The labyrinth at Woodbrooke Photo: @CatherineOgle on Twitter
Re:treat: Lynden Easterbrook returns to Woodbrooke
‘Over wonderful meals, we shared our experiences of faith, and discussed our writing.’
The first thing I noticed was the ‘Welcome Friend’ doormat. I was just one of thousands of people who have been welcomed to Woodbrooke since George Cadbury opened it as a Quaker study centre in 1903. The doors had been closed at the start of the pandemic; two years later I was anxious that it may not feel like it once did, and I didn’t know whether I would be able to focus on my writing in such heartbreakingly-troubled times. I pressed the buzzer, and a Friend opened the door.
Everywhere was quiet, spacious and airy. We wore masks when walking around indoors, careful to keep each other safe. I came with reference books and files. My writing is based on my grandparents’ lives, and I put photographs along the mantelpiece in my room, and spread out a timeline. My book takes place in 1913 –Woodbrooke would have been open for ten years.
When our group met on the first evening, we shared an inspiring range of topics: research, family history, spiritual experiences, autobiography, identity, and stories of early Quakers. No two projects were alike, but overlapping interests prompted many conversations.
Ben and John, our tutors, explained that we would create our own timetable. The opportunity to spend time writing was precious, but so was our community of writers. We could arrange a one-to-one session with a tutor, and they offered one on their own experience of writing. Two flipcharts carried empty sheets, one headed ‘offers’ the other ‘requests’. The rest was up to us.
Each day started with worship and ended with an epilogue; this brought inspiring ministry. As the days passed, offers appeared on the flipcharts: lifts, shopping, a shared walk and hot chocolate, and requests for discussions and ideas. Words started to fill our empty pages. Over wonderful meals, we shared our experiences of faith, and discussed the structure of our writing. With one of the tutors, I role-played standing on a podium answering a critical reader, and found myself enjoying it.
This was Woodbrooke at its sunny best. Daffodils bloomed and geese wandered around the labyrinth. Woodpeckers called by day and owls hooted at night; but Woodbrooke is more than all of this. Here, Spirit imbues everything. History is shown in photographs and quotes in the corridor. But we brought our own memories, too. Here was the oven where I made my first pizza. Here, a thoughtful Friend asked me why I wasn’t a member, and set me wondering. The garden room, with its doors open to the Spring sunshine, and the quote from Isaac Pennington on the windows, reminded me of past conversations sustained by tea and biscuits.
We ended by listening to each other’s work, each voice distinct and eloquent. Our community had thrived. We too were part of history, the first residential course since the start of the pandemic. In these difficult times, Woodbrooke continues to be a precious gift.
