Cover image for The Knox brothers : Edmund 1881-1971, Dillwyn 1884-1943, Wilfred 1886-1950, Ronald 1888-1957
The Knox brothers : Edmund 1881-1971, Dillwyn 1884-1943, Wilfred 1886-1950, Ronald 1888-1957
Fitzgerald, Penelope.
Personal Author:
New edition, corrected and reset.
Publication Information:
Washington, D.C. : Counterpoint, 2000.
Physical Description:
xv, 288 pages, 4 unnumbered pages of plates : illustrations, portraits ; 25 cm
General Note:
Originally published: London : Macmillan, 1977.
Geographic Term:
Format :


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Material Type
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Item Holds
BX4705.K6 F57 2000 Adult Non-Fiction Non-Fiction Area

On Order



Fitzgerald (an award-winning novelist) edited and corrected this new edition of her biography of her father and uncles. (The first edition was published in 1977.) She describes their personalities, their activities and careers, their relationships to each other, and their differences. The chapters trace their lives through the various periods of the 20th century, describes the life and mind, not only of four individuals, but of one family. Annotation copyrighted by Book News Inc., Portland, OR

Author Notes

In 1997 Penelope Fitzgerald's novel The Blue Flower was named one of the New York Times Book Review's eleven Best Books of the Year. Winner of the 1979 Booker Prize for Offshore, Fitzgerald was also short-listed for the Booker for The Bookshop. The Beginning of Spring, and The Gate of Angels.

Penelope Fitzgerald lives in England.

(Bowker Author Biography) Penelope Fitzgerald, one of England's most-celebrated contemporary writers, is the author of "The Blue Flower," which won the National Book Critics Circle Award. Winner of the 1979 Booker Prize for "Offshore," she was also shortlisted for the Booker for "The Bookshop," "The Beginning of Spring," & "The Gate of Angels." She lives in London.

(Bowker Author Biography) Admired by many as one of the leading English novelists of her day, Penelope Fitzgerald (1916-2000) wrote some twelve books of fiction and nonfiction over the course of her writing career; which began at the age of sixty. She won the National Book Critics Circle Award for "The Blue Flower" and the Booker Prize for "Offshore".

She died on April 28, 2000, at the age of eighty-three.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 2

