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A Book of Peace

One of my most frequently read Elizabeth Goudge books is her anthology of poetry “A Book of Peace”. I have two copies, both 1^st Editions. The London copy, published by Michael Joseph in 1967 and the American Copy by Coward McCann Inc New York in 1968. The American copy has been signed by Elizabeth and has an intriguing note on the flyleaf. “Gwen Mary McMaster of the Community of St Luke. February 1975. A copy signed by the author.”

Inside the other, I have slipped the letter I received from Mark and Liz Dutton, Elizabeth’s nephew, and his wife, marking the 25^th anniversary of Elizabeth’s death. They also sent a memorial card they had printed for the service, which has one of Elizabeth’s favourite prayers by Thomas Traherne printed on one side.

The prayer contains sentiments that seem particularly relevant in these times of division. When social media and governments seem focused on what divides us rather than the things we all have in common. “Common Wealth” seems to have become an old fashioned concept; a dream we once had. “By love to live in others”

The cover flap of this copy contains the quote I have cited below

“Never have we longed for peace as we do now, when war has become an obscene horror worse than any imaginable storm, and noise and confusion so invade cities and homes that we are in danger of having our very minds and souls battered to a uniform pulp.”

For some reason I have never prised into, the cut pages and look of the American copy is the one I go to when I want to look up a poem she included. I think I like the heft of it; it’s thicker and bulky. Its pages creamy and almost felt in texture. It also has a plastic protective cover. I am prone to read at any time, of the day or night, afternoon tea being a favourite and spillages will occur, so perhaps the wipe clean cover also has an appeal.

The inside flap of the American edition is different, and seems to talk straight to the heart of our modern dilemma.

“Aware of the ever-intensifying need her many readers experience for a few moments of quiet, calm reflection, snatched from a day loud with the thousand and one demands our fiercely paced society makes on man’s spiritual resources… the author has undertaken a very personal search for the world’s literature most able to tranquilize and restore.”

How absolutely relevant these words are in this dystopian time; when we are distracted by social media, the news, the climate crisis, and our own inability to cope with any of it.

The book’s dedication reads “for Winifred Down “ The dedication appears in both the 1967 Michael Joseph first edition and the 1968 American edition, indicating that it was a personal dedication, and it seems likely that Winifred Down belonged to Goudge’s private circle of friends rather than her literary acquaintances. But despite research, I have been unable to uncover who she was. My best guess would be someone she got to know in Peppard Common as she doesn’t appear as a dedication in any earlier books. Perhaps someone from the church she attended? I would love to know.

The anthology is set out in 16 sections with headings such as Peaceful Scenes, Serene People, Peaceful Sights and Sounds, Visions and Dreams, Acceptance.

For me they are filled with old friends; Gerard Manley Hopkins, Dylan Thomas, R. S. Thomas, Edwin Muir, and A. E. Houseman. But they have also introduced me to new writers such as Ian Crition Smith, Dom Moraes, and James Kirkup. His poem To An Old Lady Asleep At A Poetry Reading makes me smile each time I read it! As a poet who has given many readings, this resonates with me. A dull wet evening and a voice hopefully soothing in tones can be soporific!

The section however that I go back to again and again is Acceptance. I love every poem it contains. It is also a quality and a state of mind I find difficult to come to terms with It seems to imply that we no longer struggle to improve a situation or ourselves, and neither of these is wholly desirable. We are constantly striving to become better people, and to live in a world where poverty, misunderstanding and war are no longer driving forces. But sometimes we have to accept that we can only be who and where we are. We have to learn for example to accept that our children are their own beings, and not necessarily the people we would like them to be.

That if the web of life connects us all, the prayers and hopes we send out do reach the places and people we intend them for. That we learn to accept our strengths and limitations. That today, rooks are flying the field, birds are a community in the hedge outside our window. That for the first time we saw a hummingbird moth above our balcony pots of flowers. That fortunately for us we live in a community that looks out for and cares for each other.

We live in a “Difficult Land” wherein Edwin Muir says, “things miscarry, whether we care or do not care enough.”

“What have the centuries done to change us?” laments R. S. Thomas in The Labourer.

“We seek a hidden city that we shall never find” bemoans John Masefield.

