Gillian Monks

'Making Fairytales Come True'

Tag: Equality

Peace in Our Time?

152,512 World Globe Stock Photos - Free & Royalty-Free Stock ...

I look out of my window; the sun is shining, the grass is regreening after winter, snowdrops, crocus and daffodils are all blooming simultaneously, birds are singing and spring is definitely on the way. The village is quiet and peaceful. Already, the first lock-down of the Covid pandemic is four years in the past; a global catastrophe which we have survived and many of us hoped would herald the dawn of a new, interconnected, co-operative, global community.

Yet, where do we find ourselves now? Russia and Ukraine are slogging out a multinational war by proxy and Israel is tasting what it is like to be the oppressors in its infliction of genocide upon the Palestinian people, while the rest of us struggle with our feelings of fear, impotence, sadness and horror. Worse, the sabre-rattling is spreading and the drums of all-out war are beginning to reverberate around the globe.

How do we deal with this? You and I, sitting in our safe cosy homes, what can we do to combat the fear, violence and misery?

I feel that the key word here is ‘fear’. We tend to fear what we do not know. Humanity has always reacted to the unknown with suspicion and blind aggression. However, there is a world of difference between personal ignorance and fear and the global woes generated by commerce and national governments for their own nefarious purposes.

When I was a child, I travelled quite a lot with my mother who was keen for me to learn about other peoples, places and cultures. Even as a young child, I loved writing letters and kept in touch with any children (and sometimes adults!) that I came across on my travels. Once I entered my teens I joined a penfriend organisation and developed relationships with other youngsters  around the world.

My personal connections completely coloured my perspective of and feelings for other nations. I first noticed this when watching the Eurovision Song Contest. I was more interested in the entries of other countries and didn’t care so much about how well the U.K. did so long as my pal’s countries were receiving recognition and appreciation too. It was no longer France but Jacqueline’s people, not Italy, but Domenico and his friends.

I developed friendships all across Europe into Eastern Europe, Greece, Turkey, North and South America, Sri Lanka and Hong Kong. It was huge fun and the whole family would wait with baited breath for the morning post to arrive and the next instalment of juvenile news from abroad.

By my mid teens, some of my penfriends were coming to stay with us in the school holidays and by the time I was in my late teens, it was not unusual to find boys and girls from several different nations sitting around our table. As these also covered widely disparate cultures and religions, my poor mother was sometimes hard put to accommodate and feed everyone without causing a minor diplomatic incident. Trust had to be worked at.

“Mummy! Julie has bacon for breakfast… did you cook my eggs in the same pan?”
“Now, Mehmet, you know I would never do such a thing,” my mother would reply patiently as she produced two separate frying pans from the kitchen.

Wenche from Norway was like a sister to me… Harsha from Sri Lanka was the peacemaker in everything… Kathleen from America thought that English boys were ‘perfectly obnoxious’ in their ‘good manners’ which she viewed as patronising and anti-feminist… but we all got on together and laughed and learned about each other – my slightly harassed father used to refer to us as the ‘United Nations’.

Amusingly, everyone referred to my parents as ‘Mummy’, and ‘Daddy’, and when we paid return visits, as many other people (especially in the East) found the ‘J’ of Joan difficult to get their tongues around, my mother was startled to discover that everyone else referred to her as ‘Mummy’ too! Even in my late forties, I would still take phone calls when the caller asked how ‘Mummy’ was, or receive letters where the writer asked if  ‘Daddy’ was still playing his drums in the dance band.

As I grew older I joined a larger penfriend community which for a single very reasonable fee offered sixteen potential penfriends in countries, ages and interests of my choice. (International Pen Friends https://www.ipfworld.com/index.html) Inevitably, more serious questions arose in our correspondence, especially when I began writing to a meteorologist in former East Germany who wished to improve his English… but I ended up marrying him so we obviously got that right!

The way I see it now, we have options.

One: that we reach out in any way possible and befriend/make a relationship with someone from another country(s). In this case, familiarity potentially breeds mutual fondness, knowledge, trust and support. It suddenly becomes personal and is no longer ‘me’ and ‘them’ but ‘us’.

Two: in our modern multicultural, multi-gender society, we strive to get to know our neighbours… the people who breath the same air, drink the same water, walk the same roads and sleep only metres away from us. They are our local community and by wider definition, their people and country/place of origin become ours, too. I have a very dear Nigerian friend living a mile away in the next village – now every Nigerian I see is a part of her, and her land and people are dear to me and matter because of my friendship and love for her. My heart goes out to her – and to them – I have ‘adopted’ them… and that relationship sticks.

