‘The Qu-air-kers: A story for children’: Caroline C Graveson, told her by an elderly woman Friend
‘And what will Friends say when we take duck into Meeting?’
John and Jane Jessup lived more than a hundred years ago, when Quakers wore a peculiar costume of their own.
One First-Day morning they had to go to Meeting, all by themselves. Their mother was ill and their father away. They did not mind the two-mile walk each way, for they were sturdy children; but they minded very much having to pass the end of Biggins Alley just before they reached the little town. Those horrid children, how they ‘quacked’ at them! Why, oh why, did their parents have to dress differently from other folk so that everyone knew they were Quakers (‘Qu-air-kers’ those Northerners pronounced it)?
But their mother scolded them and told them stories of Quakers in the past who had endured cruel persecution. Surely John and Jane, she said, could stand up to a little teasing. So the children sighed and set off, walking quickly to get it over.
For more than a mile they went through quiet lanes and fields, then came to Bailey’s Farm. As they passed the farmyard they heard a great clucking and angry squawking, and out paddled a duck almost under their very feet, quacking wildly, followed by a pecking scolding lot of hens.
The two children ran after the angry chicks and drove them away. The panting little duck waddled along beside them, quacking excitedly at intervals. It was only a few yards to the dreaded Biggins Alley. There were those horrid children waiting for them. They gave whoops of joy on finding them alone. ‘Here are the Quairkers!’ they cried. They came nearer than they ever dared to do when John and Jane’s parents were there, and joining hands made a ring round the pair, crying: ‘Qu-air-ck, Qu-air-ck, Qu-air-ck!’ in hoarse, gleeful voices.
The two children found themselves held on all sides. Closer and closer came their tormentors, poking fingers into them, grabbing at their clothes and quacking in their face.
Just then there was a wilder quacking outside the ring. The duck, which had scurried off, came back flapping excitedly.
‘A duck! A duck! Tis quairking at Quairkers,’ cried the delighted children, breaking their ring to chase after the duck.
John and Jane seized the chance, and dashed with all their might to the nearest house. The town street began there, and they would safe. Stones and mud flew after them, the ringleaders were at their very heels; they only just managed it.
When they stopped to get their breath they heard again a flapping and a scurrying, and the duck waddled up. It fell down on the ground exhausted, one eye closed and bleeding from a cut on its head from a stone. It quacked feebly. Jane promptly picked it up and tucked it under her arm; and they walked on.
Suddenly, John, seeing the curious looks of bystanders, exclaimed: ‘How dreadful thee looks, Sis! There’s mud on thy face and the duck has plastered thee with dirt.’
‘l can’t look worse than thee, John. Why! Thy cheek’s bleeding, and thy face and hands are black.’
‘And what will Friends say when we take duck into Meeting?’ said John.
Jane’s head went up proudly. ‘We are persecuted Friends,’ she said, ‘and persecuted Friends must go to Meeting.’ They were now crossing the short bridge over the little river that flowed through the town. Suddenly the duck struggled from under Jane’s arm.
‘It smells water,’ cried Jane.
‘It smells other ducks,’ cried John.
Away it scuttled down the bank into the water, diving into its coolness and coming up to float. Suddenly it gave a squawking, and half-flew, half-paddled further up the stream, where lay a number of ducks on the bank, each with its head under its wing. The children’s duck lay down close beside them and tucked its one eye under its wing in the same fashion.
‘Why! They are having their Quairkers’ Meeting,’ laughed John.
Just then the church clock struck.
‘We’re late,’ cried the children dismayed, and off they raced as quickly as Sunday manners allowed.
‘Now, remember, we’re persecuted Friends,’ said Jane, as, five whole minutes late, they paused outside the door into the Meeting House. Then, heads up, the bespattered pair stepped through the silent company to their places.
When Meeting was over two Elders came up to them, Friend Sophia James and Friend Jonathan Pound.
‘You have been fighting,’ said Friend James severely.
‘No,’ answered Jane firmly. ‘We are persecuted Friends.’ She looked at Friend Pound as she spoke and saw that his lips were twitching.
‘Twasn’t funny,’ she said reproachfully. Farmer Pound only smiled.
‘Tell me about the persecution,’ he said.
So John and Jane told their story.
‘Quairkers indeed!’ laughed Jonathan Pound when he heard of the duck. ‘Those rascally boys must be stopped.’ He turned to Sophia James. ‘I hear that these children’s mother is likely to be sick for some time. Twon’t take me much out of my way to come to Meeting round by Bailey’s Farm.’
Then he turned again to Jane. ‘Do you two be punctual at 9.45 next First-Day outside Bailey’s Farm gate. My wife and I will pick you up in my cart.’
‘We’ve got the duck to thank,’ said Jane, when, having been driven back as far as the farm by the good Jonathan Pound, they were walking the rest of the way home.
John answered nothing but ‘Qu-airck, Qu-airck’!
Caroline Graveson (1874-1958) was a significant figure in British higher education. She was a vice-principal of Goldsmiths College, which has named a building in her honour. It was the first training college to be co-educational and non-denominational (admitting students with non-Christian backgrounds, including Jews and Muslims). Caroline also wrote several books, pieces of music (including the college hymn), and is quoted in Quaker faith & practice (21.22, 21.28, and 23.79). A fuller account of her life can be found at https://tinyurl.com/cgraveson.
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