Elizabeth didn’t believe this, she knew that this city was one carried in our hearts and souls, and the essence of it, like a fragrance on the wind could be carried to others. A pennant flown to signal promise; a desire for global wellbeing. If you are fortunate enough to have a copy of this anthology, take it off the shelf and rest a while between its covers; take heart and inspiration from the poetry it contains.

“We have such hours, but are drawn back again
By faces of goodness, faithful masks of sorrow,
Honesty, kindness, courage, fidelity,
The love that lasts a life’s time. And the fields
Homestead and stall and barn, springtime and autumn.
(For we can love even the wandering seasons
In their inhuman circuit.) And the dead
Who lodge in us so strangely, unremembered,
Yet in their place. For how can we reject
The long last look on the ever-dying face
Turned backward from the other side of time?
And how offend the dead and shame the living
By these despairs? And how refrain from love?
This is a difficult country, and our home.”
Edwin Muir

Book Review Uncategorized

14 Dec

Richard Kennedy's illustration of the harbour in I Saw Three Ships

Elizabeth Goudge’s Christmas Carol

Faith and Hope, two qualities that Elizabeth cherished, along with her belief in the common goodness of humankind are treasures that I have found increasingly hard to hang onto in these dystopian days. “ May you live in interesting times” is often cited as a Chinese curse, ironic in its meaning of trouble. Something that could definitely be quoted today. Though no such curse exists, the closest proverb is “Better to be a dog in times of tranquillity than a human in times of chaos.” A phrase that would have resonated deeply with Elizabeth given her love of dogs and their faithful companionship.

But as always it seemed that Elizabeth had been privy to my thoughts. I remembered all the seasonal stories she had written, and how at this time of the year I had usually turned to one of them. It had always been either The Dean’s Watch or Sister of Angels, sometimes The Scent of Water with it’s ending of the glass ship sailing out on “living water.” Maybe it was that image that put me in mind of her short story “I Saw Three Ships”.

This Regency tale, set in a fictional Devonshire town, is in essence a meditation on a 17th‑century carol. The song which was very popular came from a folk tale crafted around the three Magi and their journey to Bethlehem. The imagery of ships had always been an important one for Elizabeth. In her preface to her “A Christmas Book” she says; “In the mid-winter gloom Christmas comes up over the horizon like a lighted ship homeward bound. The arrival has been prepared for and is expected, yet as the archaic shape draws slowly nearer and nearer, the lights of the lanterns reflected in the black water like moons and stars, the sails luminous as huge moth’s wings in the dark, we feel profound relief.”
Bethlehem, of course is a landlocked place, and the “ships” referred to would originally have been the camels, those “ships of the desert”, a common medieval metaphor, for those exotic animals ridden by the wise men on their way seeking the birth of the Messiah.

“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
the ways deep and the weather sharp
The very dead of winter”
T. S. Eliot

It is vintage Goudge, containing many of the story lines and characters she loved. An orphan child brought up by elderly aunts, a child who is sensitive, fey almost and teaches her elders how to be “childlike” again, obtaining from her gifts of enjoyment in the wider world outside their social concerns. There are folk stories evoking an older wisdom and a cast of eccentric characters surrounding the innocence of the little girl. There is the beauty of the natural world under lined with the spiritual which Elizabeth does so deftly; “The stars shone so brightly that they made a weight of glory in the sky.” Memories perhaps of her view from her own bedroom window.

The real heart of the book is that she takes three disreputable old men, men outside of the polite mannered, constricted life of the era and makes them into believable Magi. The sad and haunted French refugee, the irascible “Rag and Bones” and the mysterious seafaring man who turns out to be the most life enhancing figure of them all.

Thank you Elizabeth for extending the hand of friendship and restoring to me a sense of hope and faith that starting from the new birth of Christmas reinvigorates my knowledge that the world is still a wonderous place. Where acts kindness and the unexpected turn lives from the survival to the magical.

26 Feb

The Answer

As so often happens, Elizabeth provides me with one. I have been feeling overwhelmed by all that is taking place in the world, and although my personal circumstances couldn’t be better, I know that for millions of others over the last few years, lives have got immeasurably worse. From the food banks we shamefully need in one of the richest countries in the world, to war, famine, disease in others. To the desecration of the planet we call home; everywhere I look I wonder what Elizabeth would have made of it, and am thankful that she didn’t live on into these “interesting times”.

The Ikon on the Wall, a series of short stories printed in 1943 contains four stories set during the second world war; The first which gives its name to the collection is set in a Russian village occupied by the Germans. Shades of Ukraine and the way Russia has justified it’s invasion as being against the Nazi element who live there.

The Strength in the Stone plays out in Greece; a country which is now ravaged by economic failure, poverty and debt, in the way that it once was by war.

The third, The Hospitality of Mr Pettigrew, echoes my present feelings. ” He was a man of peace, a fanatical hater of war, an artist to whom creation was as the breath of life, and it seemed to him that he carried the devastation of these times forever with him like a bleeding wound in his spirit that could never be staunched”

The fourth, The Answer, takes place in the London Blitz, and is a love story set against fear, destruction and the displacement they bring. This the third story, is the one which spoke to me; drawing me in with the first stanza; “As children turn the pages of a book of fairy tales so did Joy Maloney stop every morning on her way to work to look at the pictures that the man with the lame leg had drawn on the pavement.”

In one sentence Elizabeth skilfully gives us a setting and important information about the main characters. Joy is an innocent, not only able to detach herself from her immediate surrounding, but able to appreciate art, where ever she finds it. It is apparent that she has lived in the city for a long time, because, “every morning” she goes to work. The man is disadvantaged; not only physically, but economically. Why else would he be a pavement artist, an artist whose work is by its nature impermanent, fleeting. Yet he must be talented because otherwise Joy would not have been captivated. There is a connection between them.

There follows a story arch familiar to Elizabeth Goudge readers; coincidences, the value of friendship and the fulfilment of work, a stage of displacement and fear; then the conquering of adversity by love.

There is no simple answer to the world’s myriad problems of course, and this is the justification we all give for doing nothing. Like Rosa, we are too old, too tires to do anything; it’s for the next generation to sort out. Like Joy in her flat when the bombing takes place, we are paralysed with fear. But Elizabeth does gives us one. The answer of course, is that amidst the chaos and terror, we should build havens of peace and love, which will spill out into the wider world, and join up in time, with all the other havens. How simple that sounds and how difficult to put into practise. Looking out of my own sunlit window onto a quiet huddle of homes, I feel blessed that my lines have been written in such places. Let us hope that as Joy believes “one day there would come a great exhausted silence, and then very faint and far away the clip-clop of a horse’s hoofs, a soft rustling like wind in the trees, a thread of music….. Peace men would say wonderingly. Peace”

Book Review

08 Nov

Lighten Despair

There is a book of Elizabeth’s for every situation in life. I have never felt turned away or unanswered when I go to her work. It doesn’t matter what mood I’m in, what my situation is, she gives me an answer. She is there to empathises and put out a hand in comfort.

Today I am sitting with Miss Brown on a seat outside the Free Library, with the roar of London traffic at my back. Although in truth my body is cradled in the deep quiet of a countryside afternoon in autumn.

But like Miss Brown, I have been “ in the grip of fear; not just apprehension or anxiety, but real fear, naked and horrible”

And yet as she says I am “ not worse off than many other people” Miss Brown loses her home and her livelihood during a world war, and that is not the case with me. We just have to sell the home we have lived in for over thirty years and earnt our living from and move away. We too do not know where we will end up or how we will get there.

But then I think about all the refugees that are currently displaced in the world today, and try to imagine their trauma and pain, fleeing from war or famine. The loss of one’s home, the identity we have made over generations must be immense. Isaac the refugee from Germany speaks for them all. “God how he hated the loneliness of perpetual wandering! No satisfactory companionship was possible if you could not strike down roots”
(Castle On The Hill p36 of the 1949 edition) He feels as if he was superfluous to life, that his existence has no meaning or relevance to anyone. Something which is realizes as the book progresses is far from the truth.

Elizabeth peppers her books with wonderful quotes from other writers to enhance her themes or underline a point she is making and I love the one she uses here
“We are the Pilgrims, Master; we shall go
Always a little further:”
Flecker’s verse is out of vouge and difficult in it’s subject matter, but seems very appropriate for our situation and times, when the world is undergoing the mass exodus of people from intolerable situations, desperate to find sanctuary.

