by Linda Lear
With Walker and Benson at Troutbeck Park, Storey at Hill Top, and Moscrop at lambing time, by the end of 1930 Beatrix had assembled a team of managers and shepherds that she could trust. It had taken her seven years of hard work and careful oversight, but in spite of bad winters and declining wool markets, her several farms, many fields and thousands of real animals were doing well. Beatrix had successfully carried on Rawnsley’s legacy to preserve the Herdwick. She had saved a unique and important fell farm, and had begun an alliance with the National Trust. But Beatrix’s imaginary animals and their London publisher had not fared as well.42
17
Americans
Troutbeck park farm had changed Beatrix’s outlook as well as absorbed her energy. The only new books since 1922 had been Jemima Puddle-Duck’s Painting Book, and a new edition of The Roly-Poly Pudding, retitled as The Tale of Samuel Whiskers and reduced to little book format, which was published in October 1926. She worked half-heartedly on a ‘Peter Rabbit Almanac’, which she put together from some odds and ends in the spring of 1927 at the urging of an American painter from Boston who had come on a visit with his family. But it required more work on the blocks than she had patience for.1
Although Fruing Warne kept pressing for another book, Beatrix was far too busy and, in truth, too happy with her farm to oblige. Some years before, Fruing had even made a pilgrimage to Near Sawrey, hoping to cajole her into doing something, but the visit had only put her off. ‘It brought back such a nightmare of painful memories that it took six months to forget again,’ she told him. Her memories of Norman and her sense of betrayal by Harold Warne’s deception had never entirely left her. Although she was fond of Fruing, and had once been of his children, she had never felt him to be a close creative collaborator, and she was thoroughly tired of rabbits. ‘It is not the least use asking me to write or draw to order. I neither can nor will.’ She admitted she felt ‘dried up’, and in fact had not done much more than the minimum to protect her financial interests, being more excited by new ideas for merchandise, such as baby blankets and bibs, than writing stories.2
In the spring of 1927 Beatrix joined in the National Trust’s campaign to rescue Cockshott Point from town development. It was a particularly lovely historic strip of land that jutted out into Windermere near the ferry, and provided a peaceful view of the high fells across the lake. When the subscription was in danger of falling short, Beatrix had the idea that perhaps readers of The Horn Book, and other American friends who seemed so fond of Peter Rabbit, might like to contribute to ‘The Windermere Fund’. Ever since she had responded to Bertha Mahony’s request for biographical information, Beatrix had been reading The Horn Book, which remained much to her liking. The writing was fresh and the journal exhibited good sense in its efforts to educate the public about books for children. Beatrix applauded Mahony’s efforts to improve the quality of children’s literature.3
Her scheme was to offer fifty original autographed drawings, copied from four of the illustrations for Peter Rabbit, for sale at a guinea (£1. 1s.) to help save Cockshott Point. In May she sent the packet of drawings along with an appeal letter to Bertha Mahony, hoping that The Horn Book and the Bookshop for Boys and Girls would act as agent for her efforts. The appeal was made by ‘Beatrix Potter and Peter Rabbit’ under the auspices of the National Trust. Mahony published Beatrix’s letter along with a colour plate showing a sample watercolour and an editorial endorsement in the August 1927 issue of The Horn Book. Beatrix had written an engaging appeal: ‘Peter Rabbit is not begging for himself — and he offers something. “Beatrix Potter” has very much at heart an appeal to raise a fund to save a strip of foreshore woodland and meadow… from immenent [sic] risk of disfigurement by extensive building and town extension.’ Mahony displayed the drawings in the windows of the Bookshop. Horn Book readers and Bookshop customers lined up to pay $5 for an original Potter drawing and help save a ‘bit of [English] scenery’, particularly as Beatrix had described it as ‘right in the middle of the most beautiful part of Windermere; and it is near my home’.4
By November, Beatrix was able to report to the ‘friends from Boston’ that the appeal had been successful. ‘It is pleasant to know that New Englanders value the old country. The land is safely purchased, and a dry gravel path is being made near the bank of the lake.’ There would be a public area for visitors and a park and playing fields for the local young people. But one person to whom Beatrix wrote to thank for her contribution and such a ‘nice letter’ was not from Boston. Marian Frazer Harris Perry was a well-to-do and well-travelled Philadelphia widow, who subscribed to the appeal and had purchased three drawings. Beatrix explained,
I’m sure I am doing good in trying to save anything I can of our Lake country from being vulgarized; for, as true education advances, the beauty of unspoilt nature will be appreciated; and it would be a pity if the appreciation came too late. We do not wish to interfere with house building in suitable places, but we wish to preserve some portions of wild land unspoilt for the general good, and above all to avoid the erection, of perhaps one, unsightly building; which might destroy the beauty of a whole wide landscape.
Beatrix sensed correctly that Mrs Perry, who had visited the Lake District many times, was one of those who ‘still believe in Old England…’.5
Marian Perry and Beatrix continued to exchange letters over the next year and found they had much in common, including the year of their birth. Mrs Perry was the daughter of a wealthy industrial entrepreneur from Philadelphia, a business associate of the financier, J. P. Morgan. She had lived a sedate Victorian life of wealth and ease punctuated by an interest in literature, art and continental travel with her father and two successive stepmothers. Like Beatrix she had been educated at home and, also like her, had been expected to manage a household staff, entertain and care for her elderly parents. Of all the Americans Beatrix met and befriended, Marian Perry was the closest to her in upbringing, experience and personality, though she was by nature more outgoing.6
Marian’s marriage at the age of 48, to a man who was a contemporary of her father’s, lent an additional depth to their friendship. James DeWolfe Perry, the Rector of her church, Calvary Episcopal Church in Germantown, was the father of her best friend and was already retired and in poor health when they were married in 1914. He died in 1927, not long before Marian heard about the Windermere Fund and purchased Beatrix’s drawings. Marian, known to her friends as ‘Andy’, was delighted by the letters she received from Beatrix and was eager to visit her at Near Sawrey.7
In February 1929 Beatrix had written to Marian suggesting hotels in Windermere and Grasmere.
I wish I could have invited you to stay here — there’s no use mincing matters! I have only a daily servant and how can one invite strangers to sleep in cold weather when one has to get fires and breakfast oneself! During the day I have a good servant, and I shall be delighted to see you and show you my drawings — it is a pleasure to look forward to. Life has been trying lately; burst and frozen water pipes, influenza, and intense frost.
When the two women finally met in April 1929 Beatrix was not disappointed. Her new American friend was a thorough Anglophile. She appreciated the countryside, was interested in farming and knowledgeable about all sorts of books, and had brought Beatrix some books by unfamiliar American authors which Beatrix looked forward to reading. ‘I enjoyed the afternoon too,’ Beatrix wrote after their visit. ‘It’s very pleasant to meet appreciative Americans, and to feel that you value old associations and will take care of our treasures, that have to cross the seas.’ Marian particularly admired Beatrix’s antique oak furniture in Hill Top. Beatrix invited her to come back again. ‘If I cannot be in — I cannot, and will say so! And you can send any other very nice Americans… Indeed I have never had any of the loud inquisitive type that one reads about.’ Marian left Beatrix with the same sense that she had of her earlier New England visitors: that ‘they had more understanding and appreciation for old English traditions than th
e bulk of English people have’.8
New American friends like Marian Perry were an unexpected benefit of the Windermere appeal. Beatrix’s now well-established connections with Boston-area Unitarians encouraged other families to call upon her. Most made their headquarters somewhere in or near Grasmere or Keswick, and wrote ahead with introductions from the Fields or the Hopkinsons to ask if they might call. Mr and Mrs J. Templeman Coolidge and their sons, Henry, known as Henry P., and Usher, were involved in the Boston art world and were friends of the Hopkinsons. The Coolidges were also Unitarians and Gail Parsons Coolidge had ties to the Bookshop for Boys and Girls. In the late summer of 1927 the Coolidges were staying at Fawe Park in Keswick and wrote to ask if they might visit Hill Top Farm. Mrs Coolidge did not realize that they were at the very place where twenty-four years earlier Beatrix had made the sketches for The Tale of Benjamin Bunny. But it did not take long for her eldest son to work out where he was, and to explore Mrs Tiggy-winkle’s neighbourhood around Cat Bells and Squirrel Nutkin’s owl island.9
