Straight on Till Morning

by Mary S. Lovell

  After spending some months in London with friends, she travelled to the Cape where she went immediately to call on Stuart and Tiny Cloete. They had recently returned from the United States and were surprised one day when Beryl ‘just turned up. She seemed at a loose end and stayed with us some two months,’ Tiny Cloete recalled. The Cloetes had both liked and welcomed Beryl, having felt an ‘immediate bond’ early on in the relationship due to Beryl’s mendacious assertion that ‘her mother had died when she was a child and she had been brought up by Lady Northey’, a cousin of Stuart’s.2

  Beryl was penniless – living entirely on the Cloetes’ goodwill and, as usual when she was desperate, on her wits regardless of any possible consequences. Beryl told a friend that Cloete ‘wrote by the moon, in the way that some people garden by the moon’ and often worked through the night at his work. On occasions, Beryl claimed, she did some nocturnal typing for him.3 Her involvement went further than typing. In an apparent attempt to raise money quickly she sent off some of Cloete’s short stories under her own name, to the literary agent they shared, and when a short time later, Cloete also sent the same stories to the agent ‘there was a very awkward situation’. Beryl consequently left the Cloetes and they never saw her again, but after her departure Tiny found that many of Stuart’s hand-made silk shirts and scarves had also left, and that Beryl had charged numerous items of cosmetics, expensive French perfumes and clothes to their charge accounts. ‘She had charm, but no warmth and was completely amoral,’ was the opinion of her understandably disillusioned hostess.4

  On many previous occasions Beryl had abused the kindness of friends by obtaining credit in their name. She lost many friends because of her complete lack of integrity regarding financial obligations, and she seldom repaid loans. But she could not have hoped to keep her breathtakingly blatant attempt at plagiarism hidden, so why had she attempted such an outrageous fraud? The only explanation seems to lie in a deteriorating health condition which seriously affected her judgement. The same condition had also possibly affected, for some time, her ability to write. But I think that writing had never been an ‘easy’ thing for her and that whilst she was able to cope with writing personal reminiscences (in the way that many people are capable of writing an autobiography but never attempt other works) she could not write to order. She did not possess the sort of imagination that could invent plots; indeed Rose Cartwright – an old Kenya friend – was forthright about this lack of imagination. ‘She had no imagination whatsoever, it had never developed in her as a child and I think that this was why she was often brave to a foolhardy extent,’ she told me.

  After leaving the Cloetes, Beryl spent a period in Durban with her father, who had enjoyed considerable success as a trainer in South Africa.5 This was no mean accomplishment, for racing in South Africa is a far cry from Kenya. The Cape horses were international class and the competition for the huge prize money was fierce. It was one thing to succeed in prewar Kenya among trainers who were for the most part amateurs, but quite another to emulate that success in the racing world of the Cape.

  But what Beryl really wanted was to get back to Kenya. She was at a crossroads in her life and could not see where her future lay. It did not lie in staying with her father for she could not share him with Emma, Clutterbuck’s faithful partner. She was bad-tempered and abusive towards Emma and created total disharmony in the Clutterbuck household. Eventually, Beryl’s ill-natured behaviour irritated Clutterbuck to such an extent that he told his daughter to leave. Again, her appalling behaviour seems to have been partially caused by her physical condition. Clutterbuck gave her enough money to buy a second-hand car, an old Buick saloon, and to pay for the petrol and oil for her proposed journey to Kenya, and she left South Africa to drive alone to Kenya via Rhodesia. When she arrived in Nairobi in April 1950 she was destitute6 and entirely dependent on the generosity of old friends. But in her usual way she managed, living on her wits and credit, and was seen often in smart night spots such as the New Stanley Grill, always immaculately turned out and looking very glamorous.

