Jack was posted to Kampala and Muara and her children joined him and she called herself Mrs Stevenson. I stayed with my father and Joan and got a job in my father’s office. Graham, who must have been eight years old went to the Hill School and I employed an ayah called Miriamu to help Joan look after Jo who was now three. She adored Joanna and spoilt her horribly. I remember her running after round the garden calling her to breakfast and saying “Joanna, you want eggy boiloo or eggy pockie (poached)”. I was always telling her to give her breakfast and not to ask her what she wanted.

My father had developed prostate cancer which was being treated with hormones which were working all right but there were side effects, such as impotency and making him very emotional, losing the hair on his chest etc. He and Joan read the Bible a lot and he was coming to a Christian faith that he hadn’t experienced before. As a consequence of this they decided to give up all drugs and pray for healing. He sold the business in Eldoret sooner than planned. His doctor recommended the removal of the prostate gland and so we all proceeded to Nairobi to the Maia Carberry Nursing Home for his operation. Neville took Joanna and Graham went to stay with his father and Muara in Kampala. In hindsight the operation was a great mistake and didn’t work, so they flew to the UK. I remember very clearly watching my father being pushed in a wheelchair across the tarmac to the plane, with Joan beside him. I had a long lonely drive back to Eldoret to try to clear up the outstanding debts to the business, sell various bits and pieces, have our lovely boxer, Gussie, put down.

Note from Jo; didn’t you receive a phone call from the UK from a nurse in the Kenyan Tropical Disease dept who’d seen DCV and realised he hadn’t got long to live before you flew back …?  gather up Joanna and fly to the UK. It was the unhappiest time of my life.

Joan met us off the plane and we went to the Vicarage at Aldenham, where Joan’s  brother Alan was Vicar. He and his wife Lib had made a small flat available for us to use. My father was in bed there, having been in a hospital and taken to see a faith healer who had seen him several times and told Joan that he would be healed. She believed this completely.

He grew steadily worse during the next week. He was in a lot of pain towards the end and because of the morphine he had been prescribed, he began to see visions of his family in the corners of the room. The doctor came to see him and he died peacefully during the next few hours. The funeral was held at Aldenham and he was buried in the churchyard there.

Joan and I had to go back to Eldoret to clear up all the affairs there and sell up the house etc. We took Joanna with us of course. It was a sad time. The business was sold to Haji note from Jo (was it not sold before DCV went to UK … earlier note) who had been a head clerk to my father for many years. Eric Wolston Beard had been running the business with him for a while but had finally retired. The house was sold to the Catholic Church. Joan felt we shouldn’t waste the trip home by flying directly back but make a trip of it. My memory is somewhat hazy here but I think we sailed to Suez and then disembarked and went by road (told me train?) to Cairo. There we visited a Museum which was very interesting but somewhat nerve racking as Joanna was very lively and tended to touch everything and nearly brought down a marble statue of Queen Neffatiti. The guide was relieved when we left. We then went to the pyramids and Joan and I climbed up the inside of one. A steep ladder led right up into the centre chamber, Joan kept squealing as rats scampered down past us. It was very airless and claustrophobic and I was glad to get out and retrieve Joanna from the back of the camel she was being led around on. From there we flew to Athens and saw the sights. We travelled around by bus and all the fat Greek ladies wanted to stroke Joanna’s blond hair which drove her mad. Sitting next to a great fat Greek on one bus she announced loudly “I can smell somesing horrible”. Luckily no one spoke English. Joan decided that we should sail up the Adriatic to Dubrovnik and thence on to Venice via Trieste before flying home.  

We embarked on a small steamer and set off. We disembarked at Dubrovnik and, having discovered that Joanna’s little suitcase was missing, we tried to buy her some clothes. We finally found some suitable garments and some little boots.  The weather deteriorated and the storms meant that we had to sail further out into the centre of the Adriatic. Everyone was very seasick except Joan who was unfortunately sick with a tummy bug! It was a nightmare. At one stage I tried to go and find someone in authority to get fresh  towels to mop up with and discovered that most of the crew were seasick and had just abandoned their duties (unlike the discipline one would find on a British ship). I eventually sent for the Purser who spoke some English and managed to get a jug of water and some clean towels and negotiate my way back to our cabin. It was somewhat perilous as all the tables in the dining area were loose and crashing around. We finally arrived at Venice and booked into a very nice hotel. We visited the main square and started feeding the pigeons, which was a mistake as they tended to land on Joanna’s head and terrified her. We decided to see if the local Convent would be willing to take her for a few hours so that we could do a proper tour. Although they spoke no English, they were very happy to have her and she was left happily drawing. Joan and I had a very good tour including the Murano Glass works where Joan bought some very pretty red glass candlesticks.

I never gave up on the loss of Joanna’a little suitcase because, apart from her clothes, it contained a large bottle of my favourite perfume and her two favourite dolls with many handmade clothes carefully sewn by Neville and Jo’s  precious little umbrella – or ‘umbrewer’ as she called it. About  a  year later and after about fifteen letters to Thomas Cook, it was returned safely, very battered and tied up with string but with everything in it!

Joan and I stayed at the flat in Aldenham and Joanna went to a nursery school in Radlett. Graham flew home from Uganda to start school at Edge Grove.

After my father’s death, Ethel Newton invited Joan and me over to stay with her in Ireland.  It was a good break and I think after all the strain we were trying to relax. We must have been discussing something funny, I can’t even remember what it was but we became absolutely hysterical with laughter. This was highly embarrassing when Ethel arrived at the bedroom door with our morning tea. The door was locked and I remember going over to unlock it and having to cross my legs to avoid wetting my pyjama pants. We tried desperately to keep straight faces, knowing she would never understand how two grief stricken people could be in such a state of mirth.