by Linda Lear
Mahony used three pen-and-ink illustrations from The Fairy Caravan within the essay. When Beatrix received her copy in July she was suitably pleased. ‘It reads quite presentably I think — though to me… a bit dislocated.’ She then corrected the footnote which had incorrectly listed Warne’s rather than McKay as the publisher of the Caravan. But she could not smother the artistic injury she felt in the mismatch of text to illustration. ‘Why? — oh why? — did you plant a cedar in the middle of a paragraph about a stunted thorn???’ Then she added, ‘It is a favourite picture of mine so it does not matter.’9
There exists a reflection of an entirely different sort that Beatrix probably wrote sometime in 1942 in an old notebook. At the time there was intense speculation in the press about the discovery of antibiotic properties in the compound leached by the penicillium mould (of which there are many). Clinical trials had been going on at Oxford University and there was speculation about their application to a wide variety of human diseases. Beatrix’s note fits the context of this public debate. It is a remarkable reflection because it reveals how thoroughly innovative Beatrix’s own fungi experiments in the 1890s had been, and how easily, even forty years later, she could apply her own first-hand knowledge of penicillium moulds to contemporary research.10
Defining penicillium as ‘an alternative generation — a endorphic form of certain species of fungi whose mycelium — under favourable circumstance — effloresces in a “toadstool” ’, Beatrix recalls that there has always been ‘a — superstition — that houses can be “cancer houses” ’, and suggests that ‘It might be worth while to follow up experiments with Merulius [now Serpula] lachrymans [sic] (the dry-rot fungus), & other decayed-wood fungi.’ Remembering how she and Charlie McIntosh had once speculated about the properties of witches’ broom efflorescence and its potential to infect an entire birch forest, she also suggests that students of cancer research might profitably experiment with ‘cultivations of cancerous growths on plants’. ‘Has a serum ever been made from witches’ brooms? Those abnormal tissue growths on birch trees, resulting from fungoid infection?’ she wondered, and speculates about what other applications there might be. Beatrix was clearly not surprised by the discovery of the penicillium mould’s antibacterial potential, for she had observed it herself many years before.11
By the summer of 1942 Beatrix’s health had improved and she had even enjoyed a ‘bit of haymaking’. Her hill sheep farms, now receiving government subsidies, were paying reasonably well. In spite of anxious news from the Russian front, everyone was more hopeful about the progress of the war. The Girl Guides, with Joy Brownlow, the County Camp Adviser, were coming in July for a ‘big holiday camp in the little wood on the “heights” ’. Beatrix was looking forward to seeing them again, hoping the weather would improve. Their campsite was well camouflaged from the air by the trees Beatrix had planted long ago. Beatrix had written in the Guide log book the first year they had used it, ‘I am pleased to see a camp — new style in a wood. I am glad that this little wood is useful at last. — When I planted it in 1906, I was told that it would not grow because the soil was too rocky and poor — nothing like trying and having patience! It is a well grown wood now and a very creditable camp. Keep on smiling! And growing.’ Beatrix even gave one of the girls an axe with the order that she could ‘cut down any trees that were in the way’. Some of the Guide groups were from depressed areas of coastal cities that had been bombed. With the strict rationing enforced in 1942, they were obviously not getting enough to eat. Beatrix observed their thin frames when they arrived for camp and privately told Brownie, ‘a sheep shall die tonight’.12
By far the most exciting Guide camp came a year later, when the Guides who were at the ‘heights’ on 27 July learned that Mrs Heelis’s seventy-seventh birthday was the following day. With Brownie’s help, they made costumes from materials collected around the camp, and each Guide dressed as a character from the little books. They held a rehearsal the day before at a ‘camp fire’ without a real fire. The keeper of camp log book described the excitement of the next morning as the girls put on their fancy dresses and handmade accessories. There was every sort of character: Jemima Puddle-ducks with bonnets made from bloomers and feet from cereal boxes, the Mrs Tiggy-winkles had sewn larch needles into grey blankets to make prickles, there were owls, frogs and little rabbits. The log book writer was herself dressed as a Pigling Bland with pink blanket and gas-mask snout. She recounted the scene: ‘Arriving at her house, we proceeded to sing “Happy birthday to you,” which is rather difficult when one happens to be a pig and has a gas mask on.’ As each girl stepped forward to greet her, Beatrix had to guess who they were.13
Beatrix was enchanted and a little overwhelmed. She wrote to Miss Brownlow afterwards, ‘the birthday party was such a surprise — I could scarcely rise to the occasion before they had passed. It was such a treat, quite charming. I never had such a birthday before!’ She had not recognized the ‘Tailor of Gloucester’, until she realized it was the ‘mayor of Gloucester’ wearing the famous red coat. ‘I also remember Mrs Tiggy, but was it she who gave me “rinso” [a soap powder]? Highly appropriate! Mr McGregor was very good — they all were — I should like to give them all books — but I have not enough.’ In a postscript to Miss Brownlow Beatrix wrote, “‘Brownie” you can spin a moral that the simplest things can give true simple pleasure.’ A note to her publisher the same day requested ‘two dozen or so [books]… in any selection — I have just parted with my last remaining consignment — a most amusing party of Girl Guides — brownie size — presenting about 40 little animals from the books, in such attire as can be scraped together in camp. I had to give prizes lavishly.’
