The Henson Journals

[46]

Christmas Day, 1928.

A beautiful morning, calm and bright. The chapel reflected the glory of the day & the zeal of Alexander, & looked radiant. He had proprio motu lighted the two fat sanctuary candles, as well as the two on the se–Cable, & the effect was excellent. I celebrated the Holy Communion at 8 a.m. We numbered 20 Communicants altogether, all being present save Ashton who has a cold, and Harry Leng who is at work. By an impromptu arrangement of their own, they came up by sexes, first the females, then the males. The latter were the following:– Alexander, Elland, Leng, William, Edward, Harold, Rufus, and John. Including myself we were 9 males and 11 females, a fair balance. Then came the distribution of Christmas presents.

I went to S. Andrew's, Spennymoor, where the Vicar (Marsh) is sick, and celebrated the Holy Communion at 10.30 a.m. Also I gave an address from the Chancel step. Nearly 70 persons communicated, & of these the most part consisted of men and lads, all [47] obviously very poor, and all extremely devout. Indeed, it was a touching spectacle to see these simple folk approaching the Altar. In the congregation, I was told, were the local Presbyterian minister & his children. I had hoped that they would have communicated, but they did not, though they remained to the close of the service.

Lady Eden and her shadow came to lunch: and afterwards we returned them both to Windlestone, when we motored to Durham in order to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. There was a very large congregation, & the singing of the Choir was unusually good. I never heard the anthem (the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah) and the carols better sung. I occupied the Throne, and pronounced the Benediction. After the service we all had tea with the Bishop of Jarrow and Mrs Knight. Mrs Pemberton and Penelope were there. I gave Christmas Boxes to the Vergers & others, & returned to Auckland the poorer by £8:10:0. It is, indeed, well that (as I am so often reminded at this season) "Christmas comes but once a year!".

We got back to Auckland at 6.15 p.m.

[48]

After dinner, following my custom, I read aloud to Ella and Fearne that incomparable composition – Milton's Ode on the Nativity – which alone outweighs in merit all the mingle–mangle of wiredrawn paradoxes which now passes for poetry. Ella read aloud my article in the Nineteenth Century & After, but probably to little effect. Her mind is typically feminine, revolving round a few fixed assumptions themselves sacrosanct, inaccessible to criticism. If ever circumstances should so fall out, that I – like countless better men before me – had deliberately to accept real poverty for the sake of convictions, how would she carry herself? That she would fail to understand the inexorableness of the obligation, under which I should have acted, is probable, perhaps certain. But would her affection for me, & sense of wifely duty lead her to accept the harsh fortune to which she would be henceforth condemned, with cheerfulness? Or, would she repeat the rôle of the afflicted patriarch's wife, & embitter my situation with reproaches or laments?

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