Author: Elizabeth Goudge (1900-1984)

About the Books

This is a trilogy set in England spanning from after WWI to after WWII. The titles of the books, in order, are

The Bird in the Tree, published in 1940
The Herb of Grace (entitled Pilgrim’s Inn by American publishers), written in 1948
The Heart of the Family, written in 1953.

About the Author

A quick look at Wikipedia also reveals this about Elizabeth Goudge’s writings: Her favorite among her books was The Little White Horse (1946), which is also a favorite of J. K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter stories.

Another little tidbit that’s significant for me: She also wrote a book called Island Magic (1934), which is about the Channel Islands. It seems her mother was a native of Guernsey. Two of my favorite experiences have been watching The Island at War, a BBC series, and reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society. (Can you tell I’m a fan of British historical fiction?)

Not for Everyone

I would recommend The Eliot Family series to certain readers, but not all. They have what I think you’d call an esoteric appeal.

Because the place is as important as the characters, Goudge describes it in great detail. She does it well. Even if you don’t recognize the names of all the flora and fauna she describes, you still get a sense of the lush surroundings, the smallest leaf, every sparkle of the sun.

Since the books were written in the early 20th century, some may find the language old-fashioned, which to me is part of its appeal.

Goudge also develops the characters wonderfully. This is a quote from a friend who is still reading the second book in the series:

I’m really in love with the Eliot family, and will continue to read the books in the series.  I love how the author writes her books.

The Spiritual Dimension

My sister, who recommended the book to me, commented that in this series, Goudge makes you feel like everything’s going to be all right.

The two houses in the books, Damerosehay and the Herb of Grace, bring out the best in all who enter them, helping them shed both their sins and their struggles. The source of the spirit of the houses is Lucilla, the matriarch. The books richly emphasize a spirituality that comes from God and the value of children as our legacy. The last word of the last book is “child.”

Sunset or sunrise, he had forgotten now which it was. The old house seemed to hold them both, and to hold, too, a welling up of freshness, as though it renewed its youth in the youth of this marvellous child.

If the first hailstorm hasn’t ruined a farmer’s corn crop in southwest Nebraska this summer, the second, third, or fourth one has. At the end of June, an evening of golf-ball sized hail was followed the next day by winds reported to be blowing at more than ninety miles an hour. Needless to say, our little town is sporting a lot of new roofs.

On the 17^th of July, at 12:04 p.m., I captured some of the severity of one of those storms with my little digital camera.  A mere 20 minutes later, noticing how distinct the shadows were on the ground, I pointed the camera toward the sky – and saw nothing but blue and cotton white.

July 17, 12:04 p.m. from Cheryl Bryan on Vimeo.

July 17, 12:24:58 p.m.

For all the severity of the wind and noise and huddles of hailstones it left behind, once the storm had passed, the crispness of the air and clarity of the shadows gave me an odd exhilaration, caused a little, I suspect, by relief that the storm was over.

Though the storm passed quickly, it left permanent damage: branches and leaves torn from the trees, tomato plants that will never produce, a dented car hood that will test our willingness to pay an insurance deductible for body work.

We picked up the debris, thankful that the trees still standing will produce new growth. We mourned the damage to the garden, hoping summer will be long enough for it to recover.

And so it is with life’s little squalls – the sudden fast-moving storms of commotion or confusion that pass through our ordered lives. They may not destroy us, as a larger storm might. Nonetheless they leave their marks, maybe in physical weakness, damaged ego, or blighted friendship.

So we must take the time to clean up the mess they leave behind: Repair what we can and adapt to the rest.

And when we see the next squall approaching, we can face it with confidence, because we know eventually the clouds will clear, revealing the blue sky and the sun, the source of light that, though concealed, was there all along.

We’ll know the clarity and new wisdom that come only on the other side of the storm.