The Henson Journals

[39]

Friday, December 27th, 1929.

Another beautiful day, growing colder as it moved towards night. I walked round the Park by myself. I worked at a sermon for next Sunday, and then lunched with the Revd J. J. Moore, Assistant Curate of St Aidan's, West Hartlepool. I ordained him as a Literate in 1924, and made him remain two years in Deacon's Orders. He has been practically in the sole charge of S. Aidan's for the past 10 months, during Knowlden's illness. I offered him the Vicarage of Chopwell in succession to Macdonald, who goes to Preston–on–Tees.

I received an appallingly insolent letter from the Canadian clergyman to whom I refused ^permission^ to celebrate the Holy Communion in his relative's house in Willington because he had always celebrated on Christmas Day! We are living in strange days. The revolutionary spirit is very near the surface even in minds, which ought to be the citadels of authority: & the slightest contradiction to personal wish or whim is enough to release it into open insult. The task of government has become almost too difficult for successful fulfilment. The English Bishop has vast theoretical power, but he no longer can command even conventional politeness.

[40]

Lady Eden and the Russian Prince dined here before going off with Ella and Fearne to a dance in aid of the Castle Fund.

After an acute internal conflict, I wrote to Ralph sending him a photograph of the portrait with my good wishes for the New Year.

Also, I wrote to Geoffrey Dawson, thanking him for his help to the Castle Fund in the Times: and sending him a photograph.

Also I wrote to Di Darling, sending her a photograph.

Hazlitt (1778 – 1830) "boasted of never changing an opinion after he was sixteen. His 'love of truth' or of his early opinions, right or wrong, was equally proof against interest and against experience. It is not, perhaps, surprising that, though he had appreciated books in his early youth, "his love of reading afterwards diminished, and it is said that he never read a book after he was thirty". 'Yet few men have written so much at so high a level, and no contemporary surpassed him in terseness and vivacity of style.'

It is a disconcerting description.

---