  She stayed for some time with a friend in Nairobi and subsequently on an up-country farm, but they were stop-gap solutions to the long-term problem of finding somewhere permanent to live. It was no time for a peripatetic existence. Kenya was beginning a period of great trauma, the result of growing nationalism among the Africans, and a desire for self-government. At its extreme this flared into anti-Europeanism in the shape of the terrorist movement known as the Mau-Mau, which involved secret oath-taking ceremonies where initiates (often unwillingly) swore to kill Europeans and those who supported them.7 It was the grisly, ritualistic manner of the murders which followed – of men, women and children of both races – that was so frightening. In the general fear and panic a State of Emergency was declared by the British and the leader of the nationalist movement, Jomo Kenyatta, was sentenced to imprisonment. It took five years to bring the situation under control, and it was to be a further five years before the Kenyan Africans achieved independence with Kenyatta as the first president. Meanwhile inhabitants of up-country farms lived in trepidation, and servants who had once been thought of as friends were necessarily treated with suspicion. It was not the Kenya that Beryl remembered.

  Everything changed for her one evening in Nairobi when she met Charles and Doreen Bathurst Norman at ‘some formal function or other. She was all dressed up and looking fantastic – I’d heard of her of course, she was very much part of the old-Kenya legend…’ Doreen recalled. When Beryl told the couple how worried she was at not having anywhere to live and no money, they did not hesitate ‘Our guest cottage is empty at the moment – you can use that!’ they told her. At first Doreen silently half-regretted the hasty invitation and wondered what it was going to be like with that ‘blonde bombshell’ around all the time, but the next day Beryl turned up at the farm at Naro Moru wearing an old mac and wellington boots. The women became friends from that moment.

  The Bathurst Normans were an exceptionally close-knit family and one of the happiest things about this period for Beryl was the Bathurst Norman children, George and Victoria, who were aged twelve and ten. Active and self-confident, they attached themselves to Beryl, and much to her surprise they liked her and enjoyed her company. Equally to her surprise, for she had never been closely involved with children, she liked them in turn. ‘Victoria would carefully put her head around the door of the guest house in the very early morning, and if there was a welcome, she would jump into Beryl’s bed with her.’

  Over the next few years, many were the evenings they spent listening to Beryl’s collection of Burl Ives records, with which they would all join in. Beryl taught them to play card games such as poker and backgammon, with matches as stakes,8 as her father had once taught her. They were fascinated by her stories of horses and people and places, and impressed by her horsemanship but, as they recalled years later, she never spoke to them of her own exploits. Beryl was essentially modest, and never discussed her adventures or successes. Possibly these children knew ‘the real Beryl’ better than anyone else, for she was relaxed in their company.

  Forest Farm, the Bathurst Normans’ property at Naro Moru, was situated on the grasslands which intersected with belts of forest on the slopes of twin-peaked Mount Kenya, immediately below the perpetually glistening Diamond Glacier. Park-like grasslands were bordered by primeval forests of cedar festooned with curtains of lichen. Podocarpus of airy green, bushes of sweet-smelling, evergreen witch-hazel, and clumps of cedar dotted the grass, edged with the enchanting limuria bush, smothered in beautiful little jasmine-like flowers, at least as sweetly scented and which turned into a wild berry – delicious when fully ripe. Among the grass grew a profusion of wild flowers such as the wild gladiolus and the lovely Acidanthra candida, locally thought to be a freesia because of its scent. The air itself was crisp and thyme-scented ‘like the Sussex Downs’, Charles Bathurst Norman used to say.

  Through the forest rushed and bubbled a mountain stream, c
areering downhill like a Scottish burn. Born in the glacier and flowing through peatlands before it reached the forest, it provided an endless source of delicious uncontaminated drinking water, filtered through hard black basalt stone thrown up by the last earthquake which had left its core in the mountain’s peaks. The brook became a branch of the Naro Moru River (Naro Moru being Maasai for Black Stone), which had been stocked with trout that could be seen where sunlight hit the water, glimmering in pools overhung with flowers and ferns.

  The Bathurst Normans had bought a tract of this paradise to remove their children from the coast where Charles was stationed as district commissioner (Mombasa), and where their son George ‘had shown every inclination of trying to die of malaria’. The choice of district for them was therefore dictated by the fact that 7000 feet was the lowest altitude guaranteed free from the malaria-carrying anopheles mosquito.

  ‘It was wartime then, and by no means certain who would win the war, and as Charles could not leave his post the matter was becoming extremely urgent,’ Doreen related, but a friend suggested they should consider the western slopes of Mount Kenya and arranged that Doreen be taken there by a land agent. She fell in love with this enchanted country at first sight, and so – a short time later – did her more cautious husband. They bought a completely undeveloped piece of land which had previously been used by its owner only on rare occasions to graze a dry herd. The die was cast and thereby several people’s lives were changed – including Beryl’s.

