The Rosemary Tree (by Elizabeth Goudge)

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Re-reading books by some of my favourite authors is sometimes surprising, as I discover that I no longer like - or like better - a novel I have not read for nine or ten years or more. One author whom I find myself appreciating more and more as I get older is Elizabeth Goudge, who wrote character-based gentle fiction set, usually in the early or middle part of the 20th century.

I have just finished re-reading ‘The Rosemary Tree’. It’s a book which I found rather too long-winded and descriptive when I first read it. But in the past few days I have found myself absorbed, drawn into the family life and situations of the people concerned, slowing down to read and savour some of the descriptive passages.

The story is primarily about John, a somewhat absent-minded and somewhat clumsy (but very good-hearted) vicar in a small village in Devon. John is married to the hard-working Daphne, and they have three daughters: responsible Pat, who is about ten, sensitive Margary who is eight, and the delightful, dreamy Winkle (whose real name is Henrietta) who is five. The three girls are driven each day to a small private school which none of them like, and it’s clear early on that Margary is particularly unhappy there.

The book begins and ends with the viewpoint of Harriet, John’s old nanny, who lives in the vicarage but is mostly bedridden by serious rheumatism (which we now call arthritis). She observes the family from her window, and welcomes their visits. Sometimes she’s outspoken as she offers her opinion, but as she loves them all they rarely take offence.

Then there’s John’s Aunt Maria, who lives on her own in the big house not far away; she’s grown old and Daphne thinks she should sell her house, and move somewhere smaller. Into this family scenario a man in his late thirties called Michael arrives. It’s clear from his first appearance that he’s running away from something; he’s managed to leave even his wallet behind, so although he’s fairly well off (we learn quickly that he is a successful writer) he has no available funds, and thus is very hungry…

The story winds gently around these different people and their interactions. John is always nervous about initiating conversations, afraid he’ll get something wrong. Sometimes he can’t even pray; he regularly feels that he’s superfluous in his home, and forgets things Daphne asks him to do. Daphne is loyal and looks after the vicarage well, but she’s sometimes resentful that she has so much to do, and so little money.

Gradually each of the main characters, including two of the teachers at the girls’ school, discover new things about themselves, and are able to make changes. Some let go of past hurts and current troubles; others decide on new ways forward. Michael is the unwitting catalyst in some of this, but John, determined to follow his calling, makes far more positive differences than he realises.

There’s a lot of description, much of it beautifully written, and I took the time to read these passages slowly. I’m not a visual person, but even I managed to build up an idea of the places concerned. There’s quite a bit of poetry too; poetry really isn’t my thing and I sometimes skipped those, but I liked the literary references - in particularly to the story of Alice in Wonderland.

There’s a fair amount of talk about God; Elizabeth Goudge often included Christian themes and discussions, but she never preached. With John being a vicar, it’s hardly surprising that questions about life, death, heaven and prayer are covered, but they’re mostly either in conversation or personal reflection, and I doubt if anyone would find them offensive. Themes of redemption and forgiveness are strong, all surrounded with the need for self-giving love.

This is a gentle book from a different era, which cannot be appreciated fully if read quickly. I’m glad I decided to read it again, and look forward to enjoying it even more in another ten years or so.

Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews