Quaker Alphabet Blog 2015-2017 - V for Verses

As I said in a much earlier post, Friends in the past have felt ambivalent about both reading and writing poetry. Some, like Mary Southworth Mollineux, did write in this form but only on serious subjects and they hesitated to publish their work widely or under their own name.

In the 18th century poetry was often copied by Friends into commonplace books for their own use. This might be written by Quakers but works such as James Thomson's The Seasons were also popular. As the century progressed a few Friends ventured into the public domain with their poetry. In 1794 Catherine Payton Phillips published The Happy King; a sacred poem which was addressed to George III. The main subject of the poem is to urge the monarch to do away with slavery and was part of mainstream Quaker campaigning at this time. In her Memoirs Catherine states that when she became a minister she stopped any reading other than the Bible, but perhaps towards the end of her life she allowed herself more latitude, as her poem is very much in the contemporary style.

In later times many Friends wrote poetry and even published it, although like W. C. Braithwaite's volume it was often referred to, self-deprecatingly, as Verses. There were Quaker poets, such as the Americans Walt Whitman and John Greenleaf Whittier but it was only in the 20th century that this became an acceptable description in the UK. Poets who are Quakers do not always identify as Quaker poets but a modern anthology has recently been published. A Speaking Silence; Quaker poets of today came out in 2013 and was advertised as the first of its kind for over a hundred years.

So what is the difference between poetry and verses? Is one more serious than the other? There is certainly a continuing tradition of both forms appearing in local newsletters and blogs and both are now equally acceptable. I would like to end this post with an extract from a verse published in 2007 by the Sheffield Quaker Simon Heywood which is part of another tradition - verse which pokes fun at the idiosyncrasies of Friends - usually in a loving spirit.


I'm a lonely little Quaker
and I'm feeling very small.
I'm the clerk of Monthly Meeting
and there's no-one here at all.
I've got all the minutes drafted
and I'm ready with my pen
but the sense of Monthly Meeting
is they've stayed at home again...

If it wasn't for the Quakers
in the Quaker burial ground
then I'd be the only Quaker
for a hundred miles around,
for the buses stop at seven
and there's something on TV
and this month it's nominations
and there's no-one here but me.
I could minute they're prevented
but they never said what by.
I'm a lonely little Quaker
and I think I want to cry.

Quaker Alphabet Blog 2015 - J for Joy

Still rather stuck with my blog, even after I for Interruption, at last I found a subject for J but have found it difficult to write. 

What do Quakers have to say about Joy? Friends through the centuries have found joy for themselves in the Quaker way but have often seemed to others grave and serious in their demeanour to the point of joylessness.

In many passages in Quaker Faith & Practice joy is mentioned and we are urged to share our joys as well as our sorrows, but how often do we do this? When there are so many troubles in the world and we are aware of and trying to assuage the troubles in the lives of those we know, do we hold back from sharing the joy in our own lives for fear of making others feel worse?

When I thought about this I realised that in not expressing my joy I am falling short. True friendship, which is such an important part of a true Quaker community, means being free to share anything - not just serious concerns and troubling problems but small happinesses and deep joys. William Blake perhaps puts it best in this short poem.


Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine,
Under every grief and pine,
Runs a joy with silken twine.
It is right it should be so,
We were made for joy and woe,
And when this we rightly know,
Through the world we safely go.

Quaker Alphabet Blog 2014 - N for Nostalgia

I've been thinking about nostalgia quite a bit recently, partly because I've been spending time scanning old family photographs and partly because I have been considering the question of what it means to be a Quaker today ahead of Yearly Meeting Gathering.

My younger self

Looking back does not always involve nostalgia, which can be defined as 'a sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past'. The memories evoked by the photographs of myself and my family that I discovered were not always entirely happy ones although I did sometimes feel a wistful affection for my younger self and the times in which I lived. 

It is as true now as it was in the past that as we grow older we may feel that things have changed and not for the better. I have heard it said with regret in my own meeting that 'This is not the Society of Friends that I joined'. Samuel Bownas was perhaps in the grip of the same kind of nostalgia when he wrote, towards the end of his life in 1751, to his old friend and fellow minister James Wilson ‘The church seems very barren of young ministers to what it was in our youth, nor is there but very little convincement to what was then.’ 

