I have been making myself refocus from doom and gloom Climate Change scenarios and have decided to notice positive changes that are happening .  And one of those that made my heart skip was the introduction of Beryl Bikes to Watford. Beryl Bikes are named after the great amateur cyclist Beryl Burton. I am a keen cyclist and have my own bike but I’ve been also very curious for a while to see how these equivalent to Boris-bikes worked, so when a friend came to visit who was up for a cycle ride, he was easily persuaded to download the app, enter his bank details and opt for one of the Minute Bundles: £20 pay-as-you-go that could be spent over the course of a year.

The app shows where bikes are available, you walk over to the spot, scan the bike code and the bike unlocks. 

The bike rides really well for a 3-gear sit up and beg, it seemed solid but not overly heavy and – on tarmac – picks up speed easily. We cycled down to Cassiobury Park and had lots of people asking us questions who were really interested in the bikes.  (This was in June).

So, not only did I feel we were getting exercise and supporting a more environmentally-friendly form of public transport, we were connecting with local people. 

So well done Watford for introducing the Beryl Bikes!  Now, we just need affordable electric car-shares. 

To see what Watford Council have promised towards 2030 go to: sustainable-hertfordshire-strategy-2020.pdf

And here is our local Friends of the Earth contact if you are interested in being more involved or just finding out more: Watford and Three Rivers FoE: anna@aphsherts.co.uk

Even though we are locked down, we were not locked out of diverse and stimulating discussions thanks to Friends and our Zoom speakers – Anna Addison from Watford Climate Action (affiliated with Friends of the Earth) and Vanessa Barker from Extinction Rebellion – who joined the Shared Lunch on Sunday 15^th November.  

We started with a quick overview of local activities and ended with discussions on ideas for action.

Presentations from local speakers

Vanessa from XR shared the different activities Watford’s branch took part in, before Covid times, which ranged from litter picking to protest events such as ‘The Horrors of Climate Change’ which ended with a ‘die in’ at Welwyn Garden City.  Vanessa’s statement on ‘direct action’ was thought provoking – the fact that all major social change in recent history has been achieved through peaceful protest and the bravery of those individuals made me pause for thought…. Is it our turn now?

Anna introduced ways of being involved in local awareness raising activities and invited us all to link up our ideas and actions to make a bigger impact locally.  Watford Climate Action reaches out to Three Rivers also.  One of the comments from a WCA participant rang in my head: ‘It’s good to get involved with something that’s positive and constructive, rather than falling into the trap of thinking there’s nothing you can do’. 

Discussions and Ideas for Action Within the Shared Lunch, we wanted to give plenty of time to share ideas that might help inspire us to action and give some focus to the many areas to tackle, and we reached a few key ideas by the end of the session through information sharing and break out group discussions. 

From the five groups, there was a common theme of seeing an imperative need to lobby government and ensure big business continues to change in the way needed, and this can only be done through legislation and the Media keeping this issue on the agenda.  There were some discussions on the best ways to do this and which issues, and Anna said this is something Watford Climate Action and their links with advocacy training can help individuals with. But there seemed agreement that letter writing, joining campaigns, taking part in local outreach and awareness raising would help. 

Another group stressed the need to gain better knowledge about environmental issues to raise confidence in expressing a case and persuading others.  There was also a discussion in a different group about the importance of accessibility, and that not all actions are accessible to everyone (e.g. It is harder to use public transport if on a lower income or with disability, etc.) Therefore it is important to lobby for government support for accessible as well as eco-friendly changes.

Although it was certainly agreed there are individual actions we can do and that we should also share good practice, ultimately, we came back to a consensus that the most impact on climate change (and climate justice) would be via government.  This would force consumer change on us all.   

Finally, COP26 is being hosted in Britain next November, and this was discussed to be an ideal opportunity to hold government to its pledges on Carbon Neutral (or was it ‘Net Zero’ – we did discuss the difference, but it seemed confusing = I must do my research ;-)

Advices and Queries and final reflections Sarah’s closing slide from Advices and Queries was a chance to reflect on all these ideas and for me, it was a moment of space to begin to consider all this.  Sometimes it feels I am not doing enough, on the other hand I feel overwhelmed with choices.

Next steps Our little Quaker Climate Justice Group meet on Zoom about once a month or so to plan next steps and share ideas for actions.  We are John (who is sadly leaving town), Sarah, Emily, Oliver and myself.  Please do contact Sarah on sarahhaggerholt@gmail.com to share ideas and get involved on any level, you might have an idea for the newsletter J. You don’t need to commit to a group.  We would love more people with more ideas on how to be true Friends of our earth. 

Back in April, Livvy Hanks from Quakers in Britain lead a zoom shared lunch introducing and explaining ‘Climate Justice’.  It has stimulated a desire to focus back on encouraging green habits and being involved in ways to advocate a fairer future, recognising that Climate Change will impact the most vulnerable first and to a greater extent.  John Quill set up a follow up shared lunch and we discussed actions.  One of these is to begin a Green News Column in this Newsletter – voila!

Last week my attention was drawn to the phrase ‘Build Back Better’.  It came up in an interview with a leading UN spokesperson.  She was questioning it:  ‘I don’t like this slogan’, she says.  We shouldn’t be going back, we should say ‘Let’s Build Forwards Better’.  She explained that in rebuilding the economy, we should be using new models, making the change that is needed to reduce the impact on the environment.

But I do want to look back first, to celebrate the past actions which have been sustainable.

I wanted to share some of the wonderful things I’ve discovered Watford Meeting House is already doing.

During and after this shared lunch on Climate Justice, I have learned that there had been a former Dream Green Team at Watford Quakers who have done so much already.  Solar panels fitted? Tick.  Eco products for cleaning and laundry?  Tick.  Plus, recycled loo roll. Power saving light bulbs fitted.  Bike parking facilities. A donation of a russet apple tree to the garden.  Encouraging shared lunches to be only local produce.  Tick, tick, tick.  I’m sure there are many more things that are in place and that we take for granted but were changed all that time ago.  I also discovered with my role administrating cheques for QVA (Quaker’s Voluntary Action) that Quakers use Triodos bank, which is linked to the philosophy of Rudolf Steiner and is an ethical bank.  I’m thinking to switch myself.

So, we have a lot to feel proud about.

And, with this looking back, I am so much more aware there is a legacy that needs to be acted on and continued. Actions can lead to long lasting change.  It’s our turn to build forwards.

Please support this newly formed group to focus on encouraging green habits and advocate a fairer future.  We aim to include ideas and information on green issues in this column and invite you to be part of the group or send ideas that we can share here.

Get in touch with quilljohn51@gmail.com if you would like to take part in meetings and discussions for Climate Justice actions in Watford and the surrounds.

https://good-with-money.com/2020/05/25/top-4-eco-friendly-car-insurers/  a list of ethical money matters.

