Mrs Heelis’ Legacy
Summer holiday in the Lake District as a girl:
And so it began: as the clouds above swirl,
Winds ruffle Lake Windemere, natural glory,
Start of the journey, the beginning of a story;
With imagination, observation, and sheer luck,
Peter Rabbit, Tom Kitten, Jemima Puddle-Duck,
Created her little books prepared for a little hand,
And children delighted in Tale of Piglet Bland;
Then she met and fell in love with Norman Warne;
He died: her heart was broken, shattered, torn;
The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, wood mouse,
Bought Hill Top Farm to be her house;
And so there she went, to mourn, and stay,
Far from the city lights, found a different way;
A sheep farmer she became, amidst those hills,
Out in all weathers: hot summers, winter chills,
Becoming a countrywoman through and though,
No regrets, no backward glance, no time to rue;
So far and wide, now fell farming, she did range,
And with William Heelis came another change:
Marriage, a new way of life, Miss Potter lost,
Mrs Heelis now, and well worth the cost;
In Village Halls, they went: to merry dances,
While all the time, her vision, her plan advances;
Last twilight writing: small footprints in the land;
A story: The fairy caravan pulled by a tiny hand,
Across the valleys and low grazing lands it goes,
Telling tales of farming folk, in longer prose;
And the imagination fades, this life to forsake:
Sold to buy more of that land, beside the lake;
Save from greedy developers, a beautiful land,
Her legacy, unspoilt hills, farms, was all planned;
Now she is gone, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
A legacy remains: a treasure that will not rust.
Summer holiday in the Lake District as a girl:
And so it began: as the clouds above swirl,
Winds ruffle Lake Windemere, natural glory,
Start of the journey, the beginning of a story;
With imagination, observation, and sheer luck,
Peter Rabbit, Tom Kitten, Jemima Puddle-Duck,
Created her little books prepared for a little hand,
And children delighted in Tale of Piglet Bland;
Then she met and fell in love with Norman Warne;
He died: her heart was broken, shattered, torn;
The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, wood mouse,
Bought Hill Top Farm to be her house;
And so there she went, to mourn, and stay,
Far from the city lights, found a different way;
A sheep farmer she became, amidst those hills,
Out in all weathers: hot summers, winter chills,
Becoming a countrywoman through and though,
No regrets, no backward glance, no time to rue;
So far and wide, now fell farming, she did range,
And with William Heelis came another change:
Marriage, a new way of life, Miss Potter lost,
Mrs Heelis now, and well worth the cost;
In Village Halls, they went: to merry dances,
While all the time, her vision, her plan advances;
Last twilight writing: small footprints in the land;
A story: The fairy caravan pulled by a tiny hand,
Across the valleys and low grazing lands it goes,
Telling tales of farming folk, in longer prose;
And the imagination fades, this life to forsake:
Sold to buy more of that land, beside the lake;
Save from greedy developers, a beautiful land,
Her legacy, unspoilt hills, farms, was all planned;
Now she is gone, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
A legacy remains: a treasure that will not rust.
Postscript:
As I walk'd by myself,And talked to myself,Myself said unto me—
Beatrix Potter became a big landowner who eventually left fifteen farms to the National Trust, to help keep hill farming alive. When about sixty she was approached by an American who wanted her to write another 'Beatrix Potter' book for the American market. Eventually she agreed, and produced, after much labour, "The Fairy Caravan". It wasn't in the same class as her other work, but it enabled her to save another farm from the developers at a time when preserving the countryside for the future wasn't in fashion.
As I walk'd by myself,And talked to myself,Myself said unto me—
Beatrix Potter became a big landowner who eventually left fifteen farms to the National Trust, to help keep hill farming alive. When about sixty she was approached by an American who wanted her to write another 'Beatrix Potter' book for the American market. Eventually she agreed, and produced, after much labour, "The Fairy Caravan". It wasn't in the same class as her other work, but it enabled her to save another farm from the developers at a time when preserving the countryside for the future wasn't in fashion.
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