“He had mastered his handicap, but he could not master the rebuffs he suffered, due to his appearance. The thing that drove him into seclusion was his failure to find anywhere a return of the warmth that flowed from him.”

In 1930, painter Philip Rhayader takes up residence in an abandoned lighthouse on the marshlands of the Essex coast, retreating from a society that has judged him and been unkind to him on account of his physical deformities. He spends his time amid nature, sailing his small boat, painting and providing sanctuary to birds during the harsh winters. When Frith, a young girl from a local village, appears at his door with an injured snow goose, Philip cares for it, nursing it back to health and christens it “The Lost Princess”. Every year the snow goose returns in October before flying north, in the spring. Frith, drawn to the snow goose, also returns. The friendship between Philip and Frith friendship grows over the years - a friendship forged from their loneliness and a shared love for nature. But as WWII looms large, Philip is unable to remain unaffected by the events happening around him and in a selfless act of courage, decides to play his part.

Originally written as a short story in 1940 and developed into a novella in 1941, Paul Gallico’s The Snow Goose is an incredibly moving story about loneliness, kindness, friendship and sacrifice. I was directed to this story while reading a novel inspired by the same. At barely fifty pages, this is a short yet immersive read and I’ll admit that I shed more than a few tears. Though this is considered a children’s story, I believe the subject matter and the historical context would appeal to more mature readers. ( )

I was startled to find this volume on a bookshelf in my mother's apartment. It had been given to her mother 70 years ago by a friend who wrote on the last page "An interesting but pathetic story."

Just a few months earlier, I had tracked down a rough online copy of the British movie made from this story that, when it aired as a Hallmark television special in 1971, deeply affected my preteen self. Lately, I had become obsessed with seeing it again, but discovered the award-winning film with Jenny Agutter and Richard Harris was never (and apparently never will be) sanctioned for reproduction. Though I do not normally condone unauthorized copying, I was grateful to have the chance to spend an hour reacquainting myself with that influential picture.

Last week, book unexpectedly in hand, I gulped down the story in a matter of minutes, tracking the video version across the pages and finding only occasional alterations.

That is all to say any rating or review I impart on this book is inextricably tied to my first and second exposures to the story. I am happy now to know the picturesque and compassionate source of the heartrending film, and appreciate Gallico's genuine accounting in the original. Next times through I'll pace myself, allowing the words to repaint my mind's eye, so I can enjoy two visions of one moving tale. ( )

Nice descriptions, but too heavy on the melodrama. ( )

Another perspective on how war affects those left behind, WWII Essex coast version. Mostly about two lonely people, a little about Dunkirk. ( )

Beautiful and heart-wrenching, but full of the reality of life and war. I try to read this every year around Christmas. I'm not sure why I associate it with the holiday. I have a vague recollection of my parents introducing it to me then. Beth Peck's lovely oil paintings add poignancy to the already poignant story. Oils are not usually my preferred medium, but they do the story justice with their texture and light. I always wonder what Frith does with her life after Philip and the snow goose are gone. My hope is that she honors their bravery and loyalty by living a good and honest life. ( )