The weekend started with one of the famously delicious meals provided by Woodbrooke’s culinary team. That evening we were introduced to the couple who were the facilitators of the sessions. Attalah is a convert to Islam, and his wife Rehanah was brought up in the faith in Birmingham. It was fun to see them interacting in a way which denied the stereotype of Muslim women being subservient. They answered any questions we had openly and honestly, with humour, and seemed to welcome our sometimes naive questions. What came shining through from them (and all the presenters) was their concern that their faith is misrepresented in the media, and the sense that the extremists (ISIS) are an aberration of the ethics of Islam. It would be like judging Christians by the Klu Klux Klan. The importance of efforts to create connections between people of different faiths also came through loud and clear.  What also became evident was the overlap of Islam with the key Quaker beliefs of honesty, peace, equality, and simplicity.

An Imam explained some of the central beliefs of Islam, including the study of the Q’ran which includes many references to Old Testament prophets as well as Jesus and Mary. The central belief is that Mohammed is the last and most important prophet. The significance of the haj (a pilgrimage to Mecca) was explained, as was the difference between Sunni and Shia sects. Rehanah led a session specifically addressing the misconceptions about the place of women in Islam. She personified a liberated, well-educated and worldly Muslim woman. She gave us specific advice on how a Muslim prefers to be greeted, as well as explaining her own choice to wear a Hijab (modesty).  She also highlighted the importance of women in the religion.

Another speaker, Dr Laura McDonald, raised our awareness of the way in which the media can skew coverage of Muslim affairs, and in particular the damaging association of mainstream Islam and ISIS.

On Saturday evening, we broke into smaller groups and had more intense discussions.  One speaker, Moazzam Baig was imprisoned at Guantanamo. He was never charged with a crime, and was imprisoned in solitary confinement for three years. He explained his ability to forgive his captors, and his belief that bitterness was not an option for a true Muslim. We also heard from Riaz Mohammed, one of the school governors involved in the Trojan Horse controversy, and Hifsa Iqbal, who explained some of the efforts of the Muslim community to prevent radicalization.

On Sunday, we were privileged to hear from Jahan Mahmoud, a former advisor to the government, and now commentator. If you type his name into YouTube, you can see some of his illuminating commentaries on radicalization. The analogy of treating Muslims as ‘other’ was very disturbing, as it seemed similar to the way the Jews were seen as less than human in 1930s Germany.

Woodbrooke runs this course each year, and I would recommend it to anyone wishing to learn more about this widespread and influential religion. It made me want to learn more about the teachings of the Q’ran, and reminded me about the importance of understanding the multicultural society which is the reality of England. Sitting in the calm and beauty of Woodbrooke it is hard to imagine the intolerance which is often encountered by Muslims.

If you are interested in what you can do to reduce Islamophobia in our area and beyond, you may like to get involved with the work of the Watford Interfaith Association, which encourages interaction between different religions on a personal basis. Last year, many of our members enjoyed the Interfaith pilgrimage, which visited six different places of worship in Watford, and also the McMillan coffee morning at the North Watford mosque.

More details about the Watford wide effort can be seen on the here, on the Watford Observer website.

More details on the whole campaign from www.woolagainstweapons.co.uk

Green woman fresh leaf
soil sprung floral finery
lives dies continues

Green child woder full
apple spider web rain bow
potential genius

Stephanie Grant (for writing group 16.5.12)

in the world but not of it
yet it is within us
and has already reported

Rhiannon Grant

Rhiannon has been a regular contributor to this site for many years – if you like her poetry you might want to visit her own poetry blog called Unprogrammed Poetry

His compost heap is carefully planned
to add health and vigour to his land
teabags, peelings and mowings of the lawn
bulked up with newspaper – damp and roughly torn.

His vegetables are a picture, laid out in row upon row.
This takes him many a happy hour and makes a lovely show!
His little house is warm and inviting
with solar panels giving warmth and saving money, that’s exciting.

Graham has it written down, a natural burial would be the ticket
in meadow, wood or leafy thicket,
so that when he shuffles off this mortal coil
his body will disintegrate and thus enrich the soil!

Teresa Maxwell, May 2012

Why all this upheaval, this uprooting?
Come down to the valley, where life is fertile;
Centre down; be still.
Be gentle and yielding!
Dare not to be ahead of others;
Be the valley of the universe!
The valley is whole and full.
The valley spirit never dies.

J.S., April 2012.
Lines in italics are from the Tao te Ching

Wait the wind,
the moment of gathering.

Love, warm, gusting wind,
fill sails, full billow,
to loose the deep anchor
that, riding grief swells, holds a soul here.

The trusted force that comforts those behind
now sweep heart’s boat on
to cross the line
that binds and bounds this life.

Sail on to more pacific streams.

Ruth Shadwell

Rising early we flock to the dharma hall, bowing greetings to one another. Thay leads the meditation with his presence. We are mindful of our breathing.

After breakfast the noble silence lifts and we greet each other with words as well as bows, gathering again in the dharma hall for today’s talk. Each will hear what they need to hear. On First Day, I bunk off and go to Meeting for Worship, we each hear what we need to hear. ‘The Kingdom of God is Here and Now.’ Thay mindfully wipes the white board, I see the lesson I need to see.

We sing practice songs as we gather for walking meditation. Hundreds of us walk together, mindful of each step, each breath. A child stops in front of me, entranced by the apple she holds, absolutely in the moment. I watch and learn.

In our dharma sharing group we listen attentively, sharing our responses and our questions. I listen and learn.

On our last afternoon, we prepare an entertainment to offer in the evening. Someone suggests a simple song and teaches us. We create a simple dance with it. It brings our group closer. We share a bar of (non vegan) chocolate.

I taste and learn!

On the last morning the five mindfulness trainings are transmitted to those who wish to receive them. We are in the dharma hall even earlier, each with just enough space to ‘touch the earth’. The ritual seems a strange place for a Quaker to be, but participation feels the right way forward. I prostrate and learn.

Everyone is sharing their dharma names. I seek out and thank Murray for his teaching and support, find a few minutes to talk with Marion, then we join her sangha’s walking meditation.

The campus has been our monastery for a few days, and has served us well, but ‘the practice begins when we leave the meditation hall’.

Stephanie Grant
Brightening Spiritual Light of the Heart
This account is based on a retreat led by Thich Nhat Hahn (Thay) at the University of Nottingham during August 2010.

I turned the heavy key, and pushed.
Unwillingly, the door gave way
to let me through the high stone walls
built to guard the graves
against intruders such as me.

Simple headstones strewed the pathless grass
their very plainness a measure of their simple faith
which rejected all ministry between them and God,
the hard stone brooking no dispute.

These goodly men and women
came to God in those raucous days
when freedom from priestly rule began.
They owned their small farms, were called ‘statesmen’
in the time of great estates
giving them independence of thought
in life and now in this sanctuary
hidden in these torn hills.

Such a place as this
lets down a thread for me to grasp.

