Pardshaw Meeting House. Photo: John Hall / flickr CC.
‘A workcamp to restore an old Meeting house in the Lake District sounded enticing.’
Green shoots and recovery: Anne M Jones visits Pardshaw Hall
‘On your own? A bicycle?’ The agent for the travel company sounded incredulous and I was about to abandon my search for space, hills and air when I spotted an ad in the Friend. A workcamp to restore an old Meeting house in the Lake District sounded enticing, and the warm response to my enquiry set me off to book my bike onto a long train journey.
Pardshaw Hall is a hamlet near Pardshaw, four miles outside Cockermouth. A Meeting house has existed here since 1672, though the present one (not quite the oldest in the UK) dates from 1729. Weekly Meeting ceased in 1923; a monthly one still takes place, and one on Christmas Day. The imposing white buildings nestle along a road between hills and steep crags. It is said that George Fox preached from the top of them; they have an excellent acoustic.
The group who greeted me are mostly Friends of longstanding, attending Young Friends’ gatherings at Pardshaw, and, later, work camps for essential maintenance. The buildings had also been used as a hostel, but now are closed to the public. Problems were being addressed as the camp progressed as fire alarms, smoke alarms, emergency lighting and electrics were all being installed, under the expert supervision of Rowan. Others among the campers, Cath and Chris, helped by their willing family, got on with general clearing and cleaning, while Hazel and Audra cooked in between helping William and Graham where needed. They were later joined by Kenny who, with Audra, did not mind getting covered in mud while clearing out guttering, then Dawn who cheered us all up after a miserable day of the kind of rain that only the English countryside can offer. I focused upon clearing the massive gardens, assisted by Chris and Graham. Oak, pine and sycamore tees towered over, overgrown with brambles and ivy. I delighted in being in such a quiet, serene space, watched by hills which, chameleon-like, turned from early morning pale green to bluey-green as the sun began to fade. Chopping, lopping, tugging, digging – little by little form and shape were revealed, with flowering vetch, roses and lords and ladies plants. Ivy, for all its picture-postcard associations, is a pernicious creeper. Pulling it up is like unravelling wool, one layer leading to another, so imagine my joy when beneath the final layer appeared the coiling tendrils of a cyclamen, struggling to burst into flower.
The camp coincided with Hiroshima Day so we made sure to hold a special commemorative Meeting that morning to respect the time of the first atomic bomb, on the morning of 6 August.
I understand this dedicated group has a year in which to convince their Area Meeting of their vision to restore the place as a hostel and venue for local activities and larger gatherings, with wheelchair access. I think the vision is very sound, holding great potential. n
Information about the project can be found at www.pardshawquakercentre.org.uk.
