Pembroke No. 142, 1934, Songhor

Cran - As far as irregularity of meals was concerned, the palm had to be handed to Jasper Evans of Kampi-ya-Moto. Perhaps irregularity is not the right word. They weren't irregular - just several hours later than the norm. Lunch usually appeared  between four and five in the afternoon, dinner between ten and eleven at night. When I accepted one of Jasper's pressing invitations to stay for a meal, I needed plenty of time in hand. They were always friendly, informal affairs. A pack of dogs, mainly labradors and dachsunds, trooped into the dining room as well, as though they owned the place. They sat around, staring fixedly at each mouthful as it was forked or spooned between the lips, gradually creeping closer and closer, until a pleading head was placed, uninvited, on one's lap. In the centre of the table stood a large circular wooden tray, set upon a spindle, which allowed it to revolve. Upon this was laden a dense mass of jars, mostly unlabelled, of various jams, chutney, piccalilli, marmalade, butter, salt, pepper, Marmite, mayonnaise, and a bewildering array of condiments. Beside each place at table stood a brass finger bowl. Jasper's artistic, long-suffering and easy-going wife, Jill, presided benignly over the archaic scene, while their ancient cook protracted the event by the extreme slowness of his movements. He resembled  an aged tortoise set upon its hind legs. Between courses he disappeared for such an inordinate length of time that I often wondered if he had perhaps expired in the kitchen, and was even now communing with his ancestors. Then the door would creak open and he would shuffle in, a gentle smile upon his ebony features. After the meal, mandatory post-prandial drinks would be imbibed in the living room, a place of glorious and comfortable disorder. Pictures lined the walls. One side of the room was filled with an enormous bookcase crammed with volumes on every conceivable subject. Framed photographs stood upon tables, competing with piles of yellowing magazines. Dogs sprawled upon the floor. Animal skins lay upon the backs of sofas. Saddles lay heaped in corners. If it was evening, a log fire would be crackling in the grate. Finally, after several false starts, I would depart, quite bemused by the combination of good company, splendid hospitality and too much gin. When Jasper and Jill sold their Kampi-ya-Moto farm, and moved to a ranch at Rumuruti, they took with them their own personal blend of domesticity, unique gypsy lifestyle and open-house atmosphere to the plains of Laikipia.

UK Foreign and Overseas Registers for birth