Each year I am asked to read something at the Friends’ annual carol service in St. James’s, Piccadilly. I enjoy it, as once a year I am reminded how sunk I am into ungodliness and how much I still respect the language of anglicanism and its music. This year I was offered a poem Expectans Expectavi by Anne Ridler, who was the daughter of a housemaster at Rugby, went to school at Downe House, and later worked for T.S. Eliot at Faber and Faber. She belonged to the same school of faintly intense, high church latinity as Eliot, writing with a deep sense of the intelligence of language, informed by her involvement with the University Church in Oxford.