As a farmer, Philip experienced this awe in the same soil that meant rootedness and hard work. And his concern was never merely reconnecting to the land, as though that alone could heal us. Rather, he saw that in losing connection to the land, we are losing our humanity and our connection to each other, and that by losing our connection to the created world we are losing an avenue of awareness of the Creator. As a pastor, he read the book of nature together with the book of scripture, allowing them to illuminate each other: “Faith is like water at the roots,” he writes. “If we have faith, we can face the sun, we can turn the heat and the light into life-giving fruits, into love…. Faith is a gift like the rain, and like the rain it is something to be watched for and prayed for and waited for.”
Philip’s times saw many proposed solutions to the problems he witnessed, but after looking at the major movements of the day – the peace movement and socialism, among others – he found his answer closer to home: not in farming for its own sake, but in an attempt to live out his faith and the radical teachings of Jesus on a very personal and local level in an intentional community on the land. This was boots-on-the-ground discipleship, as he travelled with the community to a country far from that of his birth. And as you will see, it would cost him his life.
You will get to know Philip best by reading his own words. The backbone of this book, therefore, is a selection of his poems arranged roughly chronologically, with other writings of his interspersed. I have given these poems and writings context by telling the story of the man who wrote them. Philip was a family friend and a fellow member of the Bruderhof movement, and I have supplemented archival records with my own memories. (My thanks to Miriam Mathis and Carole Vanderhoof, whose research made this book possible.) In keeping with Philip’s poems, I have used British spelling throughout the book.
Philip Britts died young and in relative obscurity, but his vision continues to guide the community he helped lead through some of the most challenging years of its history. May Philip’s poetry and insights also inspire you, the reader, in your own quest for deeper roots and greater wonder, and a practical way of life that makes both possible.
Jennifer Harries, a member of the Bruderhof, was born in Llansamlet, Wales. Having taught elementary school for decades, she now mentors younger teachers. She lives in New York.
Bristol, England, city center, 1920s
WILDERNESS
——CHAPTER 1——
Look up to see if the God I serve has seen
The town of Honiton, in Devon, southwest England, is surrounded by rich farmland. The River Otter flows nearby, leading down to the sea some ten miles to the south. Footpaths trace their way through the countryside. Here Philip Herbert Cootes Britts was born on April 17, 1917, and it was here that his lifelong love of farming and nature, hiking and camping, poetry and song first took root.
By the time he was four, though, his family had moved to a suburb of Bristol, a busy port city famed equally for its cathedral and its urban poverty. Here, his sister Molly was born.
Most of Philip’s childhood memories were centred on Bristol, which was plagued by crime and unrest at the time, but from early on he preferred the countryside.
Philip went to grammar school and then looked for any kind of work to earn money for his university studies. He worked in a quarry, then took care of a wealthy man’s orchid house. Later in life, Philip would tell stories about his escapades during these years. One ended in a major motorcycle accident that proved to be a turning point in his life.
Little more is known of his early life, but his earliest poems give a window into his thoughts.
ALONE
When the night is cold and the winds complain,
And the pine trees sigh for the coming rain,
I will light a lonely watch-fire, near by a lonely wood,
And look up to see if the God I serve has seen and understood.
I’ll watch the wood-ash whitened by the licking yellow tongues,
I’ll watch the wood-smoke rising, sweet smoke that stings the lungs,
See the leaping, laughing watch-fire throw shadows on the grass,
See the rushes bend and tremble to let the shadows pass,
While my soul flies through the forest, back a trail of weary years,
And the clouds, as if in pity, shed their tears.
Oh, I do not want their pity for a trail that’s closed behind,
Though all the things on earth combine to play upon the mind.
I must keep on riding forward to a goal I’ll never find –
What matter the eyes have seen so much that the soul is colour-blind?
1934
It’s not difficult to see the influence of the popular poets of the day – William Butler Yeats, John Masefield, A. E. Housman – on the young Philip’s work.
“I SENT MY SOUL SEARCHING”
I sent my soul searching the songs of the ages,
The hearts of all poets were bared to my eyes,
Though I read golden thoughts as I turned golden pages
The echoes fell faint as of songs that were sighs.
I weighed up the greatness of all who were greatest
Whom the world had called strong and the world had called wise,
But the song that they sang from the first to the latest
Fell back from the portals of thy Paradise.
1934
Am I dreaming this wilderness?
Philip’s spiritual search did not cut him off from the political and social drama of his time and place. Rather, his questions thrust him into the heart of things. The 1930s were turbulent years for Europe and beyond, years of uncertainty and disillusionment. Socialism and a strong peace movement in England held promise, but rumours from Russia soon cast shadows on communism, and economic meltdown on the West’s own grand visions of humankind’s continuous progress.
This suffering soon struck close to Philip. Not far from Bristol, on the other side of the River Severn estuary, are the coal-mining valleys of South Wales. These valleys were hard hit during the Great Depression. There were hunger marches from 1922 to 1936, some nationwide, some local, to appeal to the government for help. In 1931 a hunger march of 112 people – many from the Rhondda Valley – marched to Bristol, their slogan “Struggle or starve.” The demonstration was broken up by mounted police.
WORKING IN A CITY
There are so many songs that need to be sung.
There are so many beautiful things that await
