Wet lot
Sir: Peregrine Worsthorne's infatuation with his new (black) friend, Darcus Howe (As I was saying, 11 April), seems to have addled his judgment. I resoundingly sup- port Charles Chenevix Trench's vivid dis- missal of Worsthorne's comparison of the British Empire's record with that of the Holocaust (Letters, 25 April); so, if she were alive, would my grandmother, a Boer War widow who married my Scottish doc- tor grandfather on her release from an Orange Free State concentration camp. She was certainly very proud to have my father fight two world wars in the South African army, for a British king.
The Worsthorne cringe is absolutely typi- cal of the national shame that now attaches itself to so much of the past that made Britain, in the eyes of so many of her colo- nial subjects of all races, a truly great nation. When are you Britons going to get off your knees, forgive your ancestors' sins (which you mistakenly judge by 1990s stan- dards) and be proud of their uniquely great achievements?
You really have turned into a very wet lot.
Margaret Currey 325 Addison House, Grove End Road, London NW8
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