  The land had no house on it and was approached by a rough track, occasionally used by the forestry officer who had built a camp higher up. What was more, nobody could be found to build the house. One day Charles said to Doreen, ‘I think you’ll have to go up and build it,’ to which she simply replied, ‘All right.’

  The train carrying Doreen’s station wagon arrived late, but it was unloaded instantly and she set off for Naro Moru over appalling roads. At last, blinded by dust and desperately tired, she stopped at Fort Hall for a drink, where a party of the British Army was doing the same. She collected a young officer as co-driver, and they joined the army convoy which provided better lights than her car – blacked out for use in Mombasa. Eventually they reached Nyeri where, thinking enough was enough, Doreen booked into the White Rhino Hotel for the night.

  Next day she proceeded to instal herself in a mud hut at the bottom of the farm, below a small belt of forest which lay between her camp and the site chosen for the house – both sites chosen for their proximity to the river. There at night herds of elephants could be heard watering, and the magical night sounds of an African forest lulled her to sleep, the odd screech of the hyrax being the last thing she heard. The African gang, which consisted of carefully selected old retainers, erected the house in five months. The children transferred there and George never suffered from malaria again.

  The couple were encouraged to think, quite erroneously as it turned out, that the farm would be suitable for Jersey cows, so cattle, a few fodder crops with maize shambas for the labour force, together with their own vegetables and fruit, became the mainstay of the farm. The milk was turned into cream and sent off to the creamery to be turned into butter. Doreen made soda bread from the butter milk. This is how things were when Beryl first arrived.

  When she first went to stay at Naro Moru, Beryl was often unwell, unusually for her; but initially she refused to see a doctor because of her aversion to hospitals. At times, her condition made her difficult and argumentative and Doreen was particularly aware of Beryl’s feeling of ‘total insecurity’. Charles was a barrister by profession, and had a successful and busy up-country practice with offices in Nanyuki.9 When her hosts discovered that Beryl could not only type, but type extremely well, an obvious solution to some of Beryl’s problems occurred to them. Beryl became legal secretary in Charles’s law practice, and she was thus able to earn some pocket money. ‘Her typing was fast and accurate and her spelling impeccable,’ Doreen stated, adding that she had always treated the gossip of Beryl’s rumoured illiteracy as utter nonsense, and adopting a course of ‘never apologize and never explain’, along with Beryl. The work also gave Beryl something with which to occupy her mind, but her health continued to deteriorate.

  The ‘famous’ picture of Beryl Markham. (B.M.E)

  Beryl’s Vega Gull The Messenger outside the Percival Aircraft factory’s hangar at Gravesend, Kent, August, 1936. (B.M.E)

  Captioned ‘The Great Adventure’, this Daily Mirror front page photo showed The Messenger over Abingdon shortly after take-off. (British Library)

  Arrival in Nova Scotia: The Messenger embedded in a Balleine Cove peat bog. Beryl sustained only minor injuries and was able to continue her journey successfully in another aircraft. (B.M.E)

  Beryl’s own caption reads: ‘At Louisburg, Nova Scotia a few hours after I landed.’ (B.M.E)

  Beryl’s triumphant wave on reaching New York. (B.M.E)

  Beryl’s own caption reads: ‘Interview with the Mayor in New York.’ Fiorella La Guardia offers a civic greeting. (B.M.E)

  Beryl waves from the deck of The Queen Mary as she returns to England, September 1936. (Photosource)

  The damaged Messenger being uploaded from the S. S. Coldharbour at London Docks. (B.M.E)

  Beryl wearing her famous white flying suit, shortly before her transatlantic flight. (Bettman)

  With Douglas Fairbanks Jr. on location for Safari, Hollywood, 1939. (B.M.E)

  Raoul Shumacher, Beryl’s third husband, taken in New Mexico, 1943. (British Library)

  Beryl with her dog Rosie in the avocado orchard at the Santa Barbara ranch, 1946. (V. Markham)

  Beryl with her own horse, Blue Brook, circa 1960. (B.M.E.)