Responding to a request from Brownie a month later, Beatrix invited ‘as many [Guides] as like to come, under control!’ to see the ‘treasure dolls house (large & small)’ at Hill Top. ‘I was inside dusting — and sweeping with Hunca Munca’s dustpan yesterday and measuring another piece of tapestry that should be hung up… It is always a pleasure to see or help Guides.’14
Beatrix’s Christmas letters to her American friends in 1942 were full of farm news. ‘The country has been beautiful with autumn colours — but crops have been a struggle… It has been very hard work for everybody; and rather a worry, though interesting and profitable to run a sheep farm in these days. I had more than 3 tons of wool to sell.’ She was still raising hutch rabbits which helped make vegetarian days more tolerable, and in all had plenty to eat. Proudly she told Marian Perry that she had saved up enough sugar to make some marmalade from oranges going to waste at a port, and of course she had plenty of apples.15
Beatrix was busier at the start of 1943 than she had been for some time. The wartime subsidies to farmers had increased acreage under the plough, and vegetable gardens, potatoes and fodder crops as well as hay took longer to harvest. Like other sheep farmers, Beatrix was apprehensive about what would happen after the war when such assistance ended. She told Bertha Mahony Miller, ‘Its doubtful if Herdwick sheep farms can survive another slump unless a fresh market can be found for the harsh hard wearing wool. Govt. is buying it all, reported to be for kaki [sic] and a rumour that the cloth it is going to Russia [for army uniforms]. I wish very much it may be true; and lasting.’ To Joseph she was more realistic. ‘There’s no use pretending that it is equal to other wools; but it is the most useful and waterproof wool for Lakes’ climate. And it should do well for the Russians.’ For the time being, the high prices allowed Beatrix to buy more cattle from Forrester as well as several properties in Hawkshead to ‘prevent jerry building and [to] let at fair rent’.16
The winter had been wet as well as cold, and Beatrix felt the cold more than ever. Unable to find new elastic to hold herself together, she was quite stooped, finding it more difficult to get around. She confessed her discomfort to her physician friend, Charlie Cooper.
