Sunday p.m. [31 May 1953]
We have just returned from church, this time a Presbyterian Church where a Rev Dr McQueen preached with power and duration upon the inheritance of the faith once delivered to the saints. It was a Coronation sermon and dear little Queen Liz was admonished to preserve the inheritance. So much for that.
Your description of the spirea was about as graphic as some of your paintings. That shower of Devonshire cream was a perfect simile and it prompted me to hurry up the time of the trip to Cambridge. But the cream, alas, might be sour by the time we got there.
Well, the main job at London, so far as I am concerned, is over. A.J.M. Smith and I finished by 9:30 p.m. and a number of us went to Carl Klinck's till midnight.
This evening Frank Stiling, Dean of Western Ont. University, is calling for us to take us out to dinner. We are receiving much hospitality. To-morrow we attend the first meeting of the Royal Society in the University. And on Tuesday morning we leave for Toronto.
Last night we took out the car (which was parked in the Hotel's lot) and undertook the trip to the Sanitarium to see Dona Edgar. We got caught in a terrific thunderstorm when we reached the grounds. So drenching was the rain that we dared not go from the car to the San door, so we came back by a very involved route with dozens of motorists passing us and blasting with their horns because of our own hesitation at the unfamiliar corners.
Today is really a day of rest. I am writing letters and your mother is seated in the corner of the room reading the dimiest of dime novels, I imagine, concerning murders and executions and the way of the world generally.
I think your idea of painting (or drawing) one another's faces is excellent a change from landscape. I am going to try it myself after a while and the first victim will be Viola L. Pratt pondering World Friends. Then you're next, so beware! I may make you look like a Nassau mango or one of my own 21 Cortleigh backyard potatoes. But you will understand it is my period of apprenticeship. No one can foretell what masterpieces will come later with blood, sweat and tears and courage untold.
Well may the Lord bless your pencils and brushes and take an occasional look at the canvases.