Gipsy Lizzie

'Gipsy Lizzie' was Elizabeth Sarah Jones, the grand-daughter of John and Sarah Harris.
Fred Grice (Who’s Who p 14) noted that the census enumerator noted 'daughter' against Elizabeth S Jones’ name. He did not. E S Jones was clearly marked as grand-daughter of John Harris.

Her trajectory in the Diary is best told in Kilvert's own words, though it is uncomfortable and challenging reading.

The figures in red are refer to the volume of the diary (1, 2 or 3) followed by pages numbers after the dot. Thus the first entry 1.155 is page 155 of the first volume. Hope that makes sense!

Whitsun 7 June 1870                       1.155

At the school Gipsy Lizzie looking arch and mischievous with her dark large beautiful eyes, and a dazzling smile showed her little white teeth, as she tossed her dark curls back

Monday 4 July                                  1.168

Since the inspection the classes and standards at the school have been rearranged and Gipsy Lizzie has been put into my reading class. How is the indescribable beauty of that most lovely face to be described – the dark soft curls parting back from the pure white transparent brow, the exquisite little mouth and pearly tiny teeth, the pure straight delicate features, the long dark fringes and white eyelids that droop over and curtain her eyes, when they are cast down or bent upon her book, and when the eyes are raised, that clear unfathomable blue depth of wide wonder and enquiry and unsullied and unsuspecting innocence. Oh child, child, if you only did but know your own power. Oh Gipsy, if you only grow up as good as you are fair. Oh, that you might grow up good. May all God’s angels guard you, sweet. The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee peace, both now and evermore Amen.

Saturday 9 July                               1.172

Sometimes my darling child Gipsy comes down to school this way, but more often she comes down Sunny Bank when the days are fine, and then over the stile by little Wern y Pentre. Yet often and often must those tiny feet have trodden this stony narrow green-arched lane, and those sweet blue eyes have looked down this vista to the blue mountains and those little hands have gathered flowers along these banks. O my child if you did but know. If you only knew that this lane and this dingle and these fields are sweet to me and holy ground for your sweet sake. But you can never know, and if you should ever guess or read the secret, it will be but a misty suspicion of the truth. Ah, Gipsy.

Monday 11 July                              1.173/4

Often when I rise I look up to the white farm house at Penllan and think of the sweet grey eyes that have long been open and looking upon the pearly morning sky and the mists of the valley and the morning spread upon the mountains, and think of the young busy hands that have long been at work, milking or churning, with the sleeves rolled up the round arms as white and creamy as the milk itself, and the bright sweet morning face that the sunrise and the fresh early air have kissed into bloom and the sunny tresses ruffled by the mountain wind, and hope that the fatherless girl may ever be good, brave, pure and true. So help her God. The sun looks through her window which the great pear tree frames and lattices in green leaves and fruit, and the leaves move and flicker and throw a chequering shadow upon the white bedroom wall, and on the white curtains of the bed. And before the sun has touched the sleeping village in the shade below or has even struck the weathercock into a golden gleam, or has crept down the steep green slope of the lower or upper Bron, he has stolen into her bedroom and crept along the wall from chair to chair till he has reached the bed, and has kissed the fair hand and arm that lies upon the coverlet and the white bosom that heaves half uncovered after the restlessness of the sultry night, and has kissed her mouth whose scarlet lips, just parting in a smile and pouting like rosebuds to be kissed, show the pearly gleam of the white teeth, and has kissed the sweet  face and blue-veined silky lashed eyelids and the white brow and the soft bright tangled hair, till she has unclosed the sweetest eyes that ever opened to the dawn, and risen and unfastened the casement and stood awhile breathing the fresh fragrant mountain air as it blows cool upon her flushed cheek and her half veiled bosom, and lifts and ruffles her bright hair which still keeps the kiss of the sun. Then when she has dressed and prayed towards the east, she goes out to draw water from the holy spring St Mary’s Well. After which she goes about her honest holy work, all day long, with a light heart and pure conscience.

Tuesday 6 September                    1.225

Gipsy Lizzie was at school again this morning, lovely as ever.

Thursday 15 September                1.228

At the school the children were busy leasing out corn from a loose heap on the floor, sitting among the straw and tying up the wheat, barley and oats in small sheaves and bundles. Gipsy Lizzie was amongst them, up to her beautiful eyes in corn and straw.

Thursday 27 July 1871                  1.381

Gipsy Lizzie never looked more beautiful than this morning. I wish I could get a likeness of the child. If her picture were in the Academy it would be thronged, unapproachable.

Friday 28 July                                1.382

Gipsy Lizzie was at the school. Again I am under the influence of that child’s extraordinary beauty. When she is reading and her eyes are bent down upon her book her loveliness is indescribable.

Wednesday 30 August                   2.23/24

The school feast began at 4 o’clock…..The beauties were Eleanor and Florence Hill and Gipsy Lizzie and Esther and Pussy of New Barn.

Wednesday 11 October                 2.55/56

I wanted to send a note to the school this morning to say that I should not be there today. While we were at breakfast a troop of schoolchildren came down the road, and when I went out to the gate under the lilacs and laburnums Gipsy Lizzie was passing. With an arch shy smile and a toss of her brown curls and a merry glance from her blue eyes the lovely child took the note and promised to give it to the school master.

Thursday 11 July                           2.237

‘There is great mourning for you at Pen y cae’ said Mrs Harris. ‘Why, do the children really care so much ?’ ‘Ay, that day they gave you the pencil case the girl was crying and dazed all the evening. We could do nothing at all wit her, and the boy is worse than her. “There’ll be no one to come and teach us now,” he says, “Mr Kilvert do come and tell us about all parts.”’ I showed her the beautiful pencil case. But oh, Gipsy Lizzie dear, my own love, it doesn’t make up for losing you.

27 April 1876                                 3.268/269

As I went over Clyro I called at Pen y Cae. Old Harris the farmer had actually forgotten me and I was obliged to tell him my name. I asked for Lizzie and he went to look for her. I followed him into an inner room and there was my gipsy beauty as beautiful and shy as ever. Once more I kissed that pale sweet lovely face shadowed by the soft dark curling hair. ‘Do you remember me? Do you love me ?’ ‘Yes,’ she said with a shy sweet sorrowful smile. I sat awhile in the kitchen talking to Harris and another man as they sat eating their luncheon. Meantime the gipsy beauty had stolen out silently and when I rose to go she was nowhere to be seen. Her grandfather went out into the yard to seek her calling ’Lizzie, Lizzie !’. How familiar the old grey group of buildings looked with the ancient yew tree in the west. But there was anew slate roof on the old house. ’Lizzie, Lizzie !’ called her grandfather. ‘She is gone away by herself to cry, I doubt,’ he said. At length the girl came from one of the outhouses with a sad smile on her pale sweet beautiful face. ‘Goodbye, dear,’ said I, kissing her again. ‘Don’t forget me. Write to me sometimes’. We parted and she went away again to cry alone. Too fond, too faithful heart.