I had a slight rupture which gradually enlarged, so I cannot move about without the belt, and I get fridged [sic] und
erneath it, especially since there is no broad elastic to be got. I am perfectly comfortable so long as I am strapped up, & I can wash above and below, but not under the belt! I doubt if it could be sewn up, right down the middle on an old operation scar, and at 77 its hardly worth while to experiment. I can still work in the garden & grow vegetables. We are bothered with rabbits.17
Luckily there was not the heavy snow of the previous winters. In late March she got out to Troutbeck Park. The dogs there were not well. Some were threatening seizures due to lack of minerals in their diet. Beatrix had gone to the vet for bromide and told Walker to give the young dogs yeast whenever he could find any, and to try boiled potatoes as a change of diet. She reported on conditions at the Park when she wrote to Joseph about lambing time. ‘I went to the Park this morning, Mrs Walker was stirring about and fairly cheerful I am glad to say she is quite looking forward to seeing you again as a lodger at lambing time.’ The Walkers, in turn, reported to Joseph about their employer’s health. ‘Mrs Heelis was here on Monday. She looks really well. Her first black calf has arrived today so lambing time will soon come round.’18
In March, at the annual general meeting of the Herdwick Sheep Breeders’ Association, Beatrix Heelis was voted president-elect for 1944. She would be the first woman ever elected to the presidency of this bastion of male sheep breeders, and she recognized it as a singular honour. In April at the monthly association meeting she was put temporarily in the chair. ‘I am in the chair at the Herdwick breeders’ Association meetings,’ she told Bertha Miller. ‘You would laugh to see me, amongst the other old farmers — usually in a tavern! after a sheep fair. We are serious enough; about the future.’ Telling Moscrop there was poor attendance because of petrol rationing, she complained about the Association secretary R. H. Lamb’s report on prices and wool sales. ‘R. H. L. [Lamb]’, she wrote, ‘is a less agreeable person, — at least I cannot get on with him at Hd Association meetings… they put me in the chair; I did not drink porter… at the White Lion!’ She characterized Lamb’s report as ‘scarcely gracious’ for the (government) benefits the sheep breeders had received, and noted that he took all the credit to himself for better prices. But she acknowledged that everyone was edgy about what would happen to wool prices after the war.19
Nothing could diminish Beatrix’s appreciation of the spring in the countryside or the beauty of her surroundings. ‘The birds sing nearly all night,’ she wrote to Louie Choyce, who had left Hill Top and was back at her home in Tuck Mill. ‘The country is lovely just now, the hawthorns so sweet, the air is full of their scent.’ In June she reported, ‘The garden here is very gay; white bell flowers everywhere amongst the weeds, and the house covered with roses. The pinks are very full — I have been excited about your cactus, it has had 5 flowers — lovely — very like my old pink cactus, but prettier.’ The harvest was large, except for the potatoes which once again were sodden: ‘The garden is very overgrown. I can’t get at it with the wet.’ Nancy Nicholson had left her duties as Norland nurse and was doing an interval of farm work. Beatrix approved of the change for Nancy’s physical health and mental well-being. ‘We give the work our blessing,’ Beatrix told her. ‘(NB your uncle says you are not to marry a farm man! I say — it depends on the sort of farm man!)’ In August the weather had already turned unusually cold, ‘very thundery and sopping under the corn… How the days have drawn in… I have a bit of cold with the change from heat to chilly nights, but its going. I went to Hill Top & had a good dust last week.’20
At Hill Top she spent hours organizing her treasures. Ever since she had dictated her will to William in 1939 she had been remedying her failure to set out her things as she wanted them. It was her fondest hope that Hill Top could be left as it was after her death — a reality and a reflection of her art in the Sawrey tales and a museum of her personal treasures: doll’s houses, furniture, old oak, her china displayed precisely as she wanted it, her ornaments arranged, and her portfolios, manuscripts and copybooks all labelled. On the back of paintings and antiques she placed notes giving the details of their provenance, often with a pithy comment and a notation of the price she paid for them.