So, I will read of the courage and strength endured in The Castle On The Hill during the Second World War and find the tranquillity of the autumn countryside mirrored back at me. As Dame Juliana of Norwich says and is quoted famously by T. S. Eliot, “ And all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

Thank you Elizabeth for bringing perspective and good sense into my life.

Articles Book Review

13 Apr

In Our Time of Trouble

In these days of self-isolation we work to reach out to one another in different ways. Reaching for consolation and advise from Elizabeth is probably one that we have all experienced.

She herself lived through the great flu pandemic of 1918, which killed more people than the horrendous world war they had just gone through, and was a contributing factor to Elizabeth’s spinsterhood.

So what would Elizabeth recommend that I read, I reached out and pulled The Rosemary Tree from the shelf. Not one of my favourite of her books, Daphne annoys me. I went to put it back and then remembered the themes that this work explores; confinement, isolation, imprisonment, illness, and the ultimate journey of death.

Perhaps it has something to say to me after all. Let Elizabeth keep you company and offer consolation for an evening or two, I don’t think the conversation will disappoint.

Book Review Chat

05 Nov

Pen Friends

In my quest for knowledge about the works and life of Elizabeth Goudge, my research has lead me to strange little odds and ends of information, which when put together add a piece to Elizabeth’s tapestry.

One of these was an ebay purchase I made a number of years ago. Another writer I admire is Rosemary Sutcliff and I noticed that a hard backed 1st edition of her Arthurian Trilogy was up for sale. I won the bid and waited for the books. When they came I was pleased to find that their condition was as described. When I opened them they were all three inscribed “Elizabeth with much love Rosemary” and from one of them fell a letter, which had been written by the author.

I have written about this find elsewhere, so lets just say that after a bit of detective work, I found out that Rosemary Sutcliff and Elizabeth had been friends, and both writers belonged to the same literary agent. Elizabeth wrote the forward to one of Rosemary’s over looked works “The Rider of the White Horse.” A quiet, descriptive novel set during England’s civil war.

“There is nothing nicer than being asked to write an introduction to a favourite book. ” Elizabeth writes, “But at the same time it is a difficult task. It is like being asked to describe the charm of a face you love. If you did not love the face so much, and even more the person behind the face, it would be easy.”

This book was published by Hodder & Stoughton in 1967, and chronicles the military career of Thomas Fairfax and the fate of his family during the civil war. A theme Elizabeth had already visited in The White Witch.

But a deeper connection to Elizabeth’s work is the significance that the herb of grace, or rue has for the Fairfax family.

Anne Fairfax is waiting to meet her husband on a brief visit from the fighting in a dark, disused chapel. She is anxious, grieving the death of her youngest child and restless, knowing that her husband has never loved her as she has him. She takes comfort from the ancient preaching cross that is part of the chapel, its rugged strength and symbolism.

“Somebody else, she realised suddenly, had felt the warmth as she felt it. for on the chest of rough black oak that stood against the wall below it, an unknown hand had set a knot of blue flowers in an earthen cup. For Anne they rang a small silver note of memory. but it was a moment before she realised that the flower was rue. The Herb of Grace. The Herb of Grace springing from the ruins among which the wild white unicorn trampled with his proud shining hooves; Herb of Grace set here at the foot of the old preaching cross that was the living heart of the besieged church, as though for a statement of faith.”
(Rider of the White Horse Rosemary Sutcliff)

This book contains many of the themes we have come to recognise in Elizabeth’s books, dealing with unrequited love, faith and family in a way that is familiar to readers of her work.

That they read each others work and seemed to have been inspired and enlightened by them is obvious. Elizabeth admires Rosemary’s ability to map battle scenes, a prospect she admits to finding difficult. Although she has no trouble in mapping out the intimate worlds her families inhabit. I’m sure Rosemary found the emotional depth Elizabeth gave to her characters something that commanded respect.

It is tempting to think that the symbolism of the blue flowered rue in Elizabeth’s book “The Herb of Grace” slipped into Rosemary’s unconscious to emerge years later as a valuable motif in her civil war novel.

Elizabeth also wrote promotional pieces for Rosemary’s excellent Arthurian epic “Sword at Sunset”, in which she praises Rosemary for so identifying with the characters that “the distant time, so difficult for many of us to realise, glows with present reality.”

At this time of fire light and lengthening evenings, find companionship, open a good book and reacquaint yourself with old friends or make some knew ones by exploring one of Elizabeth’s worlds.

Book Review Chat

28 May

Charms for lost Serenity

So wrote Elizabeth Goudge in the preface to her collection of poetry “A Book of Peace.” published in 1968. They apply to the world we inhabit today. I had turned to my collection of Elizabeth’s anthologies, because of an email I had received about them.

There are books in any personal collection which speak to the owner and this is one of my great books. It is a 1st edition American copy, published by Coward McCann and signed by the author. The dedication is to Mary McMaster of the Community of St Luke dated February 1975. The cover is beautifully unstated, a blue background with a sunflower.

Inside was this slip offering a protection for the book on its journey from America to my bookshelf in England. It also contains a letter written to me by Sylvia Gower, the author of “The World of Elizabeth Goudge” and a photograph of Elizabeth sitting on Froinga’s well in her garden at Rose Cottage. It has thick creamy pages which appear to have been hand cut. All perfectly valid reasons for it being an important book to me. But the real and most compelling reasons are the poems it contains, the writers and poets she introduces me to and the voice of Elizabeth, gentle, lucid, speaking to me through her choices.

Articles Book Review

07 Aug

Castle on the Hill

My copy is a 1^st edition printed in 1942, by Duckworth during the second world war, a time when paper like everything else was in short supply. Although a hard back, it has not stood the tests of time well, warping and stained along its outer leaves. The cover is slightly torn and missing a piece from the back, a “bombed” book reflecting the subject matter.

As a tale it is stark, verging in places in outright propaganda, one of the reasons it was probably published at all, as the paper shortage caused by the war was by this time acute. The metaphor is obvious, England, besieged, frightened, as embattled as the castle.

The themes of the story are huge; those of grief, loss, anger, pride, patriotism, courage. But under pinning them all is the perpetual theme of all of Elizabeth’s books, her central core, that good homes, secure homes, house families.

Elizabeth had thought and prayed a great deal about the war. She was dedicated in her research and depth of reading. She understood the political and economic situations better than most people, certainly most people in her strata of society. She empathised with the plight of refugees, the disposed, a personification of which are found in the characters of Miss Brown and Mr Isaacson.

You can still visit the castle, Berry Pomeroy in Devon, high on its crag in the woods. It is reputedly one of the most haunted places in England. Elizabeth loved it so much she moved to write one of her rare poems about the place after visiting it often.

The Castle

Hid deep in the heart of the woods, haunted and old,
The shell of a Castle stills stands, a story told,
Built high on a rock in the woods, frozen and cold.

Deep are the night-dark shadows under the wall,
Breathlessly whispering downwards the snowflakes fall,
Shrouding the desolate towers in a stainless pall.

Fearful within me my own heart, failing, has died,
I too in the woods am frozen, bereaved, sore tried.
Alone here…… There in the shadows, who was it sighed?

There, in the bastioned walls where the gateway stands,
Are there shadows within its shadows, weaving the strands
Back through the loom of past sorrow with pain worn hands?

Shadows weeping a world grown cold and stark with pain,
Mourning once more the lights put out, put out again,
The loveliness broken and lost, the young men slain.

Has sorrow alone lived here for a hundred years?
Is only hatred immortsl, men’s craven fears?
Only the weeping of women, their uesless tears?

Not winter only reigns here in this haunted place,
As the cold clouds part, defeated, the sunbeams lace
The dark trees with their diamond light, touch the worn face

Of the frozen stone with colour, with azure fire
Of spring-times long past,yet alive, the hot desire
Of summers never forgotten, hopes that aspire

For ever, courage unbeaten, valour aflame,
The unshaken victory of the men who name
Holy things to their strength…….Nor fear, nor hate nor shame

Is theirs…. I see the flashing of arms on the wall,
Hear the deep roar of the conflict, the thrilling call,
Of the silver trumpet sounding high on the tall

Towers of God’s immortal fortress, that he made
Against the evil out of the love of men laid
At his feet, their sweat, their blood to the last drop paid.

For this is the rock that for all time man defends,
The rock of his soul against which all evil spends
Its fury in vain in the warfare that never ends.

And these the embattled walls that the heroes trod,
Swift winged with flame, their feet with the gospel shod,
For this is the house of all life, the house of God.