Geoffrey Bould

The river tumbles down the valley and makes waterfalls and pools all the way. The glacier which used to fill the valley has also left great boulders which have deeply scoured potholes in them where the water has swirled round. As children, we loved to ford the river. We felt so brave, so agile! We even, at our own waterfall, somehow managed to clamber across a gully which, had we lost our footing, would have meant us slithering down on to the great waterfall itself, and then, inevitably, over the top and into the deep pool below. Now the waterfall is much lower, less terrifying, but still I cannot imagine how we dared to stretch our short legs across that gully and land safely on the other side. We used to do what they now call ‘canyonning’ – a pity a welsh term for it isn’t used instead of the American one. We clambered up the sides of the waterfalls and the pools until we reached the ford where the little old chapel overlooks the junction of the two streams which unite there. There were mine workings in the cliffs at the edge of the river, and you could wade into them until you could no longer see the daylight, and could only hear the ‘drip, drip’ drip into the black water round your gumboots. Your voices echoed. It was always my brother who led the way, and I followed rather timorously, not wanting to be seen as a coward, but glad when he decided to turn back.

The cliff on the other side of the river, opposite the bottom of our garden, is steep and has shrubs clinging on to any little pocket of earth they can find. Above it the trees, small and gnarled sessile oaks, climb to the causeway built for the pit-ponies to drag the gold ore down to the beach beside the stone bridge, where my parents thought some industrial process must have been carried out. But perhaps the causeway simply brought the ore to the dirt road past the farm and out to the estuary, where boats carried it, I suppose, on to Barmouth and the sea. We loved the stone bridge, and, inevitably, played pooh-sticks from it. I think I seldom won. When the cloudburst came that reduced our waterfall to half its former size, the water knocked down the beautiful curved parapet, and the authorities replaced it with ugly stone piers and metal rails, and made a tunnel beside the arch of the bridge, to carry any future cloudburst. I expect children nowadays crawl through it. We played between the bridge and the waterfall, and my mother let us, though the pool would have been deep enough to drown in. Probably we had to promise not to go in. But we could play in the shallows, and we spent hours there, making dams and diverting the water, until the cold made my legs ache unbearably – growing pains, they said. My father built a coracle and it turned round and round in the pool and was fun for a day. Better, really, on the Thames, which was where it lived.

Since then, somebody has attached a great rope from an overhanging branch of the oak that grows out of the rocky headland by the waterfall, and you can swing from it and then land in the pool. A great test of bravery. One of my granddaughters managed it, the other could not bring herself to do it. I don’t think I should have had the courage had it been there when I was a child.

Some years ago our farmer neighbour suddenly took over the land by the river, gave it a hard surface and put his digger, his fish and chip van and a mobile home on it. Then he claimed that he would take us to court to say that he had ‘adverse possession’ of it, having used it for nineteen years without any protest from us. When he finally gave up, we put a fence at the edge of it, put seats on the land and plan to make a wild-flower meadow there. But we hope, and have said, that all our neighbours are welcome to go through it to gaze at the waterfall, as they, and we, have ever since I remember.

Lindsey March

Then here it is, a large deep pool into which the sparkling water flows, and flows down a tall escarpment, charging over it.

Swiftly, diamond dressed, the river speeds, slipping and sliding down this rocky incline. To be swallowed by the deep dark pool.

Playfully, people are waving and calling excitedly, climbing up on the red rocks. Behind the
waterfall, carefully, step by step, courageous they climb behind the glistening wet curtain! Emerging to be greeted proudly by loved ones.

How daring their crossing. How steady they were on those daunting rocks. And, what a prize, to have walked behind that lovely waterfall.

J Knight

CJP 2009

Sufi gathering
reciting ‘Allah, Allah’
we know God is Here

Samosas, sweet tea,
‘How did you come to Islam?’
We listen and learn.

lacking mutual words
some matters of the spirit
remain unshared

Stephanie Grant

Then there was a revulsion against it, as there was in the States about the careless slaughter of the great herds of bison. But the impression I have is that in the States it is still very popular and carries a weight of meanings about manliness. And still in this country it has a lot of tradition. People aspire to be able to afford to buy shooting rights, and of course there is fox-hunting. It is something I know too little about, but that doesn’t stop me from reflecting on it! Anyway, tradition there is, but it doesn’t appear to
refer to the prey. There does not seem to be any ceremony around them, around their killing or their eating.

It is very different among aboriginal people, whose lives are such that they are close to animals, observe them, and respect them. And the custom of asking permission of the animal to kill it and eat it seems to be widespread among them. (In Africa today such respect is not obvious. Again, I do not know how typical they are, but the poachers there treat animals with apparent brutality.)

Our standard attitude is ambivalent, sentimental, and not very admirable or rational. Of course there are different attitudes, from those who are vegetarian on principle, those who don’t like to think about it but enjoy eating meat, those who do think about it and make distinctions, often hard to justify but clung to, and those whose attitudes have changed because of their experiences.

Basically what I am trying to say, very confusedly, is that I find it very hard to reconcile being a predator, albeit at one remove, with my desire to be loving, peaceable and respectful of all life. And it is the same basic problem as the conundrum of why a beneficent spirit allows suffering. I wish I could share the matter-of-fact attitude of farmers and hunters – and carnivorous vets like my daughter – who manage to eat meat without guilt.

Lindsey March

At 8am communion (I’m an Anglican Quaker and do both) the vicar tells us that Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the world and an average Nicaraguan earns £1.30 per week.

I take this to the silent Meeting for Worship and reflect on how little I know about Nicaragua, even where it is; how little I know about so many countries of the world, how absorbed I am in myself and the ‘bigness‘ of my own ’problems’ and how small, really, I am and my ‘problems’ are comparatively. I wonder if I have anything in common whatsoever with a woman in Nicaragua managing her household on £1.30 a week. I wonder if the answer ‘humanity’ is enough.

Walking home, I consider what contribution I can make. What will I donate to Christian Aid? I think about a week’s earnings minus £1.30, the difference between her earnings and mine. I notice I feel distinctly uncomfortable. I reassure myself that it’s only one week’s earnings. One week out of 52. My husband is working. There are only two of us in a home almost paid for. We are not going to starve or go without, really. I am ashamed about feeling uneasy.

I consider the Quaker commitment to simplicity. May 2-6, Christian Aid’s target was that 5000 people would take the challenge ’Live Below the Line’ to live on £1 a day, raising £500,000 through sponsorship.

Too late for sponsorship. But I could live ‘simply’ this week and donate the savings. How to do ‘simply’? We already walk and cycle; compared with lots of other people in the supermarket queue, my trolley contents are meagre. How about a week spent living out of the cupboard and freezer? Eat up the ‘gold reserves’ I suspect every cook has, and then donate what I would have spent this week. I can do that.

So, I volunteer to collect for Christian Aid. And notice I am relieved that there are unopened packets of rice, spaghetti, porridge, cheese, beans, olives and tuna in the cupboard and a load of fresh fruit. Simple, maybe. Hardship, I don’t think so.

Ruth Shadwell is a member of Watford Quakers and Christ Church Watford. Reprinted from the Watford Observer 19th May 2011.

A couple started coming to Meeting during 2009, they were really quite keen, got involved in some of the other activities that happen here, came in enthusing about how they’d been to Quaker Quest at some other Meeting House, in another Area Meeting, Watford I think they said. Everyone was pleased to have new people so interested in Quakers. Then, one Sunday, right at the end of 2009, they mentioned that they’d decided to get married. That got the older Friends interested, especially when they added that they’d like a Quakerwedding. Where would they have it? At Jordans? That’s what most couples choose. No, here? Has there ever been a wedding here? Jordans is so historic and scenic, who’d chose High Wycombe? But this is where we belong, where we’re part of the Meeting. What excitement!

