, to tumultuous cheers, the new Uganda flag at
the mast-head. There then followed a first class firework display.
The Independence Ceremony took place the following morning, also
in the Kololo Stadium, when Sir Walter Coutts was sworn in as Governor General, and the Archbishop of Uganda conducted an ecumenical service in
the presence of a great crowd. The Duke of Kent read out a message from the
Queen before making a presentation to the Prime Minister. At the time of
Tanganyika’s independence nine months earlier, I had missed these ceremonies
as I had been stationed at Morogoro, and I was fascinated to see how it was
done.
On each of the following days, three or four formal functions took place in
the presence of the Duke and Duchess, the newly appointed Governor General,
the Prime Minister and the assembled VIPs. We all went to the new Parliament
House in Kampala for a reception given by Mr Obote at 6 p.m. the following
evening, before the State Ball that night. Our tables were immediately behind
those of the royal party.
Next day, in Entebbe, we attended the State Opening of Parliament and later,
in the afternoon, a huge garden party at Government House, which enjoyed
stupendous views over Lake Victoria. The rolling gardens, with their velvet lawns,
were full of flowers and flowering shrubs and beautifully tended. Th ey were,
however, too small for the thousands who were invited. The undignified scrum
round the tea-urns rather wrecked their arrangements, and for the only time that
week, the Entebbe GH staff appeared harassed and out of control of events.
That evening HE and Lady T attended a banquet of all the most distinguished
guests, while I accompanied Mirabel to the airport and put her on the midnight
plane for England. It was all a frightful rush, but I squeezed in the chance of a
drink with an Oxford acquaintance working in the Uganda Treasury. That was
the end of the celebrations as far as we were concerned. Garden party apart, the
organisation could not be faulted, and the ceremonies were all superbly staged.
The Duke and Duchess were generally admired - she was lovely and dressed
beautifully, and we all thought the Duke acquitted himself well. Even the ADCs
at the Entebbe GH, normally very critical hosts, were full of admiration at the
way the royal couple carried everything off.
Mweya Safari Lodge: On the morning after the banquet, I drove the
Turnbulls out of Kampala in our borrowed Citroen to Queen Elizabeth
National Park on the shores of Lake Edward. After a pause for lunch at Mbarara
where the Turnbulls had friends, we arrived at the Mweya Game Lodge and
were accommodated in comfortable and convenient rondavels. Our camp was
situated in a stunning position on a peninsula, with views to the west over the
huge lake towards the Congo and to the east over the Kazinga Channel, which
linked Lake Edward with Lake George. The Lodge had been taken over by the
Government for VIPs attending the celebrations, and we joined a large party
for an informal tour of the Game Park. Our group included Lord and Lady
Carrington, Sir Andrew Cohen, a former Uganda Governor, and Lady Cohen,
Sir George ‘Satan’ Mooring, Resident of Zanzibar, and Lady Mooring, several
distinguished legal experts and administrators, and two or three visiting MPs.
The most prominent among them was Denis Healey, representing the Shadow
Cabinet, accompanied by Mrs Healey and mad keen on photography, usually
to be seen festooned by several state-of-the-art cameras. In this company we
spent two fascinating days looking at elephant, buffalo, deer and antelopes on
the plains, ungainly hippo wallowing in the mud on the lakeshore, and many
wonderful birds in the wild open country. The party was taken out by Land
Rover to a group of extinct volcanoes with their sulphurous lakes covered by
gleaming pink flamingos. The climax of two thrilling days was the journey
down the Kazinga Channel when our launch was able to steer amazingly close
to elephant, buffalo and hippo on the canal banks - and my own brand-new
camera worked beautifully.
Fort Portal: On the third day, Sir Richard was driven back with most of the
other guests to Kampala, and flew on to Dar on his own, while I was instructed
to take the wheel of the Citroen and drive Lady Turnbull on the next leg of our
game safari. Our destination was the other great National Park in Uganda that lay astride the Victoria Nile at Murchison Falls beyond Lake Albert. I drove
along a passable murram road across the Equator and between Lake George
and the foothills of the Ruwenzoris, the fabulous Mountains of the Moon, the
largest and most important range of snow-capped mountains in Africa. Several
times we stopped the car to enjoy the dramatic and romantic view. Lady T set
up her easel and painted in those superb surroundings while I got out a pad
and pencils and sketched. It was a lazy and thoroughly relaxing drive through
Kasese up to Fort Portal. Th ere, in the pleasant, quiet town, one of the famed
beauty spots of East Africa, we spent a night in the New Ruwenzori Hotel amid
pine forests, looking across at the peaks of the miraculously beautiful, sparkling
white-topped mountains.
Paraa Safari Lodge: The following day I motored another 150 or so miles
on poor roads, through Misenyi and by antiquated ferry over the Nile, up to
Paraa in the middle of the Murchison Falls National Park. Our much reduced
party was lodged comfortably in little papyrus-roofed bungalows, in a magical
setting on a cliff over-looking the river, and we were taken out for several
tours in Land Rovers to see elephant and many other wild animals in the
surrounding area.
On our second day, Lady T and I had that immense and beautiful reserve
to ourselves. We went up the river by launch to spend time in a sheltered spot
facing the beautiful Murchison Falls. A powerful head of the brightest of white
water was channelled by the rocks into a narrow pipe and hurled itself into
the depths between tall black cliffs. Shimmering and sparkling in the sunlight
the cascade thundered down with a continuous roar; a fi ne mist rose above
the spray as the water plunged down; and spume eddied around the edges of
the deep pool at the foot of the Falls. Lady T was excellent company, seated
under a giant parasol in the boat in the middle of the stream, admiring the
magnificent display and sketching it. I was happy to watch the myriad variety
of life through my binoculars, and to observe the hippos and crocodiles on
the riverbanks amid herons, storks and egrets. I was fascinated by the sinister
crocs that lay motionless on mud banks beside the water, with their mouths
wide open, basking in the bright sunlight.
After two exciting days spent watching game, I drove the two of us back
to Government House in Entebbe where we were put up for our last night in
Uganda. We found the new Governor General, his wife, and his staff exhausted,
but quietly triumphant at the happy completion of the ten-day royal visit.
Everyone was taking things easy and we were glad to join them, resting, cleaning up and preparing for our trip home. We were driven to Entebbe
airport early the next morning, and fl ew by Comet to Nairobi for Lady T to
do some shopping and pay a brief hospital visit. We called at Government
House with an invitation to tea from Lady Renison, the Governor’s wife. Th at
evening, exhausted but satisfied, we returned to Dar in a Dakota.
The last month at Government House
On return from the Uganda Independence celebrations, the Turnbull’s
fi nal few weeks were spent in a long succession of cocktail parties, sundowners
and dinners, in a series of depressing goodbyes. Nostalgia was in the air,
especially at the big dinner parties at GH which HE and Lady T gave to
the remaining senior European civil servants, and at the cocktail parties they
arranged for their farewells to Cabinet Ministers and foreign diplomats. We
had three or four resident guests all the time, and were continually rushing
out to a sundowner or a dinner here or there. It was fascinating, as long as
one could retain one’s sense of humour and keep awake. We were out until
midnight nearly every evening, and I often rose in the mornings at 6 a.m. in
order to welcome, or see off , guests on the early planes leaving or arriving at
Dar airport on the seven o’clock flight.
In the middle of those hectic days, Nancie left us. Knowing her job in
Dar would soon draw to a close, she fixed herself up with a new position
as housekeeper at the Entebbe GH, which the Turnbulls and I had recently
visited. At much the same time that Nancie moved on, Fiona had a bad
accident, falling off her horse on an early morning canter along the seashore,
breaking her jaw and knocking herself out. She was out of action for some
days, and suddenly I found myself running the house on my own - and I
enjoyed it.
Sir Richard asked me to contact his wine merchant and arrange the
purchase of a good number of cases of claret for him to ship home on his
retirement. He was able to buy his wine and whisky duty free, which made a
huge difference to the price. I greatly enjoyed lengthy consultations with him
and the supplier, and the occasional tasting when assembling the Turnbulls’
cellar to take back to England.
On November 11th, Armistice Day, HE and I donned our uniforms to
attend the annual memorial service at the elegant Askari Memorial in its
pretty little park at the head of Acacia Avenue. For the last time, and in the
presence of a big crowd and numerous veterans, HE laid a wreath at the foot
of the Memorial in honour of the Tanganyikan soldiers who had lost their
lives in the two world wars.
The following Saturday we were in uniform again to witness the Trooping
the Colour and March Past by the Tanganyika African Rifles in the GH
grounds. Before Independence they had been known as the 5th and 6th
Battalion of the King’s African Rifles and HE was to take the salute and
witness the review of the Queen’s Colours of the two Battalions before being
put away and taken back to England. They had no place in a republic where
the Queen would no longer be represented.
During that month I lived in a continual mess with all my things laid
out on the floor of the flat, clean and in piles, ready for packing should an
opportunity ever occur when I could start throwing them into boxes. In the
midst of all this activity, I received a reply from the British Government to
my complaint about the miserly size of the compensation offered to junior
officers on the abrupt end of their career in the Colonial Service. It was a
complete put-down. I had to write back to my father with my thanks to the
MP, Bill Deedes who had acted as my intermediary. I was also obliged to
find the time to circulate the Government’s response to the Tanganyika Civil
Servants Association and to interested and helpful colleagues like Norman
Macleod.
Julius Nyerere was elected President in October with immense popular
support, and a young African police officer was appointed to be his ADC. This
chap arrived in early November to learn his duties and, in due course, take over
my position, and I did my best to explain the job and prepare a full hand-over
for him.
A Job on the cards
That April I had been turned down by the Home Civil Service and, while
there was no bar to my applying again, I knew I had to renew efforts to secure
some future employment and look for a more permanent career. The next step
was to put my name down for another crack at the Civil Service and I was
invited to sit the written exams in Nairobi in January which seemed to fit in
with my plans.
Letters were reaching me from home, full of stories about the difficulty of
finding work in England. John Illingworth, my haidhuru friend who had resigned
in February and reached home in early March, had found nothing to suit him
during six months at home, and was living on his capital compensation. From
Kisarawe I had written to Liz’s friend, Stephen Garvin, at the Commonwealth
Development Corporation, and asked if he could offer me a job. Two months
later he wrote back to say he had nothing to suggest, but I should try again
after my return the next year, saying simply, Call when you get back to London
in 1963.
Unhappy at the prospect of going home on the dole, all I could do was write
to my sister Margaret, to ask if I might stay with her on my return to England
while job-hunting in London.
Against this depressing background, I was amazed when, late in November,
John Walsh took me quietly on one side in the middle of one of our hectic
drinks parties and enquired:
"I know you are finishing your job as ADC very soon. I was wondering if you
would be at all interested in joining the Tanganyika Tea Growers’ Association. I need
an understudy. I am planning to retire early because of my health and my family.
I intend to pack up and go home next September and I am looking for someone to
take over from me."
I pricked up my ears. I asked him what the work would be. He answered, "The
job is basically helping and supporting the tea planters and their companies in this
country. It involves dealing on their behalf with the trade unions, other employers, and
telling the Government the views and requirements of the tea-growers. It means calling
and running lots of meetings, committees, conferences, all on behalf of Tanganyika Tea."
This was an attractive idea. When I had stayed with Harry Magnay at
Mufindi I had liked what I had seen of the tea people, and the high cool hillsides
where tea was grown. I also found John Walsh to be a congenial chap. I said I
was very interested, but made it clear I had made a fresh application to the home
Civil Service, and, in any event, I could only join him at my present salary at a
minimum £1,500 a year.
I asked, And what about future prospects, "John? I would want the chance of
staying a while and moving up the ladder. Would the Association provide that for
me?"
John replied, "We would ask you to sign a contract to work for the Association for
two or, perhaps, four years, or possibly even six. But we could not look any farther
ahead than that. The job might be a stepping-stone up to the as yet unborn East
Africa Tea Growers’ Association. That is all one can say."
He concluded, "This is all entirely without commitment at the moment. I still
have to thrash out the future with the Chairman, and it may be some time before I
could follow up with you."
We left it at that, and, at that stage, I was not at all sure anything more would
come of our hurried conversation while I was handing round drinks, but I was
flattered that the approach had been made, and was given a lot to think about.
I felt that tea was a good thing to be in, but I wondered if, perhaps, it would be
better to enter it in London rather than in the comparative backwater of East
Africa.
The last week at Government House
The final days at GH were the busiest of all. Lady T invited Geraldine Tweed,
a dark-haired and very pretty young woman, to help her through the week as
her lady-in-waiting, and she was a great help in the absence of both Fiona (in
hospital) and Nancie (already in Entebbe). We were trying to pack and tidy
the house in preparation for the next incumbents, the new President and his
wife. At the same time, as a party of four, we were the guests somewhere in Dar
every day and every night at farewell gatherings. In addition to it all I had to
explain my job to the African police officer taking over as ADC to look after
the President.
All the Queen’s ‘property’ - flags, silver, furniture, trappings and strappings of
royalty with the crown and royal emblems on them - had to be removed. While
Lady T supervised the packing away of the beautiful GH silver and china, and
Dick Clifford destroyed the old files, HE gave me the task of burning the store
of Union Jacks. We could not take them with us, and did not want them lying around to be subsequently abused. This was a horrible job; the incinerator that
would burn them had a narrow hole in its lid, and the flags’ heavy canvases and
thick ropes had to be cut up into pieces small enough to go through the hole.
The smell of burning material was disgusting, and I spent several unpleasant
afternoons somewhat surreptitiously closeted in the stinking boiler room
disposing of our well-worn flags.
On the last Tuesday, HE prorogued the National Assembly. In full uniform,
he and Lady T, supported by Geraldine and me, travelled across to Karimjee
Hall in two cars with very smart motorcycle outriders of the Tanganyika Police.
In front of the Hall, they were received with a fanfare of trumpets and a royal
salute from a Guard of Honour provided by the Tanganyika Rifles and their
Band and Drums. After a salute of nineteen guns, which shook the old Karimjee
Hall and put the crows to flight, our little party moved into the chamber and
on to a special dais behind and above the new Speaker, Chief Adam Sapi, facing
the assembled members. Lady T sat beside HE while Geraldine and I stood
behind the two of them; Julius Nyerere, the President-elect and Mr Karimjee,
the retiring Speaker, were in the public gallery. HE gave formal assent to all
the Bills passed by the National Assembly at its preceding session, and went
on to deliver a powerful and moving speech of thanks to Mr Karimjee, and
of congratulations and good wishes to the members. He delivered a mild
homily mixed with some sensible advice, without platitudes, and with sincerely
expressed wishes for good fortune to the elected representatives in the National
Assembly and to the people of the new Republic.
Rashidi Kawawa, Prime Minister, responded in a generous speech and some
words that are worth repeating: "Thank you for your inspiring address. It is well that
we should be inspired again by the words of one whose breadth of vision has had such
a profound effect on our orderly progress and whose tact and understanding has been
an important factor in the maintenance of our friendly relations with Her Majesty’s
Government…"
This somewhat unexpected praise was followed on the Wednesday of that
week by further words of eulogy at a cocktail party given by the Government of
Tanganyika in honour of Their Excellencies at the Diamond Jubilee Hall. HE
was officially thanked for his services in the presence of seven hundred guests,
and the Prime Minister reiterated his warm words. He told the assembled
company: "Coming as he did from Kenya, the people of this country were suspicious
of the man who was to be Governor. Within a short time, however, any suspicions
over Sir Richard were dispelled. We soon found that here was the man this country
needed. Today is a day of sorrow in the Government and the country as a whole."
Rashidi Kawawa then presented Lady Turnbull with a large silver salver as a
gift from the Government of Tanganyika, and HE replied in a similarly friendly
vein, reserving his most generous praise for Julius Nyerere.
That evening the Turnbulls took a large party of friends to The Little Theatre
for a special ‘last night’ of their current show, and we were all able to relax a little
before the final push. Thursday was our turn to play host for the last time. The
evening saw the last reception given by HE and Lady T at Government House.
They invited all the diplomats in the country, and all the politicians including
the whole Cabinet. It was a huge, noisy affair, concluding with yet more speeches
and many more goodbyes as we ushered our guests to their waiting cars.
The Final Act
We were all up early on 8th December and dressed for the last time in our
uniforms. Long before breakfast I accompanied HE to the Police Barracks where
the entire Police Force of the new country was on parade in their best uniforms
and shiniest boots. They saluted HE on our arrival. Then, accompanied by the
Tanganyikan Chief of Police and followed by me, he strode up and down their
ranks. He returned to the dais to receive the Royal Salute, beautifully performed,
and to witness a well-drilled march-past by all ranks. With the Police Band
banging away, and HE’s plumed helmet waving erratically in the breeze, it was
a heart-warming parade, even at that early hour.
Breakfast was a rushed affair at GH, while outside in the gardens, between
the front steps and the main gate, appeared two hundred soldiers from both
battalions of the Tanganyika Rifles looking their best with their new Colours
and their British officers at their head. Sir Richard appeared at the top of the
steps with their Colonel, and me in the shadows behind them. Once more
HE received a fanfare of trumpets and a crashing Royal Salute, and once more
he strode forward to inspect the Guard of Honour. After a formal inspection
he moved on to a dais with the Colonel; the Band and Drums struck up, and
the Tanganyika army marched past him and saluted with bags of swagger,
concluding with three cheerful and noisy cheers.
To watch the parade we had invited a large crowd of Government Ministers,
senior officials, diplomats, representatives of charities and communities, and
all the Turnbull’s friends in the city. They were all seated in a great medley
of Asians, Africans and Europeans in three long lines of chairs under trees on
the lawn. Everyone stood as HE and Lady T walked over to this crowd and
moved slowly down the lines, shaking every individual by the hand and saying
a few words of goodbye. Many of those they greeted were visibly moved but the Turnbulls held up well despite the emotion of the occasion, although they
must have found it both moving and exhausting as they spoke a final word
to each one of their guests.
The Royal Navy frigate, HMS Loch Ruthven, was waiting for them in
the middle of the harbour, dressed all over with bunting and many-coloured
flags waving in the off-shore breeze. The Governor’s motor launch was tied
up at the Customs Jetty next to the Yacht Club, gaily decorated and all
ready to take them out to the frigate. I gave instructions that the smartest
of the GH Land Rovers should be made ready for the journey to the jetty.
Kampota, the excellent Head Driver said, "Yes, Bwana. But surely Bwana
Gavana should travel in the Rolls, which I have cleaned for the occasion?"
"No," I said, "put it back in the garage. He told me he never wanted to ride in it
again after last time. His spurs caught in the carpet and nearly tipped him out."
"Yes, sir!" said Kampota, and off he went to prepare the Rover, but he must
have spoken to Lady T on the way for she caught me before she started her
good-byes, and said firmly, "Please get the Rolls out. I know HE hates it, but for
this once we have to travel in it."
So I tore back to the garage and countermanded my orders - to Kampota’s
delight. He quickly changed the cars round, folded back the hood of the
mighty black Rolls, and fixed the Governor General’s pennant to fly from
the bonnet and the well-polished royal monogram over the windscreen. Of
course Lady Turnbull was absolutely right. I had very nearly made the most
stupid mistake of my career as ADC. This was a state occasion, and the
Governor General and his wife would be on show for the very last time. So
I climbed in the front seat to take the ADC’s place beside Kampota, with
a very tired Governor General and his wife seated behind me, and gave the
order to drive on.
Uniformed police lined the roads down to the harbour, and we could see
crowds jostling and gathering on both sides of the road as we approached
the GH gates. As we emerged, the crowd let out a mighty cheer; we were
overwhelmed with the noise. Innumerable well-wishers surged forward to
greet us, and waved and shouted messages and goodbyes. The GH guests
joined the throng as the heavy car crawled along at five miles an hour
between the excited mass of yelling, cheering folk of every colour and kind;
many of them ran beside the car, keeping pace with us on the way down the
hill. It was all very spontaneous and exhilarating, and it must have heartened
the Turnbulls behind me to feel the warmth and friendliness of everyone
around them that morning. I kept my head up and my eyes firmly fixed ahead, so I have no idea how they responded, but I believe we were all in
something of a daze, deafened, and totally drained, by the time the police
made way for us and opened the car doors at the Customs Jetty.
There, waiting patiently and smiling broadly amid fluttering flags, were
the President and the Prime Minister and their wives. While I moved
forward to check the readiness of the launch, HE and Lady T were once
more involved in friendly handshakes and murmured good wishes. The
Tanganyika Rifles Band had been assembled on a near-by jetty and played
Scotland the Brave. Julius Nyerere took HE’s hand and escorted him down
the gangway on to the launch followed by Lady T and Rashidi Kawawa,
beaming from ear to ear, while Dick Clifford and I jumped in after them. As
the launch left the shore the frigate thundered out a twenty-one-gun salute,
drowning for a few moments the cheers of the crowd swarming down to the
beach, wading waist deep in the water and gathering at every vantage point
along the shore. As the bands ashore played Auld lang syne, our small party
was welcomed at the frigate’s side and taken up to the quarterdeck. HE and
I saluted as smartly as we could; the Captain came forward to welcome HE
in style and a guard of honour presented arms. After a very few moments we
were taken below to the Captain’s private cabin, and, suddenly shut away
from the crowds, were given a glass of excellent champagne with which Dick
and I toasted Their Excellencies’ health. Then we too had a few last words
and said our goodbyes.
The pilot boat was waiting for the two of us, and as we scrambled down
into it, we saw the Turnbulls make their way out on to the ship’s bridge where
they could be seen by the waiting crowds on shore. Sir Richard doffed his
plumed helmet and they both waved. They were answered with a roar as the
frigate got up steam and began to make her way slowly out of the harbour. The
Royal Navy put on a magnificent show. Dick and I, in the pilot boat, followed
the frigate, and were joined by countless motorboats and sailing boats and the
entire fleet from the Yacht Club, to escort the frigate out of the harbour. Bands
were playing, numerous flags were flying in the light wind, and thousands of
people of all sorts stood on the piers and jetties and sands, on the old ferry
at Harbour Point, and deep in the water of the point, waving and shouting
their farewells. The little boats were dwarfed by the big, grey battleship, but
nevertheless gave the Turnbulls an impressive and colourful entourage. They
continued to wave as the ship weaved its way through the narrow entrance
to the harbour, across the bar and out to sea, Mombasa-bound, and the two
lonely figures on the bridge disappeared from sight.
It was a triumphant departure.
A trusted friend had lowered the Governor General’s standard that had
always fl own from the flagpole on the tower of Government House when
HE had been in residence there. I had asked him to bring down the fl ag at
the precise moment HE had stepped off Tanganyika’s soil into the launch
at the jetty; and it was my fi nal duty to nip straight back to GH, climb to
the top of the tower, retrieve the standard from the bottom of the flagpole,
and pack it away for safe-keeping. Th at done, suddenly I found myself my
own master again. It was a strange, unaccustomed feeling of freedom. I crept
into my rooms, shut the door firmly, took off and folded away my uniform
for the last time, and slept, and slept to recover from a fortnight of high
excitement, very early rising and continuous late nights.
Winding up
Th e Turnbulls’ old friends, the O’Hagans, generously offered me a bed
for the following week. I rapidly vacated my office and comfortable suite of
rooms upstairs in GH and moved across to their good, solid old German house
not far from the GH front gates. I spent my first day of liberty sailing out to
Honeymoon Island in my boat, swimming and pottering about, just as I always
used to do, but there was unfinished work for me still at GH. I moved into
the kitchens and bowels of the building, counting the crockery and making
out inventories. Th ere was a lot of last minute tidying up to do, and it was all
rather sad and miserable as well as tiresome because I had no proper office, nor
telephone nor desk for my use once the new ADC had moved in.
Government House became State House, and fl ew the President’s standard.
All around me the building was being pulled to pieces and reorganised.
Telephones and offices were being altered, and there was the inevitable chaos.
Th e President’s family moved in with his relatives, and, at one stage, twelve
children were to be seen running about the great reception room. The President’s
staff was very security-minded. High fences were immediately put up round the
gardens, and the entrances were firmly closed by tall iron gates guarded by the
police. Special Branch security officers, with bulging holsters and fierce dogs, patrolled the grounds at night, and I had to acquire passes from the new ADC
to be able to come and go to finish off my work. It was difficult to teach him
much. Though a Makerere graduate and trained in England, he was a slowwitted
fellow and picked things up in his own time. I was, however, able to hand
over to him the wine cellar and the garages, and to help him start off the new
organization as best I could.
I packed hurriedly, with much help from Sefu who was staying on to work
under the new regime, and we delivered to the clearing agents twelve crates and
tin trunks containing all my possessions and clothes for home. They were to be
put in the hold of the Lloyd Triestino liner, the MV Africa when it called at Dar
es Salaam, which I planned to board at Mombasa in the middle of January.
It was not easy to get away from Dar es Salaam - there were so many odd jobs
to do right up to the last minute, but I was well looked after by the O’Hagans,
my kindly hosts. I recruited Amiri who had worked for me in Kisarawe, and
was at a loose end. He helped me pack up, and agreed to accompany me on
my planned safari to help with the bags and the car. I packed my suitcases with
camping and climbing gear, cold as well as warm weather clothing, and casual
clothes as well as smart suits for Christmas and Nairobi. Suddenly I was finished
with Dar. A week after the Turnbulls’ departure I turned my back on the city,
and set off on a new adventure.
|
Chapter 4: Kilimanjaro and the Serengeti
|
Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and
is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is
called by the Masai “Ngaje Ngai”, the House of God. Close to the
western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No
one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.
The Snows of Kilimanjaro. Ernest Hemingway.
Setting off on safari
At last! I had broken out of the gilded cage of Government House and had
six weeks’ leave ahead of me. Having got rid of my heavy baggage, I packed my
Peugeot with the gear for an extended safari, picked Amiri up at Kisarawe, and
off we went.
My first stop was Mzumbe, near my old haunt of Morogoro where I was
invited to stay with Robin and Pip Saville. Pip looked after me most kindly
and lent me a big room in their comfortable home where I could sort out my
baggage, make plans for my trip and write letters at leisure.
While shopping, I ran across Paul and Val Chaplin who had been stationed
at Kisarawe when I had been there the previous year. They invited me to call
at their home on the edge of the town and meet their new daughter, Jane. Pip
and Robin and the Chaplins helped me unwind, look around me, and enjoy
my surroundings. Morogoro was perhaps more beautiful than I had ever seen
it before; the flame trees were covered in rich, scarlet blooms, and the air was
wonderfully fresh and clear.
Dodoma
From Morogoro, after fond farewells to my generous host and hostess, I
drove on to Dodoma and put up at the Station Hotel where I had last stayed
when travelling with my parents a year earlier. I looked up my friends, Peter and
Mary Bowden, who made me welcome and gave me supper. I heard about the
baby that was due in a matter of weeks, and learned that the Bowdens found social life in Dodoma very pleasant, and looked forward to staying for a second
tour.
There was just time on return to the hotel to write another batch of letters
with Christmas greetings to my family at home before a comfortable bed and
early departure the following day to continue my journey to the west. In a three
hundred mile drive, across a large expanse of empty country, I travelled through
Singida, which was new to me, and picked up a good new road across to Nzega,
the car behaving beautifully. I had not been at Nzega since my abrupt departure
for Tabora Hospital three and a half years earlier, and I spent two days revisiting
old haunts, saddened that few of my former friends were still there, and sadder
still that my tour in such fascinating country had been so brutally curtailed.
Mwanza
Beyond Nzega, the road ran straight through the land of the Sukuma tribe
whose territory bordered the old Nzega District and whose cattle-owning
farmers had been present at many of the busy markets I had attended four
years earlier. The men wore nothing but a black cloth thrown over a shoulder
and could often be seen striding along the roads behind their herds, cudgel in
hand. The drive across their country to Mwanza was another three hundred
miles, but easy and free of problems; and I arrived at my destination to a warm
welcome from Norman and Jane Macleod in time to meet Father Christmas at
a children’s party at the Mwanza Club.
The town was situated on the south-eastern shore of Lake Victoria, fitting
snugly among rolling hills with tremendous views across the water, sheltering
a somewhat scruffy and weather-beaten harbour that had no particular charm.
The area was remarkable for the random piles of giant granite boulders on the
hillsides in what were known as kopjes. Little hyraxes lived and played among
them - animals supposedly related to the elephant but looking like a mixture
between a rabbit and a guinea pig. On my first morning we walked down to
view the strangest of these massive stone outcrops, known as Bismark Rock,
sticking incongruously out of the waters of Lake Victoria, not far from the
shore.
The Macleods lived with two lively children in a pretty house in the rock-strewn
hills outside the town, high above the lake. On my first evening they
took me back to the Mwanza Club for dinner and dancing, where I met many
of their friends; and we enjoyed excellent food and lots of music. On the Sunday
of my visit we attended a Christmas service of nine lessons and carols in their
local church, where Norman sang in the choir. Next day I took a car ferry that ran the eighty miles across the lake to the town of Geita where my friend, Simon
Hardwick was stationed. I lunched with him, and was shown round his District
headquarters and the big local gold mine which lay in the neighbourhood. We
came back together on the ferry for he, too, was invited to spend Christmas
with the Macleods, and we passed a delightful evening as their guests talking
our heads off.
Letters and Christmas parcels from home reached me that morning, together
with the firm offer of a job with the Tanganyika Tea Growers’ Association. I
replied the same day asking for a meeting without commitment with their Vice
Chairman who I understood worked in Nairobi where I planned to stay in the
New Year. I was also able to get off a letter to the Marangu Hotel confirming
arrangements for climbing Kilimanjaro in the New Year.
Christmas Day morning passed contentedly watching the children open
their presents and attending a brief church service. We went on to a jolly drinks
party at the house of a District Officer, followed by energetic squash and a swim
in the Club pool. Nine of us sat down that evening at the Macleods’ table, and,
after the guests had gone, Norman and Simon and I resumed our endless talking
about this and that until four in the morning.
On Boxing Day, Norman and I played a marathon squash contest, lunched
out and took a long walk beside the lake in the afternoon. A quiet evening
followed, to enable Simon to leave at 6 a.m. the following morning to return on
the ferry to his work at the Geita District Office.
Mount Elgon
I left Mwanza in leisurely fashion a little later that day with many goodbyes
and grateful thanks to my hosts, and drove 150 miles north to Musoma on the
east coast of Lake Victoria, and thence across the frontier into Kenya. After
a night at a little hotel at Kisii I continued my journey north, keeping the
border of Uganda on my left. At the town of Kitale, I turned due west to a little
place called Endebess where Colonel and Mrs Le Breton, the parents of David,
my former sailing partner, had a farm on the lower slopes of Mount Elgon,
just a few miles from the Uganda frontier. David was there with his new wife,
Patricia, and introduced me to my friendly and immensely hospitable host and
hostess - very much of the old school. They had farmed a large acreage on the
slopes of the mountain for many years and made their home very beautiful as
well as comfortable with fine old furniture and some lovely things. The house
faced east and enjoyed a huge view for many miles over Kitale and the plains
beyond. Their garden displayed the love and care of many years; a well-tended fresh green lawn ran gently downhill, bordered by rambling roses and exotic
herbaceous plants full of colour and scents. It was a cool and lovely paradise.
I was made very welcome as the Le Bretons’ guest, and found much in
common with them as they had relatives living in Rye and knew Wittersham
where my parents were living; and I discovered that David and Patricia had
taken a flat for the summer in Iden, the next village. So after a very chatty
evening I slept deeply in the cool mountain air.