Lift up, lift up ypur constant hearts, the trumpet cries,
Lift them up to the shining walls, the sun drenched skies,
For beyond the night for ever the sun will rise.

Elizabeth Goudge

Book Review

22 May

Smokey House

If this had been the book that I first picked up and read by Elizabeth Goudge, I doubt I would have looked for another. Which would have been a pity, as it would have deprived me of a lifelong friend and the pleasure of all the other books she wrote.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pleasant enough read. It has plenty of vivid descriptions of the west country she so loved, evocative in the way that only Elizabeth manages to accomplish.

“A network of lovely lanes wound about the village and in and out of the round green hills. They were very beautiful. Their steep banks were cool with shining ferns and bright and fragrant with flowers; primroses and white violets, periwinkles and pink campion, foxgloves, roses and honeysuckle, with in autumn the scarlet berries of parson-in-the-pulpit and the silver froth of traveller’s joy. Nut trees arched overhead, giving grateful shade in summer weather and down the side of each lane ran a twinkling silver stream…” (Smokey House p 15)

It is a book dedicated to “Nannie” that stalwart of the Edwardian era.

“The door which shut off the nursery wing from the rest of the house made a very real dividing line between the life of the child and the adult.” (page 22 from the introduction of A Child’s Garden of Verses)

However, if you part the fronds of her words you will find hidden as the flowers in the hedgerows, glimpses of her thoughts and life.
“Because music never forgets anything. It is the voice of eternity speaking in time and it gathers the past and the present and the future all together, making past happiness eternal and pulling future happiness into the here and now.” (Smokey House p 231)

Music played an important part in Elizabeth’s life, from concerts she attended with her father to church services and carols. I would have loved to have known her Desert Island Discs.

The book is full of songs and verses, written by Elizabeth, though she never considered herself a poet, but did publish a slim volume of Songs and Verses, some of which appear in this book.

But the biggest revelation for me comes when Spot the dog goes underground to escape from the red coats.

Don’t know if Elizabeth read the Apocrypha, with her love of myth and legend, I would be surprised if she hadn’t, but

“Gentlemen, said the Squire, “The Unknown!”

if she had she would have remembered that dogs are our guardians and guides on our journey to heaven. Not scratting outside the door of paradise like the loyal little dog of Sir Murgatroyd in City of Bells, but as a helpmate, and protector.

Spots journey, (p 255 – 256) gives Elizabeth the chance to explain to us how she interpreted the worlds. It is a rare insight into the fundamentals of her belief, the creed she lived her life by. Perhaps she felt safer exposing these to non-judgemental children, more comfortable with their questions than the scepticism of her contemporaries.

It lifts a pleasant, often predictable children’s story into the realms of the esoteric, effortlessly.

Book Review

02 Mar

Editors Letter March 2017

The heavenly beauty of the spring day sent her mercurial spirits soaring upwards, and she sang softly as she walked along the street, swinging her basket. The beautiful old houses about her seemed lovely as the houses in a fairy-tale…….”
(Herb of Grace p 16)

The book’s opening is fresh, vivid, all life’s possibilities lie ahead and the world is a stage set for adventure and romance An aspect of Spring we all long for at the end of a long grey winter. Sally in The Herb of Grace is the personification of all that we find attractive in youth and fresh beginnings. Our hearts go out to her.

“For Lucilla was not without hope for the future. She had lived long enough to know that the spring always comes back. Also, she knew that if it was to be a flowering spring one must make one’s preparations.”
(Herb of Grace p 64)

The book balances this with the knowledge and depth that Lucilla has found and puts into practise, when those cruel winds of March bluster around, gaining entrance from any small crack in our defences, telling the conflicting tales of spring.

The Herb of Grace is my favorite of the Eliot trilogy a book full of optimism and charm which could so easily have been the last written of the Eliots. Elizabeth always maintained that she had only produced Heart of the Family due to the pressure of fans asking for more about them.

Trouble is, I find I can never start a trilogy in the middle.

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Archive for Book Review

A Book of Peace

Elizabeth Goudge’s Christmas Carol

The Answer

Lighten Despair

In Our Time of Trouble

Pen Friends

Charms for lost Serenity

Castle on the Hill

Smokey House

Editors Letter March 2017

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