The Henson Journals

[105]

Saturday, September 4th, 1920.

The dias fatalis has arrived at last, and we must turn our backs on Hereford for ever. There were threatenings of rain to start with, but the day improved steadily, and our motor–drive through Leominster, Ludlow, & Bridgnorth to Lichfield was rendered delightful by sunshine & changing clouds. I gave my photograph to the gardener (Jones), and wrote my name in several autograph books. In Randal Bateman's I wrote these lines:

From the Wye or from Wear

Heaven's equally near

And the way's the same —

Just "playing the game".

[We left the Palace at 2.15 p.m., and reached Stow House about 7.15 p.m., but we spent half an hour at Morville in having tea. The Roman Road (Watling Street) was excellent for the motor. When we arrived at Stowe, a "treat" of school children was just dispersing. Miss Mundella is staying in the house: John Benson, now a tall young fellow, is also here.]

It is hard to realize that Hereford in an ended chapter of my life. Durham must be surely my last phase. If I can get through with these Swedish lectures, I am fully resolved never again to promise anybody ‒ editor or publisher or American professor or Swedish bishop or Scotch presbyter ‒ to do anything outside my own episcopal task.

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