Trouser Embroidery. ([p. 32])
The designs, as can be seen from the sketch, are quite different from those used on the tobes; some are distinctly Masonic in character, some are quite ecclesiastical, others suggestive of Persian embroidery. They are carried out in gaily-coloured wools, procured from Lagos,—the usual tints being bright crimson, royal blue, purple, orange, green and black. The combination I am aware, sounds daring, to say the least of it, but the result is wonderfully effective and brilliant, without being in the least bit gaudy, and it always seems to me a thousand pities that so much industry and real artistic effectiveness should be thrown away, usually, on the most wretched materials, cheap cotton cloth from Manchester very often, and on these inferior wools which will not bear the ordeal of a single washing.
I have interested myself in collecting these designs, and have worked them myself on the best linens with fast-dyed silks and the equally beautiful modern flax threads, and the result is eminently satisfactory—the designs, of course, requiring to be corrected and straightened. Indeed, for tea-cloths, borders, cushions or doyleys, and for an endless variety of decorative purposes, I think it would be difficult to find embroidery of a more striking or original kind than that peculiar to Nigeria.
In November, my husband had orders to accompany a patrol on the Northern-Southern Nigeria frontier, and as friction with some of the natives was a possible contingency, it was not thought advisable for me to go too, so I remained in Lokoja alone, feeling sad and rather lonely, and envying my better half the opportunity of finding ‘pastures new’ which I was unable to share.
On leaving, the Sahib commended me to the care of the Sariki and Chiefs of Lokoja, mainly, I think, as a friendly joke, but they took the charge quite seriously, dear souls, the whole cavalcade turning up regularly each morning to make careful inquiries of the most minute description, and to ask whether I did not ‘feel sad without the Resident!’ After a few days they informed me that ‘it was quite impossible for them to take proper care of me while I lived so far away from them—they had a fine compound swept out, next to the Sariki’s house, in the town—would I not come and live there, till the Judge’s return?’
It was rather a dilemma, and I had to meet it by telling them how much I should have enjoyed visiting them, but that I had my duty too, and I must look after our house and garden, ponies and dogs, so as to keep everything in order, and finally satisfied their kind hearts by promising to send to them for all and anything that I might want! Each time a letter arrived from the absentee, I summoned my friends, read it aloud, translating each sentence as I went into halting Hausa; every single word was repeated and passed round eagerly, discussed and commented upon, amidst much chewing of kola-nuts, provided by the hostess, and ponderous messages of an affectionate nature were impressively given me for transmission in my reply!
The arrival of General and Mrs. Kemball cheered me greatly, and the week they spent in Lokoja was a very happy one for me, in Mrs. Kemball’s bright and sympathetic companionship. There was a cheery dinner-party at the Mess in their honour, and I said good-bye very regretfully when they went on their way to Zungeru. Shortly afterwards we had another glimpse of them as they passed through on their way down river, and we little thought then that our next meeting would be at Trinity Lodge, Cambridge!
One morning, three weeks later, I put on my riding habit with a very light heart, and rode out, accompanied by the whole of the Sariki’s cavalcade, to escort our ‘judge’ home in triumph. It was a glorious morning, and perfectly delightful riding through the crops of guinea-corn, now ripe, and standing ten feet high,—the leaves splashed and stained with crimson, purple and gold, like gaudy, waving ribbons, the heavy plumes of grain swaying above one’s head, brilliant red, or black and white. Underneath the pony’s feet was a veritable carpet of a tiny lilac blossom which always flourishes among the guinea-corn at harvest time and hardly anywhere else. ‘The little pink flower that grows in the wheat’ always comes into my mind, but this one happens to be mauve instead!
We escorted our lord and master home—a most rowdy party, the boldest spirits wildly racing their ponies along the winding track—girths (composed of widths of ancient cotton cloth!) parting company continually, and saddle and rider together taking a flying toss into the grass, amid shrieks of delight from the rest of the crowd. At each tiny hamlet the entire party would tumble off their ponies, greet and salute, salute and greet, drink quantities of water, climb on again, set the horns and drums braying their loudest, and gallop off irresponsibly, like the light-hearted children that they are.