A lot of my energy had drained away after having the baby, and I found the proximity of the bush had a suffocating effect on me, which was not entirely imaginary. The green vegetation pressing so close around the bungalow tended to deprive the atmosphere of oxygen, and I often felt I could hardly breathe. And I don't think it was my imagination which made me feel that the natives were looking at us Europeans with new eyes, waiting and wondering how soon we were going to depart. One of the boys we had working in the bungalow habitually carried a knife in his pocket, carefully sheathed most of the time, but I did once see him showing the blade to a friend outside the back door. It looked unpleasantly sharp. For the first time I began to be apprehensive about being alone in the bungalow while J.R. was working. Also, about this time one or two nasty accidents occurred on the mine property, and one at least was-fatal.

This happened to Tom Craig, Mary's husband. He was working down Turner Shaft one day when there was a sudden rock fall which buried him and killed him instantly. One of his colleagues was working a few feet from Tom and saw the whole thing, but it all happened so quickly that he was unable to pull him out of the way in time. Mary was on leave in England then and it must have been the worst kind of shock for her - a husband suddenly snatched away and necessarily buried in a far away land. She did write to someone at Obuasi a few weeks later, saying she still could not believe it had happened, and could she please have a photograph of the grave.

Another thing that happened, which didn't result in a death, was however rather unpleasant. One of the wives - I can't remember her name - was out in the bush with her husband, who was a Shift Boss on one of the ore benches, when as she was standing under a tree something disturbed an ants' nest in its branches and it fell down, hitting her squarely on the head and covering her from head to foot in running, squirming, biting black ants. Only one thing to do in a situation like that - her husband and his crew of boys stripped all of her clothes off her and flung her head first into a nearby stream, stark naked. She didn't suffer any after effects, once she recovered from the indignity of such a procedure, but all I could think of, was, thank goodness it didn't happen to me!

Some time in the early part of 1957 came a memorable night when Rock and Roll came to Obuasi. We had a visiting concert party come to entertain us and this was quite an event, as we did not often merit a troupe of professional entertainers coming way out into the bush. While the show was for the most part the usual song and dance and joke routine, towards the end two of the girls came and sat on the edge of the stage with a couple of bongo drums and proceeded to belt out an intoxicating rhythm which had everyone, and I mean everyone, dancing in the aisles. And it was quite a sight to see the dignified Mrs. Mahoney picking up her skirts and swinging to the rhythm of the dance. Before long, the Africans were joining in. We could see them through the open windows dancing and laughing all across the club lawn, having a great time.

For some time I thought I might have to go home in the spring, as the combined strains of having a baby and living in the tropics were beginning to have an adverse effect on my health. I had a series of really nasty mouth ulcers which took a long time to clear up and necessitated daily visits to Dr. Bramble to have them scraped (Ugh!), and another problem I had the whole time I was in Africa suddenly became worse. This was a permanent condition of Athlete's Foot, on both feet - or Foot Rot, as it was also delicately called. It was a frequent occurrence in this climate, and the treatment I had to adhere to was to soak my feet in a solution of permanganate of potash (pot. permang.) twice a day, which turned them dark brown, and I always had to wear white cotton socks, night and day to prevent infection.

Now, if there is anything more depressing than having to wear short white socks with a long evening dress, I should like to know what it is! My favourite evening dress then was a dark green taffeta with a gold thread running through it, off the shoulders, a nipped in waist and yards and yards of skirt. I loved it, especially when worn with high heeled gold sandals, but the effect of course was utterly ruined by those white ankle socks peeping out from under it.

But there was nothing I could do about it, except not go out at all. My foot condition did not improve until after I arrived back in England, and I still have recurrences every summer, wherever I am living.

I spent a lot of time during these last few months simply sitting on the window seat in our bungalow, knitting or sewing. From this seat I had a splendid view over the whole of the Lady Spears Estate valley.

