by Linda Lear
Subsequently Mrs Stanley Baldwin, wife of the Prime Minister, who chaired the Peter Rabbit Fund, asked Beatrix if she would contribute a Christmas card for the charity to use as a ‘reward for collectors’. Beatrix thought it a worthwhile venture, and Warne’s agreed to contribute the coloured block and produce the card. The first card was ready by Christmas 1924, but was not published until the following year. Between 1925 and 1941 Beatrix regularly produced perhaps as many as two dozen cards, featuring delightful animals, not always rabbits, that helped raise money for four more Peter Rabbit beds and for the work of the ICAA. She also wrote several form letters from herself and Peter Rabbit to thank children who subscribed to the ICAA and who filled out the stamp collecting cards. The most popular ICAA card, which Beatrix drew in 1932 and which was republished several times, featured the ‘Rabbits’ Christmas tree’ with all the little animals dancing around it in a circle.25
Beatrix’s advocacy of the ICAA through the use of Peter Rabbit and the Christmas cards connected her in another way to the sick and unfortunate around the country. She responded to the opportunity not only because she wanted to help sick children, but because she had suffered from rheumatic heart disease as a young woman, and knew its debilitating effects as an adult. Beatrix was a quietly determined advocate for improved public health, but especially for those women and children who lived in the unhealthy and polluted cities. Ironically her rare public visibility on the letterhead of the ICAA coincided with a successful performance of a dramatic version of The Tailor of Gloucester at Steinway Hall in London during the Christmas season in 1923. The publicity from these associations encouraged a persistent case of mistaken identity in the press that Beatrix and William found most annoying.
In January 1924 an article appeared in the Illustrated Sunday Herald which referred to Mrs Sidney Webb, ‘whom many of us remember as the writer of children’s books when she was Miss Beatrix Potter…’ It was not the first time that the former Beatrice Potter Webb, the Fabian social reformer, and Beatrix Potter Heelis, an ardent Conservative, had been confused, even though their Christian names were spelled differently. Beatrix had ignored the previous insults ‘of being mistaken for Mrs S. Webb’ rather than elicit further publicity by trying to correct them, but this time the Herald article was accompanied by an unbecoming photograph of Mr and Mrs Sidney Webb. It was too much. William was especially upset, telling Beatrix, ‘it is adding insult to injury to suggest that Miss Beatrix Potter is married “to such a little animal.” ’26
Beatrix sent a copy of the article to Fruing asking him to request a published correction, and she told Louie Choyce, ‘The papers print the untruth prominently, and the contradiction so unprominently that it has no effect to stop the lie. The most laughable part of it was a photograph of Beatrix Potter & her husband — a horrid little fat man with a billy goat beard! Wm. was furious, said it was a libel on him.’ Beatrix naively hoped the Herald was not read by ‘the class who purchase my books’, but she feared it would be reprinted elsewhere. With characteristic humour, however, she suggested the best correction might be to ‘get photographed along with a favourite pig or cow and get it inserted in some more genteel newspaper!’ She added a pen-and-ink drawing of herself next to a smiling pig.27
There was some irony in this case of mistaken identity, as Beatrice Potter Webb had grown up in a Unitarian household in Gloucestershire, the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, an entrepreneur the equal of Edmund Potter. And although Beatrix Heelis was unaware of it, they were distantly related through Webb’s cousin, Charles Booth, the pioneering sociologist and advocate for the poor, who had been one of Bertram’s proposers for membership at the Athenaeum. ‘Bother Mrs Sidney Webb,’ Beatrix wrote to Fruing a month later. ‘Mr Heelis was asked in Ambleside yesterday whether his wife had married again.’28
