For the moment we shelved the problem and concentrated on having a holiday for the remaining two weeks of J.R.'s leave, and we chose Littlehampton because as far as I know it is the only seaside resort within easy reach of Surrey which has a sandy beach, and small children do love playing in the sand. Unfortunately, the weather did not co-operate and the rain came down in sheets for most of the time we were there. I didn't feel very well, and it was not the happiest of times. In late August J.R. flew back to the Cold Coast, and Penny and I followed on a few weeks later. in my usual travel. month of October.

This was the time of the Hungarian uprising, which was so brutally put down by the Russians. Every day the news seemed to be worse than the day before, and I was on tenterhooks lest World War III should break out before we could get away. In my imagination I could see Penny and me being separated from J.R. for six years of another war, so that my relief when the aircraft-wheels finally left the ground and we were really on our way was past description.

It was a hellish three day trip in a small Dakota aircraft, with overnight stops in Agadir and Bathurst, two places that I have no desire ever to see again. It was very noisy, very hot, and for some unexplained reason the aircraft flew far out to sea while we were coming down the western African coast, and for hours we were actually below the level of the cliffs, almost appearing to be touching the water. It was very frightening, and the entire journey was complicated by the fact that my daughter was airsick all the way. I've had some uncomfortable journeys in my time, but this one took the biscuit. Penny's face was crimson with heatstroke and her hair ringing wet, and I began to despair that we would ever arrive anywhere.

For the last day's travel I wore a brand new maternity outfit, in which I had visions of arriving at Takoradi airport looking smart, clean and unruffled, instead of which, half an hour before we touched down Penny was sick again all down my skirt. At that point I gave up and didn't care what I looked like. When we did arrive on the ground, I thankfully handed J.R. his fretful daughter, went to claim my luggage and found that my favourite overnight dressing case was missing. The officials swore it had gone on to Lagos by mistake-, although how this could have happened was beyond me as the aircraft was still standing outside on the tarmac. In the end, I went out to the aircraft by myself to look in the luggage hold, and there it was, as large as life. If you want a thing done properly, do it yourself.

When we arrived at Obuasi off the train the next day, it was comparatively cool and how glad I was to see our bungalow again, with Kwasi standing there ready to take the luggage, run me a bath and make a cup of tea!

One of the first things I discovered after arriving back this time, ready to stun everybody with the news that I was five months' pregnant, was that there were four other wives on the mine in the same condition, all of us getting ready to produce within three weeks of each other. How busy we had all been!

We now had a new mine doctor, a pleasant little Irishmen called Dr. Bramble, who really liked obstetrical work. He declared that we could have our babies at Obuasi unless there were any unusual circumstances with each individual case, and we all made up our minds that there were not going to be any such problems. No one welcomed the thought of a last minute frantic rush over terrible roads to the hospital in Kumasi, even though it was a brand new hospital with plenty of up-to-date equipment. We had our own perfectly good hospital here on the site, and in fact three of us actually had our babies in our own bungalows. Joan Hayes, who lived in the middle one of the three new bungalows near us, was a State Registered Nurse, so that we had constant attention. Her ambition was to deliver a baby all by herself, something which she had not yet managed to do, and here were five opportunities looming up in front of her. She didn't really mind which of us obliged.

An ante-natal clinic was established adjacent to the European Hospital, which we attended each week. The five of us were - Joy Bishop (praying for a boy this time), Margaret Melvin and Gladys Baker (both having first babies), the South African wife of the Chief Surveyor (a first), and myself (a second). We were a happy band of mothers and mothers-to-be, meeting together to do our exercises and relaxation, trying to reassure the three first-timers, who were all rather apprehensive at the prospect of going through this ordeal without the comfort of having their own mothers near to them. Gladys made the rest of us laugh more than once, with her sublime ignorance of how her own body worked. On the occasion when she came out of the doctor's surgery looking puzzled, remarking that he had looked at her ankles and said there was obviously nothing wrong with her kidneys, she nearly brought the roof down. "But I didn't know my kidneys were in my ankles", she repeated, still looking mystified, and couldn't understand why we kept on laughing.

