was a great classical writer, and he might rank with ‘the Bronty sisters’ if only he could find something to write about. Soon, very soon, he would find something. The world was all before him. He must see her again.
He was cast down and uplifted; humble yet full of a tonic exhilaration. He knew that he had done nothing so far, but he had never been more sure that he was Somebody. He walked on air until the lane brought him within sight of the town again. Down on the marine parade the band was still playing.
His spirits fell to zero. He remembered who he was and what he was.
1. Extract from the Diary of Mr. Paley
August 1 7 th, 1947.
I had the Dream again last night. I came out of it sick and very cold. I could not sleep again. I do not wish to describe it, but if I have it again I will do so, here. I am not sure that it is a dream.
I am sitting at my usual post by the window. Christina means to go to Early Communion. She broke our contract of silence last night, and asked me if I would be so good as to wake her at seven o’clock. I undertook to do so.
I do not care for the church here. The parson is an Anglo-Catholic and calls himself, I believe, ‘Father Bott.’ He is in constant trouble with his Bishop; he reserves the Sacrament, hears confession and will not read what is written in the Prayer Book, but edits and alters it in a most irresponsible way. He arrogates to himself a priestly prestige and authority which would be perfectly proper in the Roman Communion, but to which the Church of England gives him, in my opinion, no claim.
Nevertheless I shall think it my duty to accompany Christina. I shall not, of course, communicate. I do not consider myself fit to take the Sacrament. When I explained this to Mallon, the Rector of Stoke, he said that nobody is fit. I completely failed to make him understand my position. He would have given me the Sacrament with no scruples whatsoever. He said that God has forgiven me. I told him that I do not forgive myself.
My wife, I told him, asserts that she has forgiven me. But I do not think she ought to do so. A stricter sense of justice, a finer appreciation of the moral values involved , would have impelled her to judge otherwise. He asked me if this criticism applied also to the Almighty. I said that I cannot suppose the Creator to be inferior to His creature. Why should I suppose He forgives me if I do not forgive myself?
I know what is in Christina’s mind. To-day is the child’s birthday. Does she think I do not remember? She complains, or used to complain, that she cannot bear to be alone in her grief. But does she really suppose that she is alone? Is there one memory which tortures her and does not also torture me? As we kneel, side by side, in Church, we shall both be recalling the same scenes. They will be clearer for me than for her, because I have a more accurate memory.
I could describe the wall-paper of the room where she lay: it had a pattern of blue ribbon on a white ground: blue ribbon crossed lattice-wise on bunches of cornflowers . We were in lodgings in Leeds. It was such a small room we scarcely knew where to put the cradle. That day was the happiest in our lives. But even then she angered me by wishing for some trifle, a pink coverlet , I think, which she had seen in some shop window. It was beyond our means at that time. She spoke thoughtlessly , not meaning to wound me. But she should not have reminded me of my poverty. I would have bought her the pink coverlet if I could. I would have given her the moon if I could. By complaining she made me feel that she regretted the luxury of the home she forsook when she married me. But she was weak and ill, so I said nothing.
Will she remember all this in church to-day? I shall.
2. It Takes Two to Make a Bed
Miss Ellis heard footsteps coming along the passage and hastily put Mr. Paley’s diary back where she had found it. She did not want, in any case, to read much more of it. Diaries worth
He was cast down and uplifted; humble yet full of a tonic exhilaration. He knew that he had done nothing so far, but he had never been more sure that he was Somebody. He walked on air until the lane brought him within sight of the town again. Down on the marine parade the band was still playing.
His spirits fell to zero. He remembered who he was and what he was.
1. Extract from the Diary of Mr. Paley
August 1 7 th, 1947.
I had the Dream again last night. I came out of it sick and very cold. I could not sleep again. I do not wish to describe it, but if I have it again I will do so, here. I am not sure that it is a dream.
I am sitting at my usual post by the window. Christina means to go to Early Communion. She broke our contract of silence last night, and asked me if I would be so good as to wake her at seven o’clock. I undertook to do so.
I do not care for the church here. The parson is an Anglo-Catholic and calls himself, I believe, ‘Father Bott.’ He is in constant trouble with his Bishop; he reserves the Sacrament, hears confession and will not read what is written in the Prayer Book, but edits and alters it in a most irresponsible way. He arrogates to himself a priestly prestige and authority which would be perfectly proper in the Roman Communion, but to which the Church of England gives him, in my opinion, no claim.
Nevertheless I shall think it my duty to accompany Christina. I shall not, of course, communicate. I do not consider myself fit to take the Sacrament. When I explained this to Mallon, the Rector of Stoke, he said that nobody is fit. I completely failed to make him understand my position. He would have given me the Sacrament with no scruples whatsoever. He said that God has forgiven me. I told him that I do not forgive myself.
My wife, I told him, asserts that she has forgiven me. But I do not think she ought to do so. A stricter sense of justice, a finer appreciation of the moral values involved , would have impelled her to judge otherwise. He asked me if this criticism applied also to the Almighty. I said that I cannot suppose the Creator to be inferior to His creature. Why should I suppose He forgives me if I do not forgive myself?
I know what is in Christina’s mind. To-day is the child’s birthday. Does she think I do not remember? She complains, or used to complain, that she cannot bear to be alone in her grief. But does she really suppose that she is alone? Is there one memory which tortures her and does not also torture me? As we kneel, side by side, in Church, we shall both be recalling the same scenes. They will be clearer for me than for her, because I have a more accurate memory.
I could describe the wall-paper of the room where she lay: it had a pattern of blue ribbon on a white ground: blue ribbon crossed lattice-wise on bunches of cornflowers . We were in lodgings in Leeds. It was such a small room we scarcely knew where to put the cradle. That day was the happiest in our lives. But even then she angered me by wishing for some trifle, a pink coverlet , I think, which she had seen in some shop window. It was beyond our means at that time. She spoke thoughtlessly , not meaning to wound me. But she should not have reminded me of my poverty. I would have bought her the pink coverlet if I could. I would have given her the moon if I could. By complaining she made me feel that she regretted the luxury of the home she forsook when she married me. But she was weak and ill, so I said nothing.
Will she remember all this in church to-day? I shall.
2. It Takes Two to Make a Bed
Miss Ellis heard footsteps coming along the passage and hastily put Mr. Paley’s diary back where she had found it. She did not want, in any case, to read much more of it. Diaries worth
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