David had decided we should spend a day in an attempt to reach the summit
of Mount Elgon that soared 14,000 feet in the clouds behind his parents’
extensive farm-house. There were two peaks; one in Kenya and the other in
Uganda, and in between lay the crater of an extinct volcano where hot springs
still bubbled away, and I was keen to have a look at it, and eager to see how I
performed in higher altitudes - David assured me the climb would be good
practice for Kilimanjaro and useful “acclimatization”.
Dressed in climbing gear, we set off early in the morning, riding for only
a short distance in a Land Rover before taking a footpath through thatched
villages and fields of maize and cassava. After climbing fairly gently upward
we entered a belt of coffee and banana shambas, and then on and up into the
remains of ancient forests where we took a loggers’ track running between tall
trees dripping with tangled lianas and weird jungle creepers.
Above the woodlands were clumps of tall bamboo; and, beyond them, we
emerged onto open moorland. Technically it was called ‘afro-alpine’, that is
a landscape of tussocks of straggly grass, waist-high heather, rocky outcrops,
and two amazing plants that I had never seen before. One was giant groundsel
that was nothing like the well-known garden weed, but resembled a fat and
furry tree stump and was topped with either a cluster of fern-like leaves or wide
candelabra of cauliflower-type flowers. The other extraordinary plant was the
giant lobelia tree; it looked more like a tall leathery cactus than anything else
and bore fluffy and spiky flowers. Among these strange trees, almost colourless
dry flowers poked their heads and friendly little birds flitted to and fro. For
me this was a thrilling introduction to the flora and fascinating birdlife of the
highlands of East Africa.
We plodded on, marvelling at the exotic plants, but after some while could
find no beaten track - we had probably missed the path. The ground was rocky
in some places and marshy in others and the going became slower and slower
and something of a struggle. We gained some height but clouds came down
and we entered a dank and misty twilight where it became dangerous to move
forward and we risked losing our way completely. David decided we could not go on and must turn back. I was sorry not to be able to go higher, but glad to
slip back downhill to the warmth and comfort of the Endebess farm. There I
saw the New Year in with the Le Bretons and relaxed on New Year’s Day before
continuing my safari in my gallant Peugeot.
Nairobi
Next day I retraced my tracks some distance in the car in order to go down
to Kericho some way south and east in order to leave Amiri and most of my
baggage that would not be needed in Nairobi. Here I looked up Peter Mence,
one-time police officer in Dar es Salaam, musician and good friend, who had
recently got the job of Assistant Secretary of the Kenya Tea Growers Association.
He gave me lunch at the Club in the little town, undertook to look after my
servant and gear, and confirmed his invitation to put me up for a couple of
nights on my return from Nairobi.
From Peter’s place I drove across the heartland of the country down the great
Rift Valley, with its magnificent scenery and lakeside townships, and up again
the other side into the capital city, Nairobi. I had two reasons for this visit; my
principal purpose was to sit the Home Civil Service entry exams for a second
attempt to get a job in Whitehall. The exams themselves had not seemed too difficult when I had tried them in London the previous summer, but they were
the essential preliminary to the interviews which I had failed at Easter and badly
wanted to sit again.
The second reason for spending time at Nairobi was to follow up the request I
had made by letter from Mwanza to meet one of the top men of the Tanganyika
Tea Growers’ Association at his Nairobi office. He was Richard Magor, Director
of the firm of George Williamsons. I was, at that stage, doubtful about the job,
and had made up my mind not to accept it unless Magor could offer me a real
future. This plan was completely frustrated however, when I called at George
Williamsons’ offices in the city centre, I found my man had flown back to
London on urgent business. This was maddening, but I was able to reach John
Walsh in Dar es Salaam on the phone and was invited to call on the Association’s
Chairman instead. He was a Mr Stansfeld who lived and worked on tea gardens
(I had already learnt not to call them ‘plantations’) in the Eastern Usambara
Mountains above Tanga, and I could easily fit in a visit there during the last few
days of my leave before catching the boat home at Mombasa.
I had then to sit the Home Civil Service exams. On David Le Breton’s advice
I booked in at the Devon Hotel, a central and modest place that suited me
fine for a short stay, and within easy reach of the Kenya Polytechnic College
where the exams took place. Once more I put down my preferred choice as the
Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and, as before, had no great trouble with
the written papers and tests. They were searching, and one could see where the
clever chap would do well, but I knew the real test would come when I had to
face stiff interviews in London in February. I did my best which, I suspected,
would be good enough to get to the next stage and enjoyed the mental stimulus.
David and Patricia had also come down to Nairobi, and, after the first day of
exams, I joined them on a tour of the Nairobi Game Park. It lay only three
miles from the city centre and enabled us to relax among a surprising number
and variety of wild animals including lion, giraffe and many kinds of antelope
and buck. On the second evening with the exams finished and already fading
in memory, we went to a revue at the Nairobi theatre which was a thoroughly
entertaining escape from the hard grind.
Kericho
After a third night at the Devon Hotel, I threw my bag into the Peugeot and
motored back the way I had come across the Rift Valley to Kericho. Here the
climate was cool; each morning the ground was specked with a sparkling dew,
and fluffy cotton-wool mist hung in the air until the sun swept it away; and each afternoon it rained for an hour - and I found myself in a different world. Gently
rolling hills and bright green-topped tea bushes lay as far as the eye could see in
every direction. Here and there tall trees that they called grevillea broke up the
long stretches of greenery and provided gentle shade around them; nothing else
broke the even surface of the sea of fresh lime green.
In the centre of the tea gardens was the township of Kericho which
comprised a few white-washed offices, some Indian dukas with corrugated
iron roofs, a tolerable hotel - called inevitably the Tea Hotel - and a club for
the tea planters and their families where I had already been entertained. On
the downs around the town were scattered neat bungalows with tidy lawns
and rose-filled flower beds. In one of these pleasant houses I found my host,
Peter Mence, with Amiri and my baggage waiting for me. Peter’s job with the
Kenya tea planters appeared to be very similar to the sort of thing that I had
been offered in Tanganyika, and I avidly pumped him to find out the nature
of his work and the type of people with whom he worked. He introduced me
to some of his colleagues who were friendly and interesting, and willingly told
me of their life on the tea estates.
Better still, I spent two mornings painting. I set up my easel at the top of a
hill overlooking acres of tea bushes and had fun trying to put them on canvas -
the trouble was they looked like a green lawn, however hard I tried to show how
the bushes were all four foot high off the ground. In the afternoons Peter invited
his friends to bring their musical instruments to form a string quartet playing
together in his sitting room. I sat in a corner and admired their dedication and
immense skill while much enjoying the music they made.
After the weekend, Peter went back to work and I left Kericho in good
order, much refreshed. I drove eastwards to the attractive town of Limuru,
some way short of Nairobi, to break the journey at the Brackenhurst Hotel,
high up in bracken-covered hills, where the temperature was colder than I had
known it for a long time. We drove the next morning through Nairobi and
took the road south to the Kenya frontier. We re-entered Tanganyika, and
motored on to Arusha and back down a road I already knew well to Moshi, the
centre of the rich coffee-growing belt and the headquarters of the prosperous
Chagga tribe. Twenty-five miles beyond Moshi was my destination, tucked
away on the lower slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. This was the Marangu Hotel,
where a simple room was provided me and family mail awaited me. I was able
to read all their letters while enjoying a drink in the cosy bar before a good
evening meal.
Mount Kilimanjaro
The hotel was reputed to be the best starting point for the ascent of the
mountain. At an altitude of 5,000 feet, the hotel had fi ne views of the peaks
behind it and the plains falling away far below. It was comfortable with basic
rooms and a sociable bar, and the management provided guides and porters for
the climb.
On the evening of my arrival I was introduced to my companion for the
jaunt. Jamie was a farmer of my age from Oldeani beyond Arusha, and a very
easy-going Scot - I never knew his surname. We were carefully briefed; it was
explained to us that guides were essential and porters would be required to carry
food and water, bedding, warm clothing, and firewood for cooking and heating
the huts. The climb would involve a trek of forty miles over four days, and we
would spend each night at a hut situated at a strategic point on the route. The
ascent would not call for mountaineering experience (which was just as well as
I had very little), but would, we were told, require some physical endurance.
We were warned that four out of fi ve climbers never reached the top because of
altitude sickness; we had to take it slowly and pace ourselves, allowing lots of
time to acclimatize to the rarefied air on the higher slopes of the mountainside.
After coming from the Kenya Highlands and Mount Elgon, I foolishly thought I had no need to worry about mountain sickness - how wrong I was! Jamie and I
then met the five porters and two guides whom the hotel had arranged to escort
us up the mountain, while I arranged for Amiri to stay behind and clean up the
Peugeot.
Day 1: So off we set in the middle of the next morning. The first day’s
walking was leisurely, up from the hotel through land populated by the Chagga
who cultivated maize and bananas and were growing coffee in straggling bushes
beside our track. Fortunately the weather had been dry for some time and we
were able to use a well-worn path past their homesteads and shambas into the
forest belt. Our track then narrowed and led steeply up through dense rainforest
of tall leafy trees with long creepers trailing below them hanging over our heads.
In the wild jungle, streams tumbled down beside the path, and colobus monkeys
gambolled in the treetops.
After a ten miles climb of some 5,000 feet, we came upon the Bismark Hut
in a big clearing in the forest. We were glad to put our feet up round a warming
fire, tuck into a hot stew, and turn into proper beds with mattresses for the
night. It was cold but reasonably civilised, and we curled up in our sleeping bags
and slept amazingly well.
Day 2: Fully restored, we set out early the next day. Soon out of the thick
forest, we walked eight miles over the rolling foothills of heather and marsh and
coarse grass - sometimes it seemed little different from the moors of the Scottish
Highlands except for the endless blue-grey plains below us and the mountain
summit ahead. The trail led up through this heathland and crossed several streams
into a rugged landscape of open land with a few scattered bushes and stunted
trees. As we climbed higher we moved onto rougher country among the weird
giant lobelia and giant groundsel that had amazed me on Mount Elgon. The land
opened out around Peter’s Hut at 12,300 feet which was in a stunning location
with vast views over the plains. The hut was, however, more primitive than the
Bismark Hut, lacking both beds and mattresses, and providing us instead with
wooden boards in the bunks. We were well fed once more, but sleeping was more
difficult that night; the boards were very hard, the temperature dropped below
freezing, and the stove leaked smoke all over the little hut.
Day 3: Jamie found an ice-cold mountain stream running clear over stones
not far below Peter’s Hut in which we washed and shaved before breakfast on our
third day out. We ate our meal at a table set in front of the hut as the warming
sun rose over the shoulder of the mountain behind us. That day we were joined
by two cheerful student hitch-hikers who were carrying all their kit on their
backs in rucksacks. Where they came from, I have no idea; I hardly knew their names, but they were lucky to fall in with us and tag along because they could
never have reached the summit without the help of our guides. For us all, the
trek was pretty tough that day; our party plodded steadily forward, generally
in Indian file without speaking, and climbing quite steeply from Peter’s Hut to
what was called ‘the Saddle’. This was a broad, lava-strewn ridge that linked the
crags and cliffs of one of the mountain peaks named Mawenzi on the right hand
side with the still higher peak and sparkling ice-cap of Kibo, our goal, over to
our left.
Our little group of eleven men were the only living things visible on that
vast flank of the mountain, as we entered desert country where nothing grew in
a lunar landscape, almost always in the clouds, and mostly composed of loose
pebbles, red sand and shingle with the occasional boulder. We collected slight
headaches and tummy upsets from the altitude as we trudged along, but were
not much bothered until we started on the final massif, a couple of miles below
Kibo Hut at 15,500 feet. We then entered the heights in which the altitude
began to affect heart, tummy and head, and it became amazingly difficult to
breathe. Worse still, as we neared the hut at about 3 p.m., we met a howling
blizzard of beastly wet, cold snow. It was Arctic conditions up there, and we had
to concentrate hard on every step upwards through swirling, driving, freezing
sleet.
Kibo Hut was miserable. Its thin wooden walls protected us from neither the
wind nor the icy temperature; the building was dark, dirty and messy, and as
at Peter’s Hut, the stove leaked acrid smoke. As soon as we arrived we bundled
ourselves into our sleeping bags in order to try and get warm. Jamie and I took
the beds which had springs but no mattresses, while the students rolled out
their bedding on the bare floor. No one could sleep; we all had headaches and
upsets and generally felt foul. The porters cheered us up with a huge hot stew
and pots of tea at six in the evening, but then the firewood ran out and we lay on
our bunks, growing colder and colder, tossing and turning, aching and waiting,
excited and frightened at the prospect of the final assault later that night.
Day 4: We were told that we must be on the summit at dawn for only then
did the clouds clear enough to enable one to see the view and the air be warm
enough for one to enjoy it. So we were all woken at 1 a.m. in the pitch dark to
prepare ourselves for the climb, and we put on all the clothes we had brought
with us - long pants under pyjamas, two pairs of trousers, three pairs of socks,
three sweaters over woolly vest, shirt and pyjama top, anorak, balaclava, mittens
and gloves, scarves and snow goggles; and we equipped ourselves with torches
and walking sticks.
Outside the hut, the blizzard had stopped, and the moon was nearly full
but often hidden by cloud, as we turned to tackle the slope ahead of us above
the hut. By fitful moonlight and occasional torchlight, we scrambled up a
scree of loose sand in long zigzags, one man behind another, concentrating
on the boots of the man in front, and carefully following the way led by the
guides. This was by far the most strenuous and steepest part of the hike; and
at that height every step was a tremendous effort. It made one dizzy to look up
or down; one just plodded on in zigzags in single file, slowly, oh! so slowly, on
and on, and up and up. My headache was murder; my head felt like a football
and a spinning top. The others were the same. Around 18,500 feet, I lay on
the frozen stones and groaned. Somehow I regained my feet and struggled up
to the snowline. With my head swimming, I moved forward terribly slowly,
resting for five minutes every five paces, and at times crawling on hands and
knees. In this manner I staggered and scrambled past huge icicles, over sheets
of ice and between frozen drifts of snow, up to a little hollow in bare rocks
at the very top. This was Gillman’s Point at a little less than 19,000 feet, on
the rim of the long extinct volcano. I fell into this crevice and celebrated my
arrival by being sick. Then I felt a little better. It was about a quarter to six in
the morning.
The four of us huddled together, and stared in awe at the prospect before us.
There was a smell of sulphur in the air from the huge volcanic crater beyond
our eyrie, and all around us were tumbling frozen fields of white and blue snow,
high walls and caves and cliffs of ice, and icicles as big as houses. Somewhere
out there was another peak above the crater, where two young army officers had
raised the national flag on Independence Day and christened it Uhuru Peak;
and somewhere among the caves was the spot where the dead leopard had been
found that had fascinated Hemingway.
The sun rose across the far rim of the crater in a brilliant, almost blinding
light, and with orange and blue flashes it swept away the mists that had
hovered around us as we climbed. It was completely breath-taking if one had
any breath left. I had none. I just lay there and gasped and held my head
and groaned and swore. All this was silly of me because I could have taken
superb photographs of the sun emerging over the clouds and reflected in the
snow-fields. As it was I took just two or three pictures in an attempt to prove
that I had reached the top - and they were very poor.
It had taken us four and a half hours to reach Gillman’s Point from Kibo
Hut; it took us one and half to return to the hut down the scree, slithering and
sliding over the loose shingle and stones. The students seemed to run down the steepest parts. Our aches and pains cleared as we descended but I felt so tired
I wanted to drop to the ground and close my eyes at every step. It was bitterly
cold and, despite all my warm clothing, my hands and feet were numb. At last
we got back down to the Kibo Hut where we all fell asleep like the dead, grateful
for the rest and warmth in our sleeping bags.
Day 5: We woke after two or three hours feeling human again, collected
ourselves, congratulated one another on the successful assault, and left the
hut in good order at about 10 a.m. The descent thereafter was easy. Quietly
and unhurried, we walked back downhill and were able to look about us
and remark on the fascinating sights and scenery of the mountainside. Our
heads cleared and we shed clothes as we descended into the warmer air. We
came out below the clouds on to the barren saddle, then on down through
the Scottish moorland, and back over the burns and tarns to Peter’s Hut
where we paused for lunch. During the afternoon, a severe rainstorm broke
over our heads as we moved on down. It was the first wet weather we had
encountered below Kibo Hut, and followed three and a half fine, clear days
which was as much as anyone could hope for on such a climb. We dried
out and slept our last night on the mountain in Bismark Hut. Early next
morning the students disappeared, and Jamie and I strode down to Marangu,
wearing our safari hats which had been crowned with the customary garland
of immortelle, the everlasting flowers picked by the porters at the higher
altitudes. From the hotel to the top of the mountain was reckoned to be a
forty mile hike, so we had completed eighty miles on foot since setting off
cheerfully five days earlier see Extract from Letter
Back at the hotel, we took a few snaps with our cameras as a record, and
tipped the guides and porters with our very real thanks for their guidance
and help. We settled up the finances; Jamie and I each paid the hotel about
£40 to cover use of the huts, the men’s wages, and the cost of food and
firewood on the climb.
Once Jamie had jumped into his car and driven off back home to Oldeani,
I was reunited with Amiri, and spent the rest of the day peacefully at the
hotel, checking on the car and sorting out my clothes - very much back to
normal. There were no lasting aches or pains, and I remained with a sense
of awe at the hugeness of the mountain, a nice feeling of achievement, and
some wonderful memories.
The Serengeti
The following two days were lazy. I went down to Moshi in the shadow of the
mountain. The car was oiled and greased, and a bumper was straightened while
I called at the bank, stocked up with food for the next stage of the journey and
admired the little town’s wide acacia-lined avenues. I moved on to Arusha to stay
a night at the New Arusha Hotel where my parents had been the previous year,
and I called at the National Parks Authority to check the state of the roads ahead
of me.
Next day, I drove out to Oldeani to stay on the Tisdalls’ farm which lay at the
gateway to the plains beyond. The previous summer, as ADC I had visited Bob
and his wife, they had given me an open invitation to return. I had warmed to
them and their farm so much that I took them up on their generous offer, and
spent another delightful evening and restful night as their guest.
Amiri and I then drove past the Ngorongoro Crater into the Serengeti Game
Reserve. Although at first the road was rough, the surface was dry and we had no
trouble moving across the plains. To our delight they were full of game, just as we
had been promised. The wide open ranges were covered with a countless number
of wild animals, grazing as they advanced, following the rich pastures, and moving
steadily and slowly, in their migration from right to left across our front as far as
the eye could see. I drew the car off the track on to a grassy knoll in the shade of an
old acacia and unpacked the camp chairs and glasses to observe the animals. The
breeze was gentle and the ring-necked doves cooed quietly but persistently in the
thorn trees that gave us a pleasant shade. Ours was the only car on the plains all
that day, and in some comfort I passed some hours observing the animals closely.
The wildebeest were present in large numbers and appeared surprisingly
ungainly with small weak hindquarters, strong shoulders and long straggly beards.
Troops of zebra looked startlingly handsome with bold black stripes on their heavy
grey flanks but they had none of the elegance of the deer. The most beautiful of
all the antelopes were the impala with long thin legs and graceful necks as they
titupped over the grassland. The little dikdik were the greatest fun as they bobbed
and bounced about, while harems of Grant’s and Thomson’s gazelles (tommies)
cropped the grass peaceably together with their slender curved horns. Pretty
fawns, perhaps only a few days or weeks old, staggered along, anxiously keeping
close to their mothers. Other fascinating creatures moved among the host; gaunt
ostriches stalked around; and tall hartebeests with red-brown bodies and tiny
horns could be seen. Happily we saw no predators through the hot morning other
than occasional hyenas, a pack of wild dogs looking for trouble, and vultures
high in the azure sky circling endlessly in the search for carrion. With the greatest reluctance, I eventually tore myself away from my look-out post and drove slowly
mile after mile through the herds towards the Rest Camp at Seronera.
Soon after leaving the migrating herds behind us, we came upon a pride of
lions in the long grass. They were snoozing lazily through the warm afternoon,
stretching their legs and perhaps beginning to think about finding some supper.
They ignored us in the car and I could have watched them for hours.
We had to get in before dark, and, maddeningly, the track deteriorated and
conditions grew very wet - the Long Rains were starting fitfully. We fitted chains
to the tyres of the Peugeot to improve their grip on the muddy and rutted way,
and struggled on. Only a couple of miles from our destination, I became badly
stuck in the mud and had a filthy time digging out the car in the dusk. We
arrived dirty and tired, but thrilled at the wonderful sights we had seen.
The Rest Camp consisted of a couple of tin-roofed offices, a mess-room and a
collection of scattered thatched rondavels in the shade of a dozen tall acacia trees.
In one of the little round houses I was given a bed and made comfortable for two
nights. I had set aside one full day there for game-watching, and spent it in the car,
cruising around in the neighbourhood of the Rest Camp and the near-by village
of Banagi. The muddy roads discouraged us from going far, but there were plenty
of animals to be seen among the little hills, woods and swamps of that part of the
reserve. The variety of beasts was greater than on the plains, and I was blissfully
content to drive the short distances from one water-hole to the next to see what I
could find. The buffalo were gathered in small herds and stared at the car angrily,
looking thoroughly dangerous. By contrast the elephants strode through the trees
with their young and took no notice of us but let me follow them for some time
- at a respectful distance. Only as darkness fell that evening, did I abandon such
fascinating sights in the wild.
I got away early the following morning for the journey back to civilisation. The
herds were still there moving slowly as they grazed en masse over the plains towards the
south, and I spent nearly all the daylight hours cruising over the grassland following
them. I stayed far too long but loved it. I had intended to drive through to Arusha
but found myself far short when dusk overtook me. Happily the Lake Manyara
Hotel was on my route and gave me a bed in one of the rooms overlooking the cliffs
down to the lake. The hotel was as attractive as I remembered it from staying there
with my parents the previous year. The elephants were still there in a glade below the
cliffs - they might never have moved since we had left them twelve months earlier -
and they were just as busy as before, feeding among the trees with what appeared to
be the same young calves blundering about, completely undisturbed. I could have
spent a full day on the cliff top but had to press on.
Herkulu Estate
While at Arusha on the drive west, I had tied up plans to call on the Chairman
of the Tanganyika Tea Growers Association on my way to Mombasa. He was
named Wyon Stansfeld and he managed tea gardens on an estate called Herkulu
in the Eastern Usambara Mountains. Accordingly I had to return through
Arusha and Moshi to pick up the long straight road that ran eastwards down
to Tanga. It was too far to travel in one day so I decided to break the journey
at Lushoto in the Western Usambaras and spend a night at the Lawns Hotel
there. This was only the second time I had driven my own car up the steep,
hairpin bends of the escarpment into those mountains and it was every bit as
hair-raising as before, but Lushoto was as pretty a place as ever, even though the
Boma had an unkempt air and the township roads were in a sorry state. It was
well worth the journey, however, for The Lawns looked after me wonderfully
well. Colonel Alleyn had left; and the new manager was a farmer’s wife who had
been obliged to leave her farm when her business had gone broke. She was a
capable woman, as well as a friendly and hospitable soul.
From Lushoto I took the car back down the mountainside to the main Tanga
road and drove on eastwards through Korogwe to the village of Muheza where
I turned up into the hills again through picturesque uplands in my search for
Herkulu. The Eastern Usambaras, being much closer to the Indian Ocean, were
hotter and more humid than Lushoto had been, and ideal for tea-growing. So
once again, I found myself in the midst of rolling hills of bright green tea bushes.
There I came upon a pleasant bungalow, with superb views of the mountain
forests, in the midst of an English garden full of roses, where I met Mr and
Mrs Stansfeld. Wyon was short and sturdy in build with a neat moustache and
firm hand-shake. He knew his stuff too, for I gathered he had been a planter in
Assam for many years, and was highly experienced both in the growing of tea
and in the management of men. I had an easy and very pleasant conversation
with him while Lorna, his wife, gave me an excellent lunch. I discovered to my
delight that the couple knew the part of the world where my parents had settled.
They spent their home leave at Rye and seemed well acquainted with many local
Wittersham personalities; we had plenty to chat about over the meal.
Having successfully broken the ice, we talked about the job of Assistant
Secretary to the Tea Growers’ Association. The Chairman offered me £1,900 a
year with a rent-free house and a car allowance of £240, on a two year contract
in the first instance, with the option to renew. I was very tempted to accept on
the spot, but I asked him for time to consider it. I told him that, before giving
him a definite answer, I needed to talk the matter over with my parents, and I also wished to see how the Civil Service interviews worked out. I promised to let
him have my firm response by the end of February. After the good lunch and a
useful conversation, and with much to think about, I left Herkulu to drive back
down the hills to Tanga and then on the coast road to cross the Kenya frontier,
reaching Mombasa in the evening.
Mombasa
I put up at the New Carlton Hotel in Mombasa which was very dreary, but
I had too much to do to worry about home comforts. I reported to the agents,
Mitchell Cotts, early on the morning after my arrival and found I had just
twenty-four hours in which to sell my car, pay my income tax, see Amiri safely
off back to Kisarawe, and board the boat to take me back to Europe.
A pile of letters awaited me at the agents and it was good to hear from
Wittersham, although my parents reported appallingly cold weather in the
south of England and all sorts of problems at Island Cottage with frozen pipes,
dangerous ice and deep snow. Their bad news was confirmed by the Mombasa
newspapers, which told me that the bitter cold was continuing at home with
very low temperatures and no sign of a thaw.
I took the gallant Peugeot to Marshalls, the Mombasa agents, and asked them to
sell her for me. I was sorry to have to let her go, for she had done 3,850 miles since
leaving Dar es Salaam six weeks earlier without a murmur of trouble and was still
running smoothly and easily when I drove her to the garage. They found a Nairobi
dealer who would pay £475 for her - not as much as I had hoped, but it was not
bad considering she had 31,000 miles on the clock and had just ended a long, hard
safari. It was a sad parting, but satisfactory to have concluded the deal so quickly.
Amiri had been very responsive and useful as a companion in the car and in
a hundred ways. I paid him his regular wage for January, with a reasonable gift
on top and his fare back to Dar es Salaam (just Shs 100/-). I had been grateful
for his willing help and cheerful presence on many occasions on the long drive
round East Africa, and we parted with assurances from me that if I should
happen to return to Dar to work there once more - which was beginning to
seem a possibility - I would offer him a job again.
I had then to pay my tax bill for both 1961 and 1962. I had also to send
home a cheque on my Lloyds account to repay my parents the balance of the
long-standing Oxford loan. I had just enough left from the car sale to pay these
debts and all outstanding bills - the Dar Yacht Club and so on - and buy a few
travellers’ cheques for the voyage home. At last I was free to turn my back on
Africa and board the boat waiting for me in Kilindini Harbour.
The MV Africa
The Africa was a beautiful ship of the Lloyd Triestino Line, painted a
glistening white from stem to stern, run most efficiently by the Italians and
looking sleek and smart as she lay tied up to the quayside in the old Mombasa
docks. My trunks had been taken on board back in Dar and were already stowed
away in its hold, and I added a crate containing the bedding roll and camping
gear that had accompanied me on the safari. I had been looking forward to the
cruise for so long; and it was with a great feeling of relief that I was shown by
the Italian steward to my cabin and able to dump my bags. It had one berth with
lots of room and a porthole. On boarding I was handed by the purser another
pile of mail that had come up from Dar es Salaam and included Christmas cards
and presents of books.
Life aboard was leisurely and comfortable as we sailed up the coast of Kenya
and Somaliland. The sun was hot on deck during the mornings, but the breeze
freshened as our speed increased and the sailing was delightful. I felt very lucky;
I had climbed the mountain, seen the game migrating on the Serengeti plains,
stayed with numerous kind friends in many wonderful places, and was able to
travel home on a fine ship with a luxurious berth in superb weather. On the debit
side, I had only to count the nasty income tax cheque, and the sale of the car.
My time in those first few days afloat was spent in writing letters to say
goodbye and thank you to friends in East Africa. Another batch of letters
was despatched to remind family and old friends in England that I was on
my way home. I also wrote ahead seeking appointments with those I hoped
would tell me about the UK job market, notably the Careers Advisory Service in
Cambridge, the Overseas Resettlement Bureau, and the Officers’ Employment
Bureau, both in Victoria in London. I posted eighteen letters when we made
Aden, and another ten more when we reached Suez, two days later. All the while
I was turning over in my mind the job with the Tanganyika Tea Growers and
the interview I had just had with the Association’s Chairman. It was indeed a
tempting offer, doing the sort of work I liked, and in a country that I loved, but
it offered no training and could not be a permanent career. So I made copious
notes about the options and thought long and hard as the liner steamed north
carrying me homewards.
The MV Africa crossed the Equator a day after leaving harbour and held the
customary ceremonies in the morning with plenty of fun and lots of splashing
for the children. The crew and stewards did very well; their service in the dining room
was excellent and they seem to enjoy entertaining the passengers. We
stood off Mogadishu in the afternoon, where we could see nothing but a long line of sand dunes sheltering the old Somali town baking in the sun. There
appeared to be no proper harbour and it all looked uncomfortably hot and dry.
A couple of officials came aboard and a few Italian passengers disembarked. We
watched with amusement when those leaving the ship were put in a giant net
and swung on davits from a ship-board crane over the side and into a waiting
launch which then chugged off towards the beach.
Th e rest of the passengers quickly settled into a lazy routine. During the
morning the swimming-pool was our rendezvous, where one could wallow
deliciously for hours or drink from time to time at the pretty little outdoor bar.
In the evenings, they served superb food and offered the usual entertainments,
cinema and dancing to a cheerful little band.
The call at Aden was brief, and I liked the place no more than on previous
visits. In the Red Sea the weather cooled with contrary winds and a weak sun.
We docked at Suez early one morning and I left the ship, clambered into a coach
more than half asleep, and was taken to Cairo with a group of other passengers.
We did the usual tour, starting in the square by the famed museum to see
the fascinating golden mask of the boy pharaoh Tutankhamun - its age and
provenance were awe-inspiring and it seemed to me to be supremely beautiful
in its amazing colouring and the shining and shimmering gold paint. The coach then lumbered across the Nile out to Gezira where we were deposited at the
hotel for a much needed and refreshing drink, the customary fizzy orange Fanta,
before being escorted on foot to see the massive pyramids of Giza. In the hottest
part of the day, under a clear blue sky, we were pestered by the guides to ride
camels and by the hawkers to buy their tat, before being taken down to inspect
the battered old sphinx. After a rest and a meal, the charabanc took us back to
the ship at Port Said, which had navigated the canal from south to north while
we had been ashore. I had hoped to see something of the desert and the people,
but our coach left the hotel where we had dined in the late evening and it was
too dark to see anything other than occasional ill-lit wayside villages and cafes.
The liner crossed the Mediterranean and our next port of call was Brindisi.
This was a big, unattractive working port full of ships, where passengers heading
for Naples and Rome disembarked to catch trains onwards. So the ship was only
half full for the final leg of our journey as we steamed up the Adriatic Sea with
the mass of Italy on the port beam, making for the ship’s home port.
Venice
Early in the day the big ship sailed majestically past the fishing village of
Chiogga at the mouth of the river Po, and then past the lido, navigating among
the vaporettos, gondolas and launches across the great lagoon. Our entry into the
port was thrilling as the boat slowly manoeuvred into its place on the quayside,
passing across the front of St Mark’s Square, with the basilica and the lion on its
tall pillar, and along the line of fine old waterfront mansions that led down to
the ugly deepwater berths where we tied up.
