Blog

Returning to Nairobi, (half a stone lighter, having survived on an awful lot of biscuits and acute embarrassment to go to ‘The John’ in the bush with two hunks watching-on), I was greeted by Wendy with the words, “you look as if you could do the weight for a ride on my race horse Fair Candy” (trained by the remarkable Beryl Markham). Who was I to say no, to these two amazing ladies! I duly rode in the flat race and only disgraced myself when I jumped off, after the race, and collapsed splat in front of the audience, as nobody had told me to slide off clutching the mane.

…….. This at the time, meant very little to me, but to my aunt, it was all systems go – a trip not to be passed over.

I will return to an episode on our road-trip when we were in the Masai Mara and Patrick decided to drop-in on a friend who was building a camp, (which was duly called, Governors Camp). We pitched our tents nearby and were summoned for supper where plans were being discussed for the future incumbent’s entertainment.

As the camp was being built on the banks of the Mara River – what better idea than to do boat trips? It was suggested that we do a recce the following day, rubber dinghy and outboard motor duly produced and as a precaution, a rifle as well. Off we set, lulled by the tranquil current propelling us downstream, spotting an odd hippo on the far bank. My friends didn’t say anything to me, but it had quickly dawned on them that the river wasn’t really very wide enough to accommodate humans and hippos.

After about half an hour, having encountered rather too many large pods of hippos, we started up the outboard engine hoping to make a rapid return back to camp. Unfortunately it became painfully obvious that the current was far stronger than the engine. We were making absolutely no headway at all and it started to get very hairy indeed. At this stage the boys were telling me to get ready to try and jump off the moving boat and onto the bank. The gun was also being prepared. We eventually made it back, very shaken and very happy not to have been capsized into the river, as by then, a few crocodiles had emerged – to add to the mix!

Patrick later, over a stiff drink, couldn’t emphasise enough, that Mara River trips were absolutely not to be considered, as the river was not wide enough and would be a recipe for disaster. All the information was taken on board and off we went on our merry way, never thinking that six months later, when I was on a location-finding trip and we flew into Governors Camp to be greeted with, “you must do our Mara River boat trip while you are here”. I was absolutely flabbergasted! It can’t be true. The manager was adamant that it was safe and they had been doing trips for months with no problems. The director, and some of the camera crew, opted to go, even after I regaled them with my experience. 

Yes you guessed right, I was coerced once again into seeing how safe it all was and I was a real sissy if I didn’t try it again. I should have had misgivings and dug my feet in and said no definitely not, but in I got, to a larger rubber dinghy and thankfully a much larger outboard motor. Off we went, there were about seven of us in total, with Robin Camm manager of Governors, guiding us and mercilessly teasing me by making hippo noises.

We had not gone very far and all was peaceful except for the teasing chat, when as we rounded a bend and a really rather large and extremely angry hippo, with its mouth wide open, came straight for the dinghy and sunk its jaws just were Robin had been perched. He luckily had thrown himself into the river just in time to avoid certain death. The dinghy with the rest of us, capsized, and as I hit the water, my only thought was to get to land and safety. Somehow I reached the nearest bank and was scrambling out, when I felt someone grab my ankle! I just remember kicking out viciously and thinking, each to their own. Subconsciously I think I was furious and terrified that they were still insisting on doing this dangerous trip.

As I hit the top of the bank, I just kept running …… Miraculously, all of us were unscathed. The game wardens were duly notified about a very dangerous hippo on the loose, about two miles down river where a very battered and bitten rubber dinghy was abandoned with rather a lot of camera equipment, sunglasses, binoculars etc lying in the water.

The outcome of this story was that the hippo in question had been speared and the fish had been feeding off the wound. It had been in an extremely agitated state and the game wardens had duly put it out of its misery. The bitten and battered rubber dinghy was returned to camp where we, the survivors, had photos taken standing behind. As the photos were being taken, I thought that this would be the final episode to the wondrous trips down the Mara River. No! You guessed right. They changed from a rubber dinghy to a steel-frame boat and on they merrily went with their scenic trips down the River!