The irony was that, towards the end of her pregnancy, she decided to go home to England to have her baby, and there came a day when her husband was hurriedly sent for and had to catch the next plane to England, because she was at death's door. She was suffering from kidney failure. But all was well in the end. She made a complete recovery and the baby, a girl, was fine.

One of the enterprising young wives, who had been an infant school teacher in England before her marriage, started a nursery school on weekday mornings in the Club. This was a great help to Joy and me during the hot days, when we were so very pregnant. I don't think the children learnt very much, but it was worth the small amount it cost to get them out of our hair for five mornings a week. Penny would come home with Daddy at lunch time on the mine bus, and there was one memorable day when she could talk about nothing but "the snake".

When we got the story sorted out, it appeared that while all the children were sitting down listening to a story, a very large black mamba had slithered in through one of the open doorways and made its unhurried way across the middle of the floor and out through another door. None of these snakes would attack a human being unless trodden on or frightened in some way, but the sight of them was enough for most people, and it was more than enough for this particular wife who was nearly petrified out of her wits. She gathered all the children to her and told them not to move or speak, and together they sat and watched until the thing had disappeared from sight. It was unfortunate that the teacher's fear communicated itself to the children, and especially to Penny, who from that time onwards was very frightened of seeing another snake.

They were not agreeable reptiles, and most of the African ones were poisonous, but they still didn't scare me as much as those wretched cockroaches. I was even once persuaded to handle a small python, having been assured that it couldn't poison me but could only strangle me to death, and was surprised to find that it felt quite dry and not wet and clammy as I had supposed.

We had a birthday party for Penny in January when she became four years old, and invited all the children on the mine - which was a mistake-. It was a terribly hot day, the children only wanted to fight with each other and not to play, and the birthday girl was suffering from prickly heat all over her face and neck, which meant she was not in a good mood. She walked about most of the time with a ferocious scowl on her face and as many of her toys as possible stuffed under each arm, so that she wouldn't have to share them with the others. After she had blown out her four candles and I saw how the perspiration was dripping off the spiky ends of her short fair hair, I suggested we all retreat to the swimming pool to cool off, and that is where the party ended.

The day before our son Guy was born, I woke up feeling full of energy and walked round the house as light as a feather, almost as if the bump I had carried about for so long was gone. I went out for coffee to another bungalow, in the afternoon took Penny to the pool, and in the evening J.R. and I went to the camp cinema, later retiring to bed with no thoughts of impending births. There were still two weeks to go and no reason to suppose this birth would be early as the first one had been. Perhaps I should have been alerted by a strong feeling that I did not want to be alone, but I know I went to bed with only the usual sigh of relief to get off my feet.

Then at midnight I came wide awake, knowing that Something Was Up. We called Joan Hayes up from her bungalow; she stayed with me the rest of the night, and Guy was born at ten minutes past eight the following morning. Dr. Bramble arrived on the scene just in time to stop Joan from realising her ambition.

I had an easy time - as easy as these things ever are and J.R. and I were both delighted that we now had a son and a daughter. Margaret Melvin came and took Penny down to her bungalow at 7.30 a.m. to get her out of the way, and then took her to school. When Penny returned at lunch time, she was informed she had a brother. This news did not impress her. She studied without enthusiasm the small red object lying in its cot, then came over to my bed, looked suspiciously at me and said, "Well, come on then Geddup! Geddup!"

It was the first day of the much delayed Harmattan. I shall always remember the calm and peace of that morning as I lay placidly in bed, my job done, and the lovely cool. breezes floated round the room through the open windows, blowing the curtains out horizontal. J.R. went to the office, a bit bleary-eyed through having been awake all night, and one after another the ladies of the mine came peeping in to see the new arrival. I even had a note from Sir Edward Spears, who was visiting Obuasi at the time:

Five days later it was Joy's turn. In the late afternoon, Joan Hayes' husband Alan, the Assistant Chief Engineer, arrived at our bungalow to collect the hospital bedpan, which was still reposing in our bathroom, and take it to Joy's bungalow, where it was urgently required. Alan was not very thrilled at having to fulfill this small obligation. I can see him now, walking down our front steps with the necessary piece of china under one arm, muttering darkly to himself, "The things I do for England!"

