Michael D.Heath-Caldwell M.Arch.

1924

General Frederick Heath-Caldwell CB aged 65/66

Constance M.H. Heath-Caldwell aged 55/56

Cuthbert Eden Heath OBE aged 64/65

Sarah Heath aged 64/65

Admiral Sir Herbert Heath KCB, MVO, etc aged 62/63

General Sir Gerard M. Heath KCMG, 60/61

Lt Cmdr Cuthert H. Heath-Caldwell DSO aged 34/35

Leopold C. Heath (Griggs) aged 29/30

Genesta Heath (ex Farquahr) – aged 24/25

Madeline Marion de Salis (ne Heath) aged 30/31

Rosamond Heath (Posy) aged 29/30

Patricia C.M.Heath-Caldwell 4/5

Diana Heath-Caldwell 2/3

Heather E. G. Farquhar 3/4

Arthur E.C Farquhar 2/3

Constance M.H. Heath-Caldwell at Linley Wood with Pat. about 1924

Memoirs of Lady Genesta Hamilton continue...

As my diaries of Abysinnia and Somaliland were probably burnt, I will try to remember what I can of them. My marriage had been under a lot of strain and finally Tom Farquhar had left me to marry someone to whom he had once been engaged.

I wanted to return to Kenya, but en route had the idea of going to Abysinnia. So I left the ship at Aden, got visas, money and so on and found a tiny boat going to Djibouti in French Somaliland. It was a rough trip. I slept on deck as the cabin was stifling, and I did not much like the look of an over-helpful Indian passenger, so stayed near the bridge.

Djibouti was dreadful, hot and dreary; all the French and their children were pale and bored and had not found anything to do with themselves - totally unlike English colonials, who at once had polo, clubs, swimming, sailing, attractive houses, and so. When I was taken for a drive to see the sights, I was shown the coal heap where the ships refueled!

I bought a train ticket for Addis Ababa - the name means the New Flower - the capital of Abyssinia. I also hired a Somali boy named Yasin. On the first day the train crept along through dreadful country, all lava rock, and stopped in the station at night as the locals used to rob and murder people travelling at night. Next day the scenery was bettre - greener, more wooded, wiht one or two lakes. I slept in a station rest-house again. The natives here were tall, handsome and ferocious; they had white bands round their foreheads stuck with feathers - one for each person they had killed, my Somali said. Next day there was much better country, and we got to Addis at last. I booked into a pretty primitive hotel, but it was the only one for white people. I found Yasin sleeping outside my door, as he trusted no one not to bother me.

I met all the diplomats; the Americans were especially kind. I had a mule on which to ride to dinner parties. The mule boy ran in front with a lantern and a long stick, with which he whacked a way through the crowds.

Here they have law suits in the streetsw and can call any passer-by to be judge. They tried to call me but, knowing no Amharic, I escaped. For theft one hand is cut off; you never see anyone with no hands at all!

The ruler is Empress Julie, the great Menelik's daughter. She married several times; her last husband got bored and took to the hills, so now she is alone. I was presented, and found a fat, dignified woman about sixty years old; she gave me very sweet champagne, and biscuits with currants in them. I asked permission to travel to Somalilan, and this was reluctantly given.

At night the smell of burning eucalyptus drenched the air. When Menelik built Addis Ababa he made everyone plant eucalyptus trees in order to drain the swamps, removed mosquitoes and provide firewood. This they have done ever since. His name is still all-powerful. To call attention, make way in a crowd or stop a fight, you only have to say: 'Ba Menelik.'

All transport in Addis is by pony, mule or cart; there is one car, belonging to a ras (prince). Hawashi (Abyssinian) men wear long white robes and a thin, large white cloth called a shamma over their shoulders. They are fairly tall, and have regular features and fine eyes, but none of the real beauty and panache of the fierce Somalis - their mortal enemies.

After a couple of weeks here I started on the next trip to Somaliland. Before leaving Addis I was warned not to carry any  money on the trek, as there were roving bands of natives, called Shifta, who attacked and robbed travellers. With great kindness, Indian shopkeepers supplied me with all I needed for the journey, and I arranged to pay in Aden. They were most generous.

Yasin had got an extra boy in Aden, a very handsome and well-mannered person about twelve years old. We three went by train to Dirredawa (Dire Dawa), where the local Indian had been told to get my safari together - mules, food (money I did not carry because of the shiftas), tents and several ancient soldiers, besdies a pony for me and a mule for Yasin.