Similarly, some of my neighbours come from other parts of the U.K. which I know nothing about, but I have ‘adopted’ them as well and they are also dear to me now. Having said that, I no less value and appreciate my next-door-neighbour who was born and bred in this valley, or the people up the road who also hale from the town where I was born.

I feel that I am in the right place here in Wales for this to be understood – a society where first names are always used rather than surnames and titles, everyone is seen as equal, and community connection is of paramount importance, only topped by the sacred act of hospitality to strangers… For, of course, once someone has lived with you, (no matter how briefly), eaten at your table, laughed with you, possibly shared their concerns and commiserated with you too, they are no longer strangers but also members of your wider family, and their people are no longer ‘aliens’ or ‘strangers’ either but extended family, brothers and sisters of your new-found family member. So our ‘family’ grows.

Yes, family members frequently disagree or fall out, but if they have also shared the good times and genuine friendship and respect has been previously developed, it makes it easier to find one’s way back to talking and sorting out the problems. You certainly stand a much better chance than if you have to deal with a total stranger, with no comprehension of their culture, their thoughts and feelings or perspective on life.

For the bottom line is that we are all connected, all one with each other and all a part of our planet Earth, we simply express our perception of life as befits our geographical area and the way we have developed in it. This need not lead to division and descension but can, instead, enrich the vitality, vibrancy and texture of our shared lives. The key words here are equality and love.

Think about it. Who is in your extended family? How do you interact with them? How might you bring these disparate members closer together? How might you reach out further afield?

Just my own thoughts on a sunny February afternoon… and I would love to hear your own thoughts and opinions, for we too, are connected and I care what you think and feel.

With my love.

 

The Very ‘Hairy Child’

Front of Bryn at SunsetMisbehaving moustaches, inventive costumes and props, imaginative sound effects and a very supportive audience. All successful children’s nativity plays have a team of hard-working and dedicated adults behind them. Our own Christmas celebration at the Quaker Meeting House yesterday was no exception.

Our Meetings for worship are usually largely silent, but once a year, just before Christmas, we break with tradition. Each year a theme is chosen. This year it was the turn of the lowly shepherds. Interspersed by periods of reflective silence we gustily sang shepherd-related carols, (in both English and Welsh), listened to beautiful music composed by Schubert and played by one of our members and heard a poem by Welsh writer R.S.Thomas about welsh hill shepherds read aloud.

However, the highlight of the whole proceedings was surely the children’s dramatic contribution! Based on a mediaeval mystery play entitled ‘The Hairy Baby’, the story was of shepherds guarding their sheep and the daring – and very desperate man – who comes and steals one of the lambs with which to feed his starving family.

The enterprising thief had disguised himself in a voluminous black cloak and recalcitrant paper moustache which persistently floated to the ground, only to be pounced upon by one or other member of the cast and unceremoniously slapped back into place on the hapless young actor’s face. Gales and winter storms were conjured by use of a long plastic tube which was periodically flailed around the head of the pianist causing the Master of Ceremonies to cringe and duck for fear of getting a clout around his head.

The action took place across the whole of the Meeting Room and we, the audience, sat bemusedly in the round as irate shepherds with a varied assortment of ‘sheep’ – including a large woolly seal and a little lamb which had been sewn to his shepherd’s sock – dashed off amongst us in hot pursuit of their stolen lamb. I am not quite sure how even weary and simple-minded men were supposed to mistake one of their own animals for a remarkably hirsute human child! Eventually the true identity of the baby is revealed and the luckless family left empty-handed as the thief is discovered, only to be saved in the nick of time by the appearance of an angel, come to announce the birth of a much more important baby in a stable nearby. Drama was added to the action by the syncopated and regular sniffs of some of the cast who were recently recovering from heavy colds.

The enthusiasm and flamboyance with which our young members delivered this simple story was highly entertaining but also thought provoking. It was pointed out that here was the nub of the whole message of Christian Christmas. That the inspiration for kindness, humility and love had been presented in a way that everyone – even the lowliest and most humble shepherds – had instant and unquestioned access to. That this humble birth of a carpenter’s son represented a universal hope and entitlement that is as fresh and valued today as it was two thousand years ago.

So I give great thanks to the children of my Meeting for reminding me of this fact… and to their dedicated parents who made it possible. We all had a good chuckle and I am sure that we all were well entertained, but more than anything, I hope that we were touched by this blessed message – that of universal equality, hope and love.

Happy Christmas!

Contact Us | Privacy Policy & GDPR |

Copyright © 2018 Gillian Monks.

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén