One of my most frequently read Elizabeth Goudge books is her anthology of poetry “A Book of Peace”. I have two copies, both 1st 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 25th 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
