Download e-book for kindle: Leaves from the Fig Tree by Diana Duff

By Diana Duff

ISBN-10: 1840243635

ISBN-13: 9781840243635

Raised by way of eccentric grandparents at Annesgrove, an Irish stately domestic, Diana Duff grew up surrounded via relations ghosts, banshees and buried treasure. At 18, Diana entered the glamorous international of Fifties Kenya, changing into a stand-in for Grace Kelly prior to embarking on a occupation as a nurse. After marrying a tender officer within the Colonial carrier, Diana spent her nights shivering and on my own, gun in hand, because the Mau Mau uprising threatened to engulf her. relocating to Tanganyika, Diana went directly to discovered the 1st inter-racial nursery college in East Africa earlier than a move observed the relations transferring to South Africa within the Nineteen Sixties on the peak of apartheid.

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It was difficult to swallow when the stock was tied, and afterwards in Africa when I saw those African women with bracelets stretching their throats I knew exactly how they must feel. ‘Next your bowler,’ said Molly through a mouthful of safety pins. The bowler hats from Lock’s Hatters of London were kept in cardboard boxes in the airing cupboard. There were over seventeen of them and they were all too large. pmd 60 3/15/2005, 10:57 AM L E AV E S F R O M T H E F I G T R E E hair back so tightly that my forehead ached.

Please don’t let the hounds find in Ballygliff,’ I would pray to God when I was on Charlie, the worst cob in the stables. But they always did. ‘If you don’t let them run to Annakissha covert I’ll say my prayers twice for a week,’ I would bargain. It was a threemile point and though I was sworn at for riding across new wheat and for bad riding manners generally – my hands raw and bleeding from trying to hold Charlie who, like the wind, went ‘where he listeth’ – I went the three miles, like it or leave it.

It was quite clear to me that I was not going to be able to hold the chestnut. She went where she wanted to go and, as Donlan would have said, ‘like the hammers of hell’. I gripped on with my knees. ’ It wasn’t a wig that left me but the bowler hat that became a liability. The paper that stuffed it broke loose from its moorings and hung across my face, obscuring vision. The Comet took several banks in her stride. I jolted forwards onto her withers and jerked back again like a puppet as we cleared a bank which loomed out of nowhere in the mist.

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Leaves from the Fig Tree by Diana Duff


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