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Doris Burton
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IT IS SCARCELY SURPRISING THAT
I BELIEVED IN my young days that it mattered little to which
Christian denomination one belonged, for my home in the country
was vaguely Church of England, the headmistress of my school
a Unitarian, her colleague a Quaker. To believe in God, Jesus
Christ, and heaven in a vague way, and to be good, was all that
mattered. But at sixteen, even this vague belief was shattered.
Amid the beauties of Switzerland, in a school-Lutheran this time-I
came in contact with an agnostic science teacher and atheistic
literature. Having had no authoritative religious teaching, I
accepted atheism as the truth. There was no God. Jesus Christ
was an ordinary man. Immortality a childish fantasy. Up till
then I had regarded the future happily enough, but if death were
the end, what purpose was there in life--and in my life in particular-in
one's hopes, efforts, ambitions, and achievements? A terrible
depression filled my being. There seemed but one thing worth
while-to serve humanity.
On my return to England, the
outbreak of the First World War in 1914 with its toll of death
and misery increased my heaviness of spirit, although I found
in the service of others, that of nursing wounded soldiers in
a London hospital, a sense of fulfillment. But with my agnostic
outlook, the atmosphere of suffering proved too much for me.
At the end of eighteen months I gave up being a nurse and became
a volunteer health worker in the slums instead. It was interesting,
worthwhile work, but now I was confronted with the problems arising
from poverty and overcrowding. "Why should some be rich,
others poor?" I asked myself. "Should not there be
a system to ensure financial equality?" Yet although I felt
the need for social justice, I did not feel that Socialism was
the solution. Still, like many young people, I was convinced
that Utopia could be brought into existence through some new
political system and that suffering of many kinds would then
be eliminated.
During these years I was groping
for some kind of faith by reading books on Higher Thought and
Theosophy until, moved by the eloquence of a famous Anglican
preacher, I again became attached in a vague way to the Church
of England. Very vague! A change of climate being recommended
for my health, I left England to stay with relatives in South
Africa. My faith-dependent not on authoritative teaching but
on a personality-I also left behind!
Feeling that I could not solve
the world's problems nor my own spiritual ones, I ceased to worry
about them. Yet in that land of sunshine, a social life devoted
to dancing, riding, picnics, and parties soon seemed to me somewhat
futile. So I began to develop my talent for drawing, for imaginative
black and white work, which I continued when I left Africa for
a year in Australia.
Back in England as an illustrator
for publishers, living partly with my family in the country and
partly in an apartment in London, no longer bothering about social
or spiritual problems, I found life quite pleasant. At first
I was keen on my work, but after some years I was not sorry to
give it up. Life spent entirely in the country was pleasant:
I had my friends, I loved gardening and I loved my mother. But
she died. Well, mothers do die. But how terrible for a devoted
child-even if she is no longer young-if she has literally no
belief in the immortality of the soul! That terrible depression
from which I had suffered in adolescence, submerged me once more.
In despair I tried spiritualism, cautiously, as a seeker of the
truth. I decided it was a dangerous practice, the results inconclusive,
the effects on people harmful. I gave it up. I felt that my search
after truth was useless. It mattered little what people believed.
One evening, in conversation with a young Catholic acquaintance,
somewhat loftily, describing myself as a well-read person I expressed
this view, adding that I considered Christianity no nearer the
truth than any other religion. To my surprise he replied-equally
loftily-that it was obvious that I knew precious little about
Christianity; that if I studied the literature of the Catholic
Church, I might not only discover the Truth but learn something
of the history and work of Christianity from the days of its
foundation up to the present.
I was struck by his statement
but, losing sight of him, for the moment thought no more about
it. Instead, sharing a flat with a friend in London, as an experiment
I joined Moral Rearmament, the Oxford Group as it was then called.
Before long, following their precepts which consisted in trying
to find God's will for my life through the practice of purity,
honesty, unselfishness and love, my agnosticism was replaced
by a firm belief in God. As one of these zealous evangelists-members
of all Christian denominations save the Catholic-winning others
to God by witnessing to a change in my own life, I really believed
I had found the key to change the world. But very soon I realized
that in this superficial attitude to religion, I was finding
no definite Christian solution to the problems which had baffled
me--war, suffering, poverty, social injustice, etc. And as for
Christ, he seemed but a figurehead. Since we all belonged to
different denominations, our belief in Him differed. However,
the end of my long search was near at hand. The friend I was
living with, a lapsed Catholic, returned to the Church. I began
to attend Mass with her. An operation brought my M.R.A. activities
somewhat to a standstill. I read Catholic literature as the young
man had advised. Gradually I became convinced, not only that
Catholicism was the one true faith, but that it held the right
solution to the world's problems. Finally, with reluctance--actually
in tears in a church--for I knew it meant trouble with my family,
the loss of friends and a break with national tradition, I made
the decision to give up the M.R.A. and become a Catholic. And
so, in 1936, convinced that I had at last discovered Divine Truth,
I took that momentous step.