Then there were all the practicalities, times, dates, forms. It would be so much easier if they were Members – had they thought about that? Yes, but it wouldn’t be the right reason to apply for membership, let’s find Friends to support our application to marry here as attenders.

As the day approached I was cleaned from top to bottom, my walls repainted. Nick practised making biscuits (Friends enjoyed testing the samples), everyone was encouraged to be there. The day itself was dry, and sunny at times, (good for October) and everyone was assembled in good time – family, friends and Friends and the couple themselves, and settled into silent waiting. On this occasion there were many who spoke, all briefly. Nick and Paula exchanged their vows, Paula read a poem that expressed how she felt, the certificate was signed and read out, more Friends gave ministry, all held in the worshipping heart of the Meeting. Then the Elders shook hands, everyone else was invited to add their signatures to the Quaker Marriage Certificate. Tea and Nick’s special biscuits were served, the couple disappeared for a while to sign the legal papers. Everyone trooped outside into the sunshine to be photographed, the photographer hanging out of the upstairs window, and everyone talked to everyone else. Eventually the whole party made it’s way into High Wycombe to the Swan for a meal, some speeches and folk dancing, and I was left quiet again. The wardens crept back about 10pm, finished the washing up and made me clean and tidy for first day morning. What a wonderful occasion to remember.

Stephanie Grant (for Wednesday Group 15/12/10)

That’s where Faith comes in. Some members of faith communities hold strong beliefs about the use of violence to achieve any purpose, good or bad. The conscientious objectors of both world wars faced bitter shame and rejection because they held firm to their convictions. But what has all this to do with a harmless census?

You may think that the Office for National Statistics will be running the census and they are – up to a point. But they will be receiving a bit of help: a contract worth £150M has been awarded to an American company, Lockheed Martin, which happens to be America’s largest arms manufacturer. The company makes Trident nuclear missiles, cluster bombs and F-16 fighter jets, not to mention its involvement with the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq and Guantánamo Bay in Cuba, where it provided private contract interrogators. Not the kind of firm, some people think, we want handling our sensitive data – quite apart from the financial support it gives to the arms trade.

So, for some local folk of many different faiths and none, the census this year will pose a difficult ethical problem. Where do you stand?

Chris Pettit, as published in the Watford Observer on 4th March 2011.

Lindsey March

Stephanie Grant

Beverley

Stephanie Grant

Ruth Shone

Stephanie Grant

Stephanie Grant

Stephanie Grant

Yes.

When it’s all over.

For the courage to meet my fears.
For choosing to be careful when I could have been dismissive.
For choosing kindness when I could have been hurtful.
For choosing patience when I could have been hasty.
For choosing to listen when I could have turned away.
For choosing to accept when I could have condemned.
For choosing silence when I could have spoken in anger.

For the determination, time and again, to honour a better self,
Pin The Star of Bethlehem
over my heart.

Ruth Shadwell, Feburary 2011

Stephanie Grant

Stephanie Grant

Ruth Shone

Stephanie Grant

Stephanie Grant

We will be posting a new Haiku every day for the next week!

Evelyn Van Dyk

Chris Pettit 2011

J.S.

This January in particular Quakers are looking back 350 years, to a declaration made to Charles II that was the first written statement of our peace testimony. The writers had lived through the recent bloody conflict of the English Civil War.

It begins ‘Our principle has always been, to seek peace, and ensue it, and to follow after righteousness, and the knowledge of God, seeking the Good and Well-fare, and doing that which tends to the peace of All’ and continues ‘We utterly deny all outward wars and strife and fightings with outward weapons, for any end or under any pretence whatsoever’.

A Quaker testimony is not a form of words, it is something we aim to express in our lives through our actions. In a way it is like the English constitution, which is not written down but is expressed in our law.

The way we express the peace testimony in our lives will differ for each one of us. Some will engage in non violent direct action against weapons of mass destruction, as at Greenham Common and more recently at Aldermaston. Others will be involved in dialogue with their local MP, in writing to newspapers, or in providing safe spaces where politicians can talk ‘off the record’. Some are developing ways and teaching skills so that people can make their views heard without resorting to violence, as at the ‘Turning the Tide’ workshop that ran recently in Watford and that has also been working among young people in Kenya. Still others engage in mediation work, either formally, or informally among their colleagues.

In 2011 the peace testimony will be as challenging to put into practice as it has ever been but we can each be asking ourselves “What can I do this year to make the world a more peaceful place for everyone?”
Stephanie Grant, as in the Watford Observer on 31st December.

Authority and Power, Apocalypse and Aftermath
the Bible – in a new light
Christianity – in the early days
Distinctives, Discovery and Deepening
the Evolving tradition, Experiencing the Spirit and Engaging with the world
Fox, George and Friends, early
the Gospel of Mark
the History of Holland House
Interfaith Initiatives
Journalling
Knots in a length of string
Library stacks and how to move them, the turnings of the Labyrinth
Muslim women, Mindfulness and Mirroring
Names, and what mine might be
Opening to the Spirit
Peace activists and Being Peace
Quakers!
Rumi and Reed-beds, Red cabbage and maples
Stephen
Talking over Tea
Understanding Islam
Volunteering – opportunities for
the Whole banana
some eXtraordinary things
Young Friends
Zen (in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hahn)

Stephanie Grant for writing group 20/10/10

As performed by Stephanie, Peter and Jim Grant on the 19th December at Watford Meeting House.

It was five weeks since Joyce had died. Although in her seventy fifth year she had died suddenly and unexpectedly. The funeral was over and the family had gone home, carefully taking it in turns to ring him each evening to make sure he was alright.

He had not let them sort through Joyce’s possessions. He had not been ready then and wanted to be alone to linger over the memories they brought to mind one last time before parting with them as he knew he must. Today he had started sorting through her things, inhaling her scent on the elaborate lace handkerchief she kept for use at weddings. Finding Josh’s first baby shoes, a rough sketch on a scrap of paper of the house they had built together and an old letter from Joyce’s sister in England. How all these things told of their life together. Then, at the back of the drawer, he had found the sealed envelope.

He had been twenty five years old when he decided to emigrate. He knew the job and prospects on offer in Canada were too good to turn down. If he stayed in England he would be in a dead end job all his life, if he was lucky enough to have a job at all.

Then three weeks before he was due to set sail he had met Joyce. By the time he was due to embark he knew that he didn’t want to leave her. He asked if he could write to her and when he had become established and had saved up enough for her fare and expenses, if she would come out to Canada and marry him. She had said “yes” that no matter what lay ahead they would get through it together.

Now he sat and pondered. Had she not meant what she said? Had she really not trusted him at all? Had she not loved him as much as he loved her? Had she thought it would be a bit of an adventure at his expense?

He had been moved by her complete faith in him, that she would leave family and friends behind and travel alone to the other side of the world to an unknown future. It had been difficult. They had both worked to the point of exhaustion. The bitter winters and isolation had been hard on them both as they started their own small business and built their home and family.