I (being Jane Collie, Felicia’s mother) first travelled to Kenya in 1973, which was 50 years ago. I was 18 years old, which was slightly older than I thought I was, but maybe that’s good news, because being in Kenya on one’s own with very few family and limited contacts – could have got me into lots of trouble! But I was one of the lucky ones and my life was almost charmed, straight from the beginning. My mother (Bunty Moore) had never really enlightened me to her life in Kenya, but Uncle Gus occasionally filled-me in on their adventures back in 1946. Oh what magical times they must have had. I have subsequently found her letters and picture albums, allowing me to piece it all together. The similarity of not just two, but three generations, treading on the African Continent, all at different times, is amazing as my daughter, Felicia, now is married and lives in Kenya living a wonderful life with her husband outfitting riding safaris for the last thirteen years. I also have had my own personal resurgence to Kenya since 2010. Although much has changed landscape-wise, I feel so at home and blessed to have come back.
It’s always ironic that when you have the opportunity to reminisce your parents-past, that those opportunities are left too late – for all you have to rely-on, are a few raggedly photo albums and faded airmail letters. From these old gems, I have pieced together some wonderful stories of Bunty’s young life in Africa starting in 1946 and spanning through to 1956. I am unable to recall her ever talking in depth as to why she first came to Kenya, except to say maybe she was lured there by the infamous Uncle Gus, namely her cousin, who was sent to Kenya by his parents as the prodigal black sheep of the family – never to return! Reading between the lines, I think Uncle Gus used mother as his ‘Bank of Kenya’, having ascertained that she had been left a considerable sum of money by her Grandmother. In all her correspondence, there was a lot of financial talk as to how much Uncle Gus had borrowed, and to how many amazing trips he had persuaded my mother to accompany him on, as long as she paid! Always with a promise …..
One trip that stands out, was their safari to the Belgian Congo in an MG midget. Here are a few clips of a letter sent to her mother (Rowena Moore);
“We came back from the Indian Ocean and spent a night in Nairobi, before then heading off for three weeks – that ought to be a wonderful trip. It’s quite a business, as one can only take £20 each and have to have various visas etc and we have to do about 200 miles a day and there aren’t many towns. We travel via Kampala in Uganda and all the way up (if you have a map you can see the route) and one day we hope to cross Lake Tanganika by steam – takes all day! The volcano near Lake Kivu (Goma) was erupting, but I gather it has just stopped now, rather a pity, as I would have liked to have seen it!”
I return back to my time in Kenya as an eighteen year old – I had always been in a hurry to grow up, not so now …..
My self confidence did stand me in good stead though, as the infamous Uncle Gus was to be my chaperone whilst in Kenya. This sadly did not transpire immediately, as he had forgotten or rather glossed-over the fact that on my arrival he was moving out of the matrimonial home in leafy Karen to take up residence with his secretary of twenty years in Westlands! Leaving me to a total stranger, his estranged wife, promising me the use of the company cars in recompense to his total absence for the first six months. My surrogate aunt was a formidable lady on first acquaintance, and it was with trepidation that I arrived at their house to be met by the words, so “you’r the niece,” as she exhaled a large cloud of smoke from an extremely long cigarette holder. All my fears were soon allayed as Wendy was the most hospitable hostess and I believe I was a welcome distraction to her breakup.
My first adventure, was taking up the offer made to me whilst in the UK, by a dashing young man at a drinks party in London. I mentioned offhandedly to Wendy, that the said young man had given me his number in Kenya as he was going to join his good friend and go on a two-week safari exploring the Masai Mara Game Reserve, Serengeti National Park, Lake Manyara. Ngorongoro Crater and back to stay on Baringo Island Camp in The Great Rift Valley. This at the time, meant very little to me, but to my aunt, it was all systems-go – a trip not to be passed over.

Hidden away in the Iberian Peninsula lies a range of hills called Sierra Morena. A wild and ‘lost’ region of Northern Andalucia. Felicia and I had the absolutely pleasure to explore on horseback with a group of guests these mountains, streams and ancient bridleways which meandered their way through oak and cork forests. It was Spring and the many meadows were thickly clotted with wildflowers. George Scott was our enchanting and at times, mischievous host and guide. Our first night was at Trasierra, the family finca, beautifully styled and re-loved by George’s mother, Charlotte. From here we rode to the XVI Century Taramona Farm House – the rambling Spanish countryside home of George himself. I loved this place. Karma from heaven. As the days drifted by we penetrated deeper into the back country staying in traditional unrestored farmhouses and eventually made it to a magnificent Rajasthani safari camp. Each evening dozens of candles, hurrican lamps and open fires were our only source of light under the blanket of night stars. The food throughout was absolutely delicious Andalusian cuisine at its very best. Every evening we gathered around a fire and enjoyed gracious sundowners and nibbles. There was a bewitching magic to the whole experience. We will be back.