Booklist Review

These four short story collections (The Knox Brothers is Fitzgerald's biography of her father and his brothers) are each exceptional in a different way. Try to imagine a writer with equal parts Will Self, Jorge Luis Borges, and Samuel Beckett. Impossible? True. But Anderson comes close with his absurd situations rendered through biting satire and each story inhabiting a surreal landscape. The opening story, "Mother Tongue," is a ride in the psyche of literature's favorite bad boy, Norman Mailer. It's like a reader's (or young writer's) vividly feverish Mailer dream based on a few famed anecdotes and notorious personality traits--didn't he knife one of his wives, wasn't he a brawler, and so forth. In "Schism," Anderson's exploration of what we think it means to be a saint or a martyr is eerily realized in the story build around Catherine of Siena and Leonard Bernstein. It's a high-wire act that doesn't always succeed in the 10 stories of this Flannery O'Connor Award winner, but when it does, it's just splendid. Busch writes about the North American family with such depth of feeling and understanding that most of his stories are sad. If stories could be too poignant, these would be guilty. In "Heads," he taps into the mother-daughter conflict. Alec, the daughter, with her male name and dead father, is having a difficult time establishing a relationship with a man. Her mother is having a difficult time understanding what's wrong with her daughter and goes about creating a new life for herself, comfortably being a widow. Then Alec knifes a lover (not seriously) with a pocketknife her father gave her when she was a child, and the inevitable clash begins. Busch enters Raymond Carver territory with this collection as if charting the modern approach to timeless family problems were his mission. Fitzgerald is noted for working with the absurdity of human behavior, but with Anderson and Lethem also in this review, absurdity moves to another plane. Better to note her exquisite, precise use of language in the present company and her firm grasp of the way people use power in social and family relationships. She is indeed splendid at that game. These stories take place in various countries and different ages. In the title story, a young woman, Alice Godfrey, living in the port city of Hobart in Australia around 1852, meets an escaped prisoner in the church. Alice, the rector's daughter, decides to help him flee by ship. Gradually she decides to escape with him, but before she can, the unfortunate Mrs. Watson, the wretched housekeeper at the rectory and Alice's charge, replaces Alice as the convict's conspirator. This intriguing story initiates Fitzgerald's first and last collection of short fiction. Amnesia is an illusive subject that many artists have pursued, particularly literary artists. And like most things hard to get, its suitors are legion. Haruki Murakami's "The Fall of the Roman Empire, the 1881 Indian Uprising, Hitler's Invasion of Poland, and the Realm of Raging Winds" exhibits the utterly evasive nature of memory and is emblematic of the razor wit of these contributors. Lethem has mined a rich field for this splendid collection of short stories and turned up such authors as Julio Cortazar, Jorge Luis Borges, Philip K. Dick, Martin Amis, Oliver Sacks, Shirley Jackson, Walker Percy, Thomas M. Disch, and Vladimir Nabokov. They're all winners. As many readers know, Fitzgerald was 60 when she published her first novel, The Golden Child. She then wrote eight other novels; the last was The Blue Flower. What readers may not know, especially in the U.S., is that Fitzgerald was the product of a very illustrious family. Her father, E. V. "Eddie" Knox, was a contributor to Punch before becoming its editor from 1932 to 1945. Her uncles were Dillwyn, a mathematician and a chief codebreaker in both world wars; Wilfred, an Anglo-Catholic apologist; and Ronnie, aka Monsignor Ronald Knox, a well-known Roman Catholic priest. No wonder it took so long for Fitzgerald to produce a novel. This Knox Brothers is a so-called definitive edition of the 1977 version, and Fitzgerald completed work on it just prior to her death in April 2000. --Bonnie Smothers

Library Journal Review

British novelist Fitzgerald (e.g., The Blue Flower, a National Book Critics Circle award winner), who died earlier this year at age 83, writes that as she was growing up she did not realize the uniqueness of her father Edmund Knox ("Evoe") and his three brothers. Each of the men was singularly remarkable: Evoe (1881-1971) became the editor of Punch in the 1930s and 1940s; Dillwyn (1884-1943) was a mathematician and wartime codebreaker; Wilfred (1886-1957) was a prominent Anglo-Catholic priest and selfless welfare worker; and Ronald (1888-1957) was an outspoken Roman Catholic priest, later a monsignor. Born to a large family with strong Anglican and Quaker traditions, the brothers shared a full but shabby childhood, losing their mother early. They came of age before and during World War I and counted among their friends Maynard Keynes, Lytton Strachey, and Rupert Brooke. Fitzgerald masterfully weaves the themes of religious devotion and family loyalty (the brothers remained close all their lives) into a charming and affectionate portrayal of a remarkable family. Highly recommended for larger collections.DDiane Gardner Premo, Rochester P.L., NY (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