The end of the war also brought with it the opportunity for new friendships, although until Beatrix Heelis met the Americans who came to Sawrey to see her, she had not realized how much she craved literary companionship. When Anne Carroll Moore, the Superintendent of Children’s Work for the New York Public Library, asked to call on her during the summer of 1921, Beatrix had already a rather good opinion of Americans because of her friendship with the wealthy Miss Rebekah Owen. Miss Owen lived down the road beyond Hawkshead at Belmount Hall, a large Georgian house with extensive grounds and fine gardens. She was an eccentric friend of the novelist Thomas Hardy, and an authority on and collector of his work. She and her sister brought the property through William in 1899 and when they moved from New York City they hoped the writer might visit them in Hawkshead. Beatrix had known Miss Owen since she bought the farm. ‘We have an American neighbour & friend,’ she wrote to Fruing, ‘… who has proved to us that Americans can be “educated & literary” — in fact Miss Rebeccah [sic] O [Owen] — is alarming!’ Rebekah, then in her late sixties, wore lipstick and shiny pink nail polish, and was driven about in a handsome car with an Italian chauffeur. Beatrix admired her taste in silver, books, and antique furniture, as well as her erudition and wide literary acquaintance. They shared an interest in horticulture and garden design, and both were active in supporting the collections at the Armitt Trust Library. It was on the basis of her admiration for Miss Owen that Beatrix agreed to meet Anne Carroll Moore.29
Moore had been in France during the summer of 1921 visiting children’s libraries and contributing picture books so that those libraries devastated by the war might reopen. Once in England she visited the Warne offices and ordered fifty copies each of the newly translated Pierre Lapin and Jeannot Lapin (Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny) for the library in Soissons. Fruing, who acted as gatekeeper for Beatrix, reluctantly forwarded her request to call at Sawrey. Moore’s letter described her work in France, the French children’s love of picture books, and her purchase of Potter’s translations. Totally charmed and curious about this American librarian, Beatrix sent Moore a cordial invitation to lunch. ‘I like the French translations, it is like reading some one else’s work — refreshing.’30
Beatrix was curious to meet an intelligent woman who knew something about the genre of children’s literature, as well as someone who was appreciative of her work. Although Beatrix was perfectly content in her marriage, she and William did not talk much about her books or her art. He knew little of the material in her old portfolios and even less of her current efforts. In this, as in other ways, Beatrix continued to compartmentalize her life — particularly her past life. But as a consequence she was hungry to talk to someone knowledgeable about both writers and writing for children.
Their lunch was an immediate success. Moore was given a tour of Hill Top Farm and shown the original sketches, drawings and watercolours for some of the little books. Interested in hearing more about the New York library programmes and the children there, Beatrix asked Miss Moore to stay on for tea and finally to spend the night. Quite spontaneously, Beatrix invited her to choose a painting for the children in New York and allowed her to rummage about in her portfolios. They talked into the evening, and before Moore departed the next morning, Beatrix extended a welcome to return, and to ‘send any of the storytellers in your children’s libraries. I know they would be coming for the sake of the children and not out of mere curiosity.’31
Moore’s visit reassured Beatrix that not only was her work still popular, but that it was appreciated and taken seriously. Aside from the occasional review that Fruing passed on to her, Beatrix got little creative affirmation of her work beyond cold sales figures. She had no sense that her books were regarded as anything more than toys. There were no equivalent professional children’s librarians in Britain, and she knew no one with Moore’s expertise. Still smarting from Fruing’s cavalier rejection of ‘The Tale of the Birds and Mr. Tod’ the year before, Beatrix asked the American librarian what she thought of another book of rhymes similar to Appley Dapply and was rewarded with an enthusiastic response.