Immediately below were the three new bungalows housing the Williams, Hayes and Moore families with their children, then dotted in a circle round the valley were seven or eight older bungalows:, and a few more up the hillside behind us. Any vehicle which came into the valley from the mine was immediately visible from my viewpoint, so I knew exactly who was coming and where they were going, being able by this time to recognise individual cars and know who they belonged to. Next to the window, on the lawn, we had a lovely frangi-pani tree with the scented blossoms, the fragrance from which would drift into our living room all evening. We were lucky with trees and blossoms at this bungalow. There were also two orange trees, one of which always seemed to be in blossom or fruit, and a large Rose of Sharon tree with the big white flowers resembling white roses. When we were having friends in to dinner, I would pick several of these blooms, put them in the refrigerator until everyone was sitting round the table, then place them in bowls and watch them gradually change colour from white to deep pink during the meal. Hibiscus flowers on the table had the same decorative effect, although they didn't change colour, but a mixture of red, white and peach coloured hibiscus flowers made a stunning display.

One day, I had a grandstand view of an amusing incident. While the Moores were on leave in England, their bungalow was taken over by some newcomers who were friendly with another couple, the Farrells. Frank Farrell and his wife Gisela had done one tour at Obuasi, and we knew a little about them. He had been with the army of occupation in Germany after the War, and while there he had met and married a young German girl, Gisela. She was a happy-go-lucky, buxom young girl, fresh faced, blonde haired, full of fun and he was on the small side, dark, with a penci1 moustache and a very excitable nature. His one unusual characteristic was that when he became really worked up about anything, he would faint. Other people might become abusive or start a fight, but Frank fainted. Once in the club someone made a derogatory remark in his hearing about Germans, and Frank at once bristled up, doubled up his fists, asked the fellow to repeat what he had said - and then keeled over. Gisela had to haul him to his feet, drag him to the car and drive him home. She was well fitted to do this, being about twice his size.

On this particular day they had been having a celebratory lunch in the club with their newly arrived friends, and no one had thought to explain to the new arrivals that the local Club Beer was considerably stronger than the equivalent United Kingdom brew. A car drew up at their bungalow below me, some time after lunch, and out came two easily recognisable figures - Gisela looking rather disheveled with her hair hanging down her back, and Frank, who appeared to be hauling a female body out of the vehicle. He held the head end and his friend was holding the legs of what turned out to be the newly arrived wife, knocked out cold by the strength of the beer.

I was leaning out of the window, riveted to the spot by this unusual afternoon's entertainment, and totally oblivious to the angry howls coming from the bedroom behind me where Guy was awake and demanding refreshment. The unfortunate woman was carried into the bungalow; feet first. A few minutes later Frank emerged, wiping his brow from the exertion and the heat, and promptly passed out on the front steps.

Predictably, there followed prolonged shrieks and altercations from Gisela, who when she had recovered her breath, hauled her husband through the doorway and out of my sight - with one arm she could do it - and judging by the yells and verbal abuse which floated up to me in my front seat, they were all then blaming each other for the disastrous end to what had started out as a carefree luncheon party. I don't think they ever knew that they had an interested audience of one but it certainly livened up a dull afternoon for me, and it was something to chuckle about with J.R. when he came home from work.

Another episode I remember occurred about two weeks before Guy was born, and this was not funny at all but rather upsetting.

It was about 6 p.m. one Saturday, just getting dark. Penny was in bed and I was preparing to go to the camp cinema on the bus. J.R. was joining me at the club. He had a little side-line, developing and printing black and white photos for anyone who possessed a camera, and he was that evening in the dark room which was situated near the main office. He never made a charge for this service, at least in money. Most people paid him in new films, so that we very rarely had to buy films for our own camera.

The bus was due in about twenty minutes, Kwasi was there in his role as babysitter for Penny, and I was about to check on her to see if she was asleep (vain hope!), when a strange howling started up somewhere outside.

I hung over the balcony rail (not easy in my present state) as the howls continued, trying to determine where they were coming from. It was undoubtedly a dog, and all I could think of was that a snake was attacking it. I could see Margaret and Joan down below also peering out, but for at least ten minutes this dreadful noise went on, and there was something very distressing in not knowing where it was coming from or what was happening. It did finally stop, but on the mine bus no one could talk of anything else, and it was not until the next day that we learnt the truth.