Chapter One Beginnings This is the story of four brothers who were born into the family of a Victorian vicarage. When, seventy years later, the eldest was asked to consider writing his life, he declined, but suggested the title: Must We Have Lives? If we must, and if we want to understand them, we need to go back two or three generations.     The family was descended from landed settlers in Ulster, the Knoxes of Edentrellick, Rathmullen, Moneymore and Prehen. At the end of the eighteenth century the head of the Edentrellick branch, Alexander Knox, surrounded by his twenty-six children, set his face firmly against change. Although he and his descendants were Presbyterians, and suffered from the same political disabilities as the Catholics, he disapproved profoundly of the United Irishmen, who were hoping, by means of a somewhat amateurish rebellion, to establish a republic. Several of the family were implicated in the rising, and were wounded, disgraced, disowned, or, as the old man put it, "lived to be hanged." But one of the sons, George, steered clear of trouble altogether, and went to try his fortune in the West Indies. This George was to become the great-grandfather of the four Knox brothers.     Having a hardheaded Ulster business sense, George acquired a sugar plantation and later recommended himself to the Governor, General Nugent, who was of illegitimate birth and always ready to help those who helped themselves. He returned to Ireland only once in the next ten years, to marry Laetitia Greenfield, the daughter of Angel Atkinson, of the Moneymore branch. Angel, who wrote that she was "waiting till it was God's pleasure to dismiss her soul from its frail habitation," was sickly, and George no doubt hoped, when she died, to inherit some more of the Knox property. Back in London, he set up as a merchant in Henrietta Street. The next prospects were to be the begetting of a numerous family, and the Moneymore inheritance. But everything went amiss: the property passed to a cousin, and Laetitia proved as delicate as her mother. She bore two sons--George in 1814, Alexander in 1818--then died, a few days later, of childbed fever.     To the four-year-old elder son it was a cruel shock. One of his books survives, a little leather-bound Tasso from his schooldays, with a Latin inscription: "This book was my mother's, my loved, my long-lost mother's." The words come as something of a surprise in the history of the shrewd and so far dislikeable family. With poor Laetitia, the Knoxes acquired the beginnings of tenderheartedness.     Against all expectation, young George's father turned away from him and lavished all his affection on the second son, who had innocently caused his mother's death. What was left of the West Indian properties was settled on Alexander; everything was for Alexander.     Tempers blazed high when George refused to sit under a Presbyterian minister. His mother had been an Anglican, and so would he be. He went on to read for Holy Orders, and in 1837 was a totally penniless curate when General Nugent kindly intervened once again, and offered him a chaplaincy in the service of the East India Company. Once arrived in India, George asked for no further patronage or "interest." Even though the great John and Henry Lawrence were his cousins--their mother was a Laetitia Knox from Prehen--he never applied to them, believing, in the words of John Bunyan, that "every tub should stand on its own bottom."     His calling in Madras was not that of a missionary, but of chaplain to the English community. At first he inspired fear, a "black" Ulsterman, forceful as a soldier, whose heart was kept hidden. It was thought that he was more than fortunate to meet and win his future wife, Frances Reynolds.     Frances was of Quaker descent. The Reynolds family were reputable linen-bleachers at Beddington in Surrey, pious, discreet and thriving; but her father, Thomas Reynolds, was not a successful business man. He was drawn to impracticable schemes. As a very young man he had been sent to Paris by George IV to fetch back a mysterious "Miss Jones," supposedly the daughter of Mrs. Fitzherbert, who spoke much of her "rights," and bequeathed to the Reynoldses a tiny pair of "royal" scissors. Later on Thomas eloped to Gretna Green with his bride, Sophia Daniell, after bribing her maid with the present of a workbox. After his marriage he gave up the bleaching business altogether and went to Cambridge to study medicine, though with no intention of practicing. The result of all this airy dreaming was that his two daughters felt obliged to go out as governesses. To avert this fate the Curzons, who were distant connections, offered to take them to India, but the girls refused, "fearing the worldliness of the society into which they would be thrown." "There were very tender consciences," Frances's son wrote, "in the borderland where Quakerism and Evangelicalism met." Eventually the Daniells paid for the passages to India, and Frances and Mary Ann set off, their boxes full of dove-gray and sober brown dresses. They took with them, also, a copy of Keble's Christian Year, something more intensely and romantically devotional than the Meeting House could offer.     