The Henson Journals

[42]

Thursday, June 26th, 1919.

I walked to Westminster & visited S. Margaret's. The East Window had been replaced, & looked more beautiful than ever. Then I went in to the Abbey, and picked up there a young American soldier (Henry Bucknor, Nashville, Tennessee). He had been four times in the Abbey, & had never ventured past the gates. So I took him in to Henry VIIth's Chapel, & showed him the Coronation Chair etc. He was most grateful. Then I visited the dentist. From him I went to Knight, & had lunch & talk. He told me that he had come into conflict with Lord N., who had received a communication adverse to him, alleging that he had been brought into the Times office by my influence, that he was a German, etc etc. K. stood to his guns like a man, & demanded both the name of the letter–writer, & an apology. The first was that of Lord Selborne, & the last was amply given. This shows the depths of baseness to which these zealous gentlemen can sink. For K. might have been wholly dependent on his pen, & he might have been completely ruined by this low intrigue. K. thinks the Enabling Bill is really done for.

[43] [symbol]

Harold came to the Club, and took me to his house that I might see the children. Peggie is six: and Rex, my godson, is three. Very promising children both. Then we called on Sir Henry Graham, & Lady Margaret. He is quite blind, but has set himself pluckily to learn the Braille type. Marjorie has been divorced from her husband, and has married the co–respondent. Thus the marriage which satisfied Lady M.'s requirements has ended in lamentable failure: while that which she lamented & toiled to hinder, has turned out well. She told me herself that Harold's children were the joy of her life.

One of the evening papers is good enough to say that I am going to be transferred from Hereford to Southwark, because I am passionately devoted to London!!! I suppose it would have been possible for me to have had Southwark before, when Burge was offered Hereford. My feelings about living in London are far other than those which the journalist imagines. The unceasing noise & movement weary & alarm me: the distractions bewilder my mind. I can hardly imagine deliberately re–inserting myself into this scene of folly & bustle. Happily there is but little likelihood of my being compelled to face the contingency.

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