The Henson Journals

[62]

Easter Monday, April 17th, 1922.

We all walked to Binchester, and visited the Roman remains. The day was bright but cold. After tea Aleck & his wife walked with Ella and me to Escombe, and visited the Anglo–Saxon church. The Vicar had gone out bicycling, and had taken the key with him, but the woman that swept the church (a preposterous description since it was abundantly evident that no one swept the church) had another key, and we were able to gain admission. There is a strange haunting dignity which exhales from the walls of this little building, and impresses me hardly if at all less than that which mighty Durham itself casts upon my mind. The extreme simplicity of the plan, the relatively lofty height, the severity of the outlines, the indefinable suggestion of immemorial dereliction – all combine to create a spirit–binding spell.

Before going to bed I had considerable conversation with my guest, whose work brings him to the knowledge of much that lies behind the normal procedure of justice. It is startling to find how much is known which is not formally acknowledged, & which is sometimes even officially denied, when prominent individuals are concerned. "Robes and furred gowns hide all," as Shakespeare wrote. Democracy has not gone very far in our modern world after all: and equality before the law only exists in technical senses. We still walk on stilts, and wear masques.

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