Gail Coolidge explained how her son considered the little books ‘like unto the books that make up the bible’, asking if she might bring Henry P., then 13, with her to visit Hill Top. Beatrix was pleased to receive them so long as they gave her advance notice so that she was not in the midst of farm work. She explained, ‘the lamb sales are on now — and we are still in the corn and hay… I shall be very glad to see your boy, and I think you had better come too, and tell me about Fawe Park. It has a familiar sound.’ Beatrix told Mrs Coolidge, ‘I am always pleased to see Americans, I don’t know what to think about you as a nation (with a big N!) but the individuals who have looked for Peter Rabbit have all been delightful.’10
Henry P. was a striking boy, oval-faced, blue-eyed and so much the tow-head blond that his hair was nearly white. He later described himself as ‘having a maudlin passion for animals’, including mice, rabbits, guinea pigs, cross-bred bantams, pigeons and pure-bred dogs; while his friends, and his younger brother Usher, much preferred tinkering with model steam engines, guns and automobiles. Not only did Henry P. admire the books of Beatrix Potter, he ‘knew every creature, every place, and every conversation’ contained in them, and he recalled waiting for ‘the answer to our letter of introduction in high suspense’. When Beatrix encountered him at the door of Castle Cottage, she must have been as struck by his physical beauty as she was later charmed by his quick intelligence and gentle manner. She correctly gauged him an exceptional young man. She introduced her visitors to the barnyard animals and her collie, and then led them on an expedition through the village of Near Sawrey, ending back at Hill Top Farm. Beatrix opened the door of the farmhouse with ‘an enormous key’ and let them into the museum that was ‘Tom Kitten’s home’.11
Henry P. had a keen eye for detail, a delight in fantasy and a vivid memory. Over sixty years after that first visit to Sawrey he recalled,
As I look back, Mrs Heelis seemed fairly aged — twelve years older than my mother — plump, and rather bent, with rosy cheeks and firm blue eyes in a weather-beaten face. Her somewhat untidy grey hair was carelessly drawn back in a bun. On the whole, I thought she had the familiar air of a shrewd, battered, independent Maine fisherman’s wife. Though not very aware of clothes, even I was conscious that she was dowdy.
He remembered that she ‘was always jamming on a squashed flat hat to go outside’, while his mother ‘had on something towering, black and Bostonian’. But for all that, Gail Coolidge was a warm, charming, outgoing woman and she and Beatrix got on immediately.12
Like her other American visitors, Beatrix invited the Coolidges to Castle Cottage for tea, and then they were invited upstairs to her study. Henry P. recalled later,
This was a room entirely filled with portfolios of her work. A series of long, deep, baseboard cupboards ran the whole length of one wall, and when she opened one of these to take out two pictures, I saw they were stacked with more portfolios still. The pictures were the middle two in the delightful set of six comprising ‘The Rabbits’ Christmas Party’ — early work for which she professes some scorn. ‘You can see how poor my anatomy was,’ she said, and seizing a blunt pencil, she bent forward and made a couple of swift curves, doubling the size of the leading rabbit’s paws.