Energized by Moore’s visit and her appreciation, Beatrix went ba
ck to work on Cecily Parsley’s Nursery Rhymes, choosing another eight from her original collection. She told Fruing, ‘I thought it was safely too late for the current season when I showed them to Miss Moore. I very much enjoyed talking to her — and there have been some more Americans since. And visitors in prospect for all summer; which is cheerful, but fatiguing.’ Knowing that these rhymes were all he was likely to be able to extract from Beatrix that year, and acknowledging Moore’s enthusiasm, Fruing agreed that Cecily Parsley would be the new Potter book for Christmas 1922.32
Beatrix chose two drawings of the ‘Guinea-pigs’ Garden’ and a favourite rhyme, ‘Nanny Netticoat’, from her 1897 version. By spring she had recopied most of those she wanted to use and sent them off to Warne’s. ‘I would have got them done this week,’ she wrote, ‘but I am plagued with visitors & poultry, & a bad drought.’ One of those visitors was Louie Choyce, who contributed the rhyme used to illustrate the gardening guinea pigs. Beatrix wrote to Louie after the book was published, ‘you will recognize the bluebell wood, up Stoney Lane behind this house… Pity there was not room for the “red rose” verse. The other two verses fit beautifully.’33
Fruing asked for some curious alterations in the text. At first Beatrix acquiesced in his desire to omit the line in ‘Three Blind Mice’ about the farmer’s wife ‘cut[ting] off their tails’, but later she insisted that it be restored, finding the rhyme incomplete without it. In the original title illustration Beatrix had shown Cecily Parsley, the little rabbit, brewing cider from red apples to make ‘a good ale’. But the ever-cautious editor asked her to change the drink to ‘cowslip wine’, apparently unaware of its alcoholic content. Beatrix acknowledged her debt to Anne Carroll Moore, sending an autographed copy for Moore’s doll, Nicholas Knickerbocker.34
Although Anne Carroll Moore did not return to Sawrey for many years, Beatrix welcomed a steady stream of other American visitors, delighted with the opportunity they brought her for adult friendship and a widened sense of the post-war world. The most important of these visitors came as a result of her long correspondence with Mary Gill, a Boston Unitarian who belonged to an organization called Friendly Links, which promoted intellectual exchange between British and American Unitarians. Gill came to Sawrey, along with her sister Rebecca Field, her husband William and their two daughters, shortly after Moore’s visit. The William L. W. Field family would be an important link for Beatrix to an unusually distinguished group of artists and intellectuals in the Boston area. During the next decade the Fields were responsible for sending other well-educated and appreciative New Englanders to Near Sawrey.
These Americans were a rather self-selected group: New England Unitarians, well-educated, well-informed, wealthy enough to travel abroad after the war, and often naturalists and artists themselves. They all loved books, had an appreciation of children’s literature and illustration, and all had well-mannered, interesting children who were delighted to see where Peter Rabbit lived. Field was then the Headmaster of Milton Academy, a fine preparatory school for boys outside Boston, and the Fields suggested that Beatrix meet the well-known American portrait painter Charles S. Hopkinson and his family. These new acquaintances were each invited to tea at Castle Cottage, allowed to see her portfolios, and in many instances given drawings to take home.35
It took a bit of reassurance for Beatrix to see any benefit in Miss Bertha Mahony’s request for biographical information in 1925 as she had an ‘intense dislike to advertisement’. But she knew that mystery also invited curiosity and was fearful that if she refused, she might once again be mistaken for the wife of Sidney Webb. Mahony, along with her friend and colleague Elinor Whitney, were the founders of The Horn Book magazine, a Boston publication devoted to children’s books and reading. The magazine, a project of the Bookshop for Boys and Girls in Boston, which the two women had opened in 1916, was the first literary journal devoted entirely to children’s literature. Unfortunately, Mahony was not as assertive as Anne Carroll Moore, and Fruing Warne successfully deflected her request to call on Beatrix in 1924. Instead, Mahony sent Beatrix a letter enquiring about the origins of Peter Rabbit, sending some copies of The Hom Book, and a request for biographical information for a reference book on children’s authors. When Moore reassured her that Mahony’s request was legitimate, Beatrix obliged.
Her first biographical entry read: ‘Beatrix Potter is Mrs William Heelis. She lives in the north of England, her home is amongst the mountains and lakes that she has drawn in her picture books. Her husband is a lawyer. They have no family. Mrs Heelis is in her 60th year. She leads a very busy contented life, living always in the country and managing a large sheep farm on her own land.’ Beatrix added offhandedly, ‘I have never been able to understand what is the attraction of the book; but it continues to sell.’ This initial and quite tenuous exchange of letters with Bertha Mahony began a remarkable friendship in letters between Beatrix and a most interesting and able American pioneer in children’s literature. The Horn Book also proved an immensely useful literary vehicle for bringing Beatrix Potter to America.36
Changes in her farming friendships also provided unexpected opportunities for companionship. Louie Choyce was always welcome, but her visits were unpredictable. Beatrix missed her company and her physical help, particularly with the garden. Quite unexpectedly in 1922, she learned that Margaret ‘Daisy’ Hammond, the niece of her former governess, was in some financial distress after the death of her aunt. Beatrix invited Daisy and her companion Miss Cecily Mills to take the front half of the farm dwelling known as ‘the Castle’ for a six-month trial to see if they liked living in Near Sawrey.
