Book Review: Sheila Kaye-Smith's "The End of the House of Alard"

From one English family saga to another! I already had this book, given to me as a Christmas present. To read it right after Josephine Ward's One Poor Scruple didn't invite comparisons as much as highlight how different two novels in same genre can be so different. The title indicates what is going to happen in the novel: a family "house", the hegemony of a family, not just the building of course, is somehow going to come to an end. No heirs, no handing on of the family property or traditions: the end.

How the family's house ends is the story: who are the last members of the house of Alard? What did they do that brought it to its end? That's the story Sheila Kaye-Smith tells as three sons and three daughters deal with the legacy of their land-holding, mortgaged to the hilt, over-taxed (in their opinion), failing, image-conscious family. They have a hard problem to solve in the first place and Kaye-Smith's plot demonstrates how the choices their parents, especially their dictatorial father, and they make contribute to the decline and end of their house.

One reason I was interested in this novel when CUA Press announced its publication was that I had read some of Sheila Kaye-Smith's fiction before: Joanna Godden, Susan Spray--and Superstition Corner, the tragic story of Kate Alard in the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. 

Kaye-Smith wrote that novel, which I first read in high school, after she and her husband, an Anglo-Catholic minister, were received into the Catholic Church. This novel, about the later Alard family--at least, I presume it's the same family--pre-dates her conversion to Catholicism, but an astute reader sees the sympathy for Catholicism in post-recusant England after World War I. At least three characters are Catholic (including the parish priest), one converts to Catholicism, and another is shaken by what he discovers and desires when he learns just a little bit about the Catholic Church after stepping into the local parish and meeting the priest. The traditional, non-religious Anglicanism of the Alard family in the early twentieth century has little basis to respond to the incarnational, costly and rewarding Catholicism Kaye-Smith describes it--particularly as Gervase describes it to Jenny on page 329:

"But Catholic Christianity stands fast because it belongs to an order of things which doesn’t change. It’s made of the same stuff as our hearts. It’s the supernatural satisfaction of all our natural instincts. It doesn’t deal with abstractions, but with everyday life. The sacraments are all common things—food, drink, marriage, birth and death. Its highest act of worship is a meal—its most sacred figures are a dying man, and a mother nursing her child. It’s traditional in the sense that nature and life are traditional....”

As the publisher's blurb describes the book:

The End of the House of Alard (1922) documents the choices made by the final generation of the aristocratic Alard family and the ways in which they, both willingly and reluctantly, bring the long line of their ancestral blood to a complete and sudden end. For some of them, the end of the Alard line is as painful to enact as it is for others to witness; for others it is welcomed as a necessary modernization or a true realignment toward religious integrity and universal human truth. Some of the family's children yearn for individual liberty; others have it forced upon them. But none of them can find it under the burden of the Alard name and its crumbling estate. The End of the House of Alard is a novel about the human need for purpose, for a truth by which to live and for which to die. It is a novel about faith and idolatry, love and death, freedom and bondage, nature and grace. Put another way, it is about how human beings cannot escape the great challenge of salvation, of breaking free from false, man made gods in order to unite instead with the divine love of Christ. The novel's characters span a breadth of options on this spectrum and their various outlooks on life continue to reflect those available to us today.

That's very accurate summary of the book, and the reader's interest is constantly maintained as the characters make their choices while the omniscient narrator explores their thoughts and feelings. Each of the sons and daughters of Sir John and his wife Lucy (nee Kenyon), Peter, George, Gervase, Doris, Mary, Jenny receive their due attention, as do the women the brothers marry or are in love with: Rose, George's wife; Vera, Peter's wife; and Stella Mount, the doctor's daughter, loved by both Peter and Gervase. 

Except for Ben Godfrey, the men in Mary and Jenny's lives are less important to the plot of the end. 

The crux of the story really is that Peter, demobbed from World War I in 1918, loves Stella Mount, but marries for money as a sacrifice for the Alard family legacy, and although he contends he loves his wife, he just can't let go of his love for Stella. 

Gervase loves Stella too, but he finds a greater love and follows it. The end of the house of Alard comes down to those two men, and I won't spoil the plot, except to say, inscrutably: The end of the end is the only end there could be.

There is verse at the beginning of the novel, lines from G.K. Chesterton's "The Secret People":

We only know the last sad squires rode slowly towards the sea,
And a new people takes the land . . .