The Indians were charming - they sent messages ahead to other Indians to supply me, gave me meals, and trusted me completely to repay them when I returned to Aden. The British have a good reputation.
The start was chaotic. A mule with saucepans and kettles on his back reared straight up on end and flung himself down sideways, smashing the lot. 'Oh devil and son of Satan!' screamed Yassin -  I found my Arabic was coming along nicely. The other mules jibbed, kicked, bit, fell down and rolled on their loads. It was hilarious. At long last we were organized, and set forth. We had to get to Harar before dark.

I rode a bit, then walked - formidable mountains rose before us, and very soon my ancient bodyguards were so worn out that they had to take turns riding my pony and Yasin's mule. Being out of training I got very tired plodding up the tiny, rocky tracks on those endless mountains. 

I took a gun from a guard, broke it and looked down the barrel - it was clogged with dirt. Their impressive-looking bandoliers were full of cartridges which did not fit the guns.

We met two men fighting wiht their long staves. They stopped for us, drew aside and bowed politely to me. I was riding now, and bowed back. As we went on, they started fighting again.

Many hours later, footsore and very tired, we came to the great walls of Harar, and old, old town which Somalis and Hawashi have been fighting over through the ages. We walked along narrow, dark streets to the British Consulate; the Consul and his wife were infinitely kind, took me in, fed me, looked after my safari and the animals. I fell into bed and slept.

While I was in Harar there was a holy day for the Abyssinians. Crowds of several hundred milled about the streets, mostly drunk, chanting prayers in which their priests led them. They had huge, endless feasts, and they danced and sang and yelled for many hours. The local ras and his wife were coming to dinner, and I did my best to dress up and tidy my awful face and wild hair. At dusk the rain came down. Etiquette forbade the ras and his wife to be seen out together, so she, poor lady, had to leave their house first, with her attendants, on thei mules, and plunge into the dripping night;then wait under a tree until her husband and his guards passed her and rode to the Consul's house. They all had very thick, heavy cloaks with hoods, so they did not suffer too badly. We had a rather strange meal - talking was difficult as I knew no Amharic, but we managed with smiles and bits of English. The din outside was terrific, but the house's immensely thick walls kept it fairly quiet. The Ra's wife was plump and pretty in her white shamma, head veil and heaps of necklaces. 

Next day off we went again, heading for Somaliland. The Consul had lent me a rifle, which I was to leave with the officers at Upper Sheikh when we got there. We soon left the mountains andcame to semi-desert, flat, sandy, scrubby country. We were aiming for Jigjigga, the first town in Somaliland. Now we were among the Somalis: very tall, very black, elegant people with large eyes and classical features. Even today, after a lifetime of travels, I still think they are the most beautiful race I've ever seen. The men wore turbans, untidily balanced on their splendid heads, and robes of a sort. The married women hid their hair under white scarves; they wore bright-coloured stuff around their shoulders. The unmarried girls were exquisite, with large, dark eyes and clouds of dark, wavy hair - no tight frizzes for them, they were utterly non-negroid. They herded the flocks of camels running like gazelles after straying animals.

When we rode into Jigjigga various officials appeared to look over us and my papers. I had not asked the British Governor of Somaliland for permission to come, as I was sure he would refuse. I met him later - he scolded me, then forgave me, and I apologised and said how sorry I was, which was not true.
Now I exchanged our horse and mule for camels. My own riding camel had a native saddle - just a sack to sit on with wooden cross trees in front of you, round which you wrapped your legs. Next day we went on, through the monotonous thorn-scrub country. When it was time to dismount I found my knees had seized up, burnt by the wind, and my legs were bleeding because of the rough sack. They hurt a lot, but eventually I was able to unbed my knees and stand up. I covered my legs with Pond's cold cream, and this hurt even more; but the bleeding stopped and the grazes healed as if by magic. In a few days I was quite used to this type of saddle.

At one village I called on an old hadji - a Moslem who had been to Mecca and wore a green turban. He told me stories of the Mad Mullah's war, and of when Lord Delamere (who became leader of the Kenyan settlers) came to this village. He said Delamere gave a reward toall the Somalis who came and salaamed to him, so they came in crowds. Hadji Mussa was charming and gave me a long narrow piece of cloth, woven with silver, which I still have in England.