When Henry P. and his mother left Castle Cottage that afternoon, Henry had been given two drawings from the ‘The Rabbits’ Christmas Party’, as well as a number of others including a watercolour of Lucie’s Little-town farm from Mrs Tiggy-Winkle and perhaps an unfinished sketch of Peter in the Fawe Park garden done for Benjamin Bunny. Henry P. was also impressed with the numerous background drawings he saw in Beatrix’s portfolios and told her so. Although Beatrix considered them ‘very scribblesome’, she took note of the boy’s interest and enthusiasm.13
Realizing immediately after the Coolidges departed that the drawings she had given the boy were unsigned, Beatrix wrote to Fawe Park seeking to rectify her omission. ‘We tried to call you back! They weren’t autographed. So you must come again, to get my precious signature — Thanks so very much for your visit —’. When the Coolidges returned, Beatrix enquired of Mrs Coolidge exactly what the Women’s Educational and Industrial Union was, how it related to the Bookshop for Boys and Girls and to The Horn Book, and why it was that they would support her efforts to save Cockshott Point. Henry P. recalled, ‘My mother laughed. “Bless you,” she said, “I’m one of the directors!” ’ Completely reassured, Beatrix confided that while she ‘felt disloyal to leave her English publishers and doubted anyone would be interested’, she did have some unpublished drawings in her portfolios and some old ideas which might be combined for new stories which might interest Miss Mahony.14
Beatrix also told Henry P. and his mother how her much-loved guinea pig Tuppenny had died of old age shortly before their visit. She confided that she sometimes wrote short vignettes about her fell farm, her farm animals and especially about Tuppenny. Before the Coolidges left England, Gail Coolidge made a generous contribution to the Cockshott appeal and purchased at least one of Beatrix’s remarkable fungi paintings. On their way back through London she bought two long-haired guinea pigs at Harrods — the department store which sold almost everything imaginable — and had them delivered to Beatrix at Sawrey. Beatrix was delighted with the unexpected gift, and although both guinea pigs turned out to be female, she christened one Henry P. and the other Mrs Tuppenny, grateful to Gail Coolidge for her thoughtfulness.15
‘Everyone is happy and satisfied,’ she wrote to them with uncharacteristic warmth. ‘Henry P. is pleased, and so am I — pleased to have given pleasure and drawings to such an appreciative friend of Peter Rabbit’s, and such a very charming young boy. And it is not unpleasing to receive such a substantial return this morning!’ referring to the Coolidges’ gift to the Windermere fund. Most of all, Beatrix expressed her delight in the qualities she had found in Henry P., telling his mother, ‘I can quite believe that when Henry P. was a very very small white headed baby he may have been acquainted with fairies, like I was, if there are fairies in New England.’16
Beatrix was energized by the Coolidges’ visit, and by Henry P.’s enthusiasm for her work, her animals and the beauty of the countryside she had memorialized. Her Boston visitors set her thinking about writing again. ‘Your interest in my surroundings will encourage me to try to work up my desultory chapters this winter,’ she wrote to Mrs Coolidge.
It is not easy to explain my feeling about publishing them on this side of the Atlantic. Do you know the old rhyme? ‘As I walked by myself, I talked by myself, and myself said to me —’ I have always talked to myself (out loud too, which is an indiscreet slightly crazy habit, not to be imitated by Henry P.!) and I rather shrink from submitting the talkings to be pulled about by a matter of fact English publisher, or obtruded on my notice in the London Daily.
Beatrix consoled herself that if such stories were printed in an American paper or magazine, ‘and were considered foolishness, I needn’t see them a
t all’. But all the New Englanders who had visited Sawrey had been ‘singularly sympathetic’, which gave her further confidence to write something new. To Beatrix, these Americans seemed to ‘appreciate the memories of old times, the simple country pleasures, — the homely beauty of the old farm house, the sublime beauty of the silent lonely hills — and — blessed folk — you are not afraid of being laughed at for [being] sentimental’.17
The Coolidge visit not only allayed Beatrix’s hesitation in sending her stories to The Horn Book, but provided the incentive to revise ‘The Tale of Tuppenny’ that she had begun in 1903. It was one of three stories she had written at Hastings, but it had been lost in the tragic events of 1905. Beatrix had been at her best then as a writer, but she set it aside after she bought Hill Top in favour of tales that included her new surroundings. During the winter of 1927, when it was clear that her old guinea pig Tuppenny would not last long, Beatrix had pulled it out. Even with her poor eyesight, she thought her quick little pen-and-ink sketches might embellish such a tale.18
Beatrix used all her spare time that winter to work on the story of Tuppenny, the long-haired guinea pig who lived in the ‘land of Green Ginger’ in a ‘town called Marmalade’. She put it together with other vignettes about her pets and farm animals, to construct a loose narrative about a group of animals who travel about the Lakeland countryside in a caravan entertaining children as a small circus. In the evenings the animals gather around a campfire and tell each other stories. The stories were drawn from Beatrix’s collection of old folk tales and Lake District anecdotes.19