Mary Ann might have been supposed to do the better of the two, for she eventually married the Hon. David Arbuthnott; but in later years she horrified her family by announcing that she and all her children were to be received as Roman Catholics. This meant that the sisters could never meet or communicate again, and both of them accepted this, in spite of the intense grief it caused. It was a division sharper than the sword.     In 1844 Frances Reynolds was a girl of twenty, short, slight and dignified, with fair hair and complexion and a sweet smile of a kind unknown among the gloomy Ulster farms and linen-sheds, a smile which she bequeathed to her descendants. George Knox, on the other hand, was the kind of Irishman who, like Samuel Beckett's Watt, "had never smiled, but thought that he knew how it was done." They were married that winter, in the church at Cuddalore, a handsome couple whose charm and influence were long remembered in Madras. In 1855 they returned to England, bringing with them a "fine family" of four sons and three daughters.     George had no intention of returning to Edentrellick, and for a while they were travelers, passing from one curacy to another. York was the place the children remembered best, and how their father, preaching at St. John's by candlelight, put all the candles out, during a flight of eloquence, with a sweep of his pudding-bag sleeve, so that the church was left in darkness. In 1857 he was appointed Association Secretary of the Church Missionary Society, and they settled at Waddon, then a village, near Croydon. The house was not really large enough. The three elder boys slept together, the youngest, Lindsey, downstairs in the pantry. Edmund, the second son, who showed early scholastic promise, had to "get up" his lessons in the corner of his mother's room, and witnessed, in fear and reverence, his mother's daily prayers, as she struggled out loud to submit her will to God. But if there was overcrowding, nobody had time to worry about it. Everyone was hard at it, family and servants alike; if nothing else offered, there was sewing and poultry-keeping, though half the eggs had to be set aside to sell for the Missions. "There was no talk of slavery," Edmund wrote. "Industry was the normal condition of rational beings, and idleness a dangerous sin. That principle ruled throughout the household."     After her eighth confinement, it is true, Frances took to the life of a semi-invalid, but from her sofa she supervised every detail of the housekeeping. Between Ulster thrift and Quaker sobriety the economy was amazingly narrow. Only one piece of bread-and-butter was allowed--after that, dry bread only. Clothes were the subject of the deepest embarrassment. The boys were dressed in tartan tunics of seemingly indestructible material, handed down from one to another, or "a shapeless garment intended to represent a lounge coat." The girls could only pray that fashion would come round full circle so that people would not laugh at their appearance in the street. Fortunately, perhaps, they went out very little, and at the neighbors' parties they had to leave before the dancing, passing, with glances of acute regret, the loaded supper-table. The Knoxes, who for years had led the spacious social life of mid-Victorian India, now "kept no company." Neither did they take seaside holidays, or, indeed, any holidays at all. Books were severely restricted, novels forbidden, and the father, who chose all his sons' school prizes, would not hear of Ruskin, who tended to unmanly self-pity.     If George was becoming as tyrannous as his own father before him, it was out of an obsession which his whole family understood. At all costs, he must save them from hell-fire, and keep them on the narrow path of Low Church Anglicanism where he himself walked. Parents in those days did not dispute in public, and whatever Frances suffered when she heard, at a distance, the savage discipline and floggings that went on behind the study door, she was never seen to disagree with him. The boys, in time, made their own protest. Frederick, the third son, bit his father through the hand during a whipping, whereupon George, the eldest, threatened to run away unless the punishment stopped. But hardship never destroys a family if the parents share it, and all the children did well. The girls, it is true, never had much opportunity to meet any company and never married, but Ellen, without opposition from her father, won her way to Oxford and became Principal of Havergal College, Toronto. And as their parents grew old the children, as a natural thing, and without resentment for their hard upbringing, helped to support them.     