This safari took some time and I was blissfully happy - on my own, with fairly wild natives (they eat grass for breakfast), half a dozen camels, Yasin and the little boy doing all they could to make me comfortable.Yasin taught me quite a bit of Arabic, and I learnt their social customs from an Arabic grammar I had. Always use the right hand when eating, Drink the coffee three times around from the one communal coffee cup. Shake the cup three times when you don't want any more. Never speak first if you are on a horse and meet someone on a camel, as he is above you. Above all, never point the sole of your foot at anyone - this is a gross breach of manners; the best way, if sitting on the ground, is to tuck your feet under you.

Soon we were in Galla country, and took great car not to step on their grass, as I had been warned in Addis that, if you do, they might kill you. They seemed friendly enough to me, and very surprised to see a young white woman with camels, camel boys and two Somali boys travelling through this wild country.

Now, in the 1980s, those rough, stony tracks on which I crossed the mountains have become motor roads, as it was through here that the British advanced to drive the Italians out of Abyssinia in the Second World War. I would not like to go back and see its wildness tamed.

Some days later I was met by a detachment of dazzling smart Somali Camel Corps soldiers, so with much regret bade farewell to my porters and camels and went on, riding astride on a fast camel with a proper sheepskin-covered saddle. This was most luxurious. We proceeded towards Upper Sheikh, but I had been living on camel's milk, which made me ill, and I could not ride much further. So a soldier went on ahead on a fast camel, and next day a doctor arrived in a car and took me to the camp at Upper Sheikh. Yasin and the boy came with the camels, guarding my things.

At Sheikh there were seven white people all told, counting me, besides a few RAF officers and men with their planes. I was back in civilisation and it was good to be clean, comfortable and properly fed. I made friends with a pilot called Gibbons, who took me up in his plane. As it was quite forbidden to take up civilians I wore a mechanic's outfit, and everyone looked the other way. We flew around for a while, and then the engine stopped. I was petrified, but Gibbons had stopped it on purpose because of the noise, and he wanted to talk. Would I like to loop the loop? I said no - I only wanted to come down. So we did - I never thought it then that I should learn to fly and do mild aerobatics myself, and adore it!

One night, after a good dinner, a camel race was arranged, in the dark, between a visiting District Officer and me. I was wearing yellow silk pyjamas, which I rather fancied. A course was marked out, lined on both sides with highly amused Somalis, who of course had never before seen an English memsahib in yellow pyjamas racing a camel against and English sahib, at night. After the 'off' I shot ahead. By now I knew exactly where to kick the camel with my bare heels, and how to yell at him. There were howls of encouragement all the way, and even now I can remember Yasin screaming at my camel to gallop faster - which it did. Yasin was dancing up and down with excitement, and clapping - dear Yasin. He was so hoarse he nearly lost his voice completely. As we galloped past the post he rushed at me, seizing my hands when I got off and bowing. I won because the other jockey must have pulled his mount.


The Somalis are very violent people, 'at the mercy of their emotions,' as Thor Heyerdal said of sharks. Quite fearless, utterly loyal, fiery-tempered and unpredictable, they have been called the 'Irish of Africa.' I was told a story about one of the numerous risings against the British, when a mob of hysterical Somalis, armed with guns, rushed the officers' quarters. One officer begged to be allowed to go out and speak to them, as he knew them well and loved them. Very reluctantly he was allowed to go, and as he stepped onto the verandah he was instantly shot dead. Many Somalis then burst into tears and said they never meant to kill him. 

Eventually I had to leave Upper Sheikh and join some people motoring down to the coast. A mrevellous road, butilt by the Royal Engineers, wound up, over and down through the mountains. At last we were in the baking heat of Lower Sheikh - a hive of industry compared to miserable Djibouti. 

Here were people, drinks and parties. I had said a sad farewell to Yasin and the boy, given them large baksheesh and received many flattering remarks, thanks and blessings - all of which did not prevent Yasin from stealing my beautiful hunting knife. 

I reached Nairobi at last and was met by Boy Long, a man I met before in Kenya and with whom I was very much in love. We married soon afterwards, He was manager for Lord Delamere. I think he was the handsomest man I have ever seen, with infinite charm but 'difficult.'

Life with Boy was electric. The best times were when we went to the sheep farm at Laikipia, which was run rather haphazardly. There was always trouble - sheep stolen or missing or sick or dead.