The Henson Journals

[71]

Saturday, November 8th, 1924.

My birthday brought letters of goodwill from some of my old friends. George Nimmins sent a telegram from Java. Mary Radford wrote from Oxford. Tommie Hall and my godson, Alfred Spelling, and the ever faithful Jimmie Dobbie wrote. Arthur wrote from Minehead: and a card brought "Many happy returns of the day from all at St Hild's". J. G. Wilson sent me his good wishes, and added an election story. A female candidate was asked if she was in favour of a tax on bachelors, and immediately replied: "I thought I had told you that I am not in favour of taxing any raw material".

Rudd of Trimdon Grange sent me a telegram of congrattions. The local dentist came to see me, & counselled the holding on to my surviving teeth as long as possible!

I walked round the Park with the dogs, stopping to look at the Footpath on my way. The lad Ivan Thornton (v. p.47) was there, and we had some more talk. I invited him to see the Castle. He said he would come tomorrow at 3 p.m.? Will he?

Nancy Wynne–Willson [sic] me a beautifully written letter from Bishopwearmouth, sending me "much love and a kiss". The young lady is, I think, aged eight; & I sent her this doggerel:–

[72] [symbol]

Three times twenty and then add one,

So old is the BISHOP at sixty–one,

An old, old, very old man,

So long is the time since he began

His way in the world to pick and choose,

To pick the nice, and the bad refuse.

So when NANCY sent him a kiss & her love,

He returned the kiss, & he kept her love.

For kisses won't keep, but love keeps ever,

When Bishops & Birthdays have passed for ever.

H.D.

The Mayor and Mayoress of Hartlepool sent me a telegram of "heartiest congratulations & best wishes" for my birthday. It is kindly meant.

Whether it is a reaction from my recent activities, or whether it is a physical discomfort induced by my dental discomforts, or, finally, whether it is some special onset of the devil, I know not, but the fact cannot be concealed from myself, that I feel more dissolute, incapable of work, and capable of everything bad on this birthday than on any previous birthday! Yet no birthday was ever approached with a more solemn sense of waning opportunity and waxing obligations.

[73]

I am pledged to move a resolution in the forthcoming session of the National Assembly, which affirms the rule that the clergy should retire from work at the age of 70. If that rule should become part of the Church's law, I have only 9 years of active ministry left. Robertson of Brighton fulfilled his historic ministry in six years: but he was not a bishop, tied hand and foot by a futile and wearing system. I have now been a bishop for nearly 7 years, and I know how straight are the limits within which my life is now confined. Shall I be able to fulfil the engagements to which I am already committed? I have pledged myself to write for the Home University Library a volume on the Reformation. If that were well done, it might be a piece of work which would be of considerable public service, and might gain for me some reasonable respect. But I see my days are filled with tasks which, though of no enduring importance, have an irresistible immediate claim: and I dissipate in speeches and sermons, which evaporate in utterance, the mental power which, if conserved, concentrated, and applied, might have done something worth doing. It is a very difficult situation. I am Bishop of Durham, and so long as that is true, the Bishoprick of Durham must have the first claim on my powers.

[74]

This is a self–centred and unworthy way of looking at the facts. Let me take a humble and more suitable tone. Here am I at the age of 61, with a prospect of (at most) nine years more active life, confronted by the obligations of this Bishoprick. A million and a half of my fellow–men are living within the sphere of my "spiritual jurisdiction". What am I doing to justify my name & claim? Some malignant necessity seems laid on me to stand out in opposition to my contemporaries, who are all supported by zeal and enthusiasm. "Life and Liberty", "Copec", "Anglo–Catholic movement", – I am against them all. What wonder that men should eye me with a certain repugnance, and mutter under their breath, that I am an "accuser of the brethren"? And yet, what can I do? Under the older conditions, I think my way would have been easier: but now my discord with my environment is emphasized at every turn. At least, I can resolve in the years that remain to seek for the harmonies rather than the discords, & to magnify such agreements with my brethren as I can reach.

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