Watford Quakers

Climbing and chatting in the sun, shining, fresh morning air, carrying us along. The river running over the stones. The valley, bright, paint box green, meeting blue sky and touching at the horizon.

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

Only her mouth smiles
Her eyes speak of raging despair.
Achingly lonely amidst her friends.
Rarely speaking except about him.
Dreading returning to the cold shell
They once called home.
Bravely walking into the future
With lead in her shoes.

CJP 2009

Impressions from a course at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre Jan 2011

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

‘In the bag’ I imagine must have come from hunting. The gilly, I suppose, carried the bag with all the birds that the hunters had shot. It makes me think about our attitude to hunting and how it has changed. In the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth there was a frenzy of big-game hunting in the
colonies, and no idea of the effect of it or, apparently, of the ethics.

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

It’s Christian Aid Week (May 15th – 21st) and while there are Quakers who would shy away from being considered ‘Christian’, Christian Aid’s declared aims – put human life first, struggle for justice, speak out courageously, treat everything against experience, could come straight out of the handbook Quaker Faith and Practice.

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.