He picked up the envelope again. He took out the return ticket and saw that it had no time limitations. She could have left him and returned to England at any time. God knows, there were many occasions when he was close to despair himself and would gladly have given up and returned to the old country if HE had had a return ticket.

No, this return ticket did not mean that his Joyce had not loved him enough. It meant that even though she had the means to escape the toil and hardship, she loved him so much that she had chosen to stay with him through thick and thin.

He roused himself and made a cup of tea. What a lucky man he was to have had such a wonderful woman to share his life with him.
Chris Pettit 2010

Sorry, Ethel, did you want to use the phone? I don’t suppose they will get back to me; they must be getting busier and busier, more and more people. But also fewer and fewer slugs. But then slugs don’t use the telephone. Oh well, maybe I’ll just have to wait and see when I get there.

Lindsey March

You went by car, with Mary and the dog, Montmorency.

We took time to visit the museum and the engine sheds, to see the tunnel and the floral displays.

You stopped to browse in the craft shop.

Our steam engine broke down and we finished the journey behind a deisel loco.

We all met up in Whitby, found the restaurant and lunched on Whitby kippers.

I gave you my return ticket. Richard gave his to Mary.

We all explored Whitby. Some climbed to the abbey ruins. Jim and I took a boat trip.

Then the return journey.

Richard drove me and Montmorency (who was so quiet we stopped to check he really was in the back of the car)home over the high moors, pointing out the old Meeting Houses on the way. Broad, open, empty spaces. Quiet, calm. We got in and I cooked the evening meal, while Richard tended the fire and tidied up.

You were much delayed.

I had time to garnish the Whitby crab and lay the table.

You had fires on the railway, and had lost your handbag. When you reached us you were desperately trying to phone the restaurant to locate your bag – but they were shut.

Eventually, we all sat down together for our meal. Time to talk through the day’s adventures, hear about the fire blackened faces of the fire-fighters, and how the steam engine had to be replaced by a diesel that was less likely to cause fires.

Epilogue, and more chat into the night.

It’s good to be together.

Stephanie Grant for Writing Group 17/11/10

About a day of our Equipping for Ministry reunion at Barmoor May 2010 and a trip on the North York Moors Railway.

It’s all very well living in the here and now, but as far as tickets are concerned, one cannot avoid the moment of contemplating the future. One has to book in advance. One has to decide.

Does one want an open return? How very flexible. Enough rope to hang oneself while keeping an end fixed to a point in time, when it will be yanked – and there one is.
Returned.

Does one want to return at all?

Two singles are often cheaper than a return.

Why does it cost more to come back than it does to go? Why does it cost more to come back on a Sunday? Is the increased Sunday fare a penalty for being foolish enough to return at all? Or is one’s sense of moral responsibility to return from the pursuit of freedom on the 11.16 Pendelino to Manchester Piccadilly before ones absence is discovered on Monday morning, when the world return to normality, being exploited by the train companies on behalf of their shareholders?

The fact is, however, when one considers it carefully, that the routine responsibility of the original return, absolutely, inevitably, unquestionably, actually, becomes the routine responsibility of the present here and now, of what had been previously the destination. Or to put it more simply, everyone needs clean knickers and breakfast eventually.

To return is, after all, only geographical, not temporal, and one can decide, perhaps, whether it be emotional or psychological.

However, just to be on the safe side, I’ll book two singles.

Ruth Shadwell, Novemeber 2010

I think of people who are in a coma. They hear and are not able to show that they have heard. Why do their bodily functions still happen, if their brain is not active? Because, I suppose, every cell is a little brain, knowing what it should do whether or not the brain is sending messages. Is your life still worth living in such a state? I suppose people who wake from a coma are asked that, but I have
not read what they answered. It would seem to me like an endless hell. Like being in solitary confinement – an inhuman punishment, it’s called. Yes indeed. We are a sociable species. But we are adaptable, and people do seem to survive that and other things I cannot imagine bearing.

I try to hear my thoughts. But although I am aware of them, I do not know if I am hearing them. You can think more quickly than you can speak, yet thoughts do seem to come in words. Does that mean that you can hear the ones that come in words but not the other ones? I am aware of the familiar questions, the ones that return again and again, and find no answers. The ones I wake up
with and fall asleep with. The ones that have dug deep grooves in my brain. The ones I hear when there is silence. I seem to be full of questions, and some of these I am writing down are new ones.

It has been interesting, to stop and listen.

Lindsey March

I sit quiet, still
I listen. I hear
chain saw, traffic,
lorry reversing.

I let it go. Pay
attention to my breath.
I hear birdsong,
lawn mower, the heating
control. Just breathe.

Be still and know that I am God
Be still and know that I am
Be still and know that I
Be still and know that
Be still and know
Be still and
Be still
Be

Just be

The silence is thick,
tangible, substantial.
it reaches out to me, to us, from us.
Surrounds me like a blanket,
holds me like a babe-in-arms.

I am safe, secure, but
not confined or restricted.
Words may come, someone
may listen aloud. I may
hear the light and it may
terrify me, strengthen me.
Or I may just be,

just be a little more what I am, what I truly am.
May I carry that with me as I go into the noise and haste.

Stephanie Grant (for Wednesday group 21/7/10)

Beyond the commemorative names though, the fact that he had something to do with the origins of the US state of Pennsylvania may be as much as many locals actually know about him.

Born in 1644 and the son of an admiral, Penn became a convinced Quaker at the age of 22 in a time of political and religious turmoil when members of this radical egalitarian group were frequently beaten, imprisoned and tortured. Penn himself, a prolific writer and outspoken critic of the establishment in church and state, was imprisoned repeatedly for his faith and for challenging measures to outlaw dissent.

It was Penn’s faith that drove him to harness his other talents, learning and family advantages in the foundation of a “holy experiment”, a New World society free from religious persecution in Pennsylvania, still known today as ‘the Quaker State’. Almost uniquely among colonial leaders he respected Native Americans and treated them as friends and equals in negotiating and trading. Some two hundred Quakers from Rickmansworth and Chorleywood as well as thousands from elsewhere in Britain, Europe and other American colonies, left home to share his vision of a free, peaceful and tolerant society in which each could follow the leadings of God from within rather than endure persecution under the rule of clerics and kings who feared where such visions might lead. Penn’s carefully drafted Constitution of 1682 included democratic restrictions to his own powers as Governor and reached for the lofty ideals of freedom and equality that later inspired the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution.

Penn’s great project was, in some ways, a victim of its own success as many other settlers, of different faiths and none, were drawn to Pennsylvania and prospered there, inevitably evolving the character of his ‘experiment’. He died in 1718 and his plain gravestone can be seen a few miles from Rickmansworth, in the garden of the Quaker Meeting House at Jordans. Fittingly it carries no grand epitaph although Penn was the author of many Quaker maxims for living including the simple, impossible and essential; “To be like Christ is to be a Christian”.

Simon Colbeck is a member of Watford Quaker Meeting. Reprinted from the Watford Observer 22nd October 2010.

