Emma Penno Petch
November 4th. 1908 - October 10th. 1994
This section is dedicated to the memory of my mother ( Emma Penno Petch ) who passed away on October 10th. 1994. She was a remarkable woman; author, artist, activist in American Indian Rights, and Animal Welfare, most importantly a fantastic mother who taught me the real meaning of loving all forms of life, and how important it is to respect and not abuse in any way, that which mother nature has given us. It is because of her support and strength that I was able to do the things I have done in my life, the places I have gone and the people I have met...she tought me to fight for the rights of all living things - and I have done my best to live up to her standards, her belief's, and to do only what would make her proud !
She has been always here with me, watching over and guiding me ~ this page is just a my small way to say thank you for those treasured years !
It is with such pride that I publish here, an article that she wrote on December 12th., 1936
It is my favourite as it holds true to me also as this is what she impressed on me when I was a child also and like her, I have come home too !
A Canadian Goes To Cornwall
By
Emma Penno Petch
' Onward '
A Paper for Young Canadians
Toronto, December 12, 1936
Emma P Petch August 1994
Falmouth Cornwall
When, from early childhood, my grandmother told me of Cornwall, it was of a dear magic land, where cherries grew round and fat and black, with a girth at the base of the tree like " yon wash tub "; where the fields were not all square like ours, and there were poppies in the corn. And every field had a name; there was Upper Groggley and Lower Groggley, Gold Diggings and Little Danby. One could lean from the window and pick sweet pears from the cottage wall; it was a wonderful place where everybody ate five times a day. And when the colts came home from the downs, one could tell by the looped strand of its mane which one had a pixie for a rider.
Cornwall was a wonderful land of primroses and cream and cider; and of folk who sang at their work. And not far off was a strange sea with its lifting tides and fishing boats and treacherous caves where smugglers met. And some day I must go there .....
It was my fortune, twenty years later, to go to Cornwall. And now I can tell you what we found:
Cornwall's a little place, but so full of things it is as if the Maker piled them in one on top of the other. In reading the adventures of Arthur's knights, one may have wondered how they ever encountered one adventure right after another in such incredibly short order. But that mystery vanishes when one sets out to walk a Cornish lane. For - why, one is always coming to something ! If it isn't a magic well, it's a hill. steep as the slant roof of a house and with a view of distant pyramids about a clay pit; or else it's a quick brown river with maybe an old grey mill and water-wheel. Or it's four stout horses - not abreast, like ours, but one after the other - hauling sheaves up the incredible steepness of another cornfield. If it isn't pink foxgloves against a grey wall, it's a pink sheep in a meadow. All English sheep are dipped, and the dip makes them a positive and luscious pink like early strawberries.
And from the slope of that same meadow one sees the little fields spread like a quilt; " not all square like ours, " but square, round, oblong, crooked - convenient for a laborer swinging a scythe. And each has its encircling hedge, which may be just a mound of earth where primroses grow, or stones splashed with lichen, or more probably a low mound of earth and stone on which grows a thick screen of green shrubbery. No doubt mice like Mrs. Tittlemouse live under these hedges; and I wouldn't put it past the pixies, either ! And every field has it's name; there is Upper Groggley and Lower Groggley, Gold Diggings and Little Danby. The little fields are still there - but I did see a tractor ploughing them.
Cornwall, we found, is just as dear and just as magic as granny said; but with earth as firm and real as in Ontario. We also learned that one may actually become tired while climbing up the pixie downs ( for they go up as well as down ), and really full from eating five times a day. We went to good hotels, at first; we wore our best cloths, we sat up straight in our chairs and were faultlessly served by a waiter. But then we found some friends; they took us in, and gave us hot pasties and blackcherry jam with Cornish cream; they went with us to see the sea, with its strange lifting tides and fishing boats and fearsome caves where the smugglers met; they talked of their forbears and ours. And though we had never seen their faces before, we felt we had always belonged. but only now found our way home.
__________
Emma moved from Canada to her beloved Cornwall in 1970 and passed away in Falmouth
on October 10th 1994.
She always said "These years here have been the best years of my life ! "
And I can say the same !
******
My thanks to her for giving to me so much love over the years !
And forever watching over me and my family, and guiding me in my work for animals !
Mary Alice