The wind was chill, and, to our surprise, snow lay an inch deep on the quay
and down the narrow pavements beside the canals leading into the city’s heart.
Venice was experiencing the same profound cold that seemed to have the whole
of Europe in its grip that winter. I had no overcoat and inadequate clothing for
such weather but it was a golden opportunity to see some of the sights before
the last leg of my homeward journey. The ship emptied of its passengers and I
moved my base with just one suitcase to a pensione near the station for one night.
My heavy baggage remained on board to follow by rail across Europe later. I
piled on the sweaters and an old macintosh, and spent a happy day tramping
the streets and crossing and re-crossing the canals. No other tourists were about
that cold February day; the main squares were deserted, apart from a few busy
housewives laden with their shopping, and the cafes were empty except for the
occasional shivering businessman. I was able to walk to my heart’s content, and
drinking my fill of the magnificent architecture, with frequent pauses for coffee to warm myself up. I revisited the sights that my Cambridge friends and I had
seen on our tour many years earlier, and even had time to go out in a vaporetto
to Murano to buy some of their pretty coloured glass. It was a good day.
The holiday was over. I took another vaporetto down to the great railway
station at Mestre, and transferred with my hand luggage to my berth in the
sleeping car of the Simplon-Orient Express for the overnight journey to Paris.
The train provided a good meal and a cosy bunk as we rumbled through northern
Italy and crossed the frontier around 1 o’clock in the morning, before trundling
across a corner of Switzerland into France. At Paris, I changed stations by taxi
and picked up the boat rain bound for Calais. All went well, and some twenty hours
after leaving Venice, the cross-channel ferry deposited me on English soil
on the afternoon of 7th February.
|
Chapter 5: New Republic: New Job
|
A hardened and shameless tea-drinker, whose kettle has scarcely
time to cool, who with tea amuses the evening, with tea solaces the
midnight and with tea welcomes the morning.
The Literary Magazine: Dr Samuel Johnson
Home during the coldest winter for years
At the end of my journey home from East Africa, I disembarked from the
ferry at Dover into a frozen countryside. My parents had braved the snow to
collect me at the terminal and drove me across Kent to their home at Island
Cottage in Wittersham. I was delighted to see the old place again and only too
pleased to be able to dig out from old trunks some warmer clothing - for it was
seriously cold in the south of England. Island Cottage had already suffered burst
pipes following hard frosts and temporary thaws, and more floods were to occur
in the kitchen and living rooms soon after I arrived.
I had a lot to do with some urgency. In the first place I had to collect my
possessions in the wooden crates and tin trunks that had followed me home
and were awaiting me at the agents’ warehouses in Bishopsgate. Even more
importantly, I had to sort out a job for myself. The Tea Growers’ offer of
employment was on hold while I awaited the outcome of my renewed application
to join the Home Civil Service and explored the job market in the UK.
So I decamped to London and begged a bed at my sister Margaret’s home
in Willow Road in Hampstead, and the use of her phone on which I made a
series of appointments with people who could advise me on the job-market in
England. I also took the opportunity to call up old Cambridge friends and Sir
Richard Turnbull who had made me promise to look him up on my return to
London. The following days were pleasantly busy in the comfort of Margaret’s
house, picking up the threads again and learning about job opportunities at home.
Sir Richard gave me lunch at the Travellers’ Club and invited me to go
down and visit them in Henley, so a fortnight later I took him at his word. The
Turnbulls had bought 82 Bell Street, a house on the Henley Mile with a garden running down to the Thames, where he could indulge his passion for rowing
and coaching at the Leander Club. He and Beatrice had been home barely three
months and were still making their big old house comfortable, but they seemed
to like life in England despite the cold weather, had acquired a noisy parrot
named Kisuku, and had already sorted out the wine cellar. Sir Richard had
begun to enjoy some of the beautiful wines I had purchased on his instructions
in Dar es Salaam, and I was able to help him drink a bottle or two during my
delightful day with them.
Deciding what to do
My first appointment was with the Overseas Service Resettlement Bureau.
I had a long and informative meeting with its Director, Mr Molohan (Molo
for short) who was a huge man and a former Provincial Commissioner of
Tanganyika’s Lake Province. On retirement from East Africa he had been given
charge of this Bureau where all of us thrown out of the colonies sought help with
our re-employment at home. At Molo’s offices in new government buildings
in Victoria, I took details of twenty or so openings in administrative roles in
colleges, charities and public services all over England, with salaries anywhere
between £700 and £1,500. I went over the advertisements with him; some
were deadly boring, and a few looked interesting, but the best jobs had already
been taken. I quickly followed up two or three of the most likely remaining
opportunities but in each case found that my sort of background was irrelevant.
I travelled up to the Careers Advisory Centre at Cambridge and talked to
Mr Davies who already knew me, having interviewed me when I had been at
St John’s College some years earlier. He, too, provided me with lists of potential
employers, but was pessimistic of my chances for he thought few firms would
be interested in redundant colonial servants.
My sister, Liz gave me introductions to two of her long-standing contacts
and friends, Dennis Forest at the Ceylon Tea Centre, and Stephen Garvin, to
whom I had already written at the Commonwealth Development Corporation.
Both men were helpful and interesting, but neither could offer me work.
I wrote to several of the contacts I had made while an ADC. The most
promising had been the Australian UN man, George Ivan-Smith. He had
offered to try and get me a job in New York. I had followed up his suggestion
with a letter to my parents’ old friend, Marguerite Clark, then working on the
PR side at the UN at Lake Success. Sadly these approaches also came to nothing.
As expected, I was invited to meet the Civil Service Commissioners following
the exams I had sat in Nairobi. I gave the interviews my best shot. At the end of them I was asked to call at the Foreign Office to meet one of their senior
recruitment people. This was the crunch! It was the climax of all my efforts to
break into the Civil Service in the type of job for which I thought I was most
suited. I was shown down into the bowels of the old buildings in Downing
Street opposite Numbers 10 and 11, and there met a man to receive a full
report on what the interviewers had thought of me. To my eternal sorrow, this
mandarin told me he saw no reason to change the assessment that had been
made of me a year earlier, that I was not up to the standard required for entry to
the Diplomatic Service. So that was that.
I was bound then to think more seriously about the job on offer with the
Tanganyika Tea Growers’ Association (TTGA). I talked about it at length
to my parents and to my brother John who had known and enjoyed life in
tropical Africa as a medical officer. Indeed I talked about it to everyone I met,
and begged advice from all my friends and acquaintances.
I made long notes about the advantages and disadvantages of the job,
and by the end of February had made up my mind. I sent a telegram to
the TTGA Chairman, Wyon Stansfeld and to John Walsh, TTGA Secretary
in Dar es Salaam, as follows: I CONFIRM DEFINITE WISH TO ACCEPT
APPOINTMENT WITH ASSOCIATION STOP WRITING EBERLIE.
John wrote back promptly saying he had booked a flight back to Dar for
me with East African Airways on 31st March, and the new job would start on
1st April. He added he was looking for a bungalow for me, but on arrival I was
to stay with him and his wife. Wyon wrote Dear Eberlie, with the full terms of
my engagement in elaboration of the offer he had made me when I had called
on him at Herkulu in January. It was to be a two-year renewable contract at
a salary of £1,900 per annum, with a loan of £350 with which to buy a car
and a running allowance of another £240 per annum - income tax was at the
rate of 10% after receiving a personal allowance of £316. The Association
would also pay the rent on my house, and give me two weeks’ local leave after
the first year and three months’ home leave at the end of the contract. When
the complete package was confirmed in a formal letter from Wyon of 15th
May and my Temporary Employment Permit was in my hands, I felt myself
comfortably off for the first time in my life. Better still, a few weeks later, the
commuted half of my public service pension came through amounting to
£921 which Lloyds put into Defence Bonds for me, and my own payments
to the public service pension fund were returned to me amounting to £275,
which I put aside for the purchase of a sailing boat when I was back in Dar
es Salaam.
Air letters flew between John Walsh and me while arrangements for my
return were sorted out. At the same time I was able to enjoy a little relaxing
leave. I paid another round of visits to my brother and sisters, uncles and aunts,
and spent some pleasant days at Island Cottage, fully restored after the winter
disasters. The weather improved, spring flowers appeared in their pretty garden,
and my parents gave me an easy, lazy time.
On 31st March they drove me up to London, and I went down to the
Victoria Airport Terminal to catch the airline bus out to the airport. Delma
Smith, my Cambridge girl-friend, met me there and came out on the bus with
me; we talked cheerfully all the way until I had to rush on to the tarmac into the
waiting BOAC Comet.
A large supper was served in the air at 11 o’clock at night before we came
down at Rome around midnight to refuel. We flew on to Benghazi and landed
a second time in the early hours. The frequent halts and constant noise and
vibration from the jet engines prevented sleep and I was vastly relieved when
we landed at Nairobi at midday the next day. After a large lunch, a long cool
beer and a change of planes I finally reached Dar es Salaam early that afternoon.
Obliged to wait half an hour in the hottest part of the day in order to be
interviewed by the African Immigration Officer, I was reminded that I was then
in a foreign country - and a slow and inefficient one at that.
The New Republic
Let me now describe how I found the country on my arrival back that spring
of 1963. I quickly discovered that the way of life of the people was changing
fast. In the weeks following my return to Dar es Salaam, it was made clear to
me that Tanganyika’s new leaders were determinedly shedding their colonial
past and creating an African state with an African ethos. Their efforts seemed
to be characterised by many genuine efforts to tackle the country’s problems, as
well as by some inefficiency, corruption, rudeness to Europeans and meanness
towards Asians.
Africanisation of the public services was nearly complete. The last of the British
police officers left in the summer, as did senior Europeans in the Treasury and
Attorney General’s Chambers, while the higher ranks of specialist departments
like forestry, geology and probation were being taken over by local people.
The Provinces had been changed into ‘Regions’. The new breed of Regional
Commissioners had been given wide and ill-defined powers, and at times
seemed to be able to do anything they liked - and the District were being run
very differently from before.
The laws that had given legal force to the old administration had been whittled
away. All the old Native Authorities had been replaced by District Councils, and
their Secretaries had been given the title of Executive Officers. At the same time
the powers of tribal chiefs had been abolished by a stroke of the pen, and their
administrative functions had been given to another sort of Executive Officer.
At the centre, most of the new men and women in influential positions in
the Secretariat had been handpicked and individually trained under the colonial
regime, and the Civil Service remained an influence for moderation, stability,
integrity and the application of reason and honesty to Government business. As a
result much sound and valuable work for the future of the country was being done,
and several Government ministries were achieving useful results, for example in
education, commercial expansion, finance and local government.
On the down side, although President Nyerere was comfortably installed in
State House, the word was that he was a lonely man. Moderate in many things and
almost gentle in his personal style, he believed deeply in the virtues of socialism,
but he nevertheless gave the extremists a free hand. Four Ministers with strong
socialist and racial views had been promoted in the early part of the year to the
key Ministries of Foreign Affairs, Home Affairs, Justice, and Development. Chief
Fundikira, a leading moderate in the Cabinet and my old boss in the Ministry of
Legal Affairs, had been arrested on a charge of accepting a bribe. A radical cabal
had gained power within the Cabinet and seemed very likely to strengthen its
position and give all policies a leftward and anti-European twist.
Soon after my return to the country that spring, Ministers suddenly closed the
Safari Hotel in Arusha, alleging disrespect to the President of Guinea - the hotel
guests had been American tourists and had failed to stand up when he entered
the lobby. One June weekend the police made a series of midnight arrests in Dar
and held their prisoners incommunicado. Habeas Corpus went by the board.
The police were adopting preventive detention without trial and were deporting
Europeans without enquiry on the word of an informer. Journalists had to be very
careful what they wrote lest they received expulsion orders.
There was much debate that summer about the possibility of the newly
independent East African states forming a Federation. It was a lively topic in
both Nairobi and Dar, and I believed it would be a powerful force for good,
both economically and politically, as probably did Julius Nyerere among other
politicians who entered into the negotiations in good faith. The trouble was that
Kenya and Uganda were at that time so very much richer in resources than was
Tanganyika and they were not prepared to make the major concessions necessary
to accommodate its struggling economy. Besides, Zanzibar, just offshore, had yet to achieve its independence. The talks about a federation ground on but in the
end came to nothing.
John and Elinor Walsh
Against this rather unsettling political background, I returned to Dar es
Salaam and started my new job. At the airport, I was warmly welcomed by the
Walshes and taken back to their house in Massie Road. John was then in his
early sixties, having lived and worked on tea estates in North India and with the
Assam Tea Growers’ Association for some years. He was a quiet, self-contained
person with high standards and perfect manners; and an extraordinary nice man.
He knew his job inside out, and had been persuaded to move from India to
Tanganyika in order to set up the TTGA office where he represented the interests
of the tea estate owners and managers operating throughout the country. On
his moving to Dar, the Association had bought a plot of land in Oyster Bay and
had a house built to his precise specifications of a quality rarely seen in the city.
It had four good-sized air-conditioned bedrooms upstairs, spacious reception
rooms, an open verandah along the garden side of the house, tall windows and
good wooden floors, and the interior had been decorated and furnished with
taste by Elinor. With five well-trained servants, including a first class cook, the
Walshes did everything with style and made their guests very comfortable.
Their garden was one of the finest in all Dar es Salaam. They worked on it
together nearly every evening and spent lots of money on it. As a result they had
masses of flowers all the year round, manicured green lawns and a well-watered
kitchen garden that supplied them with home-grown vegetables in season. They
ate well, not only because they had their own fresh produce but also because
Elinor went to some trouble to buy her meat and cheese from the rich farming
country of the Southern Highlands.
John surprised me soon after my arrival, however, when he told me that he
had decided to carry on as Secretary of the Association for at least another year.
I had been given to understand by him, as well as by his Chairman, that I had
been engaged to take over as TTGA Secretary on John’s departure on retirement
in the summer, and this had been the reason why they had pressed me to make
up my mind quickly. Instead I was to remain the Assistant Secretary for some
eighteen months; and I would be in charge of the office only for three months
from August to November when John and Elinor would be taking a spell of
leave.
Another surprise was to find a Johnian don come to stay as the Walsh’s guest
only a day or two after my own arrival. Professor Claude Guillebaud had been
invited by the TTGA to come out to the country, tour the tea estates and write
an authoritative report on the economics of tea-growing in Tanganyika. I had
known him when I had had rooms on the same staircase in New Court in St
John’s College at Cambridge in 1953 and he had been economics tutor to my
close friend, Graeme Sorley, among many others. The Professor flew out to
Tanganyika from Cambridge on Easter Monday, and I met him that evening
over dinner at the Walsh’s before he started his tour of the country. He was in
some ways the caricature of a don, spare in frame, intellectual in attitude, dry in
wit, precise and careful in his conversation. Unfortunately he was also a bit deaf,
but always interesting and stimulating in what he said.
I had a long and amicable argument with him on the evening after his arrival
in Dar about the merits of the National Health Service, which he had helped
to create as an adviser to the post-war Labour Government. He expressed great
admiration for GPs, which perforce I shared as my father was one, and he had
all the facts and figures at his long bony finger-tips. When I argued about the
heavy burden of cost on the state, he wiped the floor with me - with the hint of
smile on his face.
A couple of days later I drove him out to the airport and saw him off on
the flight to Sao Hill, the little airstrip that served Mufindi; he was to spend
some days with Brooke Bond at the start of his tour of all the TTGA members. I caught up with him later during my own tour of the tea estates, and learned
much from him as we chatted in the evenings about the economics of tea and
the working of international produce markets.
The Kurasini Bungalow
I was disappointed to be told on arrival that I would have to wait at least
a month before I could move into a house of my own. John had his eye on a
bungalow in a residential area of Dar es Salaam called Kurasini on the southern
side of the city. The property of a reputable Asian family who were friends of
John’s secretary, my future home lay in a quiet location some way out of town
and off the beaten track. It was approached by a rough sandy road, next to a
convent school, and two minutes walk from the banks of the creek that ran
into Dar es Salaam harbour. The Association agreed to rent the place for me,
but could not gain possession until after Easter when the lease of the present
tenant terminated. Even then, the whole place would have to be completely
redecorated and the kitchen re-equipped. The solution was for me to go on
safari as soon as possible. While waiting for the house to be vacated, I could do a
crash course on tea growing and tea making, and, at the same time, get to know
my members among the tea planters on their estates up-country.
Before starting my travels I made contact with Amiri, who had worked for
me on and off since Kisarawe days. I promoted him to fully-fledged Houseboy,
with his own smart uniform which he wore with pride, and arranged for him
to look after the house as soon as I took possession. I had to look around for a
new cook, having lost to President Nyerere the rugged old Mohamed who had
managed my Kisarawe kitchen - and I could not very well ask the President
to let him come back to me. Happily Amiri produced a relative of his, Bakari,
whom I engaged, having learned he had been well trained, had some skill as a
cook and was willing to fit in with my requirements. I started both Houseboy
and Cook at the new legal minimum wage in the capital city of Shs 150/- a
month each, and they both worked well and loyally, and tried very hard to meet
my wishes throughout my life at Kurasini. Amiri also brought along a young
relative named Mahomed who cleaned the car and scythed the long grass in the
garden for a few shillings a month.
My Job
The TTGA offices were a suite several floors up in the Standard Bank
Building across the road from the Askari Memorial, and only a few doors down
from Eminaz Mansions where I had lived in a flat in a previous existence. In
our suite, John Walsh was in a good-sized room next door to me, and beyond
him was the general office in the charge of the Secretary, Pat Randall. The only
other employee of the Association was a young messenger, Fabian, a rather idle
and gormless youth from a mission school whose pride and joy was his bicycle
that he rode all over town carrying messages and fetching things on our behalf.
He always seemed to be in debt, and complained incessantly about the cost of
living in Dar es Salaam.
Pat Randall was a lively soul in late middle age and a loyal, warm-hearted
and even-tempered secretary. She was tough, too, and lived on her own, having
parted from her husband some years earlier. As John’s PA, she was highly
competent at all secretarial work, and was a huge help to me in the early days,
and in due course added my letters and reports to her work-load. She kept our
offices neat and tidy, and held them together while John and I were frequently
out and about, but by Jove, she talked - and talked and talked. It was fun to hear
from her all the gossip going round Dar, but it was a nuisance sometimes to be
nobbled as one went through the office to have to listen to the latest epic. John
and I became adept at skipping past Pat’s open door when her back was turned.
It took a while for me to find out what I was supposed to do, but John and Pat
between them gradually eased me into my new role. As my immediate superior, John was a patient, clear and effective teacher (see Appendix). He explained to me about the
significance of tea in the country’s economy, and about the structure and role
of the TTGA of which I was the Assistant Secretary. He told me too about
the Tea Board of which I was made Secretary and the other organisations with
which we dealt, notably the Federation of Tanganyika Employers (FTE), and
the Standing Joint Committee (SJC) where we faced the Tanganyika Plantation
Workers Union (TPWU). We spent our working lives dealing with initials.
John made clear to me that we on the TTGA staff were mainly concerned with
the Executive Committee that met regularly to do the Association’s business, and
it was my task to fix the Committee meetings, write the agenda, support John in
preparing the papers for discussion at the meeting, and take the record while the
members did the talking. It was then my role to prepare draft minutes for John’s
approval and help in following up Committee decisions. It soon became clear that
one of the most difficult jobs was fixing meeting dates. Members came from long
distances, often with highly complicated travel arrangements, and frequently in
bad weather when roads were difficult, if not impassable.
When the members descended on Dar, the Chairman and one or two other
senior men stayed with the Walshes while the rest stayed at the Dar Club. Then
in the evenings they all gathered at Massie Road with Elinor, John and me for a
drink, a meal and a good gossip together.
An important part of my job was to help entertain the members on their
visits to Dar, and guide them round the city’s shops, cinemas and restaurants.
I was also asked to do all sorts of odd jobs for those who lived up-country
with no access to proper shops or other amenities. So I found myself frequently
on such errands as purchasing specialist tools for them from our ironmongers;
having someone’s watch repaired at the Dar watch-makers; selecting material
for curtains from one of the big Indian-owned emporia, and buying so many
yards of it to hang in a planter’s new bungalow in a remote district; or meeting
someone’s children off a Nairobi plane at the end of term and putting them on
the local flight homeward bound. These odd jobs were often the greatest fun
and this was an aspect of the work that I much enjoyed.
The Executive Committee
It so happened that the first meeting of the Executive Committee that I
was to attend had been arranged to take place in Mufindi under the aegis of
Brooke Bond. I had visited the area the previous year to stay with my friends, the Magnays; I already knew something of its attractions, and looked forward
eagerly to the trip. So in the week before Easter I flew down there early on a
Friday morning with John and Elinor in a rattling and noisy old Dakota that
rolled and bumped about all over the sky. Somewhat shaken, but excited, I
found myself deposited with the Walshes on a narrow flat ribbon of baked earth
that served as a landing strip at Sao Hill, just off the Great North Road from
Iringa. There we were collected by Land Rover for the drive on a steep, rough
road through the forest to the company’s headquarters at Lugoda in the heart of
their Mufindi estates.
Their Chairman was Peter Knight, a big, bluff, tough chap, a front row
forward if ever I saw one, a man with masses of personality and drive though
younger than most of his fellow committee members. He played a major part
in our activities while directing the company’s extensive operation firmly and
capably. He and his wife, Olive, gave us a warm welcome and accommodated us
in a pleasant rest house on the estate.
The Mufindi meeting of the Executive Committee lasted two full mornings.
Among other things, members endorsed the Chairman’s offer to me of a two
year contract, renewable by mutual consent with three months’ leave and a car
loan. The Committee also decided that soon after Easter I should drive down in
my new car to spend a week as a guest of members of the Rungwe District of the
Association, in order to tour the Tukuyu tea-gardens, and a second week back at
Mufindi as a guest of Brooke Bond.
The morning Committee discussions were followed in the afternoons with
informal ad hoc meetings on various topics, and in the evenings with pleasant,
friendly social events. On our first evening at Mufindi, Peter and Olive threw a big
party for visiting Committee members to meet the other directors and managers
and their wives at the Company’s Fishing Lodge down by a beautiful lake in a
fold in the forests. The following evening, we were entertained at their Golf Club
- they claimed to have the best-kept nine-hole golf course in the country. In the
well-used club-house with a big bar and kitchen we were introduced to some very
friendly people. For me this was a pleasant introduction to the world of tea in
Tanganyika, and all that I could have hoped for. I flew back to Dar on the Good
Friday with the Walshes, entirely satisfied with my choice of job.
Tukuyu
With the Association’s money in my pocket I bought a car. I found a
smart grey Peugeot 403 four-seater saloon, with 8,000 miles on the clock. It
was in excellent condition inside and out, and was just what I needed, useful for running about the town and ideal for safari. So a week after the Easter
Committee meeting, I set off from Dar in the Peugeot on the road to Tukuyu
in Rungwe district. It was a drive of about four hundred miles in a part of the
country that I had never visited before. I bought a cold box to keep food and
water fresh while travelling, and asked Amiri to accompany me to look after the
car, as he had on my safari to the Serengeti six months earlier. It was an easy
drive on tarmac down to Iringa in the Southern Highlands where I put up for
the night at the only hotel. The tarmac ended there, however, and the surface of
the road beyond Iringa was murram and mud. A lot of rain had fallen, and we
drove for eight hours on roads that were as slippery and rough as any I had ever
known. As on previous trips, Amiri was obliged to fit chains to the rear wheels
and push the car out of many sticky places, as we struggled on down the Mbeya
road into Rungwe.
Eventually we found ourselves in cool highlands with our route running
through thick untamed jungle beside busy mountain streams, and at last we
emerged among fresh green tea gardens spread over hilly slopes in a giant
horseshoe around the northern end of Lake Nyasa. A broad avenue, lined with
flowering trees and beautiful shrubs, brought us to the township of Tukuyu,
where it was raining heavily - and it never stopped while we were there. We
learned that their rainy season lasted six long months when one hundred and
twenty inches of rain could be expected, and the district was reputed to be
the wettest in the whole country. During my week down there I never once
saw the sun. Thirty-three inches of rain fell in one twenty-four hour period
while I was there - which was more than the annual UK rainfall - and I learned
that the water in the lake below Tukuyu was at record levels and had flooded
surrounding land for several miles around.
As protection from the driving rain, the country people covered their heads
with big, bright green, banana leaves folded into hats. They looked rather like
pixies, while their bare feet and legs were black as they padded down the local
roads over a layer of coal dust that had been scattered on the mud. Coal was
mined in a small way in the neighbourhood and sold at Shs 40/- per ton, and
the residue was thrown on the roads to give vehicles a better grip. It was a rather
charming Alice in Wonderland world.
I stayed a week in a guest house adjacent to the home of Cyril and Elizabeth
Goulding on their estate at Musekera one of those managed by George
Williamsons. Cyril was Chairman of the Rungwe District of the Association, a
remarkably tall, lean chap in his fifties who had long experience of his job and
seemed to be massively competent. He and his wife had lived and worked among tea gardens over a long career, and knew how to make themselves comfortable;
and their warm house was surrounded by lawns and roses with large vegetable
gardens beyond - it was a bumper year for tomatoes and cauliflowers. The flowers
of their roses were the size of dinner plates and grew in profusion in the rich
black soil of those hills. Cyril was a thoroughly likeable and hospitable fellow
and we got on well together as he organised my tour of the Tukuyu tea gardens.
I spent a fascinating day going round his own estate at Musekera, as he taught
me about the picking and manufacture of tea. Then, using Cyril’s home as my
base, I drove out to a different estate on each of the following days. In particular,
I spent a good deal of time with Pat French at Kiganga Estate who was another
experienced planter and designated as successor to Cyril as Chairman of the
Rungwe District of the Association.
Every morning I turned out early in sweaters and a rain-proof jacket to
report to the manager of the chosen estate in his bungalow, meet his wife and
assistant managers, and be taken out to the place in the tea garden that had been
selected for picking that day. Work had already started by the time of my arrival,
generally in chilly air and a gentle rain with a cold mist swirling around the tree
tops. I watched as the long lines of workers moved swiftly along the narrow
muddy paths between the bushes. The pluckers were mostly young women,
often with babies wrapped tightly in well-worn kangas on their backs, generally
bare-foot, chatting happily among themselves. I saw how, with nimble fingers,
they deftly plucked two fresh, bright, lime-green leaves and a bud from the top
of each bush, leaving a neat, level layer of the older, olive-green leaves; and I
observed how the plucked leaves were gently dropped into their wide woven
panniers as they walked on to the next bush in the long line of vivid green.
After spending a while among the pickers, I was taken away to change into
dry clothing and enjoy a large breakfast in the home of my host for the day. Later
each morning, I was taken out to the factory in the middle of the estate to study
the bewildering collection of noisy machinery in use. I saw the way in which the
fresh green tea leaves were roasted and withered brown, then crushed, turned and
cut before being fermented and eventually dried on huge trays. The final process
was to sieve the shrivelled little pieces to be sorted and then packed in wooden
tea chests. The smell was surprisingly unpleasant though one soon got used to it.
Some of the machinery was of German origin, having been installed by settlers on
plantations cut from the virgin bush between the wars. From the factory I went
into the manager’s office each afternoon to learn about the records that were kept
and the paper-work required. Everyone I met was friendly, forthcoming and very
willing to discuss with me their life, the conditions under which they and their labour force worked, and the opportunities and challenges in each place. Each
team patiently explained to me what they were doing and why they did it, while
all the time I was listening, questioning and exchanging ideas.
In the evenings I drove back to Musekera and joined the Gouldings for
supper and to write up my notes - sitting in front of a roaring log-fire for it was
cold in the evenings in those hills. For my last two days, Professor Guillebaud
came down from Mufindi to stay with the Gouldings during the course of his
tour of the tea estates. He joined the party round the dining room table in the
evenings and I continued to find him a fascinating conversationalist. From him
and his hosts I like to think I learned a great deal very fast. It was with regret
that my week in Tukuyu came to an end, and with warm thanks to my host and
hostess I set off again in the Peugeot for a second week on safari - this time at
Mufindi.
Mufindi
Amiri and I drove out of Rungwe northwards hoping for drier roads. My
first stop was the busy town of Mbeya on the Great North Road that had been
a Provincial Headquarters and possessed an aerodrome, a good hospital and a
variety of shops, hotels and schools. I had been invited to lunch with Stewart and
Fiona Inchbold-Stevens, who had been so good to me when living in Kisarawe
and later stayed with me in Morogoro. I found them well dug in with their
growing family and enjoying the more equable climate of their new station.
Amiri and I drove on all afternoon and were tired when we finally reached
the Brooke Bond guest house next to the Knights’ home in the Mufindi hills
around 7pm. Twelve hours later, I was out again on foot, being shown round
the nearest of their tea gardens. Having recently spent a few days there I already
knew a little of the area, but I was to learn much more that week. Mufindi was
a high plateau on the rim of the extension of the Rift Valley of beautiful, rolling
country, about thirty miles long and fifteen wide. There was no village of that
name, but roughly in the centre of the area was the small group of shabby shacks
named Kibao, not far from the BB company headquarters at Lugoda. Along the
top of the ridge was a reserve of dense virgin forest, surrounded by plantations
of pines, eucalyptus, wattle and bracken, and, all over the hills, were acres and
acres of fresh green tea bushes. Earth tracks divided the tea into manageable
areas, and tall grevillea trees shaded it with leaves that sparkled silver in the
sunlight after the rain.
Like Tukuyu, Mufindi had a long rainy season of five or six months, with
swirling mists in the early mornings, regular drizzle, and torrential downpours in the afternoons. Nearly all the tea was harvested and processed in this period,
and it was normally followed by several cool, dry months when the bushes were
dormant and little crop was collected. The temperature was always cool, and
the Brooke Bond staff and other planters had to work hard for half the year but
tended to have an easier time in the dry season when they could clean up their
factories and improve the roads that were so vital for bringing in supplies and
taking out the tea - their finished product - to be shipped from Dar es Salaam
to their markets in Europe.
I spent a good week among the friendly folk, doing very much what I had
at Tukuyu - visiting diff erent gardens each day to meet the manager, walking
round his tea and talking through with him his work and its problems, while
observing how he lived and managed his estate. BB was run by some very
pleasant men; after Peter Knight, the next senior man was Richard Hartley, and
two other directors were Ian Somerville and Derrick Hester who took me under
their wing, and showed me round the BB’s big old factory; built by the Germans
long before the war and equipped with new machinery in the ensuing years.
I soon discovered that nearly all the men who lived on and ran the tea
gardens in the employment of both BB and GW had learned their trade in
Assam, South India or Ceylon. One by one, I gathered, these men and their
families had moved across to East Africa for greater security following the postindependence
troubles in the Asian sub-continent. Th ey were delightful people
that were accustomed to living in small self-contained communities and looking
after themselves remote from the city comforts, and were all the nicer people
for that reason.
John Walsh had been anxious that I should spend time not only with BB,
but also at some of the privately-owned plantations that had been developed by
settlers and were still in their possession. So from BB I drove to Stone Valley in
the north of the Mufindi Hills, which was managed by Pat Lockington. I got to
know him and his wife, Elizabeth, met their team of three assistants, and learned
that their tea was of the highest quality with the smallest yield per acre. Another
private estate was a relatively small place named Idetero, owned by the Mufindi
Tea Company and run by a fellow named Lawrence Napier-Ford. Mad keen on
sailing, he showed me with pride the Mufindi Sailing Club on the lake sheltered
among their estates.
The smaller properties tended to be managed informally by hard-working
settlers who had developed their own private tea gardens, literally from
scratch, knew personally all their employees, and had worked the land with
them for many years. These farmers were tough, hard-working, outdoor types, experienced in agricultural techniques, paternal towards their labour
force, and generally conservative in outlook. They had few overheads, but
nevertheless had to struggle very hard to make a living off their smaller
acreages. Th ey were fiercely independent of the big company although their
tea when plucked had to be taken by tractor across to the BB factory for
processing - and, like most farmers, they had scant time for any form of
government.
From time to time on these journeys one had the pleasure of seeing wild
animals going about their business in the bush as we drove through. On the
way down on that trip, elephant were on the move around Mikumi; and
on my return, following a violent thunderstorm, we rounded a bend in the
Ruaha Gorge to see a big elephant rubbing its bottom against a huge rock in
the river-bed. It glanced nonchalantly over its shoulder as I drew up the car,
not a stone’s throw away across the river, and carried on scratching. I could
have watched it for hours, but regretfully, after a while, left it still scratching
and continued the long drive back to Dar, loaded with plants from Mufindi
for Elinor Walsh to add to the colour in her garden at Massie Road.
My new home
While I was on safari in April, the Kurasini bungalow was transformed. Th is
is how John described it in a letter to the Chairman:
The house is a bungalow type with a verandah on two sides, a dining room cum
sitting room, kitchen, pantry, one bathroom and lavatory, one main bedroom and
two smaller bedrooms. It seems in good repair and is an attractive house set in a
small garden with some nice trees giving shade. It is in a good locality. In fact there
is something very attractive about it.
Pleasant and convenient for living, it had been decorated in a cool white paint,
the fridge and cooker had been renovated, and the house completely rewired. I
moved in during the second week of May on return from Mufindi, even before
my heavy baggage had arrived from England. Behind the house were the servants’
quarters which Amiri occupied with his wife and a small child. Beside my front
door was a lean-to garage; and half an acre of garden included three or four fi ne
old trees, a large clump of lilies, a couple of rambling and colourful bougainvillea,
some prickly pear with vicious prickles and a mass of unruly grass.
On the whole, the Kurasini bungalow served me well. Just four drawbacks
emerged after I had lived there for a while. The convent school next door was
noisy when the children fi nished their lessons in the afternoons and set off excitedly for their homes. The plumbing gave trouble from time to time; the
garden was in a mess and needed more attention than I had time to give it; and
it was in such a quiet location that we were an easy prey to sneak-thieves. That
said, though Kurasini could be very hot and sticky, I counted myself fortunate
to have such a comfortable bachelor home.
The Usambaras
In the middle of June after settling in at Kurasini, I completed my introduction
to tea with a tour of the estates in the Western and Eastern Usambara Mountains
in the north-east of the country beyond Tanga. I drove for the first time on the
new road that had been carved out of the bush along the borders of Pangani
District to Korogwe. It was altogether an easier run than the old road through
Handeni where I had served in 1957, and the short cut enabled me to reach my
destination easily within the day.
The climate in the Usambaras was quite different from that of Mufindi and
Tukuyu in the south where the six month rainy season was normally followed
by several months of dry weather. By contrast, there was no dry season in the
Usambaras; the rain fell intermittently all the year round - and it was certainly
very wet as soon as we left the plains. Amiri put the chains on the rear wheels
again and we travelled with them through a sea of mud for most of the week,
and the car had to be pushed through many slippery patches on those neglected
hill roads.
I went straight to Ngambo Estate to meet the Chairman of the Usambara
District of the Association named Hunter Cooper. A tall, lanky energetic
man, shortly to retire, he knew the mountains and tea-growing inside out.
Unfortunately I was able to spend only one night with him for the tea gardens
were widely scattered, and thereafter I spent only a morning on each estate
before driving on to the next one for the night. Every day I woke up in a strange
house in a different property, where I was shown round the tea and the factory.
From Ngambo I moved across to Kwamkoro managed on behalf of a Tangabased
big sisal company, Bird & Co, by Mike West who was married to Hunter’s
daughter. From the Wests’ house, I crossed to Herkulu Estate managed by Wyon
Stansfeld. It was he who, with his wife, Lorna, had entertained me the previous
January and offered me my job. Thence I found my way to Ambangulu run by a
hearty young Swiss called Hans Salwegter; on to Balangai that was both owned
and managed by Dick Tait; and on again to Marvera whose manager happened
to be married to Wyon Stansfeld’s daughter. Not long after my visit, the workers
refused to work because of the very bad weather, and Wyon had to rush across to help and advise his son-in-law on handling the strike. I suspected he probably
spent as much time there as he did on his own plantation at Herkulu - at times
those hills seemed the property of one big inter-locking family. The mountain
forests and countryside were very beautiful; the estates were well laid out and
carefully looked after; and the managers’ bungalows were comfortable and
generally surrounded by flourishing gardens. Everyone I met was friendly and
patient with me, and they all seemed happy to discuss with me their life and
their work, how they ran their tea gardens and how they lived their lives in those
inaccessible hills.
One weekend, I found myself high in the mountains between Korogwe and
Lushoto, far off the main road, in deep luscious rain-forest, relaxing at a very
pretty and peaceful little tea estate called Kunga. Ken Davey was in charge of
this estate; he had previously worked in Kenya, and was soon to replace Hunter
as Chairman of the Usambaras District. On my second weekend, after a long
tour all round the mountains, I was back at Balangai, to be the guest of Dick
and Erica Tait for a final night before going down to Tanga on the coast the next
day.
Rather than scurry back to Dar, I ended this tour by attending a meeting
of the Usambara District of the TTGA at the offices of Bird & Co in Tanga
with Hunter in the chair. All the managers gathered to exchange views on their
current preoccupations, and made me deliver a full report of my tour, before
discussing their own problems. I told John Walsh that they exchanged views
on ‘all the old chestnuts’ at this meeting. They had a great many complaints
to make and problems to solve, and I formed the impression that they had a
tougher time than those running the estates in the south of the country. In the
northern mountains, they had more labour trouble; their land was less fertile,
their rainfall was less frequent and less reliable; their roads were in a worse
condition; and they had many difficulties in growing any tea at all.
That was the end of my introduction to the tea industry in Tanganyika. In
those three short but comprehensive tours, I had learnt a tremendous amount,
not only about tea and estate management, but also about other people’s lives
and outlooks.
Doing useful work
By the beginning of June, I had grasped the essentials of my new job and
began to be useful to the Association. I sat in on all discussions with our
members. I wrote full reports on my safaris for the Executive Committee; and
I accompanied and supported John in his meetings with Government officials and with Martin Lewis, the FTE Director. John and I worked closely with the
FTE team on any number of joint activities and combined representations to
officials and Government ministers.
The TTGA Executive Committee met in Dar in early June. The members
came in from the four corners of the country, for a long morning session in
our offices in the Standard Bank Building and for an evening sundowner and
an exchange of current ‘shop’ in the Walsh’s lovely garden. On the second day
members attended a meeting of the Tea Board with the Government people,
and afterwards the whole TTGA Committee descended on my bungalow at
Kurasini where I provided drinks and was delighted to show the members
round while my staff looked after them very well.
In June I was asked to write not only the Association’s annual report for
1963, but also confidential reports for TTGA members about the political
scene, the new administrative organisation and the changing laws on
immigration. In trying to present a complete picture, the work required a
good deal of research into the new legal framework, but it was important for
our members to be aware of the local government environment within which
they had to work.
The Executive Committee gathered in Dar again in July, and it was then that
I first met Charles Gardner who had been a Kenya District Commissioner and
moved across to work for George Williamsons in Nairobi. He was sent to Dar
to represent GW at that meeting and asked me to put him up. Only a couple of
years older than me he was perhaps the only one of the TTGA members of my
generation. He had a very good job looking after GW’s external and business
relations and was a delightful man with whom I much enjoyed talking.
August was the month of the TTGA Annual General Meeting, and a busy
time for the staff when nearly all the managers and owners came in from their
estates in every part of the country. We hired a big room for the meetings, and
the members elected a new Chairman and a refreshed Executive Committee
to pursue negotiations with the TUPW and the Government. The Chairman
gave an overview of the economic and political situation and listed the
challenges presented by the independent Government to all private employers
in Tanganyika. His conclusion for the tea industry was depressing - that growing
tea in Tanganyika yielded little profit; the margins were very slender and the very
existence of members’ operations in the country appeared to be under severe
threat from the emerging radical policies of the independent Government. (See Appendix)
With this cheerless message in their minds, members adjourned for their
yearly gathering and ‘annual function’, a buffet supper party for fifty in the
Walsh’s garden at what John cheerfully called ‘The House of the August Moon’.
For me this was the greatest fun - the best party of the year. John and Elinor
were in a good mood because Dar es Salaam’s annual flower show had just taken
place and they had won the two most coveted prizes - the ‘best flower garden’
and the ‘best vegetable garden’; and all the following week they opened their
garden to the public in aid of charity. On the second evening of the AGM, we
were all entertained by Tony Lawrence of the Tanganyika Cotton Company that
had interests in tea - the only member of ours resident in Dar; and we all went to
a new hotel where Brooke Bond threw a big party and put everyone in a cheerful
mood despite the industry’s problems.
The second half of August was passed in my taking over John’s work before
he went on three months leave. At the same time we moved our offices into
larger rooms along the corridor in the Barclay’s Bank Building. Then he was off
and I was on my own.
The House in Massie Road
On 3rd September, I put the Walshes on the MV Kenya for the voyage
to Venice at the start of their leave, and moved across with my personal
possessions to their house in Massie Road. My bungalow at Kurasini was
sub-let to a young couple who were in desperate need of somewhere to start
off - nice people whom I had known for some time. The Walsh’s home was
as luxurious and commodious as anywhere in Dar es Salaam, but for me it
was a heavy responsibility. I had a long list of instructions about paying their
large staff, feeding Vixen, Elinor’s little dog, winding the clocks, looking after
John’s Mercedes, and what to do and what not to do in the garden. The house
was made for entertaining; their long verandah was full of flourishing plants
- magical after dark - and ideal for a party, and it became my job to put up a
constant stream of visitors from the tea estates, invite people in to meet them
and generally give them a good time.
Almost as soon as I moved in, I put up Charles Gardner for two nights and
then gave a bed to one of the senior Nairobi directors of GW named Malcolm
Betten who was escorting a delegation of two of the top brass from London
who owned tea estates in Tukuyu. This group of company directors wanted to
encourage tea-growing among African farmers living around their estates and
had decided to finance a cooperative society for the purpose. I arranged for them
to call on the Minister for Cooperative Development and the acting British High Commissioner, Stephen Miles, and gave them a sundowner in order for
them to meet local dignitaries and officials whom I knew in the Secretariat.
Malcolm came back again a couple of weeks later with another delegation of
owners from London, and again a month later with a third group of company
directors on a tour of their estates in Tanganyika. Two BB Directors came out
from England for a couple of days in October; the Deputy Chairman at Mufindi,
Richard Hartley stayed a while for briefings at the TTGA; Pat Lockington of
Stone Valley was my guest; and at one stage I put up the schoolboy son of
another Mufindi tea planter on his way back to school.
From the Usambaras I received visits from two managers and Wyon Stansfeld,
my Chairman. While Wyon was staying, Committee members gathered for
briefing at the house one evening before a delegation went to meetings at the
Ministry of Labour about minimum wages.
Tukuyu tea planters also came up to Dar from time to time. Cyril Goulding
came up to Dar to stay for several days, and his daughter passed through on
the way to her parents’ home in Tukuyu. A little later, I helped arrange the visit
there of Christopher Macrae and his wife from the High Commission. It was
a merry-go-round, but a pleasant one, meeting new people all the time and
helping them on their way.
Family matters: January to August
On my return to Dar es Salaam, my mother resumed her practice of writing
to me once a week, and my father started work again as a locum filling in
during the holidays of the partners of the Tenterden GPs’ practice. In June, in
his last term at Swanbourne prep school, I was told that my eldest nephew, Peter
Eberlie, had played Mark Antony in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar;, and on leaving
the school that July he invited me to join him in presenting a cup to the school
which I thought an excellent plan.
I kept up with my sister Margaret, who was ambitiously taking a
correspondence course for a degree in English through Wolsey Hall and was full
of news of her growing family. Robin was doing well at his London prep school,
and Alison sent me for my birthday a rather obscure drawing of a giant purple
beetle with the legend MAN RUNNING AWAY FROM AN INDIAN TENT.
Margaret had written on it, Outline by Disy (Felicity) and improvements by Alison.
I have it still.
At the end of a letter I wrote to Margaret in May I added by way of a PS.
….Seriously, have you ever thought of your son coming out to stay with me for a special
summer holiday, now I’ve got a house. I could pay fare. Is it worth investigating?
Margaret responded positively and I wrote in August to tell her I had joined
the Dar es Salaam Parents’ Association and provisionally booked a seat for Robin
on the school-children’s charter flight out from London to Dar the following
summer, although I recognised it might well not fit in with his plans.
It was in late June, while on safari at Herkulu Estate, that I received a report
from home that my father had been rushed to hospital late one night and
operated on for a blocked prostate gland. It was a worrying time for my mother,
but, happily, the patient seemed to recover quickly and was fit enough to join a
family holiday in August at Mundesley on the Norfolk coast, with my brother
John and family. My nephew, Peter, started at Sherborne in September, and
went to Elmdene, the ‘waiting house’ for School House, thus following me to
public school as he had to prep school.
Friends Old and New
During my first weeks back in Dar, I was content to meet the Walsh’s
friends and colleagues in the tea business, and, when not on safari, was fully
occupied moving into my new bungalow. I did however rejoin the Tanganyika
Society, attend most of its evening lectures, resume my place on the Editorial
Board of the journal, Tanganyika Notes and Records, and begin to write for it
again. I joined the Dar es Salaam Club, and was appointed to the National
Co-ordinating Committee for Welfare Services, run by the lady Minister for
Welfare, Lucy Lameck, who was commendably trying to stir things up a bit.
More importantly, I dug out my easel and spent a good deal of money on oil
paints and canvas boards, and, when I could squeeze in the time, started painting
the landscape round the Kurasini creek, only a few steps beyond my front door.
Soon after returning to Dar, I was a guest at a dinner party of the British
High Commissioner, Sir Neil Pritchard, whom I had first met when I had
been the Governor General’s ADC the previous year. The Pritchards had set up
house on Kenyatta Drive (formerly Kingsway) just across the Selander Bridge,
where, surrounded by flame trees, with the Indian Ocean breaking on cliffs just
across the road, they entertained generously. Sir Neil made a big splash on the
occasion of the Queen’s Official Birthday on June 8th and held a reception in
the biggest suitable room in Dar, the Karimjee Hall, to which he invited the
world and his wife - and all the politicians from the President downwards. It was
a massive affair and good public relations for the British Government. I enjoyed
the throng, but reflected ruefully on my first day as ADC when I had attended
the Governor General’s reception in the gardens of Government House on the
Queen’s Birthday twelve months earlier. I was in a different world.
Many of my old chums had left the country, but happily some remained,
and several of the Turnbulls’ coterie were still around and kind enough to invite
me to their homes from time to time. Among them were the Windhams, for
Sir Ralph remained Chief Justice of the independent country, and the Ivan-
Smiths who continued to represent the United Nations in East Africa. I renewed
contact with the O’Hagans with whom I had stayed on leaving Government
House that January, and I saw something of the Keights of the British Council,
and of the Johnstons - Pat being the elegant and cheerful companion of HE on
numerous hill-climbs while I had been ADC.
Dar was still a small world; former acquaintances whom I had known several
years earlier were in touch. I dined with Dennis and Sybella O’Callaghan, had
business with Randall Sadleir who was in charge of public relations for the new
Government, and saw something of Anne and Tim Ealand from the Dorset
Regiment seconded to the Tanganyikan Rifl es, living comfortably on the hill
above Colito Barracks. Tony Golding, my old Nzega DC, was still in Dar as
Director of the Tanganyika Tourist Board, while another Nzega friend, ‘Rummy’
Rumbold, had moved down to Dar and was turning the old Ocean Road Hospital into a maternity clinic. Penny and Geoffrey Gabb were sailing friends;
Mike Konstam, Crown Counsel and former colleague in the AG’s Chambers
was another sailor; Sue and Tim Tawney were in town; while Rosemary and
Michael Charles, with whom I had shared a boat at the Yacht Club at one time,
were still ready for a sail or an occasional rubber of bridge. Geraldine Tweed who
had been Lady Turnbull’s lady-in-waiting the previous December, invited me to
her wedding in the middle of September to a chap called Kevin.
Old friends, Simon Hardwick and Sheilagh Bailey were in Dar when I
arrived but disappeared after just one week. In a big new Mercedes, they set off
to drive the southern half of the Cape to Cairo route through Tanganyika into
Nyasaland, and on through the Rhodesias to South Africa. The two of them
went down to Cape Town, boarded the Lloyd Triestino boat, the MV Africa
that I knew so well, and sailed northwards up the east coast of Africa on her.
When eventually their boat called in at Dar es Salaam harbour on its way back
to Europe, docking at seven one morning and leaving again five hours later, I
joined them for breakfast on board and lent them my car to do various jobs
ashore before they continued on their journey back to Europe.
Two other friends from my previous tour were working at the Local
Government Training School at Mzumbe near Morogoro where I had lectured
when stationed there. Robin Saville, had been joined by Andrew Marshall, the
former DOI of Kisarawe. He came down to stay at Kurasini in early July and
invited me to join in a climb in the Uluguru Mountains later in the month. I
leapt at the chance and Pip Saville was good enough to put me up. So Robin,
Andrew and I set off very early one Sunday morning straight up the hillside
behind Morogoro. The air was fresh and cool as we entered the lush woodland
and began to climb the steep and rugged mountain-side. We scrambled upwards
beside little tinkling streams and through thick forest of fine old trees with
trailing creepers, and among huge ferns and fascinating bright orchids. It grew
steeper and rougher walking and every muscle ached before we reached the treeline.
We had then to make our way over loose stone and bare, rocky outcrops
to the summit. For some reason we passed the time talking about James Bond,
his numerous beautiful girl friends, and how they all met sticky ends. After four
and a half hours of steady climbing we were rewarded with a superb view and
wonderful air at the top.
We had then a long and equally exhausting scramble down hill home again.
Back by 3 p.m., we were rewarded with tea and scrambled eggs prepared by
Pip - we were stiff, scratched, filthy and weary but very satisfied. It was the third
peak over 7,000 feet in the Ulugurus that I had conquered, but I was sad when, in early August, the Savilles joined the exodus to England and left Mzumbe on
retirement. They came down to Dar for a few days before sailing home on the
MV Kenya. I helped give them a farewell party with their Dar friends and a
cheerful send-off on the boat.
Simon Hardwick returned in early September after four months leave and
stepped into Robin Saville’s shoes, teaching at Mzumbe alongside Andrew
Marshall. Simon spent a night or two with me before going up to Morogoro
to start work and returned a week later for a longer stay to do business in
Dar. His second visit coincided with the arrival of Peter Mence, my opposite
number in the Kenya Tea Growers’ Association, who came down for a short
holiday with a Kericho friend. At the same time, out of the blue, a young
Assistant Manager from a tea estate near Amani asked for a bed for the
weekend while seeing the dentist. Fortunately there was room in the Massie
Road house for everyone, and I was able to give them all a drinks party in the
garden among the roses - twenty-five people, mostly young couples, two or
three from the British High Commission, three or four attractive girls and half
a dozen bachelors.
Pat Johnston and I got together on several occasions to lay detailed plans
to climb more mountains, though sadly they came to nothing. Sir Richard
Turnbull was then working in Nairobi and invited us both to join him in
tackling Kisigao, a challenging peak on the northern flank of Kilimanjaro,
but after much elaborate planning, the idea fell through. Some time later,
Pat and I made arrangements to travel up to Arusha in order to climb Mount
Meru but in the end we could find no guides for the weekend we had in
mind, so that scheme also fell flat. We did manage to get away together a
couple of times to scramble over the lower slopes of the Ulugurus, but the
chance to assault a ‘real’ mountain eluded us.
I escaped to Morogoro just once in the autumn for a more modest
hill-climb with Simon Hardwick and Andrew Marshall, and just a month
later, they came down together for a relaxing weekend as my guests. I also
saw something of my friends, the Bowdens, who came down to Dar from
Dodoma for a couple of days in November and joined me for a pleasant
evening although, unfortunately, I could not put them up because the house
was full of tea planters.
The Chartered Institute of Secretaries
When job-hunting in London, I had been told that the qualification of
Chartered Secretary would look good on my curriculum vitae and be an asset
when seeking employment in the UK. CIS Membership would demonstrate
breadth of knowledge and understanding of all aspects of administration
and indicate my seriousness in seeking a career in this field. So on arriving
back in Dar, I signed on at the Metropolitan College in England for a threeyear
correspondence course to become a chartered secretary. I arranged to
receive their tutorial and test papers regularly by air-mail and write essays
for them periodically on subjects like company law, economics, accounts,
and office management.
I started reading the first series of CIS study notes over Easter on my
return from Tukuyu, and found it excessively hard to concentrate on bookwork
at the end of a day in the office. However I scribbled my first four essays
for the Metropolitan College in July; and the results were pretty average, but
just good enough for me to decide to stick at it.
Keeping the essays going became more and more difficult as other
jobs accumulated, the evenings grew hotter and the atmosphere ever
more enervating. I just about managed, however, and sat the first set of
the Institute’s exams in early December after moving back to my Kurasini bungalow. Distracted by various upheavals, I did not do well; the Economics
paper was particularly difficult and I was doubtful of success.
Sailing
I rejoined the Yacht Club on return to Dar, but there was no sailing until
June when I went down for the opening regatta of the season. I took a job as
crew in a dinghy belonging to Mike Konstam, and enjoyed being out on the
water once more. A fortnight later, I crewed for Mike Charles and enjoyed
a superb Saturday afternoon race with forty boats out round the island and
back in a fresh breeze. The waves were high outside the harbour and we were
drenched, but it was exhilarating and I renewed my conviction that sailing
was the best way to pass the hot, muggy Dar es Salaam weekends.
I determined to get a boat of my own again, and acquired a strong and
sea-worthy sixteen-footer from a judge of the High Court, who let me crew
in her on several occasions to try her out before I bought her. She was called
Rock’n Roll, in a class known as a Sharpie that was wonderful for racing,
having a Bermuda rig, plank hull, red terylene jib and a vast blue spinnaker.
She was a good deal faster than dear old Greyhound that I had owned
before, and, when I first took the helm in a strong wind, it was thrilling to
find oneself in command of such a large and yet delicate craft going so fast.
The crew and I were soaked wet from the spray and the waves, but we leapt
across the harbour at a great speed.
The Yacht Club was a happy place that summer despite the politics.
About a hundred school-children arrived from home to rejoin their parents
for the holidays, and most of them appeared at the Yacht Club over the
weekends when I took my boat out as often as I could. In early August, the
Zanzibar Yacht Club came over in force for their Annual Regatta, and we
had two days of exciting team-racing. My boat was in use all the time and
I raced her on the Sunday afternoon. She went beautifully; conditions were
ideal, everyone was very friendly and happy, and it made a very pleasant
weekend. Little did we know that this was to be the last such occasion.
Sadly, I had little time to sail that autumn but seized the odd Saturday
afternoon for racing with Mike Konstam and the Gabbs; and on the
occasional Sunday I went out in Rock’n Roll with pleasant companions to
Honeymoon Island, or around the harbour and up the creek in the cool of
the evening.
The Society for the Blind
A month after my return to Dar, I was re-elected to the Committee of the
Society for the Blind. The Society’s Chairman, Dr Daya, and Treasurer, Bob
Campbell-Ritchie became friends over the following months as I found myself
gradually drawn back into the Society’s work. With the greatest reluctance, I
gave way to pleadings that I take over temporarily as Secretary of the Society,
when the previous incumbent had made of mess of the job before leaving for
Europe.
Th e work piled up. I was in constant contact with the Ministry of Education
and the Royal Commonwealth Society for the Blind (RCSB) to encourage
the teaching of blind children of primary school age in Tanganyika. We had
a class at a primary school in Uhuru Street in Dar; and the RCSB sent out an
experienced teacher named Myers to run a training course for student teachers
of such children. Dr Daya and I hosted a tea party for thirty-eight trainees on
Myers’ course and organised a film show for them. I lectured them, ran two
meetings for them and organised the presentation of diplomas at the end of
their course.
When Myers left at the end of August, I hoped to be able to set aside Society
problems and concentrate on my real job at the TTGA. It was not to be. Not only did he return a month later to write a report, I had to ask Wyon for two
days off in late September to motor up to Dodoma on behalf of the Society.
We were one of the hosts at the opening of a new ophthalmic ward in the
Mvumi Mission Hospital and Leprosy Centre that was sited some thirty miles
south of the town in the driest and poorest part of the country. The Bishop
of Central Tanganyika dedicated the ward and Mr Job Lusinde, Minister for
Home Affairs, formally opened it, before we were shown round and given a cup
of tea and a sticky bun. I was introduced to the Dodoma dignitaries and the
medical and mission staff, and we all mingled with a huge number of local folk
from the surrounding district. I stayed with the Bowdens who told me of the
work and social life at the headquarters of the Geological Survey Department.
They seemed very happy with their small son, Richard in a very pretty new
house on the edge of the town.
On my second day there, I took the opportunity to drive out to see a long established
school for blind boys run by two devoted old missionaries at a
desolate place called Buigiri. Their school was situated some way off the main
road in an area that was almost a desert; they had had no rain for six months,
nothing was growing, the hills were quite bare, and the village people in their
neighbourhood were very hungry. I was hugely impressed and awed by the
devotion of the small mission staff and their fantastic achievement against all
the odds; I came away with a long list of things to do for them in Dar.
I nevertheless begrudged the time spent supporting the Blind Society, and
was relieved to be helped more and more by a cheerful lady, Sheila Cromarty
who took on the job of minute secretary. Even so I was still involved in Society
work. Myers wrote a report recommending ‘integrated education’ for blind
children in primary schools throughout the country, and it became my task
to follow it up and promote his ideas by writing a précis of his plan and
presenting it to the Minister for Education, with a programme to put it into
effect.
Once more, I was drawn into the preparations for the Society’s annual fete at
the beginning of November. Balozi Maggid, my former colleague at the Dar es
Salaam District Office, had remained on the committee since I had introduced
him to the Society some years earlier. Now he recruited me to join his team to
organise the 1963 fete in the gardens of State House. He held frequent meetings
of his group and kept us all busy. Some of my jobs were useful in enabling me to
develop contacts with the Tanganyika Rifles who lent us tents, rope and stakes,
and the Tanganyika Police whose band played all afternoon and whose dogs
gave a demonstration that delighted the crowd. Shop-keepers were generous and gave us lots of tombola and craft prizes and we had a good number of
people around our jumble and white elephant stalls. The final accolade was a
visit from the President and Mrs Nyerere, who watched the blind children from
Uhuru Street School demonstrate their crafts.
To my intense irritation, after distributing the raffle prizes, I went back to
the ‘command’ tent to find a snatch thief had stolen my thermos flask, diary and
picnic basket. It was a great relief when, next morning on return to the grounds
to clear up, Sefu, my old servant, then employed at State House, produced the
diary that he had found where the thief had discarded it in some long grass.
All the old staff that I had known when ADC were still there, working for the
President’s family, and as helpful as ever to me at a time like that fete.
Unfortunately the TSB work did not end there. After another long meeting
of its Council, I found myself drafting and then publicising a job description
for an Executive Officer for the Society. The job was to be funded partly by the
RCSB and partly by the Ministry of Education. In the New Year, hoping against
hope such a person would relieve me of some of the Society work, I conducted
interviews of possible candidates in company with Balozi and wondered if at last
I could hand over my work for the blind.
September to December: in charge of the TTGA
On Johns’ departure on leave, I became solely responsible not only for their
Massie road house, but also for the TTGA, as Acting Secretary and very much on
my own. Pat Randall fell ill, and was packed off to recuperate on Herkulu Estate
in the hills as guest of the Stansfelds. After convalescence I welcomed her back
warmly and relied on her as my mainstay while John was away. I sent him copious
reports on the Association’s activities, and he wrote back on air-letters his advice
and views, which were always helpful.
The senior members of the Association were very supportive. For example I
received a letter from Wyon Stansfeld, my Chairman, full of wise advice about
our trade union negotiations and some good counsel that bears repeating here.
He wrote: I expect by now John will have left and so we will have to tackle the matter
without his computer-like ability to find the answer to most problems connected with
labour. Not to worry, Dick, on this score. We haven’t all had his long experience in such
things. I find that there is rarely a perfect solution and that the opposite side is usually
more ignorant of case law and other such matters as we ourselves. Common sense and a
sense of humour mixed with abundant patience make a reasonable sort of cake whilst
polite stubbornness over matters which are inherently wrong prevents the cake from
burning.
It had been agreed at our AGM that Wyon would stand down as Chairman
at the end of October - he planned to retire and felt it was time for a change.
For his last fling, he came to spend a week with me for a series of meetings with
Association members and the FTE in order to discuss the business response to
the increasingly forceful demands of the trade union and Government. We got
a lot of work done, for Wyon was an effective operator as well as an easy and
entertaining guest. We dined out on two evenings and together saw the war film
The Longest Day.
The new Chairman was Richard Magor, the senior man in George
Williamsons in Nairobi. He was comparatively young for such a senior
post, but was well off and reputed to spend a lot of his time at the races,
and to pass August in Scotland for the shooting. He was no tea planter, but
a highly professional company director, and a good, if brusque, chairman,
dismissive of opinions he did not share, and not perhaps as easy and down
to earth as his predecessor. It was for him that I found myself working
when Mr Kamaliza, the Minister for Labour dropped his bombshell that
autumn and announced the Government’s intention to merge all the
existing trade unions into one and create a National Workers Movement
(NWM), to form workers’ committees on every employment site, and
require employers to give them wide powers over their employment.
Inevitably our members were immensely worried at the implications of
these proposals. I had a flurry of visitors from the tea estates; Charles
Gardner of GW became was a frequent caller, and poor Peter Knight had
to cut his leave short and fly back from the UK in a hurry in order to work
out how Brooke Bond, with its large labour force, should react to the new
demands from the Government.
Fortunately perhaps, the trade unions did not like some of the Government
schemes any more than we did; the Minister seemed to back down and
offered discussions. Richard Magor worked Charles and me hard to organise
a series of meetings and consult our members about the Government’s ideas,
while simultaneously coordinating our views with those of other agricultural
employers through the FTE. Richard was impatient with the others for
being slow to respond to the Government; he thought they were acting
purely in the interests of the rich producers in sugar and sisal, and they were
neglecting the interests of the marginal tea industry. Some employers were
deeply concerned, whilst others felt the crisis would blow over. They were
right in so far as Kamaliza disappeared to Moscow to learn the Communist
approach, and we were given a breathing space.
Richard was equally at odds with some of his own TTGA members; he
caught the flu, however and Wyon took his place temporarily. Once more he
stayed with me to chair a meeting of our Executive Committee followed by a
session with the Standing Joint Committee and a meeting with Government
officials at the Tea Board. For me this represented a tough week, for I was hard at
it in the office preparing the papers, notes and records until my members went
back to their estates.
In the middle of this busy time, at about ten o’clock on the evening of our
Tea Board meeting, Tony Lawrence, some of the nicest tea men and I were
dining out at Margot’s, and tucking into a delicious lobster thermidor when the
maitre d’hotel came up to our table with the tragic news of the assassination of
President Kennedy. We were stunned. The murder of the leader of the free world
was deeply shocking, and that Saturday became a day of national mourning in
Tanganyika, as, I dare say, in most capital cities throughout the West. Shops and
offices closed early as we went home to listen to the unfolding tragedy on the
wireless, and it took everyone in Dar a long time to return to normality.
Richard quickly recovered from his flu and came down to Dar to chair an
important Executive Committee meeting when all the tea-growing districts
were represented; and the TTGA had a major row with the FTE in discussions
that continued into December.
The following weeks were busy in the office as I prepared for the Walsh’s
return to Dar. They flew by air to Nairobi in mid November, and John rang me
from there to summon me to join him in order that I could brief him and the
Chairman on recent events. So I hopped on the first plane to Kenya and had
a day filling him and Richard in with the background to recent events in Dar
es Salaam. Then we all flew back to Dar together. John and Elinor were laden
with bulbs for their garden, for which special permission had been secured. My
work in the office became rather less interesting when I handed over all the more
important negotiations to him.
In the week before Christmas another meeting of our Committee took place
in Mufindi. This time, instead of flying there, I drove down in convoy with
John’s Mercedes, with Elinor and two Usambara members as his passengers.
We broke the journey at Iringa and had a pleasant evening at the hotel before
motoring the eighty miles of muddy roads up into the hills for discussions at the
Brooke Bond offices. I relished the cool air - it was growing very hot in Dar - as
our worried members debated the Association’s response to the FTE about the
latest Government proposals. The Walshes stayed up in the hills for Christmas
while I drove back with a great deal of work to do over the holiday period.
Christmas and the New Year
I was on my own on Christmas Eve in my bungalow at Kurasini opening
parcels from my family and thinking of them all at home. In the evening I went
to the midnight communion service at the chapel run by the Missions to Seamen
in the docks - my nearest church. Next morning I drove out to Morogoro to
stay with Andrew Marshall. It was much cooler than Dar that had become
insufferable at night. We were three - two bachelors and a grass widower, whose
wife was in hospital about to have a baby - a bit on edge, poor chap.
On Boxing Day morning, I picked up my paint brushes again for a relaxing
morning and at lunchtime took a much-delayed three minute telephone call
from Hampstead where my parents were having a second Christmas celebration
with Margaret and her family. They sounded very faint and we had to shout to
each other down the line, but I heard my mother’s voice and the children told
me about their presents. Robin sounded very grown-up, while Alison was the
clearest with her firm, precise voice. Then in the evening, still chuckling over
our brief conversation, I motored home with a pile of work waiting for me in
the office on Boxing Day.
Charles Gardner spent several days with me at Kurasini at the end of the
month, and again in early January, so that we could work together on aspects
of the Government plan. He had to rush back when Jessica was born in Nairobi
Hospital - a happy start to the New Year - and I missed several Christmas parties as
I cleared up after the Mufindi Executive Committee and prepared for key meetings
between the Federations of Kenya and Tanganyika Employers in the New Year.
We moved straight into a round of meetings when all the key TTGA players
gathered in Dar in order to brief a small employers’ delegation to present our case
to the Minister in person. Immediately afterwards another round of meetings
took place to consider the outcome of this audience. The circus continued.
The nicest event in the New Year was the appearance of Delma Smith, my old
friend from Cambridge days. She was engaged to an officer in the Scots Guards
whom she had met when she had been working as a secretary at Buckingham
Palace and he had been in charge of the guard there. While waiting for her own
wedding, she was flying out to South Africa for a short holiday, and to attend
the marriage of her brother. I met her at our airport off a Comet, booked her a
room in the New Africa Hotel, took her home to Kurasini and had much fun
showing her round the town, and taking her to Margot’s with other friends for a
good meal. Delma was yet another lovely girl with whom I had missed the boat;
I kicked myself as I put her on her Viscount to Johannesburg, and that was the
last I saw of her.
Then I wrote a long letter to Margaret renewing my suggestion that Robin
should come out the following summer for a month’s holiday as my guest. She
thought he would get more fun and benefit were he a bit older, which was
doubtless true, but I explained that until his twelfth birthday I could buy a half
price air fare for him, Dar ran a special Children’s Club in the summer, and there
would be lots of other children of his age about the place. He would have his
own bicycle; there would be plenty of games and amusements in the mornings,
and we would be able to go together on ten day’s safari in the wilder parts of the
country. I already had in mind we would team up with the Windhams’ young
family for a tour of the game parks. Kathleen Windham was a delightful person,
with two boys aged fifteen and thirteen, John and Andrew, at English public
schools, and two younger daughters, Penelope and Belinda. I argued that, even
though Robin would be young for such a big trip, he would be well looked after,
and besides this would probably be my last chance as I expected to return to
England early in 1965.
|
Chapter 6: Revolution, Mutiny and Mayhem
|
May you live in interesting times.!
Reputed to be an ancient Chinese curse.
Revolution in Zanzibar
The British Government gave Zanzibar her independence in early December
1963, at the same time as Kenya, one year after Uganda, and two years later
than Tanganyika. The Cabinet at home must have heaved a collective sigh of
relief, mistakenly thinking they were finally shot of responsibility for the whole
of East Africa. Unfortunately they left one or two problems behind. One of
these concerned the constitution bequeathed to Zanzibar that had left the Arab
minority in a dominant position and the Sultan still in the seat of authority. The
vast majority of islanders who were African, descendants of slaves for the most
part, known as Shirazi, had been given little say in the new country’s government,
at least until a general election took place.
While I was busy entertaining Delma and arranging the first meeting of the year
of the TTGA Executive Committee, plotters must have been busy on the island. On
a Friday in the middle of January, my committee members finished their discussions
and flew back to their estates; I wrote the minutes of their meetings and left the office
for a quiet weekend; but on the Sunday came alarming news over the local wireless
of a sudden, violent uprising in Stone Town, the principal town on Zanzibar.
Next day refugees started arriving in Dar with the most horrifying stories.
They told us how a handful of ‘foreigners’ had flown in on the Saturday evening,
joined a group already waiting for them, and immediately occupied the Zanzibar
police stations and seized their armouries. The Mobile Police had all been armed
and at five minutes notice, but had been surprised in their sleep at 3 a.m and
swiftly disarmed. Only the police headquarters had refused to surrender and
held out that Sunday under Sullivan, the Police Commissioner, with three other
Europeans police officers and twenty askaris. They had been alerted early, fired
on their attackers, fought all day until they had run out of ammunition, and then displayed great courage. Sullivan had said, Let’s go! and flung open the
front door of the police station. Officers and men had shouldered their arms
and marched out in the face of an angry armed mob that had assembled in the
square outside the buildings. The policemen had marched through the milling
crowd Left…right…left…right… as a disciplined squad across the square and
down to the jetty. There they had leapt into police launches and sped across to
the yacht of the Sultan, Jamshid bin Abdullah, on which he and his numerous
family had taken refuge.
The accounts of massacres on the island that reached us that day and during
the following week were terrifying. The Times said there had been eight deaths,
but that was nonsense. Reports came into us in Dar that a well-organised group
of revolutionaries had quickly rounded up, beaten up and murdered the leading
Arabs of the Sultan’s government, while shooting anyone on the streets in order
to prevent any organised opposition. A crazy, self-styled ‘field-marshal’ named
Okello, from Pemba Island, had led the revolt and had let loose six hundred
heavily-armed rebels who roamed Zanzibar and Pemba, and had the whole
populace, including the politicians, at their mercy. The mob had seized guns and
run amok, paying off old scores and shooting indiscriminately.
We heard how Arabs, Indians and Goans living and working on the island had
been subject to lawless violence and humiliation, how whole families had been
massacred in their homes, how armed men had knocked in the doors of private
houses and sprayed rooms full of people with machine guns, how there had been
constant firing in the streets, and how a crocodile of young Goan children had
been gunned down on their way to church. A conservative estimate made in Dar
was that at least four hundred men, women and children had been killed over
the weekend, some being loyal African police, and the rest unarmed Indians and
Arabs shot by the insurgents without provocation.
To us, the coup appeared to have been carefully and thoroughly planned. We
were told at the outset that the revolution originated in Cuba where the leading
participants had been trained, and it rapidly emerged that the Russians, seeking a
foothold in Africa, had been active for at least a year among the Zanzibar workers’
union and the disaffected African politicians of the Shirazi party. After a very
few weeks, it was estimated that the number of those murdered was at least four
thousand, while many others had been held and tortured in miserable prisons. We
also learned later that at least a very large number of the Arab community on the
islands, men and women and children, had been forced on to overcrowded dhows
of questionable seaworthiness and ejected to make their way as best they could
across the Indian Ocean to Dhofar and Oman.
The revolutionaries appeared to have had orders not to shoot Europeans -
presumably because British soldiers were known to be stationed in some numbers
in Kenya, and a British warship was visible out at sea off the islands, ready to
intervene if Europeans were thought to be in danger. The Americans who had
been running the NASA tracking station were roughly manhandled and the
US Consul was locked up before they were all formally expelled. Otherwise
European business people and the remnants of the old white civil service had
largely been left alone. I heard of only two British families that had been obliged
to flee to Dar es Salaam. They had given shelter to African police who were
being chased by the revolutionaries. Their front doors had been battered in by
men with clubs and guns as they had fled out of the back of their houses on to
the beach and into boats. They had rowed out into the harbour and been shot
at whenever they had tried to return to land. One of the men had swum over to
the Sultan’s yacht and the others had been rescued by another sailing boat. As
they had rowed away, they had seen to their horror two Indians run on to the
beach chased by an armed mob and shot as they waded into the sea, but other
Europeans had been escorted indoors.
In Dar es Salaam, the Tanganyikan Red Cross swung into action. I spoke
to them and heard how they were urgently preparing emergency supplies of
blankets, blood, meat, vegetables, milk, tins of food and clothing; they were
ready to send these things over to the islands but frustrated because planes were
having great difficulty in landing.
Julius Nyerere, our President, allowed the deposed Sultan to come ashore
with his family at Dar, even though President Kenyatta in Kenya had refused
him permission to disembark at Mombasa. The Red Cross found warm clothes
for the wretched Sultan, his wife and eighteen children. These refugees had
nothing but the nightwear they were wearing when they had fled to their yacht
in the early hours of the Sunday, and they were making ready for a trip to
England in the middle of winter. We thought they were lucky to have escaped
with their lives - the Sultan’s staff and retainers who had remained behind were
unlikely to have been so fortunate.
All that January week, dreadful stories reached us in Dar of bloodshed
and extreme violence in Zanzibar - a severe setback to the peaceful evolution
of independence in East Africa and a tragic victory for fear, and guns, and
Communism. The new Zanzibar was born in a sea of blood.
The African politicians to whom the revolution was supposed to give power
hurried across to the mainland to see Nyerere and the Cabinet, begging the
help of Tanganyikan police in order to disarm the rebels and restore order. Nyerere wanted, we heard, to send in the Tanganyika Rifles in order to prevent
further bloodshed and finally agreed to allow the small tough mobile police unit
stationed in Dar, known as the ‘Field Force’, to be flown across to the island -
even though it risked a fight with the rebels. We believed most of the African
and Shirazi politicians on Zanzibar were not a bad lot; they had expected to
oust the Sultan’s cronies and win the early elections scheduled on the islands,
and had seen no need for extreme violence. They nevertheless found themselves
propelled into power prematurely and expected to behave as puppets of a group
of foreign thugs, led by Okello, who was seen to be a nasty blood-thirsty type,
leading well-trained Cuban mercenaries.
Kenya and Uganda rushed to recognise the new regime on the island, as did
East Germany, Russia and Cuba, but Nyerere hesitated. Even though the Shirazi
party and the other Zanzibari opposition groups which had gained power had
long been supported by TANU on the mainland, our President sat on his hands.
It was apparent that he was shocked at the violence and bloodshed. He resisted
pressure from Kenya and his left-wing extremists, and he firmly refused to have
anything to do with the new Zanzibar government until peace was restored. We
understood he went to the trouble of leaving Dar in order to avoid meeting the
revolutionary leaders.
He was back in due course and struggling to deal with the Zanzibar problem
when another serious crisis exploded much closer to home. Suddenly and totally
out of the blue, as it were, our peaceful life in Dar es Salaam was turned upside
down, and the violence erupted on our own doorstep.
Mutiny in Dar es Salaam
As for me, it had been agreed I could take a few days leave at the end of January
and drive up to Arusha where my good Haidhuru friend, Norman Macleod was
working as Crown Counsel and had invited me to stay. I had arranged to drive
up and spend a couple of days as their guest before going on to visit the Tisdalls
on their Oldeani farm. From there I planned to renew acquaintance with the
wild animals of Ngorongoro Crater and the great Serengeti Plains. I reckoned I
deserved a break and was looking forward to getting away from Dar for a while
- but it was not to be.
Monday, 20th January, 8 a.m. The night was hot and sultry and I was sleeping
on a camp bed on the verandah of my little bungalow in Kurasini. I woke
early listening to the dawn chorus of bulbuls and African cuckoos in the tall
casuarinas at the top of my garden, and relishing the tiny breezes that whispered
through the casuarinas. Then I realised the house was unusually silent. None of the customary cheerful noises was coming from the kitchen. Even the town
seemed very quiet; normally one could hear heavy traffic rumbling by on the
main road half a mile away, but there was no hum from that direction; a heavy
hush lay over the town. I was not alarmed but merely mused idly on possible
causes for this unnatural stillness. At last there was a bang on the back door
and Bakari burst on to the verandah, out of breath, and shaking with fear. His
eyes were wide with alarm when he blurted out there were askaris all over the
town; he had been arrested and held at gun-point twice on his way to work,
first outside the radio station, and again as he approached the city centre down
the Pugu Road. Hardly had I digested this information, when my neighbour’s
wife came over in a great bustle and called to me through the kitchen window,
her hair still in curlers and an old dressing gown hunched round her shaking
shoulders. She shouted in a voice pitched high with excitement,
"You mustn’t go to work today! It’s Zanzibar all over again! There’s a revolution in
the town! There are armed men and road blocks on all the main roads. Everyone has
been told not to go near them."
Shaken and incredulous, I said to myself, Of course, she’s joking. It can’t be true.
This sort of thing never happens in Dar es Salaam. We enjoyed a firm government,
contented people and a happy reputation for peace - and even idleness - through
the long hot season in the worst of the heat and stifling humidity. We were in
Ramadhan and all Muslims were fasting during daylight hours; and in many
respects this was the quietest time of year.
I switched on the wireless. To my surprise the Tanganyika Broadcasting
Corporation (the TBC) was silent. There was nothing. I was relieved to find my
phone still worked although I could not get through to my boss, John Walsh
in Oyster Bay, but I was able to reach Pat Randall, who lived in the middle of
town near the office. She confirmed that from her front windows she had seen
several men get into their cars to drive to town, and soon reappear, presumably
having been sent home at road blocks. I decided to stay put. I reconciled myself
to having to cancel the day’s work and was desperately sad at the threat to my
long-awaited holiday in Arusha.
After an interrupted breakfast, I fiddled with the wireless to see if the BBC in
London knew what was happening in Dar - nothing there either. I rang round
my friends on the phone for news, and soon received further confirmation of
Pat’s experiences. From several sources I learned that those in business had set
off for their offices from the leafy residential suburbs to start a normal Monday
morning’s work, only to meet barriers on the Kilwa Road, the Pugu Road and at
Selander Bridge, manned by impatient armed African troops in grey denims and tin helmets, with haversacks on their backs and loaded rifles in their hands. The
askaris had moved with determination and brusqueness pushing their weapons
through car windows, prodding around and roughly threatening the drivers
and passengers in the cars. They smashed a few windscreens, damaged several
cars, and beat up a few young Europeans rash enough to attempt to force their
way through the blocks. The soldiers made it clear to everyone they met that
morning that the city centre was off-limits; they meant business and they were
not to be trifled with.
Monday, 9.30 a.m. As I picked up more of the events of the night, the
emerging story did nothing to dispel the atmosphere of fantasy and unease.
The askaris at the road-blocks came from the 1st Battalion of the Tanganyika
Rifles, stationed at Colito Barracks, near Kawe, five miles to the north of Dar es
Salaam. Around six hundred men had broken into the armoury in the middle
of the night, armed themselves, disarmed the quarter guard and flung the
Orderly Officer into the cells behind the Guard Room, before summoning all
their officers and warrant officers by the simple expedient of sounding the Fire
Alarm. The officers had apparently jumped into their cars and driven down in
haste from their homes on the hillside to see what was going on. Arriving at the
guard room, each officer had been pulled roughly out of his car and pushed into
the barred cells of the Guard Room, with lots of noise, wild shooting, shouting
and manhandling.
The mutineers then swept down the Bagamoyo Road into the city in
commandeered three-ton lorries and jeeps in a mood of triumphant belligerence.
They called at the Oyster Bay homes of the staff officers who worked at the
Brigade HQ in the south of the city hoping to detain them and take them off to
join their colleagues in the Guard Room. The convoy of vehicles bristling with
arms and men moved on into the city centre in the very early morning. They
drove straight to State House, reaching it at about 2.30 a.m., and demanded to
see the President. He was not there and they left empty-handed. Frustrated, they
posted guards at the gates, and set about taking control of the city, dropping
sections of armed men at the airport, post office, radio station, Msimbazi Police
Station and the Central Police Station, putting the unarmed policemen and the
staff of these organisations under armed guard, and setting up road blocks on all
the main roads into town. They detained the TBC staff and various dignitaries
whom they met on their way round the town, including Stephen Miles, the
acting British High Commissioner, and Mr Job Lusinde, Minister for Local
Government. They shot up a few Indians in cars trying to rush past road blocks
and beat up a few Europeans who got in their way.
The only place where the soldiers used violence to Europeans was the Seaview
Hotel, south of Selander Bridge. Possibly with the intention of setting up some
form of headquarters, the armed troops terrified the hotel residents by shooting
in the air, marching them out of the buildings and forcing them into lorries.
They roughed up the wife and child of a European magistrate staying there, and
drove off with their prisoners, only to push them out of the vehicles at the other
end of the town after a long and frightening ride.
Two organisations defied the orders of the askaris. The electricity company
and the telephone exchange continued to operate throughout this trying day,
often at some personal danger and despite continuous obstruction by their
military guards. The TBC was silent, the airport was brought to a standstill, the
Post 0ffice and the Cable Office were out of action, as were the District Office,
the City Council offices, and the entire government, including the Information
Services. The Regional Commissioner and the City Fathers stayed at home.
There was no administration. The unarmed European police officers were locked
in their own cells at Msimbazi Police Station and at their headquarters on City
Drive when the mutineers took over, leaving the town police force leaderless
and intimidated. The local Field Force unit was in Zanzibar, so there was no
authority on the streets capable of keeping order.
In the African market in the newly-laid out suburb of Magomeni across
Msimbazi Creek and astride the Morogoro Road, soldiers held up several Arab
shopkeepers, and the troops considered themselves aggrieved that one old Arab
merchant should have resisted arrest, fired his old rifle and killed two askaris.
Two houses were burned to the ground, one shop was gutted, several others were
looted and several lives were lost, including the man who killed the soldiers, his
wife and their baby strapped on her back as she fled out of the back door of
their shop.
One British Army officer stationed at Colito Barracks evaded the mutineers.
He was the Brigadier, Pat Sholto Douglas, who lived high above the camp and
was not required to respond to the fire alarm. He spoke to the Colonel over
the phone who felt he had to go to the Guard Room to restore order but was
of course unarmed and thrown into the cells with his fellow officers. Realising
then the seriousness of the situation, Pat took his wife and daughter on foot
through the bush round the back of the barracks, and hitched a lift into town
ahead of the soldiers. He called at the British High Commission on his way
into the centre, doubtless deposited his wife and daughter in their safe-keeping
and was given a car to enable him to hurry on to State House to find and
alert Nyerere, the President, and Rashidi Kawawa, the Deputy President. Pat Douglas then rushed on to his own office in Army House to make all secure and
doubtless burn his secret files. He set to work well before dawn, only to leave by
the back door as mutineers entered by the front, and took refuge in the High
Commission, exhausted, and in torn clothing, worried to death, but at least in
one piece. He slipped out of sight there, and no doubt began immediately to
make plans to quell the mutiny.
After being tipped off, the President and Vice President disappeared. Their
whereabouts remained a firm secret. Rumours flew around that day and the rest
of the week; some people thought they had flown to Arusha; others that they
had fled across the ferry to the Governor’s old beach bungalow at Mjimwema,
but nobody saw them in Arusha; and I found no sign of them when I called at
the beach hut during the week to check on Mohamed, my old cook of Kisarawe
days who had been made the caretaker there. My own view was that they went
out to the tug that often sat in the middle of Dar es Salaam harbour on the
advice of the Brigadier and in emulation of the Sultan of Zanzibar - not to
run away, but to maintain the Government out of reach of the mutineers. In
Zanzibar it had been a futile hope; in Dar their efforts proved superfluous, but
it was the right thing to do if events had turned out differently.
Unable to find the two top men, the mutiny leaders searched out Oscar
Kambona, Minister for External Affairs, as the most senior member of the
Government available to them. They took him to their headquarters in State
House in the absence of its usual occupants - while the rest of the battalion was
scattered round the town armed to the teeth and dangerously trigger-happy.
Kambona held the fate of the government in his hands as he parleyed with the
soldiers. He is believed to have negotiated with patience and forbearance, to
have calmed down the excited askaris, and to have given way only under the
sternest duress. Indeed, a local pressman named Tony Dunn recorded his view
that Kambona throughout the day acted marvellously in order to prevent further
loss of life and to ensure the violence did not escalate. At the point of a gun,
it is believed, the Minister felt constrained to give orders for the immediate
deportation of the twelve British officers and warrant officers then serving with
the First Battalion of the Tanganyika Rifles; and he agreed the soldiers should
elect their own officers and their pay should be doubled, on the condition
that they all returned to barracks and handed in their arms. The officers were
promptly taken out to the airport under guard and escorted on to a waiting
plane. It was made clear to those who hesitated that there was no alternative.
The officers’ wives and families remained behind hurriedly to pack a bag or two
and follow - after what must have been a night of fearful anxiety concerning the fate of their menfolk in the guardroom. One of the officers there was my old
friend, Tim Ealand, seconded from the Dorset Regiment, and I was desperately
anxious to learn what was happening him and his wife Anne, but there was
nothing I could do, and no way I could help.
Monday, 11 a.m. Having got what they wanted out of Kambona, the army
agreed to return to barracks - though not to surrender their rifles. One by one the
road-blocks were lifted and a few groups of soldiers moved triumphantly back to
Colito; many others remained at checkpoints and key centres, however, and thus
effectively paralysed all normal movement by the forces of law and order.
Into this dead city, in the absence of the police, the mob came out. Looting
and rioting started in the central district of Kariakoo and on the fringes of the
Indian bazaar. Gangs of youths went into action with speed, smashing plate glass
windows, breaking open shop doors and carrying off the contents of every shelf
and counter. They emptied as many tills as they could reach in the vulnerable
shops around the African market, and made sporadic and desperate attacks into
the bazaar. They ransacked shoe shops and bargain clothes stores, and thoroughly
looted the shops selling wirelesses, gramophones and cameras. The looters moved
into Uhuru Street (formerly Acacia Avenue) and broke into some of the smart
European shops, emptying the windows of several jewellers, and - even though it
was the middle of Ramadhan - helping themselves in one lightning assault to all
the brandy in Khansoms, the wine merchant off Windsor Street.
The City Police was unable to re-organise until late in the morning as the
army relaxed its grip, and was then reported to have fired Bren guns at the
looters, but could not prevent the looting from spreading through Kariakoo.
An Indian shop-keeper was reported to have been beaten to death by the mob
as he tried to defend his property. The local paper later reported that these
disturbances resulted in fifteen deaths, one hundred people injured and forty
arrests. Msimbazi Police Station overflowed with stolen goods as the Police
searched suspects and recovered the loot. Europeans living in the middle of the
town had a worrying time hearing gunfire around them, often very close to the
residential areas.
In Magomeni, always a bad area, full of unemployed youths, the murder of
the Arab family by the askaris seemed to have been the spark that lit the riots
that flowed all around the mean shopping streets there. Rioters raided many of
the little dukas and indulged in a noisy orgy of burning and looting all morning.
Two soldiers who rejoined the government side were reported to have been
killed and many of the Arab shopkeepers and their families to have suffered
severely. Sadly they were the principal object of the rioters’ excitement.
Monday afternoon. At about 1p.m., the TBC came on the air at last. Kambona
spoke, hurriedly mumbling with no introduction. He said something like:
"There has been a misunderstanding between the soldiers of Tanganyika Rifles and
their European officers. This has been settled through my intervention. The soldiers
have gone back to their barracks. Everyone must remain calm and return to work.
It is particularly important those operating essential services go back to work now."
While we listened to him, we could hear firing in the middle of the town
and reports came over the phone that mobs were moving freely between Ring
Street and Pugu Road. All through the afternoon, Kambona repeated his
call on people to go back to work. He also called on all Arabs to surrender
their arms to the police; and he appealed urgently for a restoration of order,
particularly in Magomeni.
A little later, I decided to take the car out into town to see for myself.
Friends warned me of shooting and crowds in the streets, and it was foolhardy
of me, but only two years earlier I had worked closely with the Africans in
the city. I knew their leaders well, was widely known by them, spoke their
language readily, and thought to get by without trouble. I left the house at
2 p.m. and drove first into the European shopping and office centre, where
I saw plenty of signs of the morning’s battles in the streets - shattered shop
windows and bricks and glass splinters in the road. Every door was barred;
every building lifeless, and the normally bustling streets were empty except for
a few homeless beggars and some mangy cats.
Moving into the African suburbs, I saw none of the customary happy
family parties out for a stroll in gaily-coloured dresses, nor laughing teadrinkers
on benches outside the ramshackle old coffee houses at the street
corners. No women and children were in evidence at all - one assumed they
were hiding behind locked and bolted doors. Young men were gathered in
doorways and on vacant lots, restlessly murmuring in groups together while
eyeing the police, the soldiers and passing cars. These youths were neither
smiling nor chattering and joking among themselves as was normally their
way; they were watching and waiting; and the air was electric with tension and
suppressed excitement.
Heavily armed police in jeeps and trucks continually passed up and down
the echoing streets and guarded all Government buildings. Equally heavily
armed soldiers were also evident in small parties in the streets and no one
knew what they were doing, why they were there, or whose side they were on.
In the shopping streets off the Morogoro Road I saw much more broken glass,
bare shelves and shattered shop fronts. The police turned me back from going further, and it emerged later they were busy among the Arab community in
Magomeni during the afternoon and night, looking for weapons and holding
suspects. Outside Msimbazi Police Station were piles of recovered loot,
bundles of new shirts, dresses and trousers, heaps of cameras, wirelesses and
gramophones, and even a jumble of bicycles, all seized from the looters before
they could stash away their new wealth in their homes.
In Ilala my car was stopped and the boot searched for loot at gun-point by
both police and soldiers. Allowed to drive on, I planned to call at the District
Office where I had formerly worked and had many friends, but men were
hanging about at street corners, looking for trouble, murmuring restlessly,
menacing in appearance and waiting for the chance to surge on to the streets
again. The mobs had not dispersed; their lust for violence had not been
satiated, and they were waiting for any relaxation of police control to return
to the ugly work of the morning. The atmosphere was frightening. I gave up
any idea of visiting the District Office and turned tail.
I drove back towards the city centre and called at Pat Randall’s flat to see
how she was bearing up. She confirmed she had heard the guns at several
points during the morning, seen a mob go by her windows and sheltered a
number of Europeans who had stupidly got in the way of the crowds and
been threatened or roughly handled. Pat was looking after Mrs Wilson, the
Housekeeper at State House who looked tired and somewhat battered. She
explained she had been woken up at 4 a.m. that morning by the President’s
ADC in her rooms in State House. He had shouted through her bedroom door
rather unhelpfully, There’s a war on!, and promptly disappeared - presumably
with the President. As early that morning that she could, Mrs Wilson had
gathered up the President’s children and their friends staying with them, got
them all dressed, loaded them into State House Land Rovers and bravely
driven her little convoy through the pickets of armed men at the gates of State
House and out to Kariakoo to stay with friends and family.
I went on from Pat Randall’s to the hospital to see if I could help, but they
had everything under control, and I motored on out to Oyster Bay. There I
learned that all European residents had stayed at home and the residential area
had been very quiet; indeed the Walshes had spent the day working in their
garden. I met the Solicitor General who had been involved in the parleying
with the soldiers in State House and who was very worried - as obviously were
all senior politicians and officials - about the outbreak of rioting. I understood
the only European official who had been able to play a useful role had been
the Attorney General, Roland Brown.
On my way home from Oyster Bay, I was allowed to take a detour through
Magomeni where the Arab shop-keepers had rashly challenged the askaris,
been attacked by them and subsequently harried by the police. The scars of
violence in the market, the bare interiors of the looted shops and the blackened
shells of mud and wattle shacks down the shabby streets confirmed reports of a
racial flare-up of sickening ferocity. By great good fortune, it was the only such
incident during the week.
The tough units of the Police Field Force in Tanga and Morogoro were
thought to have been summoned to Dar that morning to fill the gap left by the
absence of the Dar es Salaam unit in Zanzibar, but the airport had been in the
hands of the mutineers who had allowed nothing to fly in or out. The extent of
the evening’s rioting was believed to depend on the time of arrival of these units
and the energy with which they went into action. The situation remained tense,
confused and most gravely disquieting. There was no news of the President, nor
any reports of Government activity other than Kambona’s announcements. One
could only guess that the President and Vice-President were safely in hiding.
Only three Cabinet Ministers had been visible that day, Kambona, Lusinde
and Amri Abedi, and one Junior Minister named Nzunda who had worked
hard to quieten the mobs. All other politicians, the District Commissioner, the
Regional Commissioner, the Mayor, the City Council, and the entire TANU
National Executive, who were supposed to be in conference, had been neither
seen nor heard.
Monday evening. The BBC news reported Duncan Sandys’ announcement in
the House of Commons that the situation was deteriorating in Dar es Salaam,
and the Nairobi news gave an account of the day’s events from our local reporter,
Tony Dunn. He told us fifteen Africans had been shot dead and around one
hundred had been injured by the police trying to prevent rioting and looting.
He confirmed three mutineers had been killed by Arab shopkeepers resisting
unsuccessfully the askaris’ illegal morning patrols.
At the back of one’s mind, one suspected communist direct action of the
type that had so recently triumphed in Zanzibar. Was it possible that the evil
Okello had gone out to the barracks to stir up trouble there as he had on the
island? He had been in Dar for a while, but, despite the guesses of some foreign
correspondents, we were assured that he had had no freedom of movement in
the city; he had been carefully watched by our police and not allowed to stir up
trouble. Neither on Monday nor later during the week did there ever come to
the public notice a shred of evidence to suggest external intervention. Nothing
indicated an extremist coup by either the left or the right wing, but equally no one could imagine why the soldiers had resorted to such violent lawless
means to settle their ends - their purpose and motives remained inexplicable.
Meanwhile the British community was safe, worried but unscathed, except for
the army officers and their families who had been deported en masse.
Monday, 11 p.m. Writing home that evening I heard a sudden burst of
gunfire that sounded horribly close. I hurriedly switched off the lamp, stupidly
knocked over a glass full of brandy, and spent half an hour mopping up in the
moonlight while pacifying my neighbours, saying that the shooting was a long
way away. The late Nairobi news reported that a British frigate with troops on
board had arrived off Dar es Salaam, and we were much relieved to hear of the
ship’s arrival.
Despite this good news, the lack of official information and the known
inadequacy of the police force caused us to sleep uneasily in our beds on Monday
night. Some European families moved in with their neighbours for company.
Many of us double-bolted our doors, checked our food supplies, packed a
suitcase and put out an armoury of golf-clubs, weighing the relative merits of a
wooden-headed brassie against a number two iron as a weapon of self-defence.
We sat up late listening to the overseas news in neighbourly gatherings. We later
woke to sporadic automatic gunfire in the south of the town, suggesting police
and rioters were still active as dawn approached. We could do no more than turn
over and hope the noise would come no closer.
Tuesday, 7 a.m. The early-morning wireless renewed official assurances that
the mutineers had returned to their barracks, that the town was quiet, and we
should all go back to work as usual. The city centre was full of bustle again by
eight o’clock and rapidly regained its habitual hum of activity. Many families
sent off cables home and booked trans-continental phone-calls to announce
that the trouble was over and all was well. We sat down at our desks and opened
the accumulated mail; we met our friends and avidly exchanged gossip, happily
swapping stories of brushes with the trigger-happy askaris — tales that lost
nothing in the telling - everyone had their ‘mutiny’ story of their own particular
encounter with the armed soldiery and the rioters the previous day.
Tuesday, 10 a.m.. Suddenly word flew round that rioting had broken out
once more; the soldiers were coming back into town; the police had ordered
everyone home. Alert, in battle dress and as heavily armed as ever, the Field
Force appeared at every street-corner. It was said they were firing in the air in
order to clear the streets. Among civilians, there was panic. Clerks and office
boys set off at a smart pace, passing down Uhuru Street and the Morogoro Road
in groups with hands raised above their heads at the sight of a policeman. The pavements quickly filled with a fast-moving crowd intent on escaping the area
of violence without delay. With one accord, shop-keepers put up their shutters;
and businessmen jumped into their cars, dashed off to look for their wives in
the shops, gathering them up in the midst of their gossip, and made off home
to Oyster Bay.
In half an hour the streets were empty and the city reverted to the dead. No
mutineers appeared; the recurrence of trouble was officially denied, but it seems
very likely that rioters staged a few short, violent operations in Ring Street and
elsewhere in the bazaar district. Gangs were said to have broken into shops at
several places and pilfered their contents; looters were alleged to have raided
private houses, intimidating, robbing and snatching jewellery, watches, cash and
loose valuables.
Tuesday afternoon: by lunch-time, the bazaar was quiet once more, and well
protected by the vigilant police. People began to reappear on the streets; and
some of the tension lifted. I made a brief tour to inspect the fresh damage,
and saw new scars in the streets, much more broken glass, and a dozen large
shattered shop windows revealing gaping bare interiors. I decided Kurasini was
too remote and gratefully accepted an invitation to spend the night in Oyster
Bay. An evening curfew was announced but no further news emanated from the
government.
Late that afternoon, the President emerged from hiding and spoke on
the wireless in Swahili in his first statement since the start of the mutiny. He
spoke of the shame and disgrace of the events of the past two days. He spoke in
sorrow rather than in anger. He sounded as if he laboured under a heavy strain
and left many questions unanswered. He said neither where he had been nor
what he intended to do. After his speech, the situation remained obscure - and
just as frightening.
Most parts of the country remained quiet. Settlers and planters were
desperately short of information and very concerned about future security while
continuing their normal work. The police appeared in strength in most towns,
particularly in Arusha where the President was thought to have sought refuge
on Monday morning. To add to our concerns, however, news reached us that
day that the soldiers in Tabora had also mutinied. The Second Battalion of
the Tanganyika Rifles was stationed there and, as in Dar, the soldiers armed
themselves and rounded up their officers who happened to be meeting together
in conference, handled them roughly and locked them up. Some of the mutineers
then took vehicles and went into the town on the rampage. Full reports never
reached the press, but it was clear they behaved much more viciously than had the First Battalion in Dar es Salaam. Tabora townspeople of all ages and
races were assaulted and terrorised with complete disregard for life or normal
standards of behaviour; the askaris beat up and humiliated the teachers and
children at the Asian Secondary School and went on to the Tabora Hospital
where they bullied and roughed up the doctors and nurses. They man-handled
and threatened the Station Master at the railway station, the Manageress of the
Tabora Hotel, several local businessmen, and the bank manager and his clients
at the bank. It was fortunate that the senior African officer, Captain Sarakikya,
was in the town when the armed troops broke out, and was gradually able to
exert control over the mutineers, and persuade them to return to barracks. As
in Dar, in order to prevent violence and loss of life, he arranged the flight of the
British officers with their families from Tabora airport to Nairobi.
Wednesday and Thursday: Outwardly in Dar business life returned to normal.
The Indian bazaar came to life again and the mess was cleared up. The sports
clubs resumed their activities and one tried to do one’s normal work. Yet the
sense of confusion, unreality and suspense persisted. We were unable to forget
the presence of an undisciplined rabble of soldiers at the barracks, six miles
north of the town that had elected their own leaders and kept their weapons.
The mutineers were thought to be still bargaining with the Government, and
there seemed no reason why, if the government did not satisfy them, they should
not return to the town at any time to stage a repeat performance of Monday’s
exercise.
The Government expelled Tony Dunn that morning - perhaps he knew too
much as the Daily Nation reporter who had provided the first and fullest news
of the mutiny - but his going added to the anxieties of the European community.
No English-language newspapers were allowed in to the country, and morale
was very low. Rumours abounded of violence, shooting, rioting, even massacre.
No one knew what was true, where the Government was, who was in charge or
what would happen next.
We heard tales of continuous diplomatic comings and goings. The BBC
reported that the British Government had offered troops to assist the Tanganyika
Government in restoring order, and we were assured British servicemen were
within call if required to protect lives and property. On Wednesday, however,
the President refused the initial British offer. He toured the town that afternoon
and showed himself to an anxious people, but he could not succeed in recreating
the old image. Next day he held a press conference to insist, ‘We can settle this
problem by ourselves.’ He fulfilled a long-standing engagement to deliver a
lecture about Dag Hammarskold to the Cultural Society; he talked about his determination to pursue the new Development Plan, but he merely smiled in
answer to the more urgent question whether or not his government intended
to punish the mutineers. He was unable to convince his audience that he had
regained control of the situation.
Friday: The European community continued to find it difficult to return to
normality with the appalling menace of six hundred armed mutineers at the
barracks, triumphant at the success of their initial coup.
The BBC reported that the aircraft carrier, HMS Centaur, with a Battalion of
Royal Marine Commandos aboard was hurrying down the coast from Aden and
a destroyer was making fastest speed towards Dar through the Indian Ocean.
It was less comforting to hear that Mr Obote, Prime Minister of Uganda, had
called for British troops to quell a mutiny by a Battalion of the Uganda Rifles
at Jinja, and that the cabinet of Mr Kenyatta in Kenya had also requested more
British troops to be flown out to Nairobi in case of need.
We knew that the Tanganyika Government was very busy. Then, late in
the evening, the Minister for Home Affairs, Mr. Lusinde, came on the air at
the TBC to say he would tolerate no more rumours and they must stop. His
listeners had no idea what he was talking about; he sounded very worried and
left the public more disturbed than before his announcement. The American
community made it known they were staying indoors - fearful of a repeat of the
Zanzibar situation. For us all it was an anxious evening; one wondered what on
earth was up?
Later it emerged that the Cabinet had received evidence of a conspiracy
between the mutineers and some trade union leaders to bring the troops back
into the town over the weekend. The plotters’ motives were never known, but
it was presumed they wanted to create further confusion and possibly even
overthrow the Government. It was probably this information that persuaded the
Government to take the humiliating decision to ask for British troops to disarm
the mutineers. In any event, a written request was received by the British High
Commissioner on Friday evening, and the High Commission went into action.
Saturday, 6.20 a.m. Heavy guns broke the early morning stillness with a
series of thunderous thuds. It required no effort of the imagination to conclude
that the Royal Navy had arrived. Even if these were merely star shells fired high
above the heads of the soldiers, one had no doubt after the first burst that the
mutiny was at an end. The firing continued for fifteen minutes, and then there
was complete silence.
The Commandos were led by Brigadier Douglas whose story was very simple.
At dawn he had landed from the aircraft carrier by helicopter on the barracks football pitch with one Company of Royal Marines. They had been fired on
from the guard room and gone to ground in the ditches along the Bagamoyo
Road facing the barrack gates. The Brigadier spoke to the soldiers in the guard
room in Swahili through a loud hailer calling upon them to come out with their
hands up and surrender their weapons within ten minutes. They did not appear
inside the time limit, and one bomb of a 3.5 inch mortar was fired at the guard
room door. It exploded fairly and squarely in the doorway and blew a neat
triangular hole in the roof. It killed three men inside the building and injured
ten more. That was the end of the battle.
We civilians went to work in the city centre as normal that morning, and word
reached us that the Centaur had navigated alongside the reef of Msasani Bay
whence it had despatched troops across to the barracks. All morning the carrier
gave Msasani residents a magnificent display of helicopter-flying as it swiftly
and smoothly ferried troops and vehicles ashore and repatriated the wounded
askaris during the morning. One helicopter even had the effrontery to drop a
passenger on the beach at Selander Bridge, doubtless reporting to the British
High Commissioner on Kingsway. Meanwhile, the European community tried
to behave as usual, waiting patiently for confirmation of the inevitable outcome
of the battle at the barracks.
A special edition of the English-language newspaper, the Tanganyika Standard
was issued that morning and confirmed the complete collapse of the mutiny. The
Brigadier came into town mid-morning to report the success of the Centaur’s
mission to the British High Commissioner and the Tanganyika Government.
At 11.45 a.m. a convoy of trucks full of Royal Marine Commandos rolled into
town and drew up in Ingles Street opposite the cinema, round the corner from
our office. Like many others, I abandoned my desk and rushed out to join the
crowd admiring them. It was a huge relief to see them, and they were a grand
sight. The men all seemed huge, confident and fit, very efficiently organised,
nonchalantly smoking cigarettes and puffing at pipes and drinking Coca Cola
with serene self-possession.
A platoon of the Commandos was detailed off to fly to Tabora where they
quickly and quietly disarmed the Second Battalion during the afternoon. Other
men moved by vehicle and plane to other strategic points around the country
and in Dar itself, while the Brigadier restored his headquarters at Army House,
so rudely vacated earlier in the week. He found time to talk to the press, and set
to work with his Staff Captain, Brian Marciandi and in close contact with the
British High Commission, directing the military operation. The Commandos
remaining in Dar spent the rest of the day rounding up fugitive mutineers. It was unfortunate that four hundred soldiers had escaped into the bush around
the camp after the Guard Room had surrendered, but active patrols guided by
helicopters seem to have brought in the majority of the fleeing men very quickly.
A number returned to the city, and were rounded up by the police, happy to be
able to avenge the indignities they had suffered at the hands of the mutineers
on Monday morning. The search for deserters continued all day, and at 9.30
the following morning I saw three weary, scruffy soldiers being escorted back to
the barracks. Every man was screened and the ring-leaders were separated from
their passive supporters. The soldiers’ wives were reported to have created more
trouble than the men, requiring far greater attention than their more fatalist
spouses.
HMS Centaur moved round from Msasani Bay into Oyster Bay during
the day, and was joined by a destroyer at lunchtime, together making a superb
picture floating and shimmering in the heat haze over the sea. To the European
community the sight of the confident British troops and the majestic naval
vessels at anchor in the bay brought feelings of pride and relief - pride that the
Marines should have restored peace and avenged the insult to our officers with
such speed and efficiency, and relief that our soldiers had removed the menace
of the mutineers’ rabble with the minimum of fuss and loss of life.
To the Asian community, the feelings were equally of relief as well as of
satisfaction that their lives and property were no longer at the mercy of the
mob which had rampaged through the town earlier in the week. For the African
town-dwellers, there was no news. The 7 o’clock Swahili news on the TBC
mentioned not a word, nor did the lunch-time official broadcast take note of
these momentous events. One could not help feeling the fears of the African
population of the town at this sudden and powerful display of British might.
Their initial reaction must have been cold terror; fear of those powerful guns;
anxiety lest the battle at the barracks would be long and bloody; but above all,
a worry deep down that their hard-won independence was slipping from their
grasp.
Saturday afternoon: It was not until 4 p.m. that day that the President spoke
to his people - long after the excitement had died down. Even then, all he did
was to assure his listeners that the British troops had landed and quelled the
mutiny at his invitation. He said that the Tanganyika army was no more but
he promised a new one would at once be built. During this speech, as during
earlier public announcements, he admitted the failure of his government to keep
people informed, although his officials continued to let him down, remaining
silent through each fresh crisis.
Earlier that afternoon I drove round to Army House where the Brigadier and
Marciandi were hard at work. I knocked on Pat Douglas’ door and went in his
office to find a very busy man, with phone in hand behind a heap of paper on
his desk. I interrupted him and said: "Brigadier. Would you like me to be your ADC
for a few days? I have had the right sort of experience. I know how to do the job. You
badly need more help in this crisis. Perhaps I could be of some use to you?"
I was so fed up with doing nothing all week, so bored stiff with not knowing
what was going on that I volunteered then and there to take leave from the
TTGA and work for the army for those few difficult days. Pat was good enough
to give my proposal serious consideration, but he concluded, "You’re dead right. I
would be glad of some help. But I’m afraid, all things considered, it would not really
be advisable. I’m sorry, but there it is."
So that was that. It was of course the right decision, for me as well as
for the Brigadier, because I might have lost my job completely with endless
complications.
Sunday: It was a hot weekend in Dar. The Commandos moved into the
Uhuru Stadium where only twelve months earlier the Tanganyiks flag had been
unfurled for the first time. The British soldiers pitched their tents on the sandy
football ground which they must have found very hot, close and uncomfortable.
At the same time, they remained very much in evidence in and around the
town, busily continuing their mopping-up operation. Their helicopters circled
overhead on endless hectic missions. The Royal Marine Band played to the
crowds and fraternising was speedily initiated.
In the markets, the shopkeepers counted their losses and resumed business
as best they could; the plate glass was swiftly replaced; shelves were restocked
with goods; and funerals quickly and quietly took place for the twenty dead
while the hospital looked after the injured - and we all prepared for a normal
week ahead. The worst seemed to be over. One dared to hope that, with firm
support from a friendly power, the Tanganyika Government would soon regain
its self-confidence, its control over events and its former massive popularity with
the people.
I was fascinated by the great grey battleship on the horizon - a symbol of
strength and security. It looked both beautiful and powerful as it floated serenely
out to sea. I took my easel out to a quiet little creek among the rocks at the end
of Msasani Bay and painted the aircraft carrier as a grey shadow on a turquoise
and aquamarine sea sparkling in the bright sunshine, beyond blinding white
sands, and framed between two coral cliffs. The painting proved difficult, but
was nevertheless a pleasant pastime.
On my return to Kurasini I heard rumours that the Police had been knocking
on doors in the African suburbs and arresting a number of prominent citizens,
mostly trade union leaders, who were being held in prison without charge. This
was very bad news. People leapt to the conclusion that anyone opposed to the
regime would be put inside. The city’s populace was frightened all over again,
partly because of the stories of arrests and partly because of the lack of accurate
news. As the weekend closed, Dar was uneasy once more.
The next week: On Monday, the President confirmed that a number of men
had been arrested. He stated firmly that they were accused of conspiracy against
the government with the mutineers. Then for good measure he banned the Daily
Nation, the Nairobi newspaper that had printed the most complete information
about the mutiny.
This was a poor start to the week. We went back to work worrying that
rocks lay ahead for the new country and that things could never be quite the
same again. The Government and the population, black, brown and white, had
had a tremendous shaking up. It had been a nightmare and very frightening at
times. I wrote home; Well, it has always been my secret ambition to live through a
revolution; but once it started, my one ambition was to survive it!
February to June
Back to the old Routine
I lost my holiday in Arusha, and we in the TTGA lost several days in the
office through force majeure, but we picked up the threads again as quickly as
we could. Normal routine reasserted itself and I was stuck in Dar pushing paper
around and updating our budget. No meetings were scheduled until the middle
of March; the unions were cowed; the Government had no time for employment
matters, and there was not a lot to do. Our key Committee members came
down to Dar one by one, from Mufindi, Tanga, Tukuyu and Nairobi, to hear
from us first hand what had been going on; we had a steady trickle of visitors in
the office and took them along to meet the British High Commissioner and his
staff to be briefed on recent events. Hunter Cooper called on us, having retired
from estate management at the beginning of the year, and we arranged a little
presentation for him; otherwise the office was quiet.
In the continuing political excitement and confusion, the first big meeting
after the mutiny - the annual general meeting of the Federation of Tanganyika
Employers in late February - was inevitably an extensive post-mortem. This was immediately followed by a gathering of the FTE’s new Executive Committee
and an open meeting for all employers attended Hyde Clarke, the Labour
Adviser at the British Foreign Office, who flew down for the occasion.
March was the hottest time of the year, and the heat was like a blanket that
stifled life, but a big and busy Executive Committee meeting was followed by
a supper party for our members at the Walshes, and the next day by a long
session of the Tea Board. We put effort into sorting out its financial estimates,
and discussed methods of increasing African tea-growing on small-holdings
alongside the big estates.
It was after the Tea Board meeting that John told me he had made up his
mind to retire the following September, when he hoped I would take his place
as TTGA Secretary. I was tempted to stay on in a lovely house with an easy,
comfortable life - but I knew I must tear myself away somehow to start a proper
career. I felt out of touch too, and anxious to restore links with home. I wanted
to get back to my family of which I saw far too little, and I wanted to get back
into the marriage market. I had had enough of the place. My response was
therefore to say that, after much thought I had decided I did not want to return
to Dar at the end of my two year contract. Worried about letting down the
Association, I wrote to Charles Gardner who was asking me to think again.
"I have hated making this decision because the Association has been a first rate
employer to me, and still more because John has spent an enormous amount of his
time and temper in training me for the job. I cannot escape realising that he has
given up much of the past year to teaching me to take over from him, although he has
most generously taken no steps to persuade me to stay on. Wyon and latterly Richard
have been immensely sympathetic and encouraging. They and the Committee have
always made it so easy for me, and it troubles me greatly that I am letting everyone
down so badly."
John told the Executive Committee of our decisions and it was agreed to
advertise the vacant position of Association Secretary later in the year.
Two weeks later, he and Elinor had to fly back to England unexpectedly
following the death of his father. I took them to the airport and found myself
in sole charge of the Association’s offices once more. Immediately I was plunged
into exchanges with the Government about reducing unemployment and
with the Immigration Department about work and residence permits for new
expatriate staff. I represented ‘tea’ at a number of difficult meetings of the Rural
Division of the FTE, and had a good deal to do with the FTE’s Director, Martin
Lewis and with the Deputy British High Commissioner, Stephen Miles. His
staff was a great help in my job of monitoring and interpreting for my members the speeches and proposals of the President, Ministers and TANU’s National
Executive. On all TTGA matters I wrote frequent reports to John in England
as I had done during his home leave the previous year, and spoke regularly by
phone with Peter Knight in Mufindi and Richard Magor in Nairobi.
The work was not made any lighter by Mrs Randall disappearing on leave
that Easter for a cruise to Durban and back leaving me on my own in the office.
We plodded on however, through April; an Executive Committee meeting on a
Saturday started early, continued until the late afternoon and left me with a pile
of work. When the Walshes flew back by Comet from England in the middle
of April and John resumed charge of the office, I had lots of paperwork to hand
over to him as I vacated the Massie Road house to move back to Kurasini.
Political Developments
If the job was not exciting, local politics remained fascinating. Very soon
after the collapse of the mutiny, African Ministers from across the Continent
assembled in Dar to question the Tanganyikan Government about its conduct
during the recent events. Nyerere was accused of encouraging the colonial power
to return to Africa; Ghana caused trouble and was noisily anti-British, but the
President managed to satisfy his critics without agreeing to the early departure
of the Royal Marine Commandos. Members of the National Assembly were
summoned to Dar to hear more explanations. Duncan Sandys, Commonwealth
Secretary of State, flew out twice from London to meet the Tanganyikan
leaders and discuss the withdrawal of our troops, and we understood him to
tell our Ministers that funds did not exist to allow the Commandos to remain
indefinitely in Dar es Salaam. In early March he secured agreement to taking
them away within the month - and, incidentally, found the time to meet a group
of expatriate employers, which included John representing the tea industry, to
learn the challenges and opportunities presented to businesses like those of our
British members operating in the troubled country.
The Tanganyikan Government had then to work hard to find an army to
replace the Commandos as well as its own disbanded forces. A promise was
made by Nigeria to send over a contingent of soldiers to fill the vacuum on a
temporary basis, but they were much delayed. By Easter, most of our troops had
left, but the Nigerian contingent arrived much later than expected and seemed
very reluctant to help Tanganyika.
Anxiously shutting the stable door, the British High Commission looked
hurriedly into the provision of better support for British citizens in the event
of a fresh outbreak of violence. We were called to meetings with diplomats and were keen to help. Jointly we discussed ways of improving communications
with those holding British passports and looked at ways of circulating warnings
and messages from the High Commission to families. We even looked at the
possibility of a registration system at the BHC. In the TTGA we had a readymade
network and excellent links with our members across the country, but we
were probably unique in that respect, and British nationals were widely scattered
in rural areas as well as all over the bigger towns. Their total number was very
large, and the problems of rapid communication remained immense.
Dar es Salaam was outwardly at peace once more - and every new visitor
said they could not believe a mutiny could ever have occurred. Yet, thwarted in
their political and economic plans, Tanganyikan politicians were in an unhappy
and unfriendly mood as they manoeuvred to regain control over the country.
The President tried to relax the atmosphere of crisis by another speech about
his proposed Five Year Development Plan and by encouraging the Cabinet to
work on it. On the day following his speech, however, a sudden pointless strike
at the docks ended in the deportation of the European manager after a personal
clash with the Minister for Labour. Employers were very vulnerable and rather
subdued, and we kept our profile low.
Leisure
As soon as postal deliveries were resumed after the mutiny, I learnt to my
surprise that I had passed Part I of the Chartered Institute of Secretaries exam
I had sat in December. I was thus condemned to continuing the course and
sitting Part II the following December which would cover the terrifying subjects
of Accountancy and Company Law. I sent for the books and resumed my studies
after a couple of months break, and night after night wrestled with CIS papers.
Social life began again. Even while the mutineers were being rounded up, I
found myself enjoying an evening of Mah Jong with Penny and Geoffrey Gabb,
and lunching at the weekend with Sue and Tim Tawney, not long before they
left the country. One Saturday in mid-March I attended the opening of a new
hospital in Dar es Salaam financed by the Indian community and the Aga Khan
at a cost of £150,000 with fifty-three beds and was much impressed by all its
new medical and surgical equipment. I dined with the archaeologist, Neville
Chittick, and on one pleasant evening was the guest of Susan and Randal Sadleir
at a big party at the New Africa Hotel. The social round resumed happily as
if nothing had happened, but I slipped away to Morogoro as often as I could
for a weekend as Simon Hardwick’s guest in the cooler air of the slopes of the
Uluguru Mountains.
I was introduced to Alex Nyirenda who, as a young Second Lieutenant
in the Tanganyika Rifles, had raised the Tanganyika Flag on the summit of
Mount Kilimanjaro on Independence Day. He had been living in quarters
at Colito Barracks at the time of the mutiny, been locked up with his fellow
officers, but after its collapse, had remained somewhat in limbo along with
the other young Tanganyikan officers. Most of them were in due course
promoted to senior ranks, but Alex was eased out of the service. I never
fully understood the reason why this happened. He was a warm, courteous
and thoroughly nice man who fitted easily in any company, and he and I
enjoyed the occasional evening meal together at Margot’s. He should have
got the top job in the new army but, although educated at Tabora Secondary
School, he was not a native Tanganyikan, being of Nyasa descent, and this
may have been held against him. Moreover he had perhaps worked too
closely with the British officers to be acceptable in the new structure. So,
instead of becoming a Brigadier, he spent a few more idle months at Colito
Barracks, looking for a job in civilian life until he was, I think, snapped up
by Shell - and destined to go far with them.
Although Dar remained intensely hot and sticky, I did a bit of gardening,
but my efforts came to an abrupt end when a cactus thorn a quarter of an
inch long pierced my thumb nail while I was attacking the long grass at the
back of the house. The anti-tetanus injection ruined both boat-painting and
beer-drinking for a while. Instead, I took up painting in oils again. Margaret
had given me equipment from Rowneys, and I completed two presentable
pictures to hang on my walls and started two more, with a third in my
mind’s eye. I looked forward eagerly each weekend to picking up my brushes
and setting up my easel at the chosen spot. Perhaps my most ambitious
effort was a big canvas of palm trees at Hippo Creek in the wilds beyond
Kurasini; it was a lonely but absorbing occupation, but I nevertheless drew
much satisfaction from the challenge to make a picture.
I did a little sailing. On March 1st, at the end-of-season regatta at the
Yacht Club, I had a good day in the sun with the Gabbs in our boat Rock
‘n Roll. We won a little cup, coming in third in the first race of the day - a
handicap race greatly in our favour. Our pleasure was sadly shaken in the
last race, however, when I was at the helm and we were rammed amidships
by Greyhound my old boat; and it was my fault. The day ended on a note of
high excitement and argument, but the Gabbs were good enough to forgive
me and took me to the local theatre to see The Living Room, a Graham
Greene play by our amateur dramatic group at The Little Theatre. I managed one more long expedition in Rock ’n Roll out to Honeymoon Island on a
Sunday for a peaceful picnic lunch and run home before the wind in the late
afternoon - and that was the last sail I was ever to enjoy in the supremely
beautiful surroundings of Dar es Salaam harbour.
Soon after that trip we took the little boat out of the water and arranging
to scrape her bottom and repair the damage caused by the ramming. We
went on to repaint and varnish her for the start of the new season; and
we gave her a striking dark blue hull and buff -coloured decks. Th en the
Rains came. Asleep on the verandah of my Kurasini bungalow one night in
early May, I was awakened by a fierce storm and strong winds. After three
months of complete drought, the rain was gloriously refreshing and cooling.
Th ey continued through the month, curtailing outdoor activities, bringing a
plague of mosquitoes and lots of fresh new growth in the garden, but at last
offering much cooler weather.
Society for the Blind
As quickly as I could after the mutiny, I revived efforts to recruit an Executive
Officer for the Society. My first evening engagements, when we were free to
move around again, were to see the Society officers, prepare the Job Description
for the new post and give it publicity.
For a fortnight in February I gave a bed to a Scotsman called Frank Rigby,
who ran a settlement and farm for blind men near Tabora. He drank a lot, liked
to go out at night, and always had lots to talk about. He hired a car in Dar that
burst into flames one evening as he was driving us both back to Kurasini on the
sandy access road. We leapt out and threw sand on the flames while roaring with
laughter at the nonsense of it. Fortunately we were only a few minutes from
home so were able to leave the wreck in the field beside the road for the night.
He and I had a lot of fun together.
I found myself doing all sorts of odd jobs for the Society. I organised
a holiday for the blind children from Uhuru Street School at the Mission
School at Buigiri near Dodoma. A month later I arranged a display of Buigiri
handicrafts at a National Festival called by the Government to raise the people’s
spirits. I wrote the Society’s Annual Report and ran their Annual General
Meeting in May. Dr Daya remained our Chairman, and the Secretary and
Treasurer continued in their jobs which eased the strain on me. Mr Eliufoo,
Minister for Education, agreed to be our President and spoke at the AGM.
In some respects I was working as hard for the Society as for the Tea Growers’
Association; I was constantly worried lest my employers would resent the
time given to the blind and insist it cease - which would have been perfectly
reasonable of them.
Planning Robin’s Visit
In the early months of the year, I was busy working on plans for my summer
holidays and Robin’s visit. Kathleen Windham readily offered to look after
Robin at their lovely Oyster Bay home in the mornings while he was staying
with me and I had to go into the office. She went on to do some high-powered
organisation of a two-week safari in mid-August for the children to go round
the game parks, and invited Robin and me to join them. They planned to stay at
the President’s Lodge in Arusha, go on to an old camp in Ngorongoro, and then
move into the Serengeti Plains. The party was completed with Pat and Peter
Johnston, the Turnbulls’ friends whom I had also got to know well while ADC.
They had a boy aged five and two daughters of eleven and twelve also at school
in England who would come out for the summer.
I asked for leave from the TTGA to coincide with the planned trip, arranged
to borrow Simon’s Land Rover, and engaged a driver for visiting the game parks
as my main contribution to the joint family safari. I had seat belts fitted to my
own car and the exhaust replaced so that we could use it as a run around in
Dar before going north. I checked over my boat and made it seaworthy for the
summer - I wanted to show Robin Honeymoon Island and the coral reef where
I had spent so many happy weekends. I refreshed plans to climb Mount Meru
with Pat Johnston and some of the youngsters and thus proposed to fulfil a
long-held ambition. I sent Margaret a cheque for half of Robin’s fare and looked
forward keenly to his coming.
In June, as the weather cooled, our planning hotted up. Margaret booked
Robin’s flight out on 1st August and wrote to Kathleen Windham about
arrangements, while I made our booking at the Game Lodge at Seronera in
the middle of the Serengeti. While Sir Ralph was on circuit as Chief Justice
at the High Court in Arusha, he fixed our stay at the President’s Lodge there.
Confirmation also came through of our reservation at the Public Works
Department’s Rest House above Ngorongoro in a wonderful site on the edge of
the vast crater.
I asked Charles and Annette Gardner to meet Robin off his flight when he
landed at Embakasi Airport in Nairobi and take him across the city to the small
airport used by East African Airways serving Dar es Salaam. I warned Robin
that he would arrive on the Flag Day for the Society of the Blind in which I
would be heavily involved, so he might find himself counting money as soon as
he touched down. I explained we were to set off on safari to Arusha on the 7th,
less than a week after his arrival. We were scheduled to return from the game
parks in the north on the 22nd, and he was to leave Dar for home on the 26th,
so he would have no time to get bored.
Ah, but the best-laid plans of mice and men …!
Tanga
The end of May saw my first business safari from Dar for six months. I was
able to get away from the office for a trip to Tanga followed by twenty-four
hours on an estate in the hills. Although my little car ran like a bird for most
of the run, a hose pipe burst not far from Tanga. The local villagers produced
a mechanic, offered masses of good advice, put it right and would accept no
payment. I struggled into my hotel rather late, and the next morning attended a
meeting between the Usambara Branch of our Association and local trade union
officials at the Tanga Labour Office. I had made many friends among the tea planters, in addition to the two former Branch Chairmen, Wyon Stansfeld and
Hunter Cooper; and meeting these friendly folk and helping them tackle their
challenges was the sort of work I enjoyed that came my way all too seldom.
After the meeting I drove up another eighty miles into the hills above
Korogwe to spend my birthday on the superb estate of Kunga run by Mike
West, the new Chairman of the Branch. It was gloriously cool and fresh; the air
was like ice; the wild forest and the rolling hills of tea were very beautiful; my
host and hostess could not have been kinder. All the African country folk were
as friendly, helpful and cheerful as ever. On the way home, my windscreen was
shattered by a stone flying up from a passing car, but the incident could not
spoil my pleasure at escaping after a long time from the hot and sticky city.
The Southern Highlands
On my return to the office, I was drafting agreements for the TTGA to
negotiate with the trade union, and found myself putting up a young couple,
Diana and Tom Whitehouse from the Stone Valley estate in the Mufindi hills.
At the same time I was asked by Lawrence Napier Ford of Idetero Estate to try
and buy some of the sailing boats owned by members of the Zanzibar Sailing
Club now going cheap, following the exodus of Europeans from the island.
Lawrence was still very keen on sailing on the Mufindi Lake, and was taking
advantage of the enforced sales to build up a fleet of small boats to race there.
He asked me to bid for a National class dinghy that went by the name of Tom
Tit, for which I negotiated through our Yacht Club. He was bidding for two or
three other boats at that time, and, although the purchase of Tom Tit eventually
fell through, he kept me busy scouting for news of other boats on the market.
In the middle of June, I left for the Southern Highlands, in company with
the new Assistant Secretary of the FTE, to visit not only tea estates but also
sugar plantations, coffee farms and wattle forests. The trip was linked to the
suggestion that the Tea Growers’ Association should be enlarged to embrace
Commonwealth Development Corporation ventures in the country. The
CDC owned plantations of sugar, wattle, cocoa, coffee and ‘mixed farming’
(anything from beans to pyrethrum), mostly in the mountains of the south west
of Tanganyika. I welcomed the plan to extend the TTGA’s scope for it would
make the job still more interesting, though it would also increase the problems.
Meanwhile the two of us did 1,500 miles of motoring, calling at estates,
ranches and farms in the country including several of the most isolated. We
spent one night on a sugar estate in the plains and another in the midst of
forests of mimosa and blue wattle where a factory extracted juice from the bark for tanning leather. Once more I borrowed fishing equipment, determined to
become a master with the fly rod. We had a weekend in Mbeya in the heart
of trout-fishing country among the vast old forests, high mountains and cold
tumbling streams. I had hoped to revisit the Inchbold-Stevens, but Fiona had
written to say they were being transferred to Arusha and I missed them. My
companion and I went on to visit the tea estates that I already knew around
Tukuyu, and thence over new ground to Njombe and on a further ninety miles
north to Mufindi, all the while staying with the planters and their wives.
I kept no record and have no recollection of the places we visited nor of the
people we met; I wrote home simply that the tour was immensely interesting,
though the travelling was dry and dusty. I listened to the managers’ many
problems on my way, mostly concerning difficulties in obtaining entry and work
permits for their European staff and trainees. I gained the impression that wages
and taxes were rising steadily and eating away increases in productivity. The
sugar and wattle businesses financed by the CDC were losing money steadily.
Tea in the south west was doing poorly too, and unseasonal weather was adding
to the planters’ problems.
My companion and I met amazing hospitality wherever we went. We were
well looked after by all the estate managers and their families in their often
remote farms and estates, hundreds of miles from shops and mod cons, living
out of their own kitchen gardens. People up-country were trying to maintain
the old ‘settler’ way of life with their friendliness, generosity and wonderful local
community spirit.
Nightmare
In early July in the city, the air was fresh and cool and living was very
comfortable. My garden was growing well, and I was very cosy in my little
house. I was working hard while John Walsh was engaged with meetings with
the Ministry of Labour and later took a few days off for leave in the north of
the country. In his absence I attended several meetings of the FTE, while also
making arrangements for a full week’s visit to Dar from London of a VIP named
John Moffett, Director of the Royal Commonwealth Society for the Blind. I
admired the man hugely and was pleased to be able to fix meetings for him and
Frank Rigby with a number of government officials.
On 15th July, after dithering uncertainly and worrying myself sick for six
weeks, I went to see Dr O’Hara for advice about a lump. He passed me on
the very next day - the day of John Moffett’s arrival in Dar - for a check-up
with Mr Morton Mitchell, the senior Government surgical specialist. Not only was Morton the most experienced surgeon in the country, he had been
a contemporary and colleague of my brother, John in Nyasaland; so he knew
our family, and he reminded me with pride when we met that he had safely
delivered my nephew, Bill, into the world ten years previously.
I felt that I was in safe hands when I explained rather miserably how the
growth had been developing before and during my recent safari. I had pretended
to myself it was not there and it would go away, while becoming increasingly
fearful, uncomfortable and run down. Morton Mitchell proposed a minor
operation.
After visiting him, I was plunged into meetings and receptions for John
Moffett, but I spoke to John Walsh who was generous in his sympathy and
agreed leave of absence, I wrote formally to the Chairman in Nairobi and then
I wrote urgently to my father. I told him the doctors had diagnosed a hydrocele
for which an operation was required to release fluid. I added; "I am very lucky to
be under Morton Mitchell. I saw him early last week and have arranged to go into
hospital next Thursday evening for the operation on Friday. He is doing it as early as
he can in order to let me out before Robin arrives.. He said that if he operated next
Friday, he could let me out the following Friday, the day before Robin’s arrival. So
nothing must go wrong."
On the Saturday I spent time with Kathleen Windham going through Robin’s
programme, and the next day I wrote to Margaret with the final arrangements
for his visit. That week, the Association resumed negotiations with the trade
union and I was frantically busy as the scribe. At the same time I fixed Mr
Moffett’s calls on Ministers, Permanent Secretaries and the High Commission
and laid on a cheerful farewell sundowner for him before he left on his London
plane. It was a fraught period, and I worked up to the very last minute when I
took a taxi out to the Muhimbili Hospital where Morton worked, in the north
of the city, a brand new set of buildings with all the latest equipment.
I was put in bare little room one Thursday evening and, on the Monday
morning following the operation, Morton came in to the room with a serious
face to tell me what he had found. It took me time to realise the enormity of
what he was saying. "Dick. I’m afraid I did not find what had been diagnosed.
There was no fluid to drain. There was no hydrocele. I found a tumour that was
malign and growing. I’m afraid it had completely destroyed the organ. And it was
threatening to spread."
In vivid language that left nothing to the imagination, Morton told me
about the operation and patiently explained the implications of his find, which
I struggled to grasp in my woolly mind. Finally I worked out he was proposing I should fly back to London immediately and have radiation treatment to prevent
the tumour from spreading.
I was shattered as the implications of his plan came home to me. I would
have to abandon my pleasant house and all my possessions out at Kurasini and
leave my loyal staff in the lurch. I would have to throw up my job and let down
John Walsh and his colleagues whom I greatly liked and respected. It would be
a serious distraction for John Walsh, my boss and friend, who was in the middle
of talks at the FTE and delicate negotiations with the Labour Ministry. Worse
than that, he would have to reconsider his plan to retire in September. Worst of
all, I would be unable to go on the long-planned holiday with Robin; I would
let him and his mother down too - at the very last minute - just a week before
his arrival - far too late for plans to be changed. And this was the third time
that some wretched illness had forced me to chuck my career and turn my life
upside down.
The first thing to do was to telephone home to warn them of my impending
arrival, and Morton carefully dictated what I should say about my clinical
condition. I found my mother on the end of a very poor line; the phone was in
the hospital corridor and I had to bellow down the line, and in three precious
minutes explain my predicament. It was a miserable business.
At 8 o’clock the next morning, I rang Pat Randall at the office on this
wretched public phone and begged her help, with a long list of things to do
in order to settle my affairs. I had to rely on her, John Walsh and Kathleen
Windham to whom I also immediately appealed for help. John Walsh sent a
cable to Margaret in Hampstead on my behalf and I think also spoke to her in a
long-distance phone call, with the following words; "From Eberlie: Doctor advises
I fly BA 166 arriving London Friday morning and attend Barts for radiation therapy
stop Mitchell has asked John to arrange by letter stop No need to change Robin’s plans
stop Windhams invite him on safari as arranged if he likes stop Important tell family
not to worry stop am very fit and strong as a horse."
I was discharged from the hospital on the Tuesday afternoon and went home
where Kathleen Windham found me and I did what I could to rescue Robin’s
holiday. The Windham boys had already arrived in Dar, and Kathleen promised
me she would ensure Robin would be well looked after. She was determined he
should join their party as planned, go up with them to Arusha and see the game,
and, with Pat Johnston’s help, give him the best possible time. She then gave
me a charming ‘get well’ present of a book entitled The Spirit of Man: An Anthology, a battered
well-thumbed little anthology compiled by John Masefield as Poet Laureate in
1916, which I still treasure. Later Pat Johnson called and I handed over to her my car, its log book and items of equipment purchased for the safari and wished
her luck on Mount Meru - for the third time I was to be thwarted in my attempt
to climb it.
I had wonderful support from colleagues at the Association; in addition to
solid help from John and Pat Randall. Encouraging letters reached me from our
members up-country; and from my servants at Kurasini. Pat Randall swiftly
disposed of all sorts of tedious formalities for me - income tax clearance, re-entry
permit, passport, yellow fever jabs, bills to be paid, and the boat to be put up
for sale - and Pat Randall advertised it at the Yacht Club notice board and at
Mufindi Sailing Club. My belongings had to be packed away - John arranged
for the job to be done by the man we called ‘the Chinaman’ and Pat made sure
my sixteen boxes were taken away by lorry and safely stored in a Tanganyika
Cotton Company warehouse. My staff had to be informed and their futures
settled - John engaged Amiri as the bungalow’s caretaker and paid severance
pay to the other two. John also called an emergency meeting of the TTGA’s
Executive Committee to agree to give me sick leave on full pay and pay my
air ticket home, and to employ a cashier to carry some of the extra work-load
during my absence.
In all possible ways my employers smoothed my departure. On the morning
of the Thursday, five days after the operation, my stitches were removed and at 8
p.m. in the evening I was on the VC10 homeward bound. I was still in a daze. I
think John had bought me a first class seat in the front of the plane. In any event
I slept most of the way home; and I know I was grateful for the ambulance he
had arranged to meet me on the tarmac at the foot of the planes’ steps when we
reached London airport.
|
Chapter 7: The United Republic
|
“There is a tide in the affairs of men…
On such a stream are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves
Or lose our ventures.”
Brutus in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar
The Birth of Tanzania
By Easter the Zanzibar airport was open again, commercial flights from Dar
had resumed, and one or two friends of mine took the opportunity to fly across
to the island to have a look round. They flew back to tell me they had found the
island to be miserable, chaotic and impoverished - vastly different from the busy
and thriving place it had been in the past. They gained the clear impression that
Communists were in complete control, and Cubans and East Germans were
present in large numbers as technicians, teachers and administrators while the
old British civil service was no more.
Everyday one read in the local papers and heard from visitors of more
Communists arriving and taking over government jobs, and of more Arabs and
Indians leaving. There were no courts; there was no law; there was no government;
local party men, friends of Babu, the communist Minister, were appointed to
run each village. Ali Sultan ‘the Red’ was reported to rule Pemba Island in
arbitrary fashion, refusing to allow visitors ashore - while the stories of his brutal
regime passed round by Africans were horrific. In the middle of May I was told
just two Europeans were still at work on Zanzibar - a doctor and a dentist - and,
as they had been told they would get no pension, they too were packing their
bags. Apart from the personal tragedies and the humiliation of the former Arab
ruling class, the coup and its aftermath frightened everyone, including most
politicians - even those who might have had a hand in engineering the uprising.
Meanwhile the Cold War came to Tanganyika with an icy blast. Zanzibar
recognised Communist East Germany; Tanganyika recognised West Germany. The East Germans strengthened their grip on the island, and the British,
Americans and West Germans exerted fierce pressure on the Tanganyika
Government to try and get rid of them, but Nyerere could do little about them,
any more than could the West German embassy. Poor little Tanganyika was pig
in the middle, as it were, between East and West; and no one could relax so long
as a heavily-armed Cuba-trained army was at large on the island.
In late April, the President announced the union of Tanganyika with Zanzibar.
Thus Tanzania was born. He reshuffled his Cabinet, and the Government was
paralysed while the new Ministers took over their jobs in a large unwieldy team
with five Zanzibaris in it, at least one of whom was a committed Communist. In
a flurry of diplomatic activity, Kambona, the Foreign Minister, went to London
and Bonn to explain and solicit support, while Nyerere told the British High
Commission and friendly ambassadors that he saw the union with Zanzibar as
a means of restoring law to the island. He argued forcefully that this was the
only way of preventing the Communists from using the island as a spring-board
from which to move into the mainland of East Africa. We were assured the
Communists would be winkled out and gradually lose their influence - even
though they had won just the sort of radical cell in the combined Cabinet that
they wanted. We remained anxious being acutely conscious that Nyerere had
to exert much greater influence over his new Cabinet than had been his habit
in the past; he simply had to keep a firm grip on all his new Ministers; and
he needed time, courage and strength to out-manoeuvre the Communists and
restore some semblance of order and democracy to Zanzibar.
Meanwhile, Sir Ralph Windham, Chief Justice, sat with two promoted
Tanganyikan army officers to hear the cases of the ring-leaders among the
mutineers. The trials were completed in late May when the accused were found
guilty and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. The President did not
help his situation by publicly condemning the sentences as too light. On the
day that the newspapers reported his criticism, they also carried the story of the
English game-ranger who had been imprisoned by an African magistrate for
suggesting that a sentence imposed by him on some game poachers had been
too lenient.
The President launched the Five-year Development Plan with panache -
excellent in conception, bold and imaginative and far-sighted, if only money
could be found to finance it. The Finance Ministry then published their
Budget for the coming year which merely served to increase the general air of
depression by raising duties on imported clothing and foodstuffs, and increasing
the tax on new cars to 20% of their price. These measures were said to raise the cost of living by 10%, although, luckily, tea - my bread and butter - was
not directly affected. Nyerere was doubtless trying to distract attention away
from his problems with Zanzibar where the Union was not working. None of
the island politicians had taken over their Ministries in Dar. On the contrary,
they were busy strengthening ties with East Germany and building their own
strong, if small, army. The Dar politicians were very unhappy at this behaviour
and contemplated extreme action, but could get no help from unsympathetic
neighbouring countries, and only criticism from their friends.
Accounts in the British press about the hollowness of the Union sparked off
a fierce anti-British attack in local newspapers and at the excessively sensitive
National Assembly. The Economist described Nyerere as a python who found
Zanzibar indigestible, which was held to be insulting and was probably too
near the truth to be acceptable in Dar es Salaam. Such comments caused
a tremendous stir among Tanganyika’s political elite and brought down
threats and thunder on British heads. All that summer, even though British
troops had saved democracy in Tanganyika, our High Commission and the
leaders of the British community were very agitated in an unhappy political
atmosphere.
Three dreary months
At the end of July, I left Tanzania’s turmoil behind me and flew home for
medical treatment, arriving back in London on the same day that my nephew,
Robin, left for Dar es Salaam for two weeks’ safari among a family of complete
strangers. I could do nothing about it. My parents took me back to Island
Cottage for two restful days over the weekend among the long lawns and
summer flowers of the Wittersham garden. I spent most of the time writing to
Pat Randall and John Walsh with requests and instructions about both my office
work and private affairs that had been abandoned in such haste.
On the Monday I went up to London to see the doctors at Bart’s Hospital
and met a consultant who proposed a second operation in order to cut out bits
that might have been infected by the malignancy. He sent me away for a couple
more days while he found a bed for me, and I stayed with my sister, Liz, at
Bricklehurst Manor. On return to Bart’s, I was out of action for a week or so in
a big ward several floors up overlooking the trees in the courtyard. I remember
little except the gentle hands and friendly voices of the young nurses; then one
day I sat in my dressing gown on an old bench by the fountain in the hospital
garden. It was a sunny week and the fountain burbled away while the London
traffic chuntered and rumbled past the other side of iron railings.
Soon enough I was discharged to the more peaceful and colourful
garden of Island Cottage for a short break before starting the radiotherapy
which took place in suite of rooms tacked on at the back of the hospital
in Smithfield. For six weeks, I was a guest of my sister Margaret and her
family in Hampstead, and went down to Bart’s every other day for a session
with the radio-therapist, a courteous and efficient Senior Registrar named
Skeggs. I used to dawdle around Bart’s on emerging from the ‘Tunnel’,
and spent many hours investigating Bart’s cavernous old library and the
magnificent church of St Bartholomew the Great that towered behind Little
Britain at the back of the hospital. With its massive Norman pillars and
numerous monuments to Victorian worthies, it was a church for browsing
where one could always find something interesting to study and admire,
and it was totally peaceful after the stress of the therapy. I grew to love it.
I then walked out of the hospital grounds, past St Paul’s and down the hill
towards the river and the Underground. I discovered a district that had
been flattened by German bombs twenty years earlier and was derelict while
awaiting reconstruction. I strolled past empty building sites with buddleia
and swathes of purple loosestrife growing wild over the broken concrete and
shattered floors; and on both sides of my path down to Blackfriars, brambles
sprawled over the battered brick walls of the offices and homes that had been
destroyed in the Blitz.
Back at Willow Road I must have been a difficult guest; I slept much
of the time and for the rest of it sat around in everyone’s way. No fun for
anyone. I escaped at the weekends to Island Cottage for a breather, and in
mid September, had a few days in Norwich with my elder brother, John,
and his family at Mayfield, their big house in the city’s pleasant residential
district. The treatment ended in early October.
News from the Association
I was heartened by many friendly letters from friends and colleagues
in Dar es Salaam. Pat Randall wrote long gossipy letters and gave me the
good news that Mike Konstam had sold my boat for £125 to an American.
Letters in Swahili came from Amiri, my servant, and young Fabian, the
office messenger which also cheered me up - poor Fabian had had his bicycle
stolen from the lobby of our offices and was thoroughly disgruntled.
John Walsh wrote to tell me he had agreed to stay on for a further year
until the following June - much to the relief of the Executive Committee.
He explained they had advertised his job vacancy widely, and when he wrote again he told me the Committee had chosen his successor; this was a man
named Arnold Foster, who would be meeting members at the Association’s
AGM in September.
Peter Knight wrote to me from Mufindi to say he was moving to Kericho
to take over the extensive Brooke Bond estates there. Cyril Goulding was on
leave with his wife in Hampshire and wrote to me to arrange to call when
in London in September to cheer me up with lots of stories about their life
in Tukuyu. It was good to see him, and I took advantage of our meeting to
ask him to send on my behalf presentation chests of tea from his Musekera
estate to the Barts’ doctors who had treated me. These small chests looked
good and made practical as well as unusual gifts by way of a thank-you for
my treatment.
After the Association’s AGM that September, Pat Randall wrote,
We had a party on the Friday, as you know, and it went off very well indeed,
and H. J. W. (John Walsh) was quite overcome as Mr Magor made a wonderful
speech about him and presented him with a miniature silver tea chest which was
quite something. I even felt choked up myself….
On the Committee, Richard Hartley will now take the place of Peter Knight
who transfers to Kericho at the end of the year; otherwise the Committee remains
the same.
Arnold Foster, the new recruit, is about as tall as Hunter Cooper, and seemed
to go over very well. He is dark-haired, broad and looked very fit. He seemed
very pleasant indeed and no ‘bounce’ - rather like a boy who knows he has a lot
to live up to and is not afraid to say so.. He was quite overcome with the house
and with the friendliness of everyone. He was willing to start on 1st Jan, but will
now join us on 1st March.
As for the Association’s work, John wrote at the end of September, Nothing
much in the way of news except for the latest demands from the NUTW which
include 73% increase in wages for adults and 135% for young persons. We are now
busy kicking the ball about, but will have to come to grips some time I suppose.
In late October he wrote again, saying, Sisal have gone madder than usual
and given a 25% wage increase which could put us out of business. We continue to
fight desperate rearguard actions, likely soon to become fairly bloody. Ministry of
Labour performing incredible feats of double-crossing employers to such an extent
that even the FTE’s hackles are at full stretch. Looking forward to seeing you with
your nose to the grindstone. Aye. John.
Then just a few days later, he added, We plan to do battle with the Minister
over the recent exorbitant wage demands of NUTW.
November - December 1964
Back to Work
On touching down at Embakasi Airport in Nairobi I was greeted warmly
by Charles Gardner who swept me up and took me to meet his wife, Annette,
and baby Jessica at their beautiful home. The family lived at Karen, a residential
district to the north of the city where spacious colonial-style houses were laid
out in lush gardens full of exotic plants and brightly-coloured flowering shrubs.
Charles and Annette went to a lot of trouble to entertain me for a pleasant
forty-eight hours while I unwound and Charles briefed me on recent goings-on
in Dar es Salaam.
I flew on from Nairobi back to Dar to resume work with the Association
on 12th November. John and Elinor welcomed me at the airport and looked
after me in their comfortable home in Massie Road for some days until I could
re-occupy my Kurasini bungalow. It was very hot, but I was able to use the Walsh’s house as a hotel while arranging to pick up my car, retrieve my boxes,
find my servants, and open up my own little bungalow at Kurasini again. I felt I
was very much a member of the family as I joined John and Elinor swimming in
the evenings after work, and on picnics and painting expeditions up and down
the coast at weekends.
The TTGA was busier than ever in the early weeks after my return. I met
our principal members again from the tea districts at an Executive Committee
in the middle of November, and learned that some progress had been made in
our negotiations with the trade union. Two face to face meetings with the trade
union took place soon after my return to work. The second session occurred
in mid December when, once again the Walsh’s spare bedrooms were full of
visiting members. Charles Gardner stayed with me at Kurasini, and I resumed
the job of drafting detailed briefing papers and began working up the proposed
official Agreement to be offered the union, and cleared these key papers with the
Committee before the Christmas break.
The Political Situation
While convalescing at home, John had given me hints in his letters about the
continuing difficult political situation. In a late October letter, he warned, "Its
starting to hot up again. Politically it’s still the mad-hatter’s tea party.
In Pat’s frequent letters she too included occasional comments about the
situation. On one occasion she wrote, some forty people have been detained, but it
is difficult to get the full gen about this affair.
In a subsequent letter, she wrote, Lots of things are going on behind the scenes,
but nothing definite that one can put one’s finger on. The Nigerian (soldiers) have
now left us and we have the Pakistan navy in at the moment.
They were both careful in what they said, for we had all to adjust to living in
something of a police state. In the New Year, some time after my return to work,
I saw a letter in the Manchester Guardian Weekly which John and I decided to
copy to all members as a warning against careless talk. The letter read;
Sir. The basic freedoms of speech, thought, assembly, etc are taken for granted in
this country. Few people appreciate their value, but they are things to be safeguarded.
I have just returned from Tanzania, where these things cannot be taken for granted.
Last week I was taken to the local government offices where officials questioned me
for two hours. The whole proceedings were recorded on tape. Copies of several of
my letters to parents and friends were produced and on the basis of information
contained in these letters I was asked such questions as “What do you think of our
Government?” “What do you think of TANU?” Do you admit that the information
contained in these letters is wrong?” I was told I would be sent for the following day
and that a court case would be brought against me for criticising the Government.
This was only avoided by quickly packing and leaving the country - Yours faithfully,
Alan Stewart, etc.
A fresh political crisis erupted almost as soon as I returned, but eventually
resolved itself as the Government slowly adjusted to the management of the
United Republic of Tanzania. There were constant racial tensions. In my final
report to the Royal Commonwealth Society for the Blind I felt it necessary to
caution them about the anti-European and anti-American feelings expressed
everywhere in the country at that time. I warned that many societies and clubs
had been publicly castigated as “quasi-racial”, while expressing the hope that the
Tanzanian Society for the Blind would remain unaffected. Elsewhere in Africa,
far more terrible things were happening - soon after my return to Dar horrifying
news came through of atrocities in Stanleyville in the Congo.
Job Hunting
On return to Dar I agreed with the TTGA that my two-year contract with
them would end on 30th March 1965, and they would then give me my airticket
to London and three months’ leave. I had learnt that every time I tried to
plan ahead, I brought down the wrath of the Gods and something nasty came
along to frustrate my proposals. So I did not begin job-hunting with much
enthusiasm. I wrote a couple of letters before the New Year and I toyed with
an idea that Neville Chittick, the archaeologist, put into my head at a Tanzania
Society meeting. I told him I had studied the Zaramo tribe of Kisarawe District,
and he urged me to take a research job at a university for a few months after
returning home to write a book about them. I had no desire to commute from
a suburb into London to work, and it seemed possible to avoid such a fate by
writing a book, get the Zaramo off my chest and get fully fit, with expenses paid
at a university, while looking for a long-term career position at greater leisure.
Another bonus would have been the opportunity to accept Margaret’s invitation
to spend my summer holiday with the Little family in Brittany, for which I
would contribute a car. It was a tempting proposition which I put to my parents
- but they did not think much of it.
I spoke to Richard Magor of George Williamsons for I saw his firm as the
best opening available to me in the tea trade in the City of London. He offered
to write to his Mincing Lane office on my behalf to enquire if they had any
opportunities for me. It was a kind thought, but he raised my hopes only to
dash them when he told me they had replied; No joy! This was a disappointment, though perhaps I had been hoping for the moon in thinking I could ever break
into the ‘closed shop’ of the almost legendary heart of the international tea
trade. Richard offered to try again for me with other London contacts - but I no
longer set much store by his efforts, kind though they were.
I then made the mistake of working out a detailed plan to spend a month of
my end-of-contract leave in East Africa. I decided to pass the first week of April
packing and settling my affairs, and then take three weeks’ painting holiday in
northern Tanzania. Elinor and John encouraged me in this idea and arranged
to accompany me for part of the safari to all the places I loved in the country,
before I boarded a VC10 returning to London on Friday 30th April. I should
have known better.
Domestic and Social
On return to Dar, I sorted out my Kurasini bungalow and installed an airconditioner
in the main bedroom to ease the discomfort of the long stifling
nights. No rain had fallen for several months and the garden was a dry and dusty
mess. My old cook had disappeared, and I asked Amiri to do the basic cooking,
of which he was by then entirely capable, and offered him an additional Shs
40/- a month which seemed to satisfy him. He learned fast and became an
adequate cook; I wrote home that I intended to live rather more simply for my
last months with the Association.
I was back among kind friends. I dined with the Johnstons at a delightful
place on the beach, and again the following week at a cheerful buffet supper
at their home, before Pat left for the UK. We gave her a good send-off at the
airport - I was sad at her going for she had been a good friend and a great
climbing companion.
The Windhams entertained me before going off on business to Mwanza, and
told me of their safari to the game parks in which Robin had played his part so
well. I admired the transparencies taken by Sir Ralph of the game they had seen
on their safari - including pictures of two huge rhinos racing alongside their
station wagon, egged on by Robin and the other boys.
I then reverted to the old routine of odd evenings out, a cinema and supper
with the Walshes every few days, occasional pleasant ‘sundowners’, and regular
evening lectures under the aegis of the Tanzania Society by eminent authorities
like Dr Leakey on the Olduvai Dig, and Neville Chittick on the archaeology of
the Tanganyika coast.
I abandoned any idea of sailing while the wound was stiff and gladly gave
up the job of Secretary of the Blind Society - even so found myself obliged to write extensive handing-over notes and two long letters to Moffett at the RCSB
in London about unfinished work. In response to our year-long search for an
Executive Officer for the TSB, a young man named Pashua came forward to
assume the role. He was employed in the Ministry of Community Development
and had already worked amicably with us, knew the job, and seemed a competent
sort of chap. I was relieved and pleased to be able to hand over to him.
Only a week after the air-conditioner was installed, thieves broke through its
hard-board frame, crawled into my bedroom at Kurasini and helped themselves
to the contents of my bedroom cupboards. They took most of my linen and
clothing, and stole my travelling clock, an iron and three bottles of beer. I
was working late that day and arrived home pretty weary to find chaos in my
bedroom, and an empty house. I summoned the police, showed them round
and made copious statements. The following morning eight policemen arrived
with an impressive pile of modern equipment and laboriously searched the
room for fingerprints. It was a sordid and dreary business, and small consolation
to know that three or four other houses in the neighbourhood had also been
burgled and a gang was going round the district. The police did their best, but I
never saw my travelling clock again. Worse, I had to move out of the bedroom
for several weeks while the police combed it for prints, and technicians repaired
the air-conditioner. In due course the insurance company offered £80 to cover
my losses and I was able to restock the linen cupboard.
Dinner on the night of the burglary was at the new Dar es Salaam University,
where I met a delightful young American girl who was on a grant to investigate
the customs of the Zaramo people around Kisarawe. She wanted to stay at the
mission there but the new Area Commissioner, who had replaced the DC,
had forbidden her to enter his District because of allegations about a plot by
the Americans against Tanzania. Suspected of spying, she was required to live
in town until the fuss died down. When, a couple of weeks later, she finally
obtained permission to move into the mission on Kisarawe hill, I tried to help
her settle in and showed her round the place. We had an amusing time, but she
proved to be just a little scatty - I was never on her wave-length.
As we moved into December that year, it was like living in a steam-laundry;
the breeze died completely in the evenings and the nights were very hot. The
Gouldings invited me to spend a few days over Christmas with them on their
Tukuyu tea estate and I was tempted, but felt it necessary to give as much time
as possible to the Association after my long absence. The Walshes planned
to be away and John deserved a break having run the office on his own for
many months, so I remained in Dar to hold the fort over the holiday period. Social life was pleasant, however, despite the heat. I met the new British High
Commissioner, Sir Robert Fowler - an older man with masses of diplomatic
experience. I was also the guest of Stephen Miles who had ably look after British
interests during the recent difficult months and was, I dare say, ready for a break,
and on Christmas Eve I was entertained by Christopher Macrae and his wife.
My Christmas morning was taken up with a long and stifling hot service at
my neighbourhood church, the Seamen’s Mission in Kurasini. All the children
of local Christian families were asked to bring their favourite present with them
and to show them off in the middle of the service. They loved it, and we all
enjoyed their pleasure. In the afternoon we sat round the Christmas tree at
the Windhams and Belinda handed round presents to everyone during tea -
but it was a little sad because all the other Windham children were spending
their school holidays in England that winter. In contrast, the four teenage Gabb
children had come out for Christmas with their parents who invited me to join
them for turkey and games in the evening.
The family at home were as generous as ever in sending cards and parcels. My
godparents and my aunts rallied round to add to the pile of gifts arriving at the
office. A new Hammond Innes novel was a special delight. I then learned my
parents had a new project; they had decided to build a house at the bottom of
the kitchen garden of Bricklehurst Manor. My sister, Liz, had secured planning
permission, and the construction would be financed from the sale of Island
Cottage which my parents had reluctantly decided was too much for them. My
mother wrote to me about their move to temporary accommodation in a bed
and breakfast guest house in Ticehurst, and described their long consultations
with architects, before their white Christmas with brother John’s family in
Norwich.
January - March 1965
The Office
In the office, the New Year started slowly while John was away in the
Southern Highlands. I was able to catch up with odd jobs of the sort I enjoyed,
like helping to buy tea-seed for a co-operative scheme, purchasing flea powder
to send to a Mufindi estate, and arranging the registration of the birth of a son
to Pat and Elizabeth Lockington at Stone Valley.
On John’s return to work that January, we prepared a meeting of the Tea
Board and I left him to complete the preparations while I went on a tour in the Usambara Mountains. Immediately after the public holiday on the anniversary
of Zanzibar’s revolution, I drove north to do another round of the tea estates
in the area of Lushoto and above Korogwe. I called at Ambangulu to meet the
delightful and youthful Hans Salwegter, and motored on to Kunga, Balangai and
Herkulu, staying each night in a different place, as I had done on my previous
tour. The land was marvellously fresh and green, and the air wonderfully
invigorating and refreshing compared to hot and humid Dar es Salaam. My
hosts were all kind and helpful, and I received much delightful hospitality and
was able to do a lot of work while having a look around their estates. They had
lots of problems, however; and there were all sorts of things we could help with
in Dar, so the managers always seemed glad to see me.
I took the opportunity to revisit Lushoto on the Sunday, and found the
market on the common as beautiful as ever, full of flowers and busy market
people dressed in gay colourful kangas and gowns, selling vegetables, herbs
and the usual stinking dried fish. I was sad to leave and return to the hot and
torrid coast, but the Walshes left for six weeks’ break in England at the end of
January, and I was once more on my own in the office. Detailed instructions
from John helped me through four meetings held in the space of ten days when,
as secretary and minute-taker, I was kept hard at work. The usual team of senior
members came down for a meeting of the Executive Committee followed by a
session with the union in the SJC. We made progress towards agreement, as I
reported a day later to the FTE’s Executive.
As soon as that round of meetings was concluded and my committee
members had gone back to their estates, I moved across into the Walshes’
house and took over the responsibility for their property, garden, servants
and little Vixen. I was delighted to do so because the Massie Road house
was a good deal cooler and breezier than mine, as well as being a lot more
comfortable. Their garden needed constant attention, however, and I had to
supervise the use of sprinklers on the lawns and vegetable garden during the
very dry weather. Maddeningly, one of the Walsh’s servants stole some bottles
of vermouth and beer, and I had to deal with staff problems when there were
better things to do.
I was in touch with the British High Commission and briefed their Labour
Adviser. Ten days later I organised an Extraordinary General Meeting of the
Association to secure agreement to our line of negotiations. Members flew in from
all the tea-growing areas across the country to brief our Executive Committee. It
was a big affair reflecting the importance of the impending agreement with the
union about relations with the large labour forces on the estates. Immediately following the AGM, our Executive met the NUTW at another meeting of the
SJC and faced the Government representatives at the Tea Board; and agreement
was at last reached on union recognition. These were significant months in the
life of the Association.
At the same time there was no let up on other types of our work; in particular
I had to arrange an entry permit for Arnold Foster, John’s successor, and we
organised introductory meetings and a safari for him round the estates to get
to know our members. Hunter Cooper had immigration problems too and
asked me to help sort them out. Having retired from management of his estates
he wanted to settle in Lushoto as an Adviser on African tea-growing in the
Usambaras, but the Immigration Department was sticky.
That January, I was depressed because the wound from the second operation
was painful. Pat Randall in the office looked after me kindly, Morton Mitchell
was reassuring, and Kathleen Windham was a brick, keeping up my sagging
morale. Morton Mitchell advised me to have an early check-up at Bart’s,
abandon the idea of a final holiday in Tanzania, and fly to London as soon as
my employers allowed. So sadly, I had to write to John and Elinor in England
to explain that the plans we had so carefully put together would have to be
scrapped; and John agreed I should leave Dar for London as soon as I liked after
his return. I cancelled my hotel room bookings with deep regret and booked the
day-time flight home on 24th March. This was a month earlier than originally
planned, and meant no more game-watching and no more painting - but
perhaps that was no great loss.
I kept in touch with my former boss, Richard Turnbull and wrote to him in
mid-January congratulating him on his appointment as High Commissioner for
South Arabia that had been reported in the Times. He wrote a cheerful letter in
reply from 82 Bell Street, Henley (Aden next week), applauding my decision to
finish with Tanzania and look for a new job at home, and said,
"I think you are wise in your decision to leave East Africa - at any rate until the
place settles down - for as long as the present attitude of doing what is most likely to
displease us rather than what will be most advantageous to the country continues,
there will be no confidence; and one cannot spend year after year looking over one’s
shoulder instead of getting on with the job." He also offered to give me a good
reference. He said, "there is nothing I should enjoy more than giving you a good and
colourful write-up."
Dramatic events then occurred both in Dar es Salaam and at home. In Dar,
a big ship hit the reef at the harbour entrance. It nearly closed the fairway, and
led to all sorts of problems for other ships manoeuvring in and out around it. The sight of the beached merchantman towering over the sea shore behind the
ferry was an astonishing sight for some weeks.
At home, Winston Churchill’s death in early February had been long expected
but was an occasion for deep mourning. My sister, Margaret wrote that she and
Roger had joined the long queue outside Westminster Hall and walked past
the coffin lying there in state. In Dar, we all listened to the recording of the
funeral, and people talked of little else for days. Some of us were invited to the
British High Commission to see the two hour BBC film of the occasion. We
were all impressed not only by the magnificence, solemnity and efficiency of the
funeral arrangements, but also by the immense size of the crowds that lined the
processional route. We saw the innumerable important figures who attend the
ceremonies in the Abbey, as well as the great cranes that dipped their heads along
the London docks as the great man’s body was borne down the Thames - and on
to the quiet country churchyard where he now lies.
Our politicians who were invited to attend the funeral in London could not
help but be impressed; Odinga Oginga, Kenya’s Vice President, excelled himself
on his return with a handsome tribute to Britain. Oscar Kambona, our Foreign
Minister, represented Tanzania, but seemed to have spent his time putting his wife
in a London nursing home, and arranging the establishment of an East German
consulate in Dar. The West German Ambassador expressed profound displeasure.
Late that February, I went back to Tanga for another meeting of the
Usambara District Tea Association in Bird & Co’s offices and learned of the
members’ disagreement with the Executive Committee’s decisions - the small
independent tea estate owners claimed they could afford no increase in labour
costs for they were already losing money on their tea sales. Members raised all
sorts of other problems, such as the refusal of TANU Youth League squatters to
vacate marginal land on some estates, and the Government’s failure to maintain
the hill roads. TANU was being very high-handed; I was shown a letter from the
local Union chairman to estate managers demanding cash advances and special
leave for all workers to attend local celebrations, concluding with the threat, "Any
manager who doesn’t do this will be breaking the law and dealt with severely!"
I was back in Dar to greet Arnold Foster on his arrival by air from England
on 28th February to begin to take over my role and in due course replace John
Walsh. Arnold and I spent a good deal of time together thereafter organising
his employment permit, and meeting key contacts, at both formal meetings
and informal drinks parties at Massie Road. Within a week I packed him off to
Tukuyu to stay with the Gouldings, meet the tea planters there and learn about
tea-growing on their estates - just as I had done two years earlier.
At the beginning of March, it was my task to prepare for the visit of one of
George Williamson’s most important estate owners. He was Lord Bridgeman,
a director of English Electric amongst other big fi rms, and Richard Magor
brought him down to Dar. Th ey stayed at the brand new Agip Hotel and I set
up meetings for them with senior politicians in the Government and with Sir
Robert Fowler at the High Commission. On the second day of Bridgeman’s
visit, Mrs Magor and Charles Gardner came down from Nairobi, coincidentally
on the same plane as the Walshes returning from leave in England. I gathered
them all up at a cocktail party on the Agip hotel roof - the smartest place in
Dar at that time - where my guests met some of the Ministers and other senior
politicians.
Th ereafter John took the VIP party in hand, and I began to think about
winding down at the end of my contract. Arnold Foster was going to move into
the Kurasini house and employ my servants there until the Walshes left, when
he would take over the TTGA house in Massie Road. I was thus able to sell to
Arnold a certain amount of my old furniture and furnishings and a case of two
of beer and the like, as I packed up and crated all the rest of my belongings with
Amiri’s help.
My last weeks
On John and Elinor’s return, I moved back to my little Kurasini bungalow for
the last time, with masses of letters to write, while packing, sorting and handing
over. My garden flourished. A pretty compliment was paid me when I was told
that it was the best garden at our end of town and would have won a prize in
the annual show had the judges ever come our way - my morning glory made a
great show, climbing all over the walls of the house. I got out my oil-paints and
easel, and decided to spend my last weekends painting. Encouraged by Rummy,
I began to paint the flame trees in flower round the back of the Ocean Road
Hospital where she was working as the Maternity Matron. I laboured over the
picture for several weeks, generally having tea or a drink with Rummy after a
couple of hours’ effort, but it did not work out - my grasp of perspective was
never adequate.
One Wednesday evening at the Windhams, I met Mr Cashin who had
organised Robin’s safari and was reported to have been the ‘life and soul’ of the
Arusha party - a cheerful, efficient and talkative fellow. We had another look
at the Windham’s slides of the holiday and, after dinner, listened to our host at
the piano. Ralph’s style was quiet and modest, and as gentle and charming as
the man himself. Bishop Trevor Huddleston was a guest on that occasion and a
delightful and entertaining talker as he talked about his Bishopric that extended
over the whole of the Southern Province and bordered Portuguese East Africa.
While the Bishop was renowned for his loathing of racial discrimination, he
spoke that evening of his concern about the unruly bands of ‘Freedom Fighters’
that were causing trouble in his see. They were stationed there to train to fight
the Portuguese colonial power for the liberation of the Portuguese East Africa;
they had the firm support of the President and Government of Tanzania, but
were ill-disciplined, largely out of control, and menacing the tribes across the
frontier.
I paid one final visit to Bagamoyo with Simon, and was horrified at the
mess made of the beautiful foreshore by some of these ‘Freedom Fighters’. The
young men appeared to be living and working in the open on the beach, with
no discipline and no facilities, using the mangroves as their communal latrine
which was quite disgusting. Bagamoyo had lost its charm.
Then the Windhams were off - Ralph was to be replaced by a senior African
judge. Peter Johnston threw a very grand farewell party for them, and the new
High Commissioner gave a stylish black tie dinner at the Residence to say
goodbye to them. Soon afterwards I joined a group of friends to see them off
on a liner homeward bound. I was sad to see them go, for they had taken me under their wing and been the most generous folk, as well as making Robin’s
safari possible.
A couple of days after the Windhams sailing, to my surprise it was my turn.
Dr Daya, Chairman of the Tanzania Society for the Blind gave me a sundowner
at his smart Msasani home. The committee and friends of the Society gathered
for the occasion; my host made a handsome speech, and presented me with a
silver beer tankard beautifully inscribed with my initials and the Society’s name.
The Good News
A telegram landed on my desk at the office and I read it with as much surprise
as delight. It read, ADEN 20 FEB. WOULD YOU BE INTERESTED IN A
TWO-YEAR CONTRACT JOB HERE AS PRIVATE SECRETARY? RICHARD
TURNBULL.
My heart leapt - and all I could think of was the great opportunity. The
disadvantages were many and obvious: it would be another short contract: I
would still be far away from home: there would be no permanence; and it would
be putting off the evil day when I must choose a long-term career. On the other
hand, the job was in a key place, at a key time, in a key position. Aden was
one of half a dozen hot spots in the world - or at least our British world - and I
should be at the heart of it. The idea of working for Turnbull again did not thrill
me, but I greatly admired him and respected his fine brain and great political
acumen; while Lady Turnbull had been very good to me and we knew each
other pretty well. John and Elinor were friends of the Turnbulls and on their
wave-length; and when they got back to Dar, they seemed delighted for me.
With my TTGA contract coming to an end conveniently soon and no other
job in prospect, they suggested I would be wrong to miss such an opening. The
proposed post would give me valuable experience and a much wider knowledge
of the world; it would provide a stimulating and immensely interesting life; on
the material side it would presumably give me my own house or flat, secretarial
staff in the office and staff at home; and it seemed foolish to turn down such an
attractive proposition for the sake of greater security.
A slight problem was that the job depended on my being passed fit by
the London doctors at the end of March. I replied to the cable as follows:
VERY INTERESTED IN YOUR KIND OFFER. ONLY SNAG IS SLIGHTLY
UNCERTAIN HEALTH. WRITING. EBERLIE.
That night I wrote home full of enthusiasm, asking my parents’ advice
but in truth my mind was already made up. Early the following morning I
wrote back to Sir Richard at Bell Street to confirm my willingness to do the job, offering to fly home via Aden the next month if there was any chance of
clinching the deal that way. At the same time Peter Johnston was good enough
to write to Sir Richard to explain how I was placed.
On arriving in Aden, the new High Commissioner wrote back on
Government House note paper, commiserating with me about having to see
the doctors again, and stressing we still hope to have you in the ‘household’
here…Please let me know as soon as you can what the doctors say.
I replied promising to do so as soon as I could on return to the UK.
Three weeks later, and a week before my departure, came the offer of a job
from Richard Magor. He wrote in a rather off-hand and patronising manner:
I was surprised to learn that you were considering taking up a job in Aden,
as I thought you had abandoned the tropics. Malcolm (Betten) and I wondered
whether you would care to try your luck in our office here. We could certainly
use your services and I have in mind once I get established transferring you to
London.
This was the career opening for which I had long hoped and about which
I had approached Richard months earlier. At that time he had said he had
nothing to offer me, but he had changed his mind at the last minute. The
job would have meant working in a pleasant environment in Nairobi as a
close colleague of Charles Gardner whom I greatly liked; more importantly
it would have given me a foot on the ladder to a well-paid and massively
interesting employment at Mincing Lane with wonderful prospects.
Could I have abandoned Aden and seized the Nairobi opportunity? I
agonised over the choice before me, and on arrival home I received a letter
from George Williamsons, Richard Magor’s firm, at 27 Mincing Lane,
addressed My dear Eberlie in the old gentlemanly style, and inviting me to call
on them. Their offices were all sparkling chandeliers and solid oak panelling.
But the timing was all wrong. Their proposal came too late. My mind was
already made up and focussed on the Aden job; I had committed myself to
Richard Turnbull by then, subject only to a clean bill of health. In the middle
of April I wrote back to Richard Magor from Island Cottage to thank him for
the offer and tell him I had finally decided to go to Aden. The principal reason
I gave was that I was moved by a deep dislike of East Africa at the moment… I
want to leave that part of the world now - and that was that.
I received some extraordinary nice letters of good wishes from my TTGA
colleagues and friends. Arnold Foster wrote a charming letter; Pat Randall
wrote a long warm and chatty one, and several of the up-country tea planters
sent me their good wishes. John Walsh said in his letter,
I should like to say how very much I have appreciated your help over the past two
years and how sad I am personally (a feeling which I am sure all members would
reciprocate) that we shall be no longer working together.
I also want to place on record three things. Your unfailing loyalty at all times to
me and to the Association; your complete integrity and your determination to stick
by your guns however unpleasant the consequences, when you knew you were in the
right; and the way in which you have always accept the burdens of responsibility
without demur, however great the qualms you may have felt - which you have a
remarkable gift for concealing.
This was a tremendous reference considering how badly I had let the
Association down by absenting myself sick for three months of my contract
with them. I had a very happy final dinner at the Massie Road house at which
I presented Elinor with a heavy coffee table book on English Gardens. She was
kind enough to commend my care of her precious garden and subsequently
wrote to thank me and say how she and John no longer thought of (me) as a guest
in their home but as a member of the family. I valued that too.
A generous letter of appreciation of my work for the blind of Tanganyika
reached me from John Wilson the RNIB Director in London while I was
packing.
I drove up the familiar road to Morogoro to spend my last weekend as a
guest of Andrew and Simon. They were deeply committed to their work at
the Mzumbe Local Government Training Centre and I was indeed sorry to say
goodbye to those two warm-hearted friends.
The possibility of the Aden job simplified arrangements and enabled me to
leave my possessions in their wooden packing cases to be sent by sea straight
to Aden as soon as my appointment was confirmed. My final days of handing
over to Arnold Foster were passed in a flat spin until I turned up at the airport
at 6 o’clock on the Wednesday morning, the 24th March. Geoffrey and Penny
Gabb, as well as Arnold, turned out the airport at that absurd hour to see me
off. Charles and Annette Gardner met me when the little plane landed at the
Nairobi airport and gave me breakfast, and saw me off on the London flight.
After a day in the air the VC10 touched down at Heathrow and I met my
parents with a bundle of Kenyan artichokes under my arm - an unusual present
from Charles.
Changing Jobs
My first concern on reaching the comfort of Island Cottage once more was
to convince the Colonial Office doctors that I was fit enough for the Aden job. This meant further examinations and interviews in Wimpole Street and in the
CO’s shabby offi ces in Great Smith Street, passing round all my old x-rays and
so on. Tedious stuff.
Meanwhile I found it difficult to shed my Association links. I wrote
innumerable good-bye and thank-you letters for all the gifts and kind messages
I had received before leaving Tanzania. Pat Randall had presented me with a
new pipe at my departure and I sent her my warm thanks, and at the same time
I wrote a formal reference and commendation of her work for the Association.
Perhaps I felt guilty for having to ask her to make so many changes to the long
and complicated Economic Survey of the Tea Industry that I had been working
on shortly before my departure. At any rate my gesture touched her, and she
wrote me numerous cheerful letters in the following months full of news about
the doings of the Association members and her Dar es Salaam friends. She spent
Easter in wonderfully cool weather at Kunga Estate in the Usambaras as a guest
of the Daveys, and told me she was able to watch the annual East African Safari
Rally pass by their mountain fastness. Over the same period, the Walshes took
up the booking I had made for them to spend a relaxing few days painting in
the lee of Mount Kilimanjaro. If things had turned out differently I would have
been with them.
The TTGA Committee had given me a special mission to accomplish while I
was home. They handed me £50 and asked me to buy a piece of antique silver to
be engraved and presented to Richard Magor on his retirement from the Chair
of the Association. This was fun - I have always enjoyed spending a lot of money
though seldom had the opportunity. I combed Harrods and Mappin and Webb,
but neither had much old silver, so I went round the dealers in Beauchamp Place
and at the Royal Exchange. Finally I moved on to browse the stalls in the Silver
Vaults under Chancery Lane, and over two or three mornings, learned a good
deal about antique silver in the process. I saw some lovely things of the 1820s and
30s, and selected a handsome leather William IV spirit flask with silver top and
bottom and cup dating from 1834. It was a fine piece of work that I had inscribed
according to John’s specification R B M From the members and staff of the TTGA
June 1965. I then contacted Arnold Foster’s wife, Margaret, in East Grinstead and
asked her to take the flask with her when she went out to join her husband in Dar
in early May so that John could arrange the presentation.
On 5th April I received a letter at Island Cottage from Lady Turnbull at Bell
Street in Henley, as follows:
I have just this morning heard from R.G.T. that your post has been approved -
very good news - and he asked me to tell you that you will not need shorts for work in
Aden, they are not worn because of Arab sensibilities - instead you wear light-weight
slacks… The weather out there is getting warmer. Lots of things going on here: I hope
to get away in about two weeks’ time.
It was up to me then to find out the terms of the proposed appointment
before formally accepting it. I sought meetings with the people concerned in the
Colonial Office and the Ministry of Overseas Development in Eland House near
Victoria. My salary was to be £2,370 - a step up - with a gratuity of £2,049 after
two years’ service and Inducement and Expatriate Allowances on top. Better
still, the Government would pay for my baggage and car to be shipped from Dar
es Salaam to Aden. The formal offer was held up while the bureaucrats sorted
their ideas out; and it was not until the first week of May that I received two
long letters from the Ministry starting Sir, closing with Your obedient servant,
and signed with an illegible scrawl. Up I went to London with my acceptance
in my pocket and handed it in to the Crown Agents on Millbank on 6th May.
I was committed. Three days later I was off to start a new chapter in my life.
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Epilogue
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In the light of the independent government’s actions in relation to expatriate
employers and developers, as I saw them in 1963, I concluded my confidential
report to TTGA members with the following gloomy prediction,
"The country is heading towards bankruptcy. Very naturally, foreign investors are
not coming forward. One big concern has just sold out all its assets in Tanganyika,
including half a dozen sisal estates and one tea estate. Taxes are being increased,
the costs of production are rapidly going up. The unfortunate managers and owners
of sisal, sugar, coffee and tea estates, are being squeezed ever more tightly. It is still
anyone’s guess whether or not these sorts of agricultural industries (on which the
economy of the country depends) will survive the political and financial pressure. In
India and Pakistan they have done so in a similar fashion, but in Burma, Ceylon
and Indonesia they have not survived. It is fascinating watching the changing scene
as an outsider; but I should hate to have money invested in this country in tea or
anything else."
Sadly, this prophecy proved all too true. Julius Nyerere’s socialist experiment
failed dismally. (See The State of Africa by Martin Meredith)
In the Arusha Declaration of 1967 the President committed his people to a
policy of ‘self-reliance’, and, soon afterwards, inaugurated a sweeping programme
of nationalisation. He put the state in control of all banking, insurance, food
production and processing, industry and manufacture, mining and wholesale
commerce. He then launched the notorious system of ujamaa (‘familyhood’)
for the compulsory resettlement of villagers in large communities organised for
cooperative farming.
Nyerere’s policies were well-meaning but disastrous. They caused both
severe hardship to many Tanzanians and a steep fall in agricultural production
and productivity. The standard of living stagnated in the years following
independence and then fell fifty per cent between 1975 and 1983. On the
twentieth anniversary of Independence in 1981, Nyerere confessed in a public
statement; "We are poorer now than we were in 1972."
Throughout this period, the country was kept afloat only by foreign aid,
and, on Nyerere’s departure from office, his successor as President was obliged to reverse his key socialist policies in a deal with the IMF to prevent complete
economic collapse.
Of the companies which I had known well while working in Tanzania, both
Brooke Bond and Chande Industries survived. They had bent to the wind and
eventually reached an accommodation with their government masters that
enabled them to carry on their businesses. Many of the other producers and
developers with whom I had worked had been less successful and succumbed –
and with them had been destroyed much of the agricultural economy that had
been steadily developing in the years before and immediately after Independence.
I returned to Dar es Salaam in 1999 on a mission for the Business Executive
Service Overseas (BESO) to advise on the development of the national employers’
association. I was saddened to see the destruction of the environment around
the capital city – one day I took a taxi out to my old much-loved haunts in
Kisarawe. We drove up a broad new tarmac road (built with Foreign Aid, so I was
told) and I found the Pugu Hills that I knew so well had been stripped almost
bare of their forest cover, and Kisarawe itself seemed to have been abandoned to
wilderness. It was supposed to be a military camp but all I could see was jungle
behind a few dilapidated old buildings and a broken-down lorry that was almost
hidden in the long grass blocking the former entrance road.
On the other hand I was heartened to find that a return to capitalism was
bringing wealth to the capital city. It was my job to interview a number of
employers and successful business people in Dar, and I had the pleasure of
meeting some level-headed, energetic and successful men and women. On
the Sunday morning of my visit, I attended St Alban’s Anglican church and
witnessed three communion services held before breakfast - two in Swahili and
one in English. At each of these services, every seat in every pew was taken and
the church overflowed with prosperous-looking fathers, smartly-dressed mothers
and their happy children in clean school uniforms singing the old hymns with
gusto. It appeared to me then that a strong bourgeoisie was emerging, driven
by an entrepreneurial spirit that Nyerere had only temporarily suppressed. I
was well aware the country had massive problems to overcome, but thought
its educated middle class was approaching them with energy, good sense and
commendable patriotic pride. I was much impressed.
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Review of The Winds and Wounds of Change: The Memoirs of Dick Eberlie: Part 3, 1961 to 1965
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Map of Tanganyika, 1957 Map 1
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Map of Handeni District, 1957 Map 2
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Map of Nzega District, 1957 Map 3
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Map of Kisarawe District, 1957 Map 4
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Dar es Salaam District 1957 Map Map 5
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Dar es Salaam City Centre 1957 Map Map 6
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1962 Map of North East Tanganyika
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Dar es Salaam District 1958 Map
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1947 Map of Tabora Region
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Colony Profile
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Tanganyika
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Books by Dick Eberlie
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District Officer in Tanganyika: 1956 - 1960 Part 2: The Memoirs of Dick Eberlie by Dick Eberlie
The Winds and Wounds of Change: 1961 to 1965 Part 3 (The Memoirs of Dick Eberlie) by Dick Eberlie
Aden: The Curtain Falls:
The Memoirs of Dick Eberlie: Part 4, 1965 to 1967 by Eberlie, Dick
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Appendix
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Tanganyika Tea –1963 to 1965
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Further Reading
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Elephants in my Cockpit by Fiona Alexander
Tracks through the Bush by Fiona Alexander
Exit From Empire: A Biography of Sir Richard Turnbull by Colin Baker
A Knight in Africa by J. K. Chande
You have been allocated Uganda by Alan Forward
Mayfly on the Stream of Time by Mick Gillies
Serengeti shall not die by Bernard and Michael Grzimek
Permanent Way: The story of the Kenya and Uganda Railway. Being the official history of the development of the Transport System in Kenya and Uganda. by M.F. Hill
Life with Ionides by Margaret Lane
The Dar Mutiny Of 1964 by Tony Laurence
The Making of Tanganyika by Judith Listowel
The Flags Changed at Midnight: Towards the Independence of Tanganyika by Michael Longford
Round Africa Cruise Holiday by S. P. B. Mais & Gillian Mais
The State of Africa by Martin Meredith
Forgotten Mandate: A British District Officer in Tanganyika by E.K. Lumley
Brief Authority: A Memoir Of Colonial
Administration In Tanganyika by Charles Meek
Revolution in Zanzibar by Don Petterson
Tanzania, Journey to Republic by Randal Sadleir
Dar es Salaam 1963 by Tom Torrance
Flying Snakes and Green Turtles by Evelyn Voigt
60 Years in East Africa by Werner Voigt
Towards Independence In Africa:
A District Officer In Uganda At The End Of Empire by Patrick Walker
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Glossary of Abbreviations
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ADC |
Aide de Camp |
AG |
Attorney General |
AS |
Assistant Secretary (in the Secretariat) |
BB |
Brooke Bond Tea Company Limited |
BHC |
British High Commission |
BOAC |
British Overseas Airways
Corporation |
CID |
Criminal Investigation
Department |
CIS |
Chartered Institute of Secretaries |
CDC |
Commonwealth Development
Corporation |
DC |
District Commissioner |
DHC |
Deputy High Commissioner |
DMO |
District Medical Officer |
DO |
District Officer |
DOI |
the senior (or first) District
Officer |
DOII |
the junior (or second) District
Officer |
DPC |
Deputy Provincial Commissioner |
EAA |
East African Airways |
FTE |
Federation of Tanganyika Employers |
GH |
Government House |
GW |
George Williamsons, Managing Agents |
HE |
His Excellency the Governor |
HMG |
Her Majesty’s Government |
Legco |
The Legislative Council |
LMBC |
Lady Margaret’s Boat Club |
MLC |
Member of the Legislative
Council |
MNA |
Member of the National
Assembly |
MO |
Medical Officer |
MV |
Motor Vessel or Motonavo - (Italian)
liner |
NFP |
The Northern Frontier Province of
Kenya |
NUTW |
National Union of Tanganyika
Workers |
NWM |
National Workers Movement |
OS |
Old Shirburnian |
PA |
Personal Assistant |
PAO |
Provincial Agricultural Officer |
PAS |
Permanent Assistant Secretary (in the
Secretariat) |
PC |
Provincial Commissioner |
PMO |
Provincial Medical Officer |
PS |
Permanent Secretary (in the
Secretariat) |
PVO |
Provincial Veterinary Officer |
PWD |
Public Works Department |
RCSB |
Royal Commonwealth Society for the
Blind |
RM |
Resident Magistrate |
SG |
Solicitor General |
SJC |
Standing Joint Committee (of
employers and trades unions) |
SS |
Steam Ship - passenger liner |
TANU |
Tanganyika African National
Union |
TATU |
Tanganyika African Traders’
Union |
TB |
Tuberculosis |
TCGA |
Tanganyika Coffee Growers
Association |
TE |
Their Excellencies, the Governor and
his Lady |
TECSA |
Tanganyika European Civil Servants
Association |
TEP |
Temporary Employment Permit |
TRH |
Their Royal Highnesses |
TSB |
Tanganyika Society for the Blind |
TSGA |
Tanganyika Sisal Growers Association |
TTGA |
Tanganyika Tea Growers Association |
TUPW |
Tanganyika Union of Plantation
Workers |
UK |
United Kingdom |
UN |
United Nations Organisation |
VW |
Volkswagen |
WAA |
Woman Administrative Officer |
YE |
Your Excellencies |
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Swahili & African Languages Glossary
|
askari |
a uniformed policeman or
soldier |
banda |
hut, hovel or shed |
baraza |
a meeting, a meeting hall, or
court room |
baraza kuu |
An annual general meeting; literally
‘big meeting’ |
boi |
houseboy or servant |
boma |
District or Provincial Office,
defended fort, cattle kraal |
Bwana |
Mister |
Bwana Mkubwa |
Sir |
Bwana Shauri |
District Officer |
choo |
lavatory |
dafu |
coconut milk |
debe |
four gallon tin can |
duka |
shop |
fitina |
mischief |
fundi |
artisan, skilled worker |
haidhuru |
It doesn’t matter |
jando |
initiation rites |
jembe |
hoe |
Jumbe |
headman |
Kadhi |
Judge and expert in Moslem
law |
kanga |
rectangle of brightly-coloured
cloth worn by women |
karai |
(? Nyamwezi) shallow pan of
carrying earth etc |
kanzu |
long white gown worn by
men |
kimbo |
small tin container used for
drinking (originally of fat) |
Kingi Georgi Hoteli |
prison |
kofia |
a round cap of white linen or
red cloth |
kokoto |
small stones or aggregate |
kugoma |
to go on strike; passive
resistance |
makuti |
coconut palm fronds; roofing
material on the coast |
mara moja |
at once! |
mashua |
a small sailing boat |
Masika |
The long rains |
Mbenzi |
a rich man, owner of a Mercedes Benz
car. Plural wabenzi. |
mganga |
native doctor, a good witchdoctor.
Plural waganga |
mchawi |
wizard or witch-doctor of evil
intent. Plural wachawi |
mhuni |
vagabond. Plural wahuni |
mnangwa |
(in Nyamwezi) chief. Plural
wanangwa |
moshi |
(1) smoke
(2) a potent distilled liquor
from bananas |
mtawala |
governor or chief |
mtawala mkuu |
great governor or supreme
chief |
Mtemi |
(in Nyamwezi) paramount
chief |
mtoto |
child, plural watoto |
mumiani |
dark gum for use as a
medicine, thought to be dried
blood |
mwangoma |
(in Nyamwezi) junior chief |
nahodha |
captain of a vessel |
ndewa |
(in Zaramo) sub-chief |
ngalawa |
outrigger |
n’gambo |
the other side |
ngoma |
drum or dance |
njaa |
hunger, famine |
ofisi |
office |
panga |
matchet or large knife |
pombe |
native beer |
posho |
daily rations, rice, bran or
meal |
Seuta |
(in Zigua) paramount chief |
Shamba |
field, garden, farm |
Shauri |
problem, complaint,
grievance, or a fuss |
Tarishi |
a messenger at the Boma |
Turniboi |
driver’s assistant |
Ufungilo |
(in Zigua) chief |
Uhuru |
freedom; Independence |
Vuli |
The short rains |
Wakili |
agent of the Liwali, area
headman |
Zumbe |
(in Zigua) Chief |
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