Edmund, the industrious second son, who was to be the father of the four Knox brothers, was a stoutly built boy, with a native cheerfulness which was difficult to subdue. Of all the family he was the most profoundly influenced by the spiritual life of his mother. Her Quaker gift of prayer remained with him as he was gradually drawn toward the Evangelicals; what that meant, he has explained himself. First and foremost, the conviction that God loved him, "as an actual fact, that must take first place in my life." There was no real division between the unseen and the seen. Secondly, to look at the Bible as a personal message from God to the individual soul, "and to read it daily with a resolve to hear what God had to say to me that day--I must find words that were meant for me." Thirdly, to value the Sacraments of Baptism and the Lord's Supper, which was celebrated by the Evangelicals only rarely, perhaps once a month. This faith survived even the natural doubting-time of adolescence. "When the testing came, and when I heard the question put to my soul, `Wilt thou also go away?' I was able to see that unfaith could not satisfy my deepest needs."     Meanwhile, Edmund was determined not to be a "burden." He was justifiably proud of the fact that (apart from the railway fares and the indestructible clothing) his education cost his father only one shilling. This was for the tip traditionally given to the porter by a new boy at St. Paul's School. Once this shilling was paid, scholarships covered everything. In later years he became a stout supporter of free education.     Edmund, entering in 1857, was an excellent classical scholar, but although the discipline at St. Paul's was considered mild--largely owing to the absent-mindedness of the High Master--every boy had to expect to be beaten every day. The beatings were administered on both moral and social grounds: the "old Adam" had to be driven out of them, and they had to be "hardened" to face a competitive world. For the same reason, Latin and Greek were made doubly difficult because the grammar-books themselves were printed in Latin. At St. Paul's there were no organized games, no "team spirit" to assist in the hardening process. The boys' free time was spent in the streets or on the muddy foreshore of the Thames.     After "hardening" came "forming," when the University was supposed to give a young man's character its final shape. When, in 1865, Edmund went up to Corpus, Oxford was spiritually in low water. The loss of Newman was still felt, and the aftermath of Tractarianism lingered. "Several other combatants of the great fray," he recalled, "were familiar in the street and at University sermons--the ferret-like Dr. Hawkins, the elephantine Ben Symons, the statuesque Plumtree, the dapper Wynter, the caustic and ingenious Mark Pattison." But even these alarming figures, even Pusey himself, seemed weary; and the vacuum created was in danger of being filled by a liberal spirit of anti-clericalism, determined to remove power, once and for all, from the hands of the Church. This did not frighten young Edmund. If the new spirit meant that fellowships would be open to everyone, if it blew into musty corners, then he welcomed it. If it denied God, he would fight it.     Corpus itself was a pious and respectable college. It was nothing for the men to study, as Edmund often did, from four in the afternoon till two in the morning, sustained by cups of strong tea, and be ready, after a cold bath, for chapel at seven-thirty. On Sunday they put on black coats and top hats for their walk in the country. At first, to be sure, Edmund felt somewhat lonely, sitting, uncouth and penniless, in his room, hearing the steps of visitors go up the stairs, never for him. But, being naturally sociable, he looked out, and made friends. The company of his mother and sisters he certainly missed, and he went so far as to give up a course of lectures on the Greek Testament to go every week after evening service to a professor's drawing room where he could spend a precious hour "in the society of ladies." But he had much to do, and had found a firm ally in F. J. Chavasse (later the great Bishop of Liverpool), "a little man, almost deformed," but full of inward fire. With Chavasse, he could make headway, in the name of Evangelicalism, against the indifference of the University. "A dull life, do you say?" he wrote. "Well, we did not find it so." In his second year he told his father that he wished to be ordained.     George Knox had not forgotten how he fought this battle on his own account, but his concern for his children's success, as well as their salvation, by now amounted to a mania. If Edmund was to enter the Church, he must start as something better than a curate; he must either get first-class honors, which would lead to a University appointment, or renounce the idea, and go into the Indian Civil Service.     