The Henson Journals

[700]

4th Sunday in Lent, April 2nd, 1916.

608th day

A glorious morning, but a white frost. I celebrated at 8 a.m. Everybody is excited over the bombs & gun–firing heard last night: & nobody can tell precisely from what direction the sound came: Sunderland seems to be the general verdict. I observe that a 10th nest is going up on the Tree. I preached in S. Margaret's at Mattins, a dull sermon on "Prejudice", which seemed even duller than it was, by reason of the excitement of mind caused by last night's air–raid. Then we – Ella, Hugh, and I – walked to St Oswald's Mount, and lunched with the Rogersons. The little Papist major, Vane–Tempest, was there. He has some new job in Durham. I preached in the Cathedral at Evensong to a very small assembly. Then I wasted an hour in entertaining divers visitors to the tea–table. After some conversation, Hugh returned to Darlington. I walked with him as far as the bridge–end, & then returned through the Banks with Logic. I wrote to Marion. Scarcely had we finished dinner before the electric light failed, being cut off by the military folk as a warning against approaching Zeppelins. So we hunted out candles, and sate in dim discomfort until bed–time, when we retired as usual, holding it to be a vain thing to keep vigil as some timorous folks essay to do. The actual scene of attack must needs be wholly uncertainty. There is probably some special degree of risk attaching to places in which, or near to which, there are important engineering or ship building, or munitions works. The serious aspect of the whole wretched business is our evident inability to offer any effectual defence. By plunging everything into darkness, the Zeppeliner is deprived of any certain aim, but he throws his bombs at random in what appears to him a probable direction, and a certain number of them go home, & do a considerable amount of damage.

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