The section titles of the novel are:

Part One: Conster Manor

Interlude

Part Two: Leason Parsonage (George, the Anglican minister deals with his vocation and faith in this section)

Part Three: Fourhouses (Jenny, the youngest daughter, makes her choice in this section)

Part Four: Scarecrow

Again, I highly recommend this novel and my only disappointment is that there's only one more book currently published in this series, The Dry Wood by Caryll Houselander. But there's a consolation to be had there too: Eighth Day Books has two copies!

Two Posts from "The Newman Review": Lost Voices and How to Read Newman

Just a couple of excerpts from two articles in the recent online Newman Review from the National Institute of Newman Studies:

The first is from Julia Meszaros and Bonnie Lander Johnson, editors of the Catholic Women Writers series from the Catholic University of America Press. They explain why these "Lost Voices of the Catholic Literary Revival" deserve to be heard, by being celebrated and read:

The work of these women indicates that the Revival lasted much longer than is usually thought (women were writing earlier and later than most of the men associated with the Revival) and that its writers were located in all areas of Britain and Ireland, not merely in the south of England. Novels by Catholic women are often concerned with different theological questions than we find in the work of Waugh and Greene. They are set in families and villages and in the institutional communities in which the writers themselves first encountered the faith: schools, convents, or convent schools. Almost wholly unrecognized by scholarship of the Catholic novel, or indeed the novel generally, are the frequent depictions of female religious life in novels of the twentieth century.

Highlighted is a book I've had on my "to be read" pile for awhile but now have started to read:

Another writer of the Revival now back in print in the Catholic Women Writers series is Sheila Kaye-Smith, until recently forgotten but a bestseller in the 1920s. Her 1925 novel The End of the House of Alard was written during her conversion from high Anglicanism to Catholicism and, long before Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, explores the post-war erosion of the aristocracy from a Catholic point of view. Faced with the decline of their family estate, Alard’s characters must discern between intrinsic and instrumental goods. In relaying their struggles, Kaye-Smith boldly takes all that was most loved about her own best-selling genre—the aristocracy’s glamour, its age-old traditions, and its role in community-building—and subordinates it to a higher truth. The novel in some ways dramatizes Kaye-Smith’s own experience of how many fruits of the world can, and at times must, be put aside by those who choose God, and how this sacrifice brings with it different riches entirely unseen and unknown by those who refuse to give up what is most dear to them.

The second article offers some insights into what makes reading Newman such a rewarding challenge. (The author, Luigi Rossi  was a Visiting Scholar at NINS during September 2023. He is Assistant Professor (Maître de Conférences) of Education at the Catholic University of the West in Angers, France.):

Compared to my usual diet of scholarly articles and books, Newman’s writings stood out for what appeared to me as their meandering character. Unlike most contemporary works, Newman does not state upfront what he is going to say and then take the reader through the motions of a demonstration delivered blow by blow. He begins, instead, with a puzzle, or a question, that he brings before his audience; he unfolds his thinking slowly, almost searchingly, from his initial questions; he also frequently refrains from tying up his argument, leaving whatever he said simply to “air” with the reader.4

After overcoming my initial disorientation at a style that looks unsystematic––from the standpoint of contemporary academic standards––I started to notice a growing curiosity in me: not just for what Newman says, but precisely for how he says it. To be more precise: I noticed myself referring back to the experience of reading Newman’s texts in order to get a firmer hold on his understanding of how reason operates in the ordinary conduct of life. As I did that, I eventually retrieved within myself a freer, more meandering style of reasoning, not unlike that which Newman practices in his writing. In a way, reading Newman brought me closer to what it is to read a text: making space for it to breathe, for its images to resonate, for its metaphors to blossom into rich associations, and eventually, to witness a meaningful figure come into being by this slow maturation. . . .

Please read the rest there.

I think this is one of the ways that Newman drew his listeners and draws his readers into their imaginations--not of fantasy--but of thought and reality. They were, as evidenced by the popularity of these sermons in their time, and those who read him today--or hear him read as I do at our monthly Newman reading gatherings--engaged in his exploration of an important spiritual, moral, religious truth.

After our most recent "Lovers of Newman" meeting, following a "Colloquy" tradition founded by the late Father Ian Ker in the 1990's, I realized that I could not think of another convert to Catholicism whose pre-conversion works we read with such attention and devotion. 

Can you?