I was the only one to produce a boy. The other three babies were girls, and three weeks after the last one arrived, another great day came along. On March 6th, 1957, the Gold Coast, including Ashanti, the Northern Territories Protectorate and the Trust Territory of British Togol and, attained full independence within the Commonwealth and became known as Ghana.

Those of us with white skins who were living in the country had no idea what to expect, and were more than a little-apprehensive. We might have found ourselves in the middle of a bloody revolution, and perhaps if the local population had been more excitable and volatile, this could have happened. What did happen was that throughout the country, and more especially in the towns, there was dancing and singing in the streets and much drinking of the local palm wine - wicked stuff, this, made from palm shoots and smelling abominable while being extremely potent - while the natives celebrated what they thought of as a great achievement which would herald a complete change in their way of living. Kwame Nkrumah threw a teaparty for Accra children, to which hundreds came, running about the lawns beside his ministerial office. He closed the teaparty with the announcement of a day's school holiday, and then broadcast to the nation that it was now totally free and independent.

A new modern hotel had just been built in Accra, and now seemed a very good time to declare it open. It was named the Ambassador Hotel and Nkrumah, standing on the front steps, announced to the crowds gathered outside, "People of Ghana! This is your hotel!"

The people of Ghana took him at his word. They swarmed inside, up and down the stairs, spread out on all the floors and took everything that wasn't nailed down. There were big, fat mammies hurling mattresses out of windows to their friends down below, curtains and bedspreads and tables and chairs all followed, china, cutlery, you name it they took it. The piccans were there carrying the smaller items on their kinky heads, everyone dancing and singing "Every body like Saturday night!", and the chorus following on "Everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody like Saturday night!" It was the party of the century. I don't think the hotel was ever the same again, but never mind, it now belonged to the people so they could do what they liked with it.

It didn't make any difference to us on the mines. Everyone carried on with their jobs, went on leave, came back. Kwasi finally decided to quit working for us. I think he was getting past it and the last straw was Madame having another baby, with all the extra washing and ironing that entailed for him. We had given up trying to find any small boys who would stay the course, they all had arguments with Kwasi, so that in the end he was doing it all himself. After he left, we had a rather superior boy who was a "been to" - i.e. he had been to England, and he also proudly informed us that he had "failed Matriculation" at school. Instead of this being an achievement, or lack of, which in England would be swept under the carpet, in this country it showed that at least the boy had been educated up to Matriculation standard, even if he hadn't managed to get the obligatory 50% marks needed for a pass. In any case, he was a dead loss as cook/houseboy and only lasted a week or two in our household. In the end, I took over the cooking and we had a series of small boys to do the housework.

One day, J.R. and I managed to have a day out by ourselves. I farmed the children out to Margaret Williams and Joan Hayes for the day and we drove off al-to visit Lake Bosumtwe, the sacred lake situated some miles south east of Kumasi.

This lake is 600 feet above sea level, about four miles across and almost completely circular, possibly being in the crater of an extinct volcano. It is completely shut in by steep wooded hills rising hundreds of feet above the water. No streams flow out of it and no boats or canoes are allowed on it, but it is surrounded by large fishing villages and the natives fish from logs which they float onto the water. A very steep path led us down to the water, with bushes and trees crowding all around, until it was almost like walking through a tunnel, and at the bottom were several mammies with their children. When they saw us, they scuttled out of the way, terror written large on their faces, the children trying to hide behind their mothers.

I don't know why Bosumtwe was a sacred lake, but it was most likely something to do with the basic religion of the West African. They believed there were Great Spirits at the head of affairs, and these sometimes showed themselves to the natives, but always at night. There were certain districts in which no natives would remain after dark, like the hill of the "little men" at Marlu, and as I had already observed in church at the christening, the local missionaries really had an uphill job in getting Christianity through to them. The witch doctor of each village still had the most influence over them.

I thought it was very eerie, anyway, going down this narrow path to the lake, hemmed in on all sides by solid bush and listening to the silence, and when we did reach the lake there was nothing to see but water, so we came straight back again. But it was scary, and I for one would never go down there after dark.