In one of the other bungalows in the valley lived a family of husband, wife and two young boys who owned a large dog, about which there had been some complaints because he was kept tied up all day and was never exercised. They were ignorant people who had evidently never owned a dog before and did not know how to treat one. They eventually decided that they had bad enough of being dog owners, and they made arrangements for their house boy to get rid of the animal. That is, they instructed the boy to get rid of it in whatever fashion he thought fit. They then pushed off to the club, all four of them, and the boy, with two others, clubbed the dog to death on their front porch. That was the noise we could all hear but could not understand, a dog howling because he was being beaten on the head repeatedly with wooden clubs until his head was a bloody pulp.

There was immediate uproar and outrage throughout the camp. The wife protested vainly that they had no idea that the dog was going to be beaten to death, but as she and her husband had made no suggestions to the boys as to the method to be used, that excuse didn't wash. The shock reverberated through the community for days, and people ignored the family as if they had the plague. I don't recall anyone ever speaking to them again, and when after a few weeks they went back to England on leave, they were politely asked not to come back again.

Penny outgrew her swing boat and Glyn made her a proper garden swing, on which she spent many happy hours. My clearest memories of her are of her endlessly swinging, or tormenting the cat by digging him with pencils and walking around with him under one arm, mutely protesting, and going off happily to school in the mornings with the other children. She was a bright child and very good at drawing and writing, so that the morning kindergarten was a godsend to her, and to me. Nell Brown took quite a fancy to her and gave her several little dresses which her own daughter, now aged eight, had grown out of.

Dr. Bramble went on leave and we had a replacement medical man whose name was Dr. Purcell, but he was always known as Rinso. (Purcell - Persil - Rinso?) He was famous on the Coast for his stinginess, owing to an incident which occurred on Takoradi railway station when he was going on leave after his first tour. When he alighted from the train with his baggage all around him, he was at once surrounded by a mob of clamouring boys, eager to carry his bags into the taxi and get their hands on the half crown or so which this job merited. Instead of which, as he climbed into the taxi he nonchalantly tossed a 3d piece (threepenny Joey) into the midst of the crowd and was laughing heartily while watching them scrabble for it as the car bore him away. Just as well. it was bearing him away, because their fury must have known no bounds, and he might have ended up very much the worse for wear. He was a good doctor, I believe, and an excellent surgeon, but like a lot or people who found their way out to the Coast, a trifle odd in many ways.

My time in Africa was rapidly drawing to a close. J.R. and I had already agreed that when we went home at the end of this year I would stay there with the children, so that Penny could start proper school in January when she would be five years old. J.R. would go back to Ghana for one last fifteen month tour on his own, mainly to accumulate a few more pounds in our slowly growing bank balance. He would then look for a job in England, preferably something in the mining or metals business, and we would settle down in our own house.

It was a Sunday afternoon while J.R. and Tommy were on one of their periodic visits to Prasu and Joan Hayes was working in the hospital, when Alan turned up at our bungalow in his car, and said why didn't he take us all for a ride round the countryside just for a break, and to give his two children and Penny something to look at. Although there was very little to look at except trees, I appreciated the thought. This was at a time when the club swimming pool was out of action for some now forgotten reason, So off we went, bumping over the dirt roads, waving to the mammies and piccans as we passed, the kids sucking oranges in the back and pelting me with orange pips, for fun. Timmy Hayes and Penny when together were up to everything - they egged each other on and wound each other up, so I slid down in my seat as far as I could, holding tightly onto the sleeping Guy. (He, unlike his sister, was an enthusiastic sleeper, when he wasn't hungry).

We passed the turning which led to Prasu, the place that Daddy was always disappearing to, but the road was completely empty as far as the eye could see. We then turned round to return home, but we hadn't gone very far when Timmy caught sight of something over on the skyline on our left, and called out to Alan, "What's that, Dad?"

It was the Guest House, seen in the wavering heat haze up on its hillside, and at that distance it looked quite romantic, rather like an Eastern palace, with the pointed arches and a couple of minarets at the back.