This description of my spiritual
odyssey is leading up to the main point: why I became a Catholic
writer. I had turned my hand to many things, but had never had
any desire to write. But now, although I had given up Protestant
evangelism, my zeal remained. I longed more than ever to help
others to find the Catholic solution to their errors. And so,
as my friend had returned to her husband-he eventually became
a Catholic--feeling very much alone in this strange new life,
continuing my study of the Faith by staying a good deal in convents,
I began to write.
With the approval of the Jesuit
who had received me into the Church, I started by writing letters
to certain people who expressed their views in the press, advocates
of easy divorce, birth control, euthanasia, communism, etc. My
method was to give a pithy argument based on my own experience
or on the Catholic Truth Society leaflet or pamphlet which I
enclosed. This led to my occasionally writing my own leaflets
or pamphlets under the name of Lucis Amator which was chosen
for me by a Jesuit. At the end of six years I wrote a booklet
entitled My Christian Stewardship, giving the Catholic
teaching on education, money, marriage, politics, etc. It was
intended for non-Catholics but, receiving a personal recommendation
from the late Cardinal Hinsley, it was also used in Catholic
study circles.
This led to a change of purpose.
In my own name I began to write Catholic stories and articles,
contributing to magazines including those in America, such as
Extension, Holy Name Journal, and Messenger of the
Sacred Heart. I also tried my hand at a novel. During World
War II, owing to frail health, I had been living in the quiet
West country, quiet save for an occasional raid or a few bombs
and the continuous passing of enemy squadrons overhead making
for the cities. My novel - a very serious one-had been written
during a six months' stay in London. With incendiary attacks
most nights, myself taking my turn as fire watcher at a trap
door leading to the roof, from which the blazing buildings could
be seen--including the Carmelite church burned to the ground-my
novel should have been a masterpiece.
"Full of wisdom but very
dull" was the verdict of my Jesuit adviser.
He also added that there were
plenty of scholarly and theological writers; he felt that what
should come from me was the human touch, the popular style.
I destroyed the manuscript,
though I used the ideas elsewhere. About the same time, I submitted
a collection of my published magazine stories to a publisher,
who rejected them but suggested a book of stories for children
instead.
And so, the war over, I settled
down in my Kensington flat to become a Catholic writer for young
people and children. The Angel Who Guarded the Toys was
followed by Saints and Heroes for Boys. For, having myself
become deeply interested in the history of the Church, and impressed
by the self-sacrifice, courage, and sanctity revealed by saints
and other great Catholics throughout the ages, my aim now was
to try to inspire in young readers a love for their Faith. Four
more books of this nature for juniors, containing stories of
peril, adventure, and wondrous achievement came into being: Heroic
Missionary Adventures, By Courage and Faith, Heroic Tales From
Many Lands, and Girls' Book of Saints. And another,
for the little ones: My Favourite Catholic Story Book.
Next I turned my attention
to teenagers by writing the series Great Christians of Our
Day. Daring to Live and Brave Wings portrayed such
famous Catholics as Brother Dutton of Molokai and Bishop Ford
of Maryknoll, a victim of Chinese communists, while Valiant
Achievements for girls, included St. Francis Cabrini and
Dr. Anna Dengel. Great Catholic Mothers of Yesterday and Today
is another book of this type, while Pioneers for Christ
and The Loveliest Flower, stories of the founders
and foundresses of religious Congregations, contain Father Flanagan
of Boys Town, St. Francis Cabrini, Mother Drexel, and Mother
Seton. My recent trilogy, Heroic Priests, Heroic Nuns
and Famous Religious Brothers, was published by the Academy
Library Guild in 1960.
In my writing I avoid exaggeration
and though I consider it important to appeal to the heart, I
try to avoid sentimentality. To ensure accuracy means considerable
research; I study each character carefully and seek the aid of
experts.
At the time of my conversion
I saw the need for converting others, but gradually I became
aware of the indifference of many Catholics and of their lapsing
from the Faith, especially during adolescence. Remembering my
own misery and confusion of mind as an agnostic, my purpose in
these Catholic books is to show the light of faith as a sure
guide, not only to the solution of the world's problems and one's
own, but to the happy fulfillment of one's being.
Thus I portray my characters,
not as saintly figures on a pedestal, but as human beings who,
starting off as ordinary boys and girls, overcoming the difficulties
and trials of everyday life in the services of God, become stars
in the heavenly firmament of the Church. As such, these great
Catholic saints, heroes, and heroines with their call to the
highest, themselves proclaim to young readers, the glories of
their Catholic heritage.
Originally
published in The Book of Catholic Authors, Walter Romig,
Sixth Series, 1960.
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