Cecily found work as a day gardener and Daisy kept busy on Beatrix’s farms. Both women got around the countryside on bicycles which they parked in Beatrix’s wash house. After six months they were comfortably settled and Beatrix was pleased to have their company and their help, particularly in looking after the Revd AJ. They shared the work in the garden, and looked after fruit trees and the growing brood of turkey chicks. William liked the two women and also found them good company. For Beatrix it was like having younger, compatible cousins around.
But the most life-changing opportunities that came to Beatrix in the post-war years flowed from the pervasive influence of her mentor and friend, Hardwicke Rawnsley. His death in May 1920 pushed her to take a more public role in carrying on his legacy and making it her own.37
16
Legacies
Over the years Beatrix and Rawnsley had frequently joined together to further the work of the National Trust. She had embraced his ideas on open footpaths, had campaigned with him against hydroplanes on the lakes, and had been a faithful, but mostly anonymous contributor to various appeals from the National Trust in the Lake District. Equally important, Beatrix had thought a great deal about the long-term value of the Trust as a hill country farmer and landowner. She not only approved of saving scenic shorelines from falling into private ownership, but she also agreed with Rawnsley that the Trust should expand its preservation efforts to include the culture of fell farming. With ever more tourist businesses catering to holiday trippers, country life as well as scenic beauty were threatened by division and development. As a result of Rawnsley’s prodding, and the failure of many small farms in the post-war period, the Trust slowly began acquiring valley-bottom farms, lands at the head of watersheds and indigenous farmhouses, and in general broadening the definition of preservation.
This initiative was one that Beatrix could support enthusiastically, but she was under no illusions that it could soon make any significant difference, since it was always easier to raise money for dramatic vistas and grand estates than for run-down sheep farms or quaint Lakeland cottages. But Beatrix had also observed that quite often the first thing a small farmer would do when he got into debt was to cut down all the timber and to sell off the farm’s sheep stocks, which in many cases meant scattering flocks of valuable Herdwick sheep. Beatrix instinctively widened her definition of Lake District preser
vation to include the Herdwick as well as timber culture.
She first learned to appreciate the qualities of the Herdwick from Hardwicke Rawnsley. He wrote eloquently about this unique breed, believing that these particular little sheep, ‘with their shy black faces’, ‘gave life to the mountain side’. Herdwick lambs are all black. As they mature their fleece turns grey and their faces go mostly white. In his essay ‘A Crack about Herdwick Sheep’ (1911), Rawnsley wrote enthusiastically of their culture, breeding and temperament, making clear why Herdwick were so uniquely suited to the fell environment.1
His advocacy was no mere romantic enthusiasm. Rawnsley recognized this breed had special qualities that made them particularly suited to fell farming. They are sturdy, hearty, agile sheep uniquely suited to the rocky terrain of the fells. They can survive the harsh climate on the short herbage of the high fells, and have been known to stay alive buried in snow for weeks, sometimes eating their own wool, sustained by its lanolin content. Among other attributes, the Herdwick graze heather and grass evenly, and keep bracken and scrub under control. But it is the Herdwicks’ extraordinary memory to ‘heaf’ (to return to a certain place or pasture), which they acquire as lambs, that most distinguishes them. In practical terms this heafing instinct means they do not require fencing on the fell, nor extensive shepherding to bring them down to pasture. Their coarse wool makes them unsuitable to raise for the luxury markets, but as a breed the Herdwick were, and remain, ecologically and economically indispensable to the continuation of fell farming.2