  Beryl with winning owner Nairobi, 1977. (B.M.E.)

  Beryl’s house at Naivasha circa 1963. (B.M.E.)

  With George Guterkunst during the filming of World without Walls, the televised documentary of her life. (G. Guterkunst)

  Cover of Beryl’s copy of the first edition of West with the Night.

  As the condition (fibroid tumours in the womb) worsened, Beryl became increasingly perverse and her temper extremely volatile, probably because of a hormonal imbalance accentuated by her approaching menopause. ‘At times she seemed almost mentally out of control, banging doors, and breaking things,’ Doreen recalled. ‘Sometimes when she sat and talked after dinner her voice would go up a tone and she would rave at us for hours about nothing in particular.’ On one occasion after the Bathurst Normans had retired to bed, they heard a noise, and when Charles got up to investigate he found that Beryl had broken the sitting-room window and wrenched it off its hinges in order to get in to see them; she was incredibly strong for a woman despite her illness. On another occasion, after a row over nothing in particular, she struck Charles, but he promptly hit her back, telling her she would have to leave the farm if her behaviour did not improve. She threatened suicide and once ran away without telling the Bathurst Normans where she had gone. She eventually turned up at a neighbour’s house where to the astonishment of her hosts she treated them to a tirade lasting several hours. It was all very disruptive and worrying for the Bathurst Normans, who had more or less adopted Beryl and were extremely concerned for her.

  Eventually Doreen was able to persuade Beryl to see a doctor who diagnosed probable cancer of the womb, and had her admitted to hospital at once. It wasn’t cancer, but the condition (probably worsened by several incompetently performed abortions in earlier years) was serious enough to require a hysterectomy, which in the early 1950s was still regarded as major surgery. ‘Beryl told us she hated hospitals and wouldn’t stay there to recover from the operation, so the next day we brought her home and put her to bed in the cottage,’ Doreen recalled. ‘She wasn’t supposed to be moved and she did, actually, look awful. The next morning there was a fearful racket in the yard and I looked out of the window to see my dog and a strange dog having a fight. Then Beryl’s boxer dog Caesar joined in the fray. I was on my way out to put a stop t
o it when the door of Beryl’s cottage burst open and Beryl erupted into the yard in pyjamas. She strode over to the dogs as if there was nothing wrong with her, and taking each by the scruff of the neck she hurled them aside. Then she grimaced at me, wiped her hands together as if to say ‘That’s that then!’ and strode back to bed without a word.’

  To the Bathurst Normans’ dismay Beryl’s behaviour showed little sign of improvement as she gradually recovered from the operation. Eventually, Charles felt he could no longer tolerate the upheavals in his home, and said Beryl would have to leave; but Doreen would not allow it, for Beryl had nowhere to go and no money. Leaving Naro Moru would not resolve Beryl’s problems. Charles himself then became ill with what turned out to be an infected bile duct, which eventually required surgery. At times he felt very unwell and found Beryl’s tantrums particularly trying but because Beryl had virtually become part of their family they agreed to tolerate her behaviour.

  George and Victoria were then taken back to school in England as the Mau-Mau troubles grew in intensity and Charles refused to allow Victoria to stay on the farm. One day Charles and Beryl visited a local farm owned by a white hunter called Eric Rundgren10 who was in the process of selling up. They had gone there to buy some chickens from the young Dane, Jørgen Thrane, who was in charge of the farm whilst Rundgren and his wife were away on safari.

  They stayed talking, Jørgen expounding the profits that could be made from growing wheat in the area and adding sadly that he would be leaving when the farm was sold. Charles asked, ‘Would you come and grow wheat like that for me?’ ‘Yes,’ said Jørgen without hesitation. On the drive home Beryl said to Charles, ‘I suppose you do realize that when that chap said Yes he meant just that?’ According to Beryl, Charles looked dumbfounded but immediately made plans to see Thrane again. He wrote about it to Doreen who was in England on the ‘school run’. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when you return. I call it “last chance in Africa”…’ the letter said. Doreen came back to find Jørgen Thrane installed, and was instructed by Charles to get to know him better and let him know what she thought. Asked to describe him at that time Doreen said