And I'm thinking particularly of our reading of his Parochial and Plain Sermons and other sermons he wrote as an Anglican, not just as explorations of his developing thought, but as sources of spiritual, moral, and religious insights and guidance. Since I attended my first Newman School of Catholic Thought in 1979, I've been encouraged to read these Anglican sermons. It's true that at our monthly sermon readings we have discussions about a more Catholic understanding of some matters, but primarily, as Father William R. Lamm did so many years ago in 1934, we appreciate his spiritual legacy and his goals in those sermons (from my 2021 review of Father Lamm's book):

Father Lamm's thesis is that in Newman's sermons given as Vicar of the University Church of St. Mary's the Virgin in Oxford, he had a special purpose. He wanted to give general spiritual direction to those students in his congregation who wanted to be REAL Christians, who wanted to pursue holiness and perfection in the spiritual and moral life. Therefore, Father Lamm argues that Newman's spiritual legacy centers around these themes: what keeps us from becoming perfect (not considering grave, mortal sin) and what can help us become perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect.

What Newman sees as keeping us from pursuing holiness and the realizing of God's Presence in our souls, according to Lamm, is our hypocrisy as we deceive ourselves about our spiritual state, deceive others, and attempt to deceive God. What will help us pursue holiness and the realizing of God's Presence is Surrender to God's Will through repentance, and the practice of a host of virtues, including love, faith, hope, obedience, and fervour, summed up as sincerity and simplicity--watching for God and developing the habit of prayer. . . .

Saint John Henry Newman, pray for us!

The Catholic Literary Revival in England, Houselander, and Kaye-Smith, et al.

The Catholic University of America Press is publishing the "Catholic Women Writers" series, edited by Bonnie Lander Johnson and Julia Meszaros. From the CUA Press blog:

The novels of Evelyn Waugh and Graham Greene often focus on the solitary figure of a priest or layman in spiritual combat with the world around him. By contrast, the lost novels of Catholic women are usually situated in families and parishes and in the institutional communities in which the writers themselves first encountered the faith: schools and convents. Almost wholly unrecognized by scholarship on the Catholic novel are the frequent depictions of female religious life. The women writers of the Catholic Literary Revival were in their own time well-known and well-read, with no shortage of best-selling authors among their ranks. Most predated and greatly influenced Waugh and Greene. They wrote from a more diverse range of social and political positions than Waugh and Greene, and were often more radical in their use of ninetheenth- and twenthieth-century literary innovations. Their works are set in locations male writers never considered, and they often posed very different questions about how a person can find their way in a fallen world. . . .

After introducing the first two volumes in the series and discussing the achievements of their authors (Caryll Houselander and Sheila Kaye-Smith), "The Lost Women of the Catholic Literary Revival" post continues:

This all leads back to the big question: if Houselander’s work was daring and experimental as the literary scholars craved, and Kaye-Smith’s works resonated with the masses, how did they and other women writers of the Catholic Literary Revival fall out of circulation in both critical and commercial circles, in indeed they were ever there to begin with? We can point to changes in the commercial publishing world after World War II, changes within the Church itself, and redefinitions of the literary canon in University departments in the last decades of the twentieth century. Yet it remains puzzling that a body of writing so creative, so attuned to its historical moment, and so unique in its perspective on the human condition, should have fallen out of print for so long.

Please read the rest there.

Cluny Media, however, have published Caryll Houselander novel, The Dry Wood, the same one the series begins with, and the Maisie Ward biography of her already, still in preparation in the CUA Press series. And I know that I'm just an independent author with one book to her name, but I included Sheila Kaye-Smith in my book Supremacy and Survival in the litany of 20th century converts. Virago Press published some of her novels in the 1980's, although they're no longer in their catalog, and Country Books published a biography, The Shining Cord. So maybe these authors--certainly Caryll Houselander's spiritual writings have been in print for quite some time--aren't as forgotten as the post claims! Nevertheless, it's important to have a major press sponsoring a uniform edition of these works.

And when a friend asked about my birthday/Christmas wish list, I told her about Kaye-Smith's The End of the House of Alard! I wonder if the "House of Alard" is about the same family as Kate Alard's, the heroine of Superstition Corner?

The Chester Martyrs: October 1, 1588

In response to the attempted invasion of England by Spain by the Armada, from late August through October in 1588, the Elizabeth government arranged several executions of Catholic priests and/or laity to demonstrate the fate of traitors. In Chichester and in Canterbury on October 1, 1588, the government planned two more group executions of priests. 

In Chichester, something unusual happened—one of the priests on the scaffold recanted and agreed to take the Oath of Supremacy. Four priests had been condemned to death on September 30, but one of the four had already taken the Oath of Supremacy after condemnation to avoid being hanged, drawn, and quartered. 

Father Edward James and Father Ralph Crockett had been arrested on April 19, 1586 and held in prison in London for more than two years without trial (from April 27, 1586). After the failure of the Spanish Armada, these imprisoned Catholic priests were prime targets of the English government for vengeance and punishment. Fr. James and Fr. Crockett were tried in Chichester along with Father John Oven and Father Francis Edwardes, found guilty and sentenced to death, but Fr. Oven took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved.

Then on October 1st, at Broyle Heath, Fr. Edwardes took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved--Fr. James and Fr. Crockett refused to recant and the butchery of their execution was carried out, after they first absolved each other on the scaffold. So often when we tell the story of the Catholic recusants and the Catholic priests of that recusant era, we emphasize the heroic faithfulness of those who suffered and died. This story reminds us that some who faced the crisis of life and death chose to recant their Catholic faith and avoid martyrdom.

This blog points out that: "Blessed Ralph Crockett and Blessed Edward James had never offered a mass or heard a confession in England. They accomplished their ministry in their death." They were beatified by Pope Pius XI in 1929 (among many others).

In her novel Superstition Corner, the Catholic convert from Anglicanism Sheila Kaye-Smith depicts the effect of Father Edwardes recanting and accepting the Oath of Supremacy on a recusant Catholic who knew him. Catherine Alard has traveled to Chichester, hoping to meet her brother who is now a Catholic priest, and hears about the impending executions:

Among much that was painful for her to hear, Catherine learned that the names of the other two priests were Ralph Crockett and Edward James, so she now knew for certain that Father Oven had refused his martyr's crown. The number of her honest men was dwindling . . . miserere mei. . . . She felt strangely moved and exalted, almost light-headed, as at last she jostled her way under the gate and came out on the high-road leading to the Broyle.

About a mile farther on the gallows rose up before her, and she felt a curious fear and constriction of her heart. This would not be the first hanging she had seen, but it would indeed, as the landlord had said, be different from the others. To-day she would see men die, but not for their own sins. No doubt their sufferings would be a passion offered for the sins of the unfaithful—for the unfaithful that they did not know as well as for the unfaithful that they knew. These three friends would die expiating her father's conformity, her mother's adultery, her friend's apostasy: they would wipe her world clean as they left it. . . . Yet before they died she would have to witness dreadful things, and for a moment her heart failed her. Though she had never been squeamish, she was glad to be on the outskirts of the crowd that swarmed round the scaffold.

Catherine witnesses the executions of Father Crockett, appalled by the animosity of the crowd toward the priest and horrified by his suffering:

Then silence fell: the executioner stood on the ladder watching the victim's struggles, and when they seemed to decrease gave the order for him to be cut down. He was caught as he fell, and his clothes torn off him, so that castration and dismemberment could follow while he was still alive. Catherine had never before seen an execution for high treason, and an ordinary hanging had always stopped short of this. She began to feel a little sick, and would have closed her eyes had she been able, but a kind of paralysis had taken her, and she could not move; she could only sit there staring and holding up her beads.

After seeing Father James suffer in the same horrible way, she notices that Father Edwardes’ execution is not proceeding apace, but that he has begun to cry out for mercy:

"Oh, Lord!" cried Catherine. "Oh, dear, dear Lord!" A great yell broke from the crowd, and she expected to see the wretched man carried up the ladder and flung off in a bundle. But the next moment she saw that something else was happening. Three men in black who had been standing with the magistrates on the scaffold now came forward, and she guessed that they were the Protestant ministers. They gathered round Francis Edwards (sic), who was vomiting. She knew that they were offering him his life at a price which in his terror and exhaustion he might pay. De profundus clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meum. Oh, Lord, help him; oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Oh, Lord, let him fall down dead rather than deny his faith. . . . Oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Domine, Domine, exaudi vocem meum. The crowd was shouting and muttering—some were urging the martyr to change his faith and save his life. "'At, that's right 'at, that's right!" "Be a Protestant and live!" But others said: "You can never trust a Jesuit." "Set him free and he poisons us all." The cries swelled to a roar, and all the time a voice was shouting in her ear miserere mei! miserere mei! She did not know it was her own. . . .

She could stay no longer; the sheriff came to the edge of the scaffold to address the crowd, but she would not wait. She had seen enough—too much; and in that distracted moment she did not know which was too much—the sufferings of the martyrs or the sparing of the apostate. Francis Edwards had been spared—he would not have to climb that ladder, to endure that agony, to suffer that outrageous death. She was glad—she was glad. No, no—she was not glad. She was sorry.

Kaye-Smith’s description of the crowd and its changing fancies serve as a good example the expectations of the witnesses of the executions to see justice handed out effectively. They did not trust the recanting priest and might have admired the priests who endured their executions more. Please see the next post for the story of the Oaten Hill Martyrs at Canterbury, also on October 1 in 1588.

October Martyrs: Two Out Four Condemned Were Executed

In response to the attempted invasion of England by Spain by the Armada, from late August through October in 1588, the Elizabeth government arranged several executions of Catholic priests and/or laity to demonstrate the fate of traitors. In Chichester and in Canterbury on October 1, 1588, the government planned two more group executions of priests.

In Chichester, something unusual happened—one of the priests on the scaffold recanted and agreed to take the Oath of Supremacy. Four priests had been condemned to death on September 30, but one of the four had already taken the Oath of Supremacy after condemnation to avoid being hung, drawn, and quartered.

Father Edward James and Father Ralph Crockett had been arrested on April 19, 1586 and held in prison in London for more than two years without trial (from April 27, 1586). After the failure of the Spanish Armada, these imprisoned Catholic priests were prime targets of the English government for vengeance and punishment. Fr. James and Fr. Crockett were tried in Chichester along with Father John Oven and Father Francis Edwardes, found guilty and sentenced to death, but Fr. Oven took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved.

Then on October 1st, at Broyle Heath, Fr. Edwardes took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved--Fr. James and Fr. Crockett refused to recant and the butchery of their execution was carried out, after they first absolved each other on the scaffold. So often when we tell the story of the Catholic recusants and the Catholic priests of that recusant era, we emphasize the heroic faithfulness of those who suffered and died. This story reminds us that some who faced the crisis of life and death chose to recant their Catholic faith and avoid martyrdom.

This blog points out that: "Blessed Ralph Crockett and Blessed Edward James had never offered a mass or heard a confession in England. They accomplished their ministry in their death." They were beatified by Pope Pius XI in 1929 (among many others).

In her novel Superstition Corner, the Catholic convert from Anglicanism Sheila Kaye-Smith depicts the effect of Father Edwardes recanting and accepting the Oath of Supremacy on a recusant Catholic who knew him. Catherine Alard has traveled to Chichester, hoping to meet her brother who is now a Catholic priest, and hears about the impending executions:

Among much that was painful for her to hear, Catherine learned that the names of the other two priests were Ralph Crockett and Edward James, so she now knew for certain that Father Oven had refused his martyr's crown. The number of her honest men was dwindling . . . miserere mei. . . . She felt strangely moved and exalted, almost light-headed, as at last she jostled her way under the gate and came out on the high-road leading to the Broyle.

About a mile farther on the gallows rose up before her, and she felt a curious fear and constriction of her heart. This would not be the first hanging she had seen, but it would indeed, as the landlord had said, be different from the others. To-day she would see men die, but not for their own sins. No doubt their sufferings would be a passion offered for the sins of the unfaithful—for the unfaithful that they did not know as well as for the unfaithful that they knew. These three friends would die expiating her father's conformity, her mother's adultery, her friend's apostasy: they would wipe her world clean as they left it. . . . Yet before they died she would have to witness dreadful things, and for a moment her heart failed her. Though she had never been squeamish, she was glad to be on the outskirts of the crowd that swarmed round the scaffold.

Catherine witnesses the executions of Father Crockett, appalled by the animosity of the crowd toward the priest and horrified by his suffering:

Then silence fell: the executioner stood on the ladder watching the victim's struggles, and when they seemed to decrease gave the order for him to be cut down. He was caught as he fell, and his clothes torn off him, so that castration and dismemberment could follow while he was still alive. Catherine had never before seen an execution for high treason, and an ordinary hanging had always stopped short of this. She began to feel a little sick, and would have closed her eyes had she been able, but a kind of paralysis had taken her, and she could not move; she could only sit there staring and holding up her beads.

After seeing Father James suffer in the same horrible way, she notices that Father Edwardes’ execution is not proceeding apace, but that he has begun to cry out for mercy:

"Oh, Lord!" cried Catherine. "Oh, dear, dear Lord!" A great yell broke from the crowd, and she expected to see the wretched man carried up the ladder and flung off in a bundle. But the next moment she saw that something else was happening. Three men in black who had been standing with the magistrates on the scaffold now came forward, and she guessed that they were the Protestant ministers. They gathered round Francis Edwards (sic), who was vomiting. She knew that they were offering him his life at a price which in his terror and exhaustion he might pay. De profundus clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meum. Oh, Lord, help him; oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Oh, Lord, let him fall down dead rather than deny his faith. . . . Oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Domine, Domine, exaudi vocem meum. The crowd was shouting and muttering—some were urging the martyr to change his faith and save his life. "'At, that's right 'at, that's right!" "Be a Protestant and live!" But others said: "You can never trust a Jesuit." "Set him free and he poisons us all." The cries swelled to a roar, and all the time a voice was shouting in her ear miserere mei! miserere mei! She did not know it was her own. . . .

She could stay no longer; the sheriff came to the edge of the scaffold to address the crowd, but she would not wait. She had seen enough—too much; and in that distracted moment she did not know which was too much—the sufferings of the martyrs or the sparing of the apostate. Francis Edwards had been spared—he would not have to climb that ladder, to endure that agony, to suffer that outrageous death. She was glad—she was glad. No, no—she was not glad. She was sorry.

Kaye-Smith’s description of the crowd and its changing fancies serve as a good example the expectations of the witnesses of the executions to see justice handed out effectively. They did not trust the recanting priest and might have admired the priests who endured their executions more. Please see the next post for the story of the Oaten Hill Martyrs at Oxford,also on October 1 in 1588.

Another High School Memory: SUPERSTITION CORNER

Sister Eustasia also had this book by Sheila Kaye-Smith on her extra-credit reading list: Superstition Corner (I remember reading this Doubleday Image Book at the time). The Neumann Press offers a hard-cover edition now and it is available on Kindle too. Kirkus Reviews posted these comments in 2002:

Modern woman transposed to Elizabethan England, and flaunting the banner of her refusal to conform to the religious tenets of the crown, Kate Alard is a memorable if not wholly convincing figure, and the picture of Sussex, and the ancient faith at the stake, is a novel one. A slighter story than what the reader expects from Sheila Kaye-Smith, but a vigorous tale at that. The Sheila Kaye-Smith market is a fairly consistent one, and though this cannot be sold as typical, in that she has departed from her established theme, the historical interest may prove added bait for a somewhat new market.

As I remember reading it in high school, I did not find Kate Alard unconvincing, but then I was used to reading about tomboys like Jo March in Alcott's Little Women. What sets Sheila Kaye-Smith apart from Robert Hugh Benson is the difficult "romantic" situations in the novel: Kate's mother is unfaithful to her father and Kate witnesses the confrontation between the lover and her father. The village minister, who has gone along with each of the religious changes, repulses Kate when he tells her that he loves her--after he has betrayed her friends who were hosting a Catholic priest to celebrate Mass. Kate leaves her home to meet her brother, who has become a priest on the Continent and is preparing to serve in the English Catholic underground. When they meet he recalls that: "all these years, while he had been living in spiritual luxury in the heart of the Church, her soul had starved on the barest means of grace. . . . He realized with pity that she had never been inside a Catholic church, that she had never heard Mass except in darkness and haste and fear, that she knew nothing of the beauty of Catholic ritual, nor the fellowship of large crowds, nor the power of great leaders." And yet she clung to her faith as the one thing that made life worth living in her Sussex home. I won't spoil the ending, but it is beautiful and inevitable.

Sheila Kaye-Smith was a successful and prolific novelist, setting most of her novels in her native Sussex. She was an Anglican (Anglo-Catholic) and married to an Anglican minister. After writing a book titled Anglo-Catholics in 1925, she and her husband became Catholics (RC) in 1929. They bought land and established a Catholic chapel dedicated to St. Therese of Lisieux in Northiam, Sussex, in 1935. Sheila Kaye-Smith is buried in the chapel's cemetery there.