All turned on the final examinations, Greats in 1868, Law and Modern History in 1869. While he waited for the results, he wrote to his sister Emily, "visions of every conceivable class came before me, and I was absolutely wretched." The results came, and Chavasse wrote: "Thank God, thank God, dear old boy, that you have got a First--the sight of the class list took a load off my heart. I was dreaming all night that you had got a Third. I feel now how faithless I had been to mistrust God ... I am glad for your father's sake--above all I am glad for the sake of Evangelical religion in Oxford. No answer is needed: I should not expect a letter-- nay I shall be vexed if I get one ." The President of Corpus offered Edmund the Cobbe Prize of £3 5s, "if I cared to take it, which of course I was not loth to do." It enabled him to buy "a new suit of clothing" to receive his honors.     Edmund was ordained in 1870, by which time he had already been elected a Fellow of Merton. He was assured of three hundred pounds a year for the rest of his life, as long as he did not acquire extensive landed property (a very remote contingency), and as long as he did not marry.     Hard work, academic success, faith, endurance--these were the keys to the future. But Edmund had inherited from the Reynolds family something quite beyond his father's capacity--the ability to enjoy himself. With his round parson's hat at the mercy of the winds, he took to tricycling and spun across the Christ Church meadows; on vacation in Scotland he learned to love the Highland scenery, never, as far as he could remember, having seen mountains before; "croquet," he wrote, "had but a passing hold on me; it came in while I was still a boy," but he introduced jeu de paume and lawn tennis, both of which he played pretty badly, into the quadrangle at Merton. On weekdays, too, he began to read novels--Jane Austen and Trollope. And he was living in one of the oldest and most picturesque colleges in Oxford, "its Common-room panelled with oak, lit by candles in silver candlesticks, heated by a noble fire." These things were luxury, but he could not avoid the feeling that it was wrong for a man to have them at the start of his life. They should be earned and worked for, and nothing that he had done so far seemed enough. As Tutor, and later Dean, of Merton, he threw his considerable weight into the battle for sobriety and wholesome religious instruction. For example it had become, as he put it, "the habit of the idle to smash the windows of the new buildings with stones or with small loaves left over from meals." From his method of dealing with this and other problems he became known as Hard Knocks. At the same time, he took on an unpaid curacy in the poorest parish in Oxford. He was in sole charge there, one long hot summer, when smallpox raged through the district. He improvised as best he could. There were no hospitals in Oxford then for infectious diseases.     But what about "the society of ladies"? The young Tutor who was not permitted, by statute, to marry, and who had contemplated, though not taken, a vow of celibacy, found that he had fallen in love. A new rector had come to the church of St. Ebbe's, near Christ Church Meadows--a missionary who was recuperating, somewhat unwillingly, in England from illness and over-fatigue on his Indian journeys. His name was Thomas French, and Edmund had met him before, when he had come for a time to Croydon. The eldest daughter, Ellen Penelope, was twenty years old, delicate in health and appearance, with elegant straight features. She was well educated, musical, seemed never to think of herself--but then, nor did anyone else in Dr. French's household. Almost at once Edmund "formed an attachment."     He was returning from a summer parish outing. There were roses for sale on the Oxford station platform. On an impulse he bought one, and offered it to Ellen. If she accepted it, he would try his fate. Ellen took it. He did not know that on her first morning in Oxford she had felt a premonition when she had seen him, quite by chance, walking up Keble Terrace. She had thought, "That is my future husband." * * * Thomas Valpy French was a saint, holy in the noblest sense of the word, and as exasperating as all saints. A poor judge of character, he always believed the best of everyone, in spite of repeated disappointments, and was so generous that his friends did not dare mention their wants, for fear of his ruining himself. Edmund Knox, in those Oxford days, "would gladly have sat at his feet." His wife yearned to have him at home more often, but could never regret his calling.     The Frenches were a family of Norman descent, originally the de Freynes, and Thomas's father, the Rev. Peter French, inexplicably known as "Goosefair" French, was a comfortable clergyman with good connections. His mother had been a Dillwyn from Wales, and he had married the daughter of Dr. Richard Valpy, the headmaster of Reading School. The Frenches lived in the spacious vicarage of Holy Trinity, Burton-on-Trent, with a prosperous brewery round the corner. How did their son, with easy prospects in front of him, come to end his life in a lonely sand-strewn grave at Muscat, "on the edge of nowhere"?     