Like standing looking up at the stars shimmer on the blue-black velvet night sky, and sound is hushed, and stillness settles, slowly surrounding us.

When I saw the last eclipse of the sun, as the moon passed between earth and sun, we experienced an eerie silence. It made me aware of the birds who became very quiet as the sky darkened. The moon cloaked the sun and silently as it passed by, and the sun went on its way past the moon, and all happened in silence. It was a quiet, majestic experience.

The silence that is God leaves us at times frustrated. But could our mentality cope with such communication. When Moses spoke with God in the mountains and received the ten commandments, the Jews were so terrified of the sound of His voice they pleaded with Moses to beg God not to speak to them. How might we feel at such a time?

Silence can be golden, but by communicating we can develop our relationships. That is an avenue down which we can show love and share support for one another.

JK 21/7/10

‘I give thanks for laughter and tears, for sleep and silence’

This vocal ministry from the final session of this yearly meeting summed up the experience for me. There was much laughter, in and out of sessions, and joy at being together, meeting friends old and new, making and re-making connections with one another. There were also tears, and we give thanks for those too. Tears, because, try as we might, we fail to understand one another. Tears, because,try as we might, we can not see how we can give more. Tears of frustration, tears of release. I give thanks too for those who held those who cried, physically and spiritually.

When we open ourselves fully to the spirit in worship, we make ourselves vulnerable, we let go our defences to allow the spirit in and we risk tears, and anger, as well as inspiration and joy.

Considering whether to allow journalists into Yearly Meeting made us very aware of our vulnerability and our need to feel secure in worship together, in order for our business method to work. We found ourselves emboldened to ‘live adventurously’ and to ask that journalists be invited to attend Yearly Meeting in future. Next year we expect to consider sustainability and I personally hope we will make decisions that will be interesting enough to be reported in the media. In another session we also found much to encourage us in continuing to engage with the political process, at all levels, each in our own way.

It was good to hear of the positive progress that has been made towards legal changes in the direction of greater equality for same-sex marriages, and how this has been helped by the clarity of last year’s decision. Another delightful piece of news is that, for the first time since 1993, the tabular statement shows an increase in numbers actively involved in our worshipping communities.

In the closing session of the Meeting I felt myself strongly drawn to Isaac Penington’s words:

‘Our life is love, and peace, and tenderness; and bearing one with another, and forgiving one another, and not laying accusations one against another; but praying one for another, and helping one another up with a tender hand.’
Quaker Faith and Pratice

Stephanie Grant

She dressed carefully, binding her breasts with a long cloth, then putting on a borrowed suit and waistcoat, a shirt and tie, and her most masculine shoes. She drew a faint shadow round her chin and along her upper lip. That was hard, and she needed several tries with different eye shadows. The voice – maybe she would get away with a few gruff words? The less she said the better.

Then she began to think herself into the persona of this young man. She found herself taking longer strides, putting her hands in her pockets. She was aware of a strange feeling in her chest. She felt strong, confident. Was she caricaturing a man? Well, there were plenty of confident men in the world, and, after all, she was only being one man. She could choose what sort. Her experience with a lesbian affair should help. She knew what it was like, loving a woman. Suddenly she perceived herself protecting her partner, wanting to challenge the world that might hurt her. She had never felt like this before. She thought further. Could she behave to a man in a different way? Standing beside him, being like him, without any hint of any other element?

Then she found herself thinking in clichés. She might talk about football, even say ‘her indoors’. My goodness, she had a long way to go. Slowly, she took off the suit, the shirt, the chest binding. She was not ready. But she had seen herself in a different light, and it was empowering.

Lindsey March, 2010

Jenny Senior, Feb 2010

Reflections in the lake at Woodbroke Stephanie Grant

Inside the card, the mirror replies: “Cliff Richard”.

I have two mirrors in my flat and when I look into them, I see the same face I’ve been seeing since my twenties, but this is obviously an illusion. I have been mistaken for my man friend’s mother too many times and too many women have offered me their seats on buses.

So it’s about time I grew old gracefully.

Rosemary Woodland

“This increase has continued up to the present time, and it has been accompanied by a steady stream of removals of Friends from London and other Meetings including one with the station of Recorded Minister.”

In 1903 a piece of land was purchased in Derby Road and a new Meeting House, with classroom and other offices was set up.

Jumping ahead 104 years, in 2006 we were again celebrating the completion of a new meeting house. [In 2009] we are [again] a growing meeting and we are grateful for this. Most of the newcomers come through personal contact and others come to find out what we are about and like the atmosphere. Watford continues to be blessed with an active children’s meeting.

Upholding group continues fortnightly, holding in the light any who request this. There is an active circle dancing group. Wednesday group meets twice a month for sharing, caring and ‘doing things’ together. A stimulating bible study group meets alternate Sundays before Meeting for Worship. We have a monthly shared lunch, sometimes followed by an invited speaker, sometimes discussion and, once a year, a walk ending at a convenient café.

[As we go forward the following areas need our attention:]

• Outreach and the possibility of Quaker Quest: these plans are now a reality and what we do next depends on its outcome.
• Environmental issues, as a meeting or in conjunction with other local groups: in terms of the meeting house itself we continually bear these issues in mind: in terms of the issue generally we need to be more focused.
• Awareness of local and international needs and what we can do to meet them: again this is an area where we have probably made little progress and needs more thought.

Owen Everett

Ruth Shadwell

In ten years time Bill was to “leap into cleanness” with Brooke and millions of others. He was killed on 1 July 1916, the first day of the Battle of the Somme, when 20,000 men were machine-gunned to death on that one day.

Gilbert did not “leap into cleanness”. He hesitated, remembering that he was a strict church-goer. That August, he cycled to church as usual, and was met by the vicar, who asked him if he was going to join up like his brother, and help defeat the dastardly Hun. Gilbert said “No, Jesus never carried a rifle . In fact he said ‘put up your sword'”.

The vicar, astonished, preached of duty, protecting your sister from the rapacious Boche, and, most of all, pointed out that God was on the side of the British, for had they not brought civilisation and God to the peoples of our great Empire?

The next time Gilbert went to church it was for Matins, the service he loved. It was a glorious morning, bedecked with the words of Herbert and the bible of King James. He saw ancient stone, carved lintels, a Norman doorway, the glowing glass, the square tower with its clock ticking away the time, the yew-tree sequestered in the comfort of the remembered past, and began to doubt. Should he defend this scene, this sweet especial scene, with the offer of his life?

He knelt on the worn hassock, bowed his head, and felt the church-born ambience flow through him. It was as though he floated there, suspended in a limbo of his own.

Then “How great thou art” echoed from wall to wall in the organ’s defiant voice.

He got up, walked down the aisle lost in a trance.

At the door stood the old vicar, with the good of his congregation at heart. His cassock was pure white, ironed by his wife that morning, on his chest two Boer War medals. He shook hands with each member of his flock, bending forward over each offered hand.
But when Gilbert came up, the vicar’s face changed, hardened. He withdrew his hand, sharply and obviously.

Gilbert stood stock still, speechless. He saw the others turning aside, avoiding his eyes. He felt empty inside, and so alone. Stumbling away, he knew what he must do. He must be wrong to think those conchie thoughts. His mind ploughed on.

