Here's Sarah's Jubilee speech from the book. The accident she mentions had been that morning, when she escaped from a light plane crash with a few cuts and bruises:
'There is nothing in the least clever,' she said cuttingly, 'in having accidents. The clever thing is to avoid them. However, it is natural that you should enjoy my making a fool of myself – the customary attitude to authority.' They cheered again. She waited, a strangled smile twisting her lip. Then she said, 'About this service. I've discussed it with you quite enough. Perhaps too much. But there is one thing I forgot to mention. You'll be singing that strangely moving hymn written by Cecil Spring Rice, "I vow to thee, my country," There's a couplet in it I've been thinking about this morning:
"The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best…"
Don't take that literally. Don't let me catch any of you at any time loving anything without asking questions. Question everything – even what I'm saying now. Especially, perhaps, what I say. Question every one in authority, and see that you get sensible answers to your questions. Question your government's policy, question the arms race, question the Kingsport slums, and the economics over feeding school children, and the rule that makes women have to renounce their jobs on marriage, and why the derelict areas are still derelict. This is a great country, and we are proud of it, and it means much that is most lovable. But questioning does not mean the end of loving, and loving does not mean the abnegation of intelligence. Vow as much love to your country as you like; serve to the death if that is necessary…' She was thinking of Joe Astell, killing himself by overwork in the Clydeside, dying for his country more surely than thousands of those who to-day waved flags and cheered for royalty.* 'But, I implore you, do not forget to question. Lead on, girls.'
*Sarah has been carrying a very moving and lovely letter from Joe in her handbag for the past 3 days. He's only lasted a year back in his old work as a union organiser and radical campaigner in Glasgow: he's been overdoing things, and his TB has flared up again. After a lung hæmorrhage, he's now on a waiting-list for a bed in a union sanatorium in Pitlochry.
Seingner Conrat, tot per vostr'amor chanhttp://www.silverwhistle.co.uk/knightlife
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