From the second generation of Quakers onwards there have always been those with a nostalgia for a past that probably never existed looking forward with trepidation to the possible demise of Quakerism that so far has not in fact occurred. In the 19th century John Greenleaf Whittier wrote a poem about his idea of an ideal Quaker in an ideal past who he felt that his contemporaries should aspire to emulate- 

Whittier aged 45 in 1852

'The Quaker of the olden time!
How calm and firm and true,
Unspotted by its wrong and crime,
He walked the dark earth through.
The lust of power, the love of gain,
The thousand lures of sin
Around him, had no power to stain
The purity within...'

Did such a paragon ever actually exist and is this nostalgic view of any help when considering how we may best be Quakers today?  For me a study of Quaker history can be helpful to us now when it reveals the reality of our past failures and inadequacies as well as inspiring us with stories of Friends going forward in faith in the best way they can. However if history is only used to confirm our present day positions and prejudices it is no better that the sentimental longing of nostalgia.

Quaker Alphabet Blog 2014 - M for Mary Southworth Mollineux

Mary Southworth was born in 1651 and brought up in Lancashire, possibly in Warrington. She was an only child and, her cousin tells us, was 'much afflicted with weak eyes, which made her unfit for the usual employment of girls, and being of a large natural capacity, her father brought her up to more learning than is commonly bestowed on our sex, that she could fluently discourse in Latin, made considerable progress in Greek, wrote several hands well, was a good arithmetician, a student of several useful arts, understood physic and surgery and the nature of plants, herbs and minerals, made some inspection into divers profitable sciences and delighted in the study of nature.' Mary also began to write poetry from the age of eleven.

She was convinced while she was still young and in 1684 was imprisoned in Lancaster Castle for attending Quaker meetings in Warrington. It was there that Mary first became acquainted with Henry Mollineux, although they had seen each other before. He says that at this time 'I believed that she should be my wife; but never intended to express any thing thereof, whilst we were both prisoners there; and after she was released, I saw her, and was in company with her several times, before I expressed anything of my concern to take her to be my wife; several considerable men having before attempted to prevail with her on that account.'

Lancaster Castle in 1778

Eventually they were married at Penketh, now a suburb of Warrington, on 10th April 1685. They had two sons to whom they gave the unusual but biblical names, Othniel and Elleazor. The family lived first at Ormskirk and later at Liverpool. Both Mary and Henry suffered persecution during their marriage. Henry was imprisoned for not paying tithes and Mary disputed with the bishop of Chester about the injustice of this.

In general though Mary did not speak out in public. She wrote poetry as personal advice to those who came to her for support. Her talent was low-keyed, not fiery or controversial. Mary's epistles, meditations and contemplations are all of an improving nature, with an emphasis on homely domestic virtues, and were given to her friends and relations as a message of kindness, affection and sound advice on behaviour.

Mary was not writing for the public and would not allow her poetry to be printed during her lifetime. Her friend Trial Ryder says, 'I remember that several years ago, when she was a single woman, upon perusal of some copies of her verses which she gave me, I felt such unity of spirit with them that I said I thought they might be of service if made public in print, but she was not then free that her name should be exposed, she not seeking praise amongst men, but to communicate the exercise of peculiar gifts amongst her near friends and acquaintance.'

Unfortunately this embargo was not destined to last for long as Mary died in 1696 at home in Liverpool at the age of 44. During her last illness she spoke of her regret at leaving 'her little lads', then aged eleven and nine. She sometimes spoke in Latin, not to impress others with her learning, but in order to communicate privately with Henry when company was present. Soon after her death Henry published her poems as a tribute and testimony to her and as a help to others. The volume proved extremely popular and Fruits of Retirement; or Miscellaneous Poems, moral and divine went into six editions in the course of the eighteenth century.