On the way home we came through a village, which I think was Bekwai, where there was an African-owned store which was very well known - I might even say famous - for the sign outside, which I will reproduce here: *

No doubt the African who owned the store and was the author of this extraordinary sign was held in high regard in the village, because of all the long English words he knew, most of which I am sure he had pulled out of a dictionary and a few he had obviously made up for himself. Another example of the results from a thin coating of Christianity, overlaying a basic education, and all quarrelling mightily with the inborn superstitions and beliefs in good and bad - mostly bad - spirits.

This brings me to the subject of Ju-Ju.

J.R., in his capacity as an Honorary Member of the Ghanaian Police Force, had close associations with several European Police Officers and often accompanied them during their investigations into various crimes. On one occasion, as he had expressed an interest in seeing a Ju-Ju ceremony one of his police friends, Superintendent Peter Sutton, asked his African Inspector if arrangements could be made to visit and observe a ceremony, on the understanding that it would be in an unofficial capacity. This was agreed and they eventually set out in a Land Rover, traveled thirty miles along bush tracks until they arrived at a particular point, then walked three miles through the bush and finally reached a clearing alongside a stream.

In the centre of this clearing were set out several rush mats, two arm chairs and three Ashanti stools. The arm chairs were for J.R. and Peter Sutton, and the stools for the senior chief and two lesser ones. Surrounding the clearing was a congregation of about two hundred Africans, both adults and children, half a dozen goats with their feet tied together, and about twenty chickens, also trussed. When the guests had sat down and been given a drink of palm wine, the ceremony began. Peter Sutton's Inspector was at the back of the crowd, quietly observing the procedure.

The local witch doctor, white paint on his face and in the usual dress of feathers and bones, with a little pouch containing all kinds of supposedly magic powders, started to dance around the clearing to the sound of half a dozen drummers, banging away. After about fifteen minutes of this, the dancing and drumming stopped and a clay calabash, twelve inches across, was filled with water and handed to the witch doctor, together with a small palm leaf. He then trotted round the whole of the clearing, splashing water over everyone including J.R. and Peter Sutton. They were not quite clear what was the meaning of this, but on enquiry were told that it was to wash away evil spirits. Palm wine in substantial quantities was then handed round for about half an hour, and the natives were becoming less inhibited by the white presences and more excited.

More palm wine. General laughing, dancing, drumming, for a further hour, then the procedure was repeated with the goats, who had their throats slit and their blood distributed on the altar and in the stream. This time the witch doctor ensured that everyone in the community had a liberal dose of the pink mixture, to the sound of great hilarity. It seemed that this ceremony was followed two or three times a year, the times decided upon by the local chiefs, and it was supposed to bring good luck and strength to all who took part.

By the time this was over, both J.R. and Peter looked as though they were suffering from a severe case of measles. They were pressed to more palm wine and had to join in the dancing for nearly half an hour. They sat down again and then Peter was approached by his Inspector, who quietly suggested it was time they left as the party was now really getting into its stride. Being curious, J.R. asked why they were having to leave just as things were warming up, and Peter said, "Oh, best not to ask. Let's simply make our exit with good will on all sides"

Later, in the Land Rover on the way home and after they had stopped at another stream to have a wash, J.R. wanted to know what was going to happen next. Despite the fact that they were Police Officers, both Peter and the Inspector replied that further sacrifices were on the cards and that these would not take place until after they had left, as no one outside the tribe was allowed to witness the further secret ceremonies. Peter's guess was that some poor soul's life was in jeopardy, but there was no way this could be proved. J.R. had little doubt that at least up to the time we left the Coast, in West Africa as a whole human beings were from time to time at risk because of the needs and beliefs of a superstitious people.

Needless to say, I was not allowed to join the men on this expedition - not that I wanted to - but was given some of the details on their return. I never did, however, get a view of the blood spattered shirt, which was evidently washed by our current small boy out of Madame's sight.

The whole episode reminded me of occasions, back at Marlu, when occasionally the bodies of Africans were found alongside the small gauge railways over which the ore trucks used to travel. It was noticeable that when these bodies were recovered, usually only a few hours after the accident had occurred, there seemed to be remarkably little blood about. The head on one side of the track and the body on the other was supposed to suggest an accidental beheading under the train wheels. But I wonder? We drew our own conclusions.