A February Sunday

One advantage of being on light duties or "therapeutic work" as my doctor calls it, is that I can do some of the things I've wanted to do but never got around to. Last Sunday was bright sunshine after overnight snow, so i crunched off across the fields to the small Friends meeting house, to the weekly Quaker meeting for worship. I've always been around Quakers, and have great respect for them, though I did find on peace actions in the eighties that some of the old lady pacifists were in fact some of the fiercest people you are ever likely to meet. I've been to meetings for worship, but mainly in big cities. Here the meeting is held in the upper room of an old building that used to be a barn - i suppose it was a hay loft or some such. The beams are old and low, so it's easy to crack your head. The focus of the room is not an altar, or a candle, or a picture, but a huge woodburning stove, crackling merrily. Chairs around the edge of the simple room accommodate the dozen of us who turn up. Outside we can hear the bleating from the farm mother and baby unit, with new lambs and protective mums not sure whether to approach the gate because we are going to feed them, or stay back because we might do them some harm. An hour of silence, broken by a few well chosen words, and then hot coffee and flapjacks. Then a walk back, the sun still shining, and home at 12.