It was most unusual for Quakers to write poetry at this time and even more so to publish it, so that Mary's cousin, Frances Owen, felt that some justification was necessary. 'And though verse is not so commonly used in divine subjects as prose, and but too much abused by the extravagant wits of the age; yet she, like a skilful chemist, had learned to separate the purer spirits and more refined parts of poetry, from the earthly, worthless dross, and made use of her gift rather to convince and prevail upon the mind, to affect and raise the soul upon wings of divine contemplation, than to please the airy fancy with strains of wit, and unprofitable invention, which she was ever careful to avoid.'

Although Mary's poems are not on the whole to our taste today, their popularity during the century following her death show as that her family's hope for them was not groundless. Here is a short extract from one of her poems Meditations in Trouble which gives some idea of her style.

	O Whither is he gone? Or where Shall I go mourn, till he appear, Who is my life, my love? Alas, how shall I move Him to return, that’s secretly retired Like unto one displeased, Who, till he be appeased, My heart cannot be eased? He is one lovely, and to be admired!

Quaker Alphabet Week 7 - D for May Drummond

George Drummond Provost of Edinburgh

May Drummond was born about 1710 in Edinburgh. She came from an eminent family, her eldest brother George (1687-1766) being lord provost of Edinburgh six times and another brother, Alexander, consul in Aleppo. In 1731, when she was only 21, her curiosity led her to attend Yearly Meeting in Edinburgh with her society friends. Here May was convinced by the travelling minister Thomas Story. Her family were very much against her choice but she persevered and was soon recognised as a minister. She began to travel extensively in the ministry in Scotland and then, about 1735, moved to England where she created a stir among the general public.

May Drummond aged about 25

May was a tall handsome woman who spoke very eloquently and drew large crowds, on much the same scale as John Wesley, from all social classes. She was even granted an audience by Queen Caroline, which increased her fame. She was particularly appealing to young women, for whom she held special, often very emotional, meetings. A poem by ‘a young lady’ published in the Gentleman’s Magazine in 1735 gives some idea of her impact:-

          “No more O Spain! thy saint Teresa boast, 
           There's one out shines her on the British coast...                                                     

           Too long indeed, our sex has been deny’d,

           And ridiculed by mens’ malignant pride...

           That woman had no soul was their pretence,

           And woman’s spelling past for woman’s sense

           ’Til you, most generous heroine, stood forth,

           And shew’d your sex’s aptitude and worth...”

May travelled widely in England and visited Ireland in 1738 and again in 1753. Some Friends, however, distrusted her eloquence and popularity, fearing that she was in danger of acting for her own glory rather than God’s.

May Drummond

William Cookworthy (1705-1780) of Plymouth met her in 1744 and was kinder in his estimation of her. Writing to a friend he said that she was “one of a surprising genius, her apprehension being quick, lively, penetrating...a great connoisseur of the human heart in all its emotions, passions and foibles, her own open, generous, tender and humane..’Tis a strange phenomenon our young folks take a particular liking to her....I had forgotten her person which seems contrived to enforce and embellish truth, not excite desire. Her face and gesture are aimed at the mind.” He approved the religious content of her speech but was critical of her style, “rather too learned; her epithets rather swell too much. There is something too in the management and tone of her voice when she exerts it, a little too theatrical.” “But”, he adds, “I really believe all this to be owing to her education and not to any affectation or want of simplicity.”

May continued to travel but gradually more doubts were raised about her ministry. Her habit of often mentioning her noble relations and acquaintances made Friends uneasy and there was a feeling that she demanded too much attention for herself. In the late 1750s May Drummond returned to Scotland, but she was not welcomed in her own country. Edinburgh Quakers felt that she spoke in Meeting too often and refused to accept their discipline. Rumours circulated that May, having fallen upon hard times financially, had stooped to pilfering food from the houses of Friends she visited. It was also insinuated that she had become a drunkard. Eventually, in 1764, she was officially requested not to preach and her certificate as a minister was withdrawn.

May Drummond returned to England and continued to travel, becoming a shadow of her former self. Friends treated her kindly but could not acknowledge her ministry. In May 1772 she was in London, but later that year she made her way back to Edinburgh where she died aged 62. Her family forgave her sufficiently to allow her to be buried in the family vault. Her story was seen among Quakers as a fall from grace and a dreadful warning about the perils of popularity and spiritual pride, but only the impressions of others, some of them very partial and prejudiced, remain for history to assess.