The Henson Journals

[150]

11th Sunday after Trinity, August 31st, 1919.

A glorious day. The morning sun shining on the dew clothed garden was softly splendid. Everything did like a garment wear. The beauty of the morning.

After breakfast, I strolled round the garden, & was more than ever impressed by the noble proportions of the house. Art and nature are seen here in perfect harmony. The warm colour of the sandstone blends wonderfully with the rich verdure of trees, lawns, & close–clipped hedges, into which the yellow & russet of the autumn are beginning to enter.

Condover Hall is a noble product of social inequality. When one thinks over it, & no longer merely rests on its calm beauty, one is arrested & confounded by the pre–suppositions which its existence demands. Here is being spent the profits of an industry, which concentrates myriads of people in the black squalour of Manchester. Fielden is acutely conscious of being in an anomalous position. "There is a nasty spirit even here," he said, "the returned soldiers look at me out of the corners of their eyes, as if to say, We mean to get hold of your wealth". He professes to regard the insecurity of the situation with the detachment of a philosopher, but it is sufficiently evident that it disturbs him, & moves his resentment.

[151]

I attended Mattins at 11 a.m. in the parish church. There was a scanty congregation, perhaps 80 persons scattered over a building which could easily accommodate 500. This is a poor representation at Divine service of a population which exceeds 800. Of course, the habit of the poor is attendance in the evening. Yet this cannot be considered satisfactory. The Vicar, Jones, has a fine voice, & read the Litany admirably. He intoned the first part of the service well. No reasonable fault could be found with his performance of duty. He is said to be a student and an excellent preacher. But he has not succeeded after 6 years ministry in really getting hold of the people. The living is wretchedly endowed–about £200: and Mrs Jones is in bad health. I preached the sermon on Jacob's vision. This was the 15th repetition of that sermon. After lunch we motored back to Hereford calling on the way on Mr Wayne, the Vicar at Dorrington, in order to settle some points on which he had written to me. We were back in the Palace about 6 p.m. Here I found a pile of letters including one from Mr Wright, resigning the Secretaryship of the Diocesan Finance Board, on the plea of a complete break down of health. The plea is irresistible, but the resignation is disastrous.

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