Next day he volunteered, burying his doubts.

Later, he too was buried, at Paschendale. The vicar, when he read the paper, said a prayer for him.

The bicycles lay untended in the shed, never to be seen again.

Geoff Bould

The sun was out, shining benevolently on me and the rest of the world. I was coming home from the library, carrying a book on being careful in old age. How not to bend down, stand up, turn around, look up, look down, for fear of falling. Not much left to do, I thought. Nevertheless, I carried on, carrying my years lightly before me, and my past somewhat darkly. I wavered now and again, but that’s to be expected, I thought, when the stairs are steeper and the policemen younger. It’s all the same to me, I said, reprovingly, to myself.

Then I came to those steps. I knew them well. Stone they were, with a pretty fair handrail, much admired by all who passed by. Of course, they didn’t need the handrail in the first place. But everything was normal. The steps were dry, a slight haze lit the air; a cricket ball would swing, I thought.

Then, in a trice, a moment, a nothingness, I dived forward like an Olympic diver, hands out, perfectly poised for a racing dive. Only this time there was no water. Perfectly executed, I would have thought, if I could, which I couldn’t.

I picked myself up (there was no-one else to do it) and looked at my grazed hands as if to blame them for the fall. Then I blamed the steps, giving them a kick for their bad behaviour.

Then I blamed the sun and the shadow on the step halfway up. I had tripped over a shadow. How clever was that?

Geoff Bould

A rabbi who visited the gathering was very impressed with our business method. He said it hit him between the eyes. It was impressive that the sense of the meeting in such a big gathering was clear and was so ably interpreted by the clerks. Of course it was the civil partnerships, now called marriages, which took up most time, and we saw Quakers’ minds being changed by what we heard and what was said. But you might say that 22 years is a long time to come to such a conclusion about the matter. It was this long since the subject was first mooted at Meeting for Sufferings. The young people were suprised that there could still be those who opposed. The publicity Quakers received for their decision was I believe pretty positive, though perhaps there were papers which considered it immoral.

Lindsey March, August 2009

Committed Relationships

Creating Connections

“How has it been for you to be in this network of the Gathering? What new connections have you made? What old ones have been deepened?”

“How have you experienced being connected to the Light durning these days? What new Light has come to you? What old understanding have you needed to re-evaluate?”

Quotes from Julia Ryberg’s address.

Home groups

Co-facilitating a home group isn’t as scary as it sounds! First session went excellently, and I’m even able to still remember a few names, quite good for me. What worried me most was my co-facilitators identity, not because I didn’t know them, but due to knowing them very well.

Worship

The opening worship was really good, though to start with it seemed so slow to settle I wondered if it ever would.

Options sessions

Well, I didn’t have to dive into the scrum yesterday for tickets as I’d managed to have my whole afternoon booked to provide technical support. As it happened, I really enjoyed the workshop/talk I was in, ‘Create your own Skyspace’ which I knew a little about, but really hadn’t appealed to me from the initial listings. I though, I know all that, I don’t need to hear a talk, I’ve seen the DVD. However I learnt so much about the feeling of the Skyspace and so much background, such as there being more than one, actually about 40 exist. I also had an interesting discussion of what makes a space ‘Quaker’. If it had been called ‘Quaker buildings and spaces’ or even ‘Quaker Spaces’ I would have been the first to sign up.

Extras

Hopefully (technical issues aside) I should be watching ‘Age of Stupid’, the showings of which I have been repeatedly prevented from attending. Sadly there seems to be no wireless in the room, so can’t actually post this from here.

Most importantly things last: Food and Sleep

Food seems to be OK, being half-board I only get huge breakfasts and suppers. It is clear to see friends eating habits. The moussaka was emtpying fast, but the chicken with corn-fritters and the shepherd pie was almost untouched.

Sleep is varied, I have a lumpy mattress which is rather more springy than I normally have, so had a bad night, especially with the security lights at night, and thin curtains letting the light in really quite early.

CJP 2009

Lindsey March

if i walk mindfully, i can glimpse Heaven.
if i peel the potatoes knowing the Presence of God, i can glimpse Heaven.
if i wash up, just wash up, i can touch Heaven.

when i sit with my friend and we truly listen to one another, together we take a small step into the Kingdom of God.
if i can sit with my enemy and we can truly listen to one another, together we can take a great leap into Heaven.

Heaven is a place of inward stillness, where the Presence of God is known, where all are aware of the Love of God.
It is not a quiet place, It is not an empty place, and It is definitely not a lonely place. Everyone is there, even if many of them don’t know it yet.
if i can reach out to anyone and everyone i meet and show God’s Love for them, together we can take a small step towards Heaven.

Stephanie Grant, June 2009

Simplicity doesn’t have to mean deprivation, but for us in this civilisation it seems that we think ‘more is better’.

But Gandhi said, ‘Live simply, that others may simply live’. ‘ Live simply, and gain a lot of time’ also makes sense. Or – ‘live simply and gain more happiness and wisdom’.

Travellers find that cultures where people are poor are on the whole happier. Sometimes this is because people tend to help each other if they are poor; but we also find individuals in our own culture who choose a simple life and report that they have more peace of mind.

So – why don’t we all choose it?

Well, on the face of it, it gives more satisfaction to have choice, to take the opportunities we are offered. ‘Buy this and have more fun!’ ‘Go to this distant place and have more sun!’ And in certain circumstances having a choice may make all the difference to your life.

But too much choice leads to worry and possible dissatisfaction with the choice you have made; it takes up your time and distracts you from other things which might give you a deeper experience.

And life choices that depend on money often require you to spend more time earning it. Worse still, they can lead to endless greed, for bigger and better everything.

You have only to look at the present revelations about M.P.s’ expenses to see that some people will take whatever is available to them, without caring about having more than their share.

Quakers have a testimony about seeking simplicity. They also believe in equality. The two really go together. Where you have equality there is less cause for envy and conflict. Of course voluntary simplicity calls for choices to be made, sometimes continually, but they become easier if they are based on principle and belief.

Lindsey March, reprinted from the Watford Observer 5^th June 2009.

Owen Everett

Margaret Vaughan

Stephanie Grant

Come join us at Celebration on the 25th. See www.watfordcelebration.org for details.

Rhiannon, April 2009

But think for a moment about a cherry stone. On the one hand, it contains everything that is needed for growth and yet it is also a parched place, a desert. A plant is full of water, perhaps 80-90% water, but the seed contains little. A seed can remain like this for many months or years, or centuries even, before the right conditions prevail and it can germinate. This dormancy is necessary, protective, preventing the seed from exposure when the conditions are adverse. Our souls can also lie dormant, locked in a place of great need, dry and lonely, and it can be a long wait until the moment is right for germination.

With seeds, the hard outer skin (the testa) has to be weakened, damaged even by periods of intense cold or by passing through the gut of an animal or bird, or be scorched by fire, and only then can moisture start to seep in and awaken the embryo. And we may have to undergo intense experiences, deprivations and sufferings, until we are weakened or opened, and then like a cherry stone that is cracked, the longed for moisture can enter. The Sufis talk of increasing our need. Our craving has to be immense, great enough that we cry out like a baby and call forth ‘milk’ from heaven. Illness calling forth the doctor, says Rumi.

