Reclining in leather-covered armchairs, with those relics of life in England, a fox’s mask and crossed whips on the wall, they would talk of ‘light things – horses and the latest gossip from Government House’. Inevitably their exchanges would include chat about any new divorcees. Since the arrival of the new Governor Sir Edward Grigg, divorcees were blacklisted. ‘Queen Mary had issued her own writ to Lady Grigg: no divorcee was to be received at Government House.’35 Idina could not have cared less, though the exclusion was humiliating to some.
It soon became custom in the Wanjohi Valley for each household to throw one huge annual party. Guests converged, bringing with them a bevy of servants and tents, to be erected in the gardens as accommodation. Having come from afar, they expected to spend at least three days there – longer if the rains were making the roads impassable. A visiting mpishi* would usefully pick up tips for new dishes, and this practice caught on rapidly, further enhancing Slains’ excellent culinary reputation.
Visitors from abroad would be especially enchanted, after a dusty journey along a remote unpromising track, to reach such civilised surroundings. Slains was filled with comfortable old furniture, Persian carpets, family portraits, silver ornaments, and studded Zanzibar chests gleaming from applications of lime juice and salt. Unlike most homes in Kenya, however, there was not a stuffed animal trophy to be seen. There were baronial arrangements of flowers, spacious bedrooms with private bathrooms and a library – ‘huge and varied … full of biographies … No one knew more about contemporary literature than Idina.’ This room was dominated by Joss’s desk.36
According to its owner in the fifties, Slains’ principal bathroom was ‘superb … vast, and in the centre stood a bath of green onyx … Idina would bathe in champagne occasionally. She was a darling but very naughty.’ Idina’s excesses were conspicuous to all, and her reputation for outrageousness did nothing to improve opinion of Joss among serious-minded settlers. Idina had a walk-in cupboard, leading off their morning-tea room, which housed her shoes, shelf upon shelf and pair by pair – which was a puzzle to her African staff since she went about barefoot, even when riding, just as they did. Idina often suffered from chafed feet. One young woman friend, while applying a bandage to one foot which ‘was very swollen and obviously painful’, failed to see how Idina could bear her touch. Noticing that she did not flinch, the friend asked her if she was not afraid of anything: ‘“Yes,” Idina had replied, “old age.”’37
In every bedroom a bottle of whisky and tumblers stood on a tray, and on each pillow was a pair of folded silk pyjamas.38 This courtesy was extended to guests from overseas because they were unlikely to be accustomed to changing into glamorous dressing-gowns and pyjamas for dinner. Joss had decided to use those boldly patterned beach pyjamas from Venice where they had been all the rage as daytime wear. Since they were comfortable, attractive and practical the fashion became de rigueur as evening wear. Boy Long concluded that ‘the quality and colour of one’s pyjamas and dressing-gown worn for dinner revealed one’s social standing’.39 This fashion did not meet with everyone’s approval – King George V was not impressed when he heard about the habit after the Duke and Duchess of York’s visit to Kenya in 1925.
When Idina saw her guests off with her husky ‘Goodbye, my dears!’, they were always sad to leave. Often they could not expect to return for a whole year. Their only meeting, meanwhile, might be by chance at Muthaiga Club. Being separated by such great and hazardous distances, the settlers were inclined to make the most of their get-togethers, an exuberance that unfairly contributed to their reputation for debauchery.
In May 1925 Idina discovered she was pregnant – her baby was due the following January. But her condition evidently did not get in the way of her social life. Shortly after finding out about her pregnancy, the Hays invited Frédéric and Alice de Janzé to Slains – in the autumn, when the weather made Paris less appealing. They agreed to come out to Kenya for two months including Christmas. Leaving Paris in late November, the de Janzés treated this holiday as a delayed honeymoon as, in the two years since they had married, Alice had produced their two daughters, Nolwen and Paola. The girls stayed behind in France.
Frédéric and Alice were seduced by the glorious Wanjohi Valley, and no doubt by the thought of becoming neighbours with such close friends. Wanjohi Farm, about five miles from Slains, came up for sale while they were staying there, and Alice bought it. She and Frédéric did not move in until the end of 1926, however.
Idina seemed to be fully aware of, but indifferent to, Joss’s affair with Alice. She knew they had been close since Paris days and their flirtation carried on intermittently during their stay as well as when the de Janzés came to live in Kenya. Some say that Alice turned up in Kenya because she could not bear to be parted from Joss, but this theory exaggerates hers and Joss’s feelings for one another. They enjoyed hopping into bed together occasionally, but Alice had far stronger feelings for other men, such as Raymund de Trafford, and Joss found the temperamental Alice far too much trouble to become seriously committed to her. Frédéric was also unaffected by Joss’s and Alice’s sporadic affair. He would nonchalantly refer to Joss as ‘the Boyfriend’.
The de Janzés accompanied Joss and Idina to Muthaiga, an exclusive residential area about three miles from Nairobi’s centre, where they spent Christmas of 1925, so that Idina could be in Nairobi for the birth of the baby. Their daughter was born on 5 January 1926 and they called her Diana Denyse Hay. As a toddler Diana took to calling herself Dinan, a nickname she soon came to be known by.
The first ten months of 1926 would see an epidemic of the plague in Nairobi’s Indian bazaar. There were to be no fewer than sixteen deaths by November, when Dinan was ten months old. Worries over raising children were not confined to the plague. Malaria was another life-threatening disease, and at the time there was a wide-spread conviction that the altitude and the sun would have an adverse effect on growing European children. For this reason, there were few living in the Wanjohi in the twenties. Even as a toddler, Dinan was made to wear a double terai and a spine pad* between the hours of eight and four. Joss, pictured in a snapshot holding his baby daughter, looks incredibly happy – even astonished by the tiny doll-like creature in the crook of his right arm. Whatever his paternal instincts, however, Dinan would be raised by a nanny, as was customary amongst the aristocracy in those days.
While Idina was still in Nairobi recovering from Dinan’s birth, Joss had stopped on his journey home to Slains at the water-splash in the Kedong Valley, where everyone took on extra water before attempting to climb the two-thousand-foot escarpment. At this bubbling stream the glade was inhabited by a pride of lions – quite uninterested in the presence of humans – whose footprints could be seen in the mud; handsome black and white Colobus monkeys leapt about among the branches above. From the splash, the more cautious would reverse their cars up the hairpin bends, to lessen the strain on the engines. Joss had Waweru with him: no European ever travelled alone in Africa then, a wisdom that has never changed. Not long afterwards, Cyril Ramsay-Hill fetched up with his gunbearer.40 He too was on his way home, but from safari to a newly completed house on Lake Naivasha into which he and his wife Molly had just moved. Ramsay-Hill, dying to show off its splendour, invited Joss back for the night to save him driving on up to the Wanjohi.
Though they had not met before Joss had heard of Ramsay-Hill: it was rumoured that he had made his money out of hairdressing. In fact he had been attached to the 11th Hussars. Apparently the natives, who could not pronounce the word, much less understand what a ‘Hussar’ might be, had concluded that Bwana Ramsay-Hill was a hairdresser. Frédéric de Janzé had already come across him that Christmas – a flamboyant fellow, he said, resembling Salvador Dali, replete with moustache and monocle. During