Alan took his eyes off the road for not more than two seconds to look and to say to Timmy, "It's the Guest House", and at that moment disaster overtook us. We were on a very narrow road with a steep drop along the right hand side, and were going along quite slowly when the off side wheels went over the edge. The car turned a somersault. bounced a few times and ended up in a hollow filled with bushes and small trees, back on its wheels again but with the top badly smashed in.

None of us was strapped in as this was before the days of seat belts being fitted to cars, and it happened so quickly that all I could think to do was to crouch further over the baby to protect him, and he actually came off best of all of us, with not a mark or bruise on him. I developed bruises all over from being flung round the inside of the car, Alan was not too bad as he had the steering wheel to hang on to, but the three children in the back came off rather worse. They were all standing up when the accident occurred, so were caught off balance and flung about like rag dolls, and Penny in the middle had her left arm trapped between the front seats, and broken. The children were all yelling with shock and fright when we stopped and climbed out, and Penny was crying, "My arm's bent!"

The next few minutes were rather confused. We managed to drag ourselves and the children up the slope and back onto the road, where I used my scarf to put Penny's arm into a makeshift sling. Then we looked around for some help from the dozens of Africans who had been around before the accident occurred. But, would you believe? they had all disappeared, scuttling into the undergrowth so that they would not be involved in something which was none of their business, but were no doubt watching us from behind the bushes to see what was going to happen next. We were only about a quarter of a mile from the beginning of the Lady Spears Estate, therefore we set out on foot, leaving the wreckage of the car in the ditch, with me carrying Guy and Alan carrying his youngest son, Jeremy. Penny, crying with pain, was hanging on to me with her good arm. We were all stunned and nearly inarticulate.

We arrived back on the estate just as J.R. and Tommy returned from their trip, and all of us went immediately to the hospital for a check-up. One stupid thought kept going round and round in my mind. Years before, in the coaches of the London Underground trains which I used to travel on every day, there had been an advertisement for Kia-Ora Lemon Squash. It had a picture of a lemon with juice dripping from it, and the caption over it read, "Who squashed the lemon squash?" And now as I looked down at Guy once again sleeping peacefully in my arms, it seemed to me that his complexion was becoming lemon coloured and his head the elongated shape of a squeezed lemon. Who squashed the lemon squash?

It was shock, of course, because in fact Penny was the only one of us who suffered any serious damage. An X-Ray showed that both bones in her forearm were broken and splintered, and in one place a bone had pierced the skin. The doctor put her arm in plaster, but said he thought she ought to go back to England to see an orthopedic surgeon as it was such a bad break. Also, it was very difficult to keep a plaster on a limb in that sticky heat, as the flesh would soon start to itch and you can't stop a child of that age from scratching when something itches.

We went back to our bungalows and everyone was very kind and helpful, but I have no coherent memory of the next few days. The doctor gave Penny and me something to help us sleep that night, and she certainly slept. J.R. and I had her in bed with us in case she was restless, but I was the one who couldn't sleep; lying there awake hour after hour, unable to take in what had happened. J.R. said, over and over again, "She's all right!", but I couldn't stop shaking.

It was four days before arrangements could be finalised for our return air trip, four days of utter confusion for me. We had many visitors from all over the mine, people coming to commiserate and to bring small presents for Penny. I had to sort out clothes and pack, decide what we were going to eat each day, explain many times exactly what had happened, sign insurance forms and make sure I had enough baby food for the journey. All the while I was moving around in a fog of unreality, sometimes unable to comprehend what people were saying to me.

When once again I found myself at Accra airport, this time about to board a home-bound aircraft, I know I was filled with dread at the thought of this unexpected journey, on my own with a seven month old baby and a daughter with a broken arm. J.R. could come no further with me as he could not be spared from the mine. Everything had been arranged so that when we arrived in England I would take Penny straight into the Middlesex Hospital in London to see a specialist, cables had been sent to my mother and brothers to meet us off the plane, all had been done that could be done to ease our journey. But, as J.R. saw us into the aircraft and waved goodbye, the most difficult thing I had ever had to do was to raise a smile through the window at his receding figure.

And as the aircraft lifted off from the airfield and circled around before heading north towards Europe, I knew with absolute certainty that this was farewell to Africa for me.