At Rugby, Thomas French was a fine classical scholar, who had had "much to bear" during his schooldays because of his lack of guile. There was in fact a terrible simplicity about him. The urgent command of Christ, at the end of St. Matthew, to "preach the truth to all nations," came to him first at Oxford; then, like his contemporaries, he had to pray for a right choice between Africa, India and the new industrial cities. He went to India. From then onward his life was a reckless sacrifice of the body and a broadening of the mind. "The Padri Sahib," said the Punjabis pityingly, "wears himself out and leaves no water in the well."     French arrived in Calcutta in 1850, and began the intensive study of Indian languages which made him known as the "seven-tongued Padri." But the swarming poverty struck him like a blow. He gave away his stipend, cut down his meals to a handful of rice, and "set his face" against being dressed by a bearer.     His first appointment from the Church Missionary Society was to St. John's College, Agra, a Christian school which he founded himself. He knew perfectly well that his unruly Hindu pupils only attended in the hope of getting Government jobs, and at first was pained by the "power of repulsion" they showed, but gradually their minds opened to him. They found that their headmaster was a fakir--like St. Paul, as he pointed out--who could be seen after school in the marketplace, seated on a heap of melons, taking part in disputes and preaching contests, or reading the Bible among lepers. After a while, he was admitted without opposition wherever he went. He was a holy man.     In 1851 his betrothed, Miss Mary Anne Jansen, courageously came out to Calcutta to marry him. She was the daughter of a merchant of Dutch origin who had married one of the Quaker Lloyds of Birmingham, the faithful friends of Charles Lamb. The Jansens were wealthy, which of course was of no importance at all to Mary Anne's husband, but, since he was never likely to save a penny, it was just as well. Their first children were born in India, the fourth one in the garrison at Agra during the Mutiny. Mrs. French watched the furniture of the British community floating downstream by the light of their burning houses; the Professor of English Literature was shot, and his horse and carriage flung into the compound. Thomas French, however, refused to enter the fort unless he had permission to bring his native Christians in with him. When this was granted he appeared carrying a large bag, which contained, not valuables, but his Arabic dictionary.     It was the end of his work in Agra, but in 1862 he returned to India, shrunken, ill, leaving his wife and children behind him, but unable to feel at peace in England. "The more I am borne away from you, the more my thoughts travel towards you," he wrote to Mary Anne as his train left London Bridge, but there were more tongues to learn and untold millions to reach, even though in the Moslem regions to which he was bound he was lucky to make five converts in a year. His appointment was now as Principal of the college at Lahore, but in the vacations he traveled tirelessly over the mountains, first to the wild districts of the North-West Frontier, then to Kashmir, studying Hebrew and Pushtu on muleback, arriving with his shabby books and luggage, often too weak to wind up his own watch. He had become deeply interested in both Hindu and Moslem asceticism, his ambition now being to understand the mind of Indian religion and to present Christianity "without losing a grain, yet measuredly and gradually as the people can bear it." At the same time, he had become increasingly impatient of the doctrinal quarrels within the Church itself. Small wonder that the Church Missionary Society were growing somewhat doubtful of their broadminded servant.     Why did he do it? The Jansens pressed him to come home to his family, and "I must feel the objections of my father-in-law," he wrote, "but I could not abandon the work without a farther trial of it." Today he would certainly be asked: why not leave these people to their own beliefs? Why press on them something they did not ask for and do not want? To this his reply would be: "The viewing of the unseen world instead of the visible things of time--this cannot be a shallow matter; it must be deep or not at all--no halves in such a business." (Continues...) Copyright © 2000 Penelope Fitzgerald. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Illustrationsp. ix
Genealogyp. x
Forewordp. xiii
I. Beginningsp. 3
II. The Sterner Realities of Life: 1891-1901p. 22
III. "We imagined other people might think we were peculiar": 1901-1907p. 42
IV. Knoxes and Brother: 1907-1914p. 79
V. Brothers at War: 1914-1918p. 115
VI. The Twenties: 1919-1929p. 146
VII. "The Fascination of What's Difficult": 1930-1938p. 182
VIII. The Uses of Intelligence: 1939-1945p. 221
IX. Endings: 1945-1971p. 252
Bibliographyp. 271
Indexp. 274