Beatrix was annoyed when, in early September, she went to bed with another bronchial cough. Severe coughing kept her from sleep at night, and her pulse was rapid. When she felt up to it, she worked at her writing desk on correspondence and attending to farm paperwork. Unhappily, she had to send Tommy Stoddart his wages, rather than taking them up to Tilberthwaite herself. ‘The weather is so very bad and I do not feel right yet… I wonder how many of those bonny little ducklings have lived through?’ She worried a good deal about Tilberthwaite. Her several notes to Stoddart speak of her confidence in him, but also of her concern about sufficient places to winter the sheep and cattle since so much grazing land had been ploughed. Her frustration at not being able to get over to Coniston to see to repairs and to evaluate the supply of grass and fodder for herself is palpable. ‘I have not been out in the car yet,’ she complained to one of the Tilberthwaite tenants in the middle of October, ‘I am getting sick of the doctor coming. My heart has been too quick since I had rheumatic fever at 20 — so if I stay at home till it mends to “normal” you will not see me for a bit! I am not short of breath now.’21
‘I have spent more than enough time upstairs…’ she wrote to Bertha Miller in early November. ‘I am out and about now — when the rain stops — which is seldom… I hope to do a bit more active work yet — and anyhow I have survived to see Hitler beaten past hope of recovery!’ She approved Bertha’s request to print Reginald Hart’s photograph of her with little Alison to accompany ‘Wag-by-Wall’ in The Horn Book, now scheduled for publication in May 1944 for the twentieth anniversary issue.22
Nurse Edwards had been in and out of Castle Cottage during the summer. Sometimes she came for weekend relief from midwife duties; sometimes just to check on Beatrix and William. Mrs Rogerson, their elderly housekeeper at Castle Cottage, was not strong, so when Nurse Edwards offered to come and stay through the New Year, they were grateful. ‘I am much as usual,’ she reported, ‘but not so unusually well as in early summer when I felt grand; I am rather “under the weather” — there is scarcely a fine day a week.’ She worried about the tups at Troutbeck and about George Walker’s health. But being out in the wind made her cough and she knew she could not get to the Park. Unhappily, she acquiesced and sent Nurse Edwards up with the wages.23
Her annual Christmas letters to her American friends in November reported an early snow, a lucky harvest quickly got in, and the receipt of welcome Christmas packages with such treats as dried eggs, fruit and tins of lemon juice. To each friend she reported the continued weakness of her heart, but her gratitude that she and William had suffered so little compared to others during the bombing. ‘When we think what we have escaped and survived compared with other lands — I don’t know how we have got through alive.’ At the end of the month she acknowledged her decline to Anne Carroll Moore: ‘I may pick up in spring. I was pretty bad.’24
Nancy Nicholson came for a visit at the end of November looking fit and obviously enjoying her farm work. Beatrix and Nancy went over to Hill Top together and ‘had a rummage around, taking some things there & bringing some back’. Beatrix was thinking about what she wanted to leave to various family members, but wanted to make sure that her precious mycological portfolios were organized so that eventually they could be given to the Armitt Trust Library. She had already given the Library the collection of archaeological drawings she had made in the 1890s and her father’s books. But she was also worried about practical matters. Nancy had helped her put a padlock on the door of the china room at Hill Top because Christmas was ‘no time to change servants’. She wrote to Louie Choyce to assure her that Mrs Edwards would look after her if she were ill, noting philosophically, ‘We all have to grow old; but some of us don’t take to stopping in.’25
One of her end-of-year letters was to her dear cousin Caroline Clark, with whom she had
shared so much of her joy in country life. There was already snow ‘to the bottom of the fells’ and a north-east wind made her disinclined to put her nose outside the door. She told Caroline that in one of her searches through her drawers at Hill Top she had ‘found some exasperating & absurd compositions’ written in a cipher which she was now unable to decode. Thinking of Holme Ground and of her grandparents she told Caroline, ‘It is some years ago since I have walked on the beloved hills, but I remember every stone & rock — and stick. I think it is pleasanter to remember an old stunted thorn or holly than to go to the spot and find it gone.’26
Beatrix failed to rally over the next several weeks and her heart weakened. She was aware that she did not have long to live. Her sheep and shepherds were never far from her mind. On 13 December she wrote a brief note to Joseph Moscrop: ‘Very far through, but still some kick in me. Am not going right way at present. I write a line to shake you by the hand, our friendship has been entirely pleasant. I am very ill with bronchitis.’ Not quite ten days later, on Wednesday, 22 December, Mrs Rogerson was sent to Hill Top to ask Tom Storey to stop by Castle Cottage to see Mrs Heelis that evening. When Tom came into the large bedroom, he was shocked at her condition. Beatrix told him she was dying and asked him to stay on and manage the farm for William, which Tom agreed to do. Either that night, or in a previous conversation, Beatrix told Tom that her body was to be cremated and asked him to scatter her ashes on the intake above Hill Top where she had so often walked and sketched, but to tell no one where he put them. ‘I want it kept a secret.’27