So seed and soul contain all that is needed for growth to occur, but this process is no certain matter. A seed might be planted too deep and exhaust its food supplies before it can break the earth’s surface and generate its own food. So with the soul; there is no certitude, there is risk and effort, we often don’t know how far we will need to travel or in what direction. The only thing that often make us take that journey out of the cherry stone is the terrible desert within, our painful and insistent need, and perhaps also the distant memory of what awaits us – pink cherry blossom against a blue sky.

Rebecca Hubbard – Spring 2008

In the field a swirl of young children
playing games with wild abandon
their cries echoing from dry-stone walls
a barrier between their past and this play.

They are the children of Guernica.
They saw their parents die in the stricken streets
bombed by blackbirds of death
excreting barbarity on a quiet town
before day began.

I watch from the wall as they run.
They do not show me sorrow – they could be children anywhere.
They have merged their past with forgetfulness
only retrieved when night swallows day,
allows their dreams to walk, and scream.

Picasso saw them in his painter’s eye –
and their mothers in the shaken town
as they gazed upward,
shading their eyes from a white sun
the sun that shines here, and now,
on us.

Geoffrey Bould, April 2009

People bustle in and come and go
Somehow disturbance doesn’t show
It’s lovely to be quiet
To have some peace and quiet

The peace is over all
We wait to hear your call
The peace is over all

Paradise will come to us one day
Hear the music Martin plays with Ray….

How lovely to be quiet
Let’s sing of peace and quiet

Golden silence spreads around
We all start to center down
Let’s enjoy life for a while –
Think of things that make you smile!

Raymond Penrose wrote the words to music and titles by Martin Davies

Dipping lengths of wick into hot wax, the young people teach the even younger, or older, how to make candles. They experiment together, mixing colours, using multiple wicks, rolling the still warm candles in their hands, creating together.

Alongside them others make greeting cards that will carry their thoughts to prisoners of conscience around the world. Perhaps, some one among us may do more than this, may go to one of the world’s troubled places and stand alongside the people there.

Still others are making decorations from last year’s cards. Cutting, stapling, smothering the results with glitter and glue. One or two are sitting quietly, looking, really looking, at the twigs and evergreen leaves, maybe drawing what they see.

Then there’s a flurry of activity as we all clear away. The room is transformed; the produce of the morning is in the middle and the chairs in a circle. We all settle in our seats and fall quiet. We go round the circle hearing briefly from each person and then settle into silence. Now we may be aware that we share something else too, not just our food, our daily concerns, our learning and our doing. Beneath and beyond and within all that, there is something more, that connects us and goes beyond us, and, if we listen, may lead us on to …

Stephanie Grant, November 2008

This is a grim paradox when we consider that the belief in equality stems from a conviction that all people have equal spiritual worth. In the language of Quakers, all have “that of God” within them and the capacity to express this in the way we live together – not just in the values, creeds and causes we speak or write about. Such a conviction is often in conflict with the consumer culture and gross inequalities of the world as we find it today.

The corrupting effects of inequality on human relationships can be seen in the attitudes and behaviour that have caused the current world crisis as much as in the desperate actions of dispossessed people at the other end of the economic spectrum. Spiritually the ‘winners’ are as impoverished as the ‘losers’.

To “make the world a better place” we each have to recognise that the power of love is more sustaining and creative than the pursuit of an unequal share of the world’s finite resources. Despite our human fallibility, at some level we all already know this.

Simon Colbeck, reprinted from the Watford Observer

Lynn Overington

Rhiannon, August 2007

CJP 2006

Fruit and veg first:
Bananas
Should they be ripe for eating now,
Or rather green to last the week.
Should I buy Fairtrade,
Or is organic healthier?
Do the fairtraders use pesticides?

Apples
That’s easier –
English ones are in season,
And taste the best too.
Shouldn’t be too many food miles
In a Cox’s pippin.

What else for variety?
Share the culture of our neighbours
And choose rambutan or mango?
Or think of the food miles,
And choose English pears?
Although seedless grapes are
very cheap this week…..

Vegetables now.
Carrots first.
Economy to save money.
Or organic with no need to
peel away the pesticide residue.
Organic taste better too.

Turnips? Leeks?
In season, low food miles,
Not organic though.
Still we can’t get everything right,
I’ll take some of both.

Baby corn?
It’s delicious and
Brightens a stir-fry –
But air-freight from Thailand?
It’s come a long way.
Has tinned food come by sea?
Does it use less fuel that way?

Now I’d better move on:
Coffee – that’s easy!
Fairtrade we all know
is what we should buy.
But I should use decaff.
There’s some that’s organic
but no promise that trading was fair.

Flour for bread needs to be strong.
But white for pleasure,
Or wholemeal for health,
Organic or stoneground or
Even unbleached.

Chill cabinet next
Low fat cheese would be best
For our waistlines, you know,
Though we do like a bit of
Blue Danish as well.

A chicken to roast,
Now let me just see,
Special Offer!
or corn- fed
or free-range – that’s for me!

And Branston to go with
Cold meat or cheese sandwich,
We all like a little –
But what’s this I see –
It’s made by Nestlé
Those poor third world babies
How can I buy this?

Now, is there anything else….
A little treat perhaps.
A bar of chocolate –
Oh good this bar’s fairtrade and organic!
At last an easy choice –
Milk or plain?

Stephanie Grant Feb 2001

Owen Everett

Seeing the celandine, that little sun,
First to adorn the roadside in the Spring;

The greening of the hedgerows after rain;
The gradual blueing of the April woods;

Picking blackberries with purple hands,
And squirrelling them away for wintry days;

Wrapping the new-picked apples in their trays,
While reading irresistible stale news;

Playing silly games and singing songs;
Losing myself in stories, sharing poems –
And finding Rumi addicts on the way;

Following coincidences where they lead;
Daydreaming; letting be, just letting be…

Jenny Senior, December 2008

My imagination escapes,
The sunlight dancing with the shadows on the floor
become the joys and sorrows weaving through life’s journey.
The breeze rustling the trees outside the window
changes into the spirit of God wafting gently amongst us.
The sound of the children playing happily in the next room
turns into the songs of angels.

Look at the expressions on people’s faces,
serenity, expectation, pain.
I try to envelop them in peace and love from across the room.

I wait and pray, trying to empty my mind,
leaving room for God to speak.
The quietness changes into a thick, tangible silence.

Someone feels inspired to stand and speak.
They briefly pierce the stillness with their words.
I absorb their thoughts and mingle them with my own.
The loud silence wraps itself around me again.

The Elders are shaking hands.
The meeting is over.
How could an hour slip by so quickly?

CJP 2007

We put books into the window
We put leaflets on the stall
We have something to tell

We ask you in to meet with us
To come and do nothing with us
We have something to share

When we meet in emptiness
Make a space in busy-ness
We find some other there

We put no price on what we give
Just offer a way to try and live
We have God’s Love to share

Stephanie Grant (October 2008)