The Henson Journals

[217]

Friday, April 13th, 1928.

The weather continues to be wet and chilly. We spent the morning in seeing the Castle, which is more interesting than I had expected, & in much talking. There came to lunch two neighbours. Mr & Mrs Peach, the last had as brother a Fellow of All Souls, who, if I mistake not, fell in the War. Both were pleasant and intelligent, especially the lady. After they had departed a Mrs Clegg called. She said that I knew her husband, but I could not recall him! This fatal inability to remember names and faces does me much harm, more probably than I know. We were taken to have tea with Mrs Plowden, whose husband is the descendant of the famous Papist lawyer, who gathered fame in Elizabeth's reign by defending recusants. The house is Elizabethan, and appears to contain much of interest. Mrs Plowden is a very pleasant woman to look at, inclined to be tall, very fair & courteous of speech, with a frankness of manners which is extremely winning. She showed us the Chapel, & spoke of the 'priests' chambers' in the house, without embarrassment. Her husband was absent. We returned to Broncroft after tea.

[218]

Man hath still either toys or care:

He hath no root, nor to one place is tied,

But ever restless and irregular

About this earth doth run and ride.

He know he hath a home, but scarce knows where;

He says it is so far

That he hath quite forgot how to go there.

He knocks at all doors, strays and roams:

Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have

Which in the darkest nights point to their homes

By some hid sense their Maker gave:

Man is the shuttle to whose winding guest

And passage through these looms

God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.

Vaughan (1621–1695)

I had a good deal of talk with Frank before going to bed. He is the queerest mixture of generous feeling and unarguable prejudices. On some subjects he is incurable, but in himself he is the most loveable creature in the world. His loyalties are as strong as they are too often misplaced.

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