In memory of Hilary Elspeth Adams.
Hilary and Tim Kirk moved to Congleton in 1964. Along with her friend Joan Adams she founded Congleton NWR group.
Hilary became a member of Congleton NWR book group and made a significant impression on many of our book group members, they recall:
Margaret: I remember Hilary as at the heart of things and very knowledgeable.
Suzanne: I remember her very fondly. She arranged our meetings with the Trentham group.
Linda: Along with Joan Adams she was a founder member of Congleton NWR. She was an inspiring person who led a full and interesting life.
Ruth B: I remember Hilary very well. She and Joan Adams were at the first NWR meeting I ever went to. I was impressed with the level of the discussion and have been a member ever since.
Ruth L: I have a lovely book of poems she wrote.
Jane: Hilary was extremely well read and remembered just about everything she had read. It was Hilary who introduced me to Hilary Mantel.
Hilary and Tim had five children and after Tim’s death, Hilary married Tony Adams (Joan had also passed away). Between them they had 9 children and many grandchildren and great- grandchildren. They spent many Christmases on a canal boat as deciding who to invite or who to stay with was too difficult!
Here is a poem from Hilary’s collection entitled ‘Time Passes’. The front cover of Hilary’s poetry book is illustrated by her son, Chris Kirk. It sums up Hilary’s love of books.
Compiled by Jane Sharman Congleton NWR
BIBLIOPHILE
Ecclesiastes, learned preacher, wrote:
Of making many books there is no end.
This sage pronouncement strikes a hopeful note
for those, like me, who deprecate the trend
to reproduce, by electronic aid,
each book we’ve fondly looked on as a friend,
accomplice, mentor, refuge, now betrayed
by technological advances, sound
replacing sight, or written words displayed
on screen. But bookworms want a book that’s bound
and portable, for reading while abed,
or in the bath, or garden. We’ll be found
before a firing squad, last page half-read,
or, nose in book, floods rising, deep in thrall
to words’ enchantment…and when we are dead,
our heaven lined with